The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1)

by Baldwin, Lily

  His gaze passed over the servants who were still fast asleep. Then he shifted his gaze to the fire, which hissed and crackled, the flames dancing wildly. After several more draughts of wine, he laid his head back and closed his eyes. No longer did raven-black curls and blue eyes fill his mind. Nor could he hear his father’s voice raised in anger, telling him to be gone from his sight, to leave Campbell lands and never return.

  The familiar numbness had begun to set in.

  He was about to drift back to sleep when something wet nudged his hand. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of a dog with floppy ears, short gray hair, and beseeching yellow eyes.

  Nathan scratched behind the animal’s ear. “Thank ye, my friend,” he whispered. “It wouldn’t do for Elora to find me here on the morrow.”

  He stood up and motioned for the dog to follow him into the kitchen. In the pantry, he found some cooked ribs and offered one to his furry companion who snatched it out of his hand, then dashed to the far side of the room and began to gnaw on his prize.

  Nathan lifted the flagon to toast the dog and brought it to his lips, letting the rich liquid course down his throat before he once more entered the great hall. With care to not awaken the servants, he crossed to the high dais, then moved behind the screen. Once in the hallway, he noticed that the solar door was slightly ajar. The soft glow of candlelight emanating from the room beckoned him closer.

  He peered inside. Brows drawn, Elora stood in front of her table, shuffling frantically through pieces of parchment. She was clad in a simple linen nightgown with lace trim around the collar and sleeves. Her unbound golden hair glinted in the candlelight. Crumpling the pages suddenly in her hands, she dropped them on the table.

  “I didn’t think anyone else was awake,” he said softly.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and looked up. They locked eyes.

  Slowly, holding her gaze, he walked around the table to stand beside her. With his free hand, he reached out and gently grazed his fingers down her cheek. Her eyes squeezed shut and her breath caught. Her tongue darted out, licking her tremulous full lips. “Nathan,” she breathed, her voice a whispered plea.

  Dear God above but he wanted her.

  He had never seen her so raw, so vulnerable. He knew in that moment that he could have her. She wouldn’t resist if he were to take her hand and lead her to his bed.

  He could make her his wife.

  But he would never take advantage of her desperation, nor did he wish to seduce her at all. He wanted her to come to him of her own freewill.

  He searched her eyes. “Tell me something, Elora,” he began, his voice whisper-soft. “What do ye really want?”

  Tears flooded her eyes. She pressed her lips together in a grim line, fighting back the swell of emotion he knew ached to break free. She shook her head. A single tear coursed down her cheek. “I...I do not know.” Her voice cracked.

  “Neither do I,” he replied softly.

  Pain emanated from her gaze, mirroring his own broken heart. But he drew strength from their sameness. Hooked on his finger, he raised the wine vessel he held for her to see. “But I do know one thing—I’m not going to find the answer at the bottom of this flagon.” Then he looked pointedly at her parchment strewn table. “And yer lists will not help ye either.” His nostrils flared as he set the flagon down on the table and took a step back, distancing himself from the bottle.

  Steeling his shoulders, he took another deep breath, forcing his mind to clear. Then he held out his hand to her. “Come with me, Elora. I will walk ye to yer chamber.”

  She swallowed hard. “Nay, I...I can’t.” Her hands fluttered, smoothing out the crumpled pages, her gaze darting over their surfaces. “I’m running out of time.”

  “Elora,” he said again, his voice gently persuasive. “Come with me.”

  Once more their eyes locked. She dropped the page and slid her hand into his. Then he slowly led her toward the door. Stepping into the hallway, he pulled her close to his side and wrapped his arm around her waist. Her body softened. She rested her head against his shoulder, her hand splayed wide on his chest as they walked.

  A comfortable silence hung in the air, surrounding them.

  When they reached her chamber door, he opened it and let his hand drop from her waist.

  “Goodnight, Elora,” he said softly.

  She turned to him. “Thank ye, Nathan.”

  With a dip of his head he took another step back, but then she seized his hand.

  “Ye’re smile never touches yer eyes,” she blurted.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, he drew close and cupped her cheek. “And yers never sees the light of day.” He longed to hold her, to comfort her, but with a deep breath he stepped back and started to turn away.

  “Nathan,” she said.

  “Aye, my lady,” he answered softly.

  Building slowly at first, a smile spread across her face, the first she had ever given him.

  His chest tightened at the sight. He dipped his head in gratitude.

  Then she slowly shut her door, her gaze locked with his until it closed.

  He pressed his palm against the wood, fighting the urge to throw open the door, take her in his arms and kiss away all her hurt, making her his wife in name and body.

  Backing away, he slowly retreated to his room with her full smile filling his mind’s eye. And for the first time that he could remember, he smiled and knew that it was real. And had she been there, she would have seen that it, indeed, reached his eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary stood by the kitchen stairs that led to the chamber rooms, waiting for the chapel bell to toll for Lauds. When the first chime rang out, she turned and looked intently at the breakfast tray to make sure it met with her lady’s meticulous standards. Using the corner of her apron to wipe away a few scattered crumbs, Mary nodded her approval, took up the tray, and started her ascent to her lady’s chamber. With a steady, practiced hand, she swept down the hallway, then knocked softly on her lady’s door, and waited for her customary reply.

  But it never came.

  Brows drawn, Mary puzzled for a moment. She had never needed to knock twice, but then again, her lady had seemed out of sorts the previous eventide when she had helped her dress for bed. Mayhap she did not sleep well. Mary chewed her lip and considered whether she should let Lady Elora sleep longer, but then she shook her head. Maintaining a schedule was very important to her ladyship.

  Confident she was doing her duty, Mary rapped her knuckles against the door, only this time she knocked harder. But, once again, she heard no reply.

  Now, all manner of nightmarish thoughts coursed through the young maid’s mind. What if her lady had been kidnapped in the night? Or mayhap, Laird Mackintosh had scaled the castle wall and smothered Lady Elora in her sleep. Heart racing, Mary knocked again. Still, no answer.

  Steeling her heart against the worst, Mary balanced the tray on one arm and threw open the door. Her gaze went first to the bed, but it was empty. Then she scanned the room.

  “My lady,” she exclaimed, seeing her leaning out the casement clad in naught but her kirtle. But Lady Elora did not turn around.

  Mary set the tray on its customary table, then hastened to the window and gently touched her lady’s arm. She jumped a little before she straightened and turned to face her maid.

  “What is it, Mary?”

  Confused, Mary asked, “My lady, did ye not hear me?”

  Lady Elora’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry, Mary, did ye say something?”

  Mary’s gaze darted to her lady, then the door, then to the tray on the table. “Nay...I mean, aye...I mean, I was knocking...’tis Lauds, my lady. I have yer breakfast tray.”

  Lady Elora shook her head. “Thank ye but not today. I would like to get an early start.”

  Mary’s mouth fell open as her lady padded barefoot across the floor to her wardrobe, which she threw open. “This will do,” she said, seizing a pale blue tunic, which she pulled ove
r her head.

  “Do not look so surprised, Mary. Ye don’t suppose Declan helped me dress all the while we were away?”

  “Nay, my lady, of course not. I...er...” but Mary did not know how to reply.

  Lady Elora slid her feet into a pair of slippers and turned toward the door. “Come along then.”

  “But, my lady, yer hair!”

  Lady Elora paused and smoothed her hands over her unbound flaxen curls. “’Tis fine,” she said. “Now, come along.”

  “What of yer surcote and...and...yer list!”

  “No time,” came her lady’s quick reply.

  Mary stood frozen in place for a moment as her lady disappeared out the door without adornment or refinement of any kind, and, most importantly, without a list. When her shock wore off, leaving her stomach doing somersaults, Mary followed after.

  On any typical day, Lady Elora would have taken the main stairs to the family rooms, where, doubtless, at that very moment, Murray was awaiting her in the solar.

  But Mary was beginning to realize that there was nothing typical about the day.

  She followed her ladyship to the servants’ stairwell. Before too long, Mary was back in the kitchen where Lady Elora was speaking with Agnes. The rest of the servants were bustling about, casting curious looks her way.

  Her ladyship set her hands at her hips. “I am going to reorganize the kitchen today.”

  Agnes’s eyes flashed wide. “The whole kitchen!”

  The cook shot Mary a questioning look, but Mary could only lift her shoulders.

  Agnes cleared her throat. “Of course, if ye say so, my lady.” Then her eyes brightened. “Why don’t ye start with the pantry. Ye will find Allison already hard at work. In fact...” Agnes gave Mary a pointed look. “Mary, why don’t ye go and fetch her now and see if she can help our lady.”

  Mary nodded quickly and rushed to the pantry. Allison was sitting on an overturned barrel with a basket of eggs at her feet. “Please come quickly,” Mary began, “Our ladyship needs ye.”

  Allison grimaced as she started to stand. “I’m afraid there is little I can do quickly these days, except for tiring out.”

  Mary dashed back to the kitchen. She was grateful to see that Agnes had dismissed the other servants. “Allison is coming.”

  When the pantler shuffled into the kitchen, Agnes motioned to where her ladyship was pulling pots down from a shelf.

  “Good morrow, my lady,” Allison said brightly.

  Lady Elora turned. “Good morrow.”

  Mary watched Allison’s expression alter as she took in her lady’s less than polished appearance. “Ye’re...er...looking well this morrow.”

  Lady Elora set down the pot she held and crossed to Allison’s side and placed her hand on the pantler’s swollen stomach. “As are ye. Ye’re time draws near.”

  Allison smiled. “Aye, my lady.” Then her face lit up. “Soon, it will be yer turn.”

  Lady Elora’s eyes flashed wide with alarm. “What?” Her gaze darted around the room as if she had lost something. “What...is that on the floor?” she suddenly exclaimed.

  Wringing her hands, Mary followed behind as her lady hastened to the corner of the kitchen. “What is it, my lady?”

  Brow furrowed, Lady Elora grimaced at a smear on the stone floor. “’Tis some kind of dried sauce.”

  “I will clean it,” Mary said, rushing over to a bucket and seizing a rag. But when she returned, her ladyship took the rag from her hand.

  “I will tend to it myself.”

  Mary, Allison, and Agnes gasped simultaneously.

  Helpless, Mary wrung her hands as her lady dropped to her knees and began scrubbing at the spill.

  “Please, my lady,” Agnes pleaded. “Ye mustn’t. It simply isn’t proper.”

  Mary whirled around and locked eyes with the cook. “I’m going for help.”

  NATHAN SAT BESIDE DECLAN and Caleb at the high table. While the other men discussed Declan’s training exercises that he planned to lead the warriors through after they broke their fast, Nathan had thoughts only for Elora. He closed his eyes and remembered every detail from the night before—the way her unbound curls shimmered in the candlelight; the creamy expanse of her neck revealed by the cut of her nightgown. But more than anything, his mind fixated on the emotion in her eyes and in her breath and touch—fear, longing, hope—he had felt it all, emanating from her very soul.

  He pushed aside his half-eaten bannock and turned to give his excuses to Declan when he noticed Mary moving toward the high dais. His eyes narrowed on Elora’s maid whose stiff gait and strained smile were uncharacteristic for the slender lass who typically moved like a wee bird, darting from room to room. When they locked eyes, he could see the worry in her gaze, although he could tell she fought to conceal her feelings.

  “Excuse me,” he said to Declan. Then he crossed the dais and walked casually down the stairs.

  “My laird,” Mary began in a hushed voice when he crossed to her side.

  “Call me Nathan,” he said, interrupting her. Then his lips curved in a slight smile. “Yer lady and I are not married yet.”

  “Nathan,” Mary said, correcting herself. “We have need of yer presence in the kitchen.”

  He was surprised by Mary’s request. “Whatever it is, I’m sure our lady is the one to ask. She needn’t any help when it comes to the smooth running of Castle Bròn.”

  “On the contrary,” Mary hissed. “My lady is in great need of yer help.”

  He stiffened. “Lead on then.”

  He followed the maid into the kitchen. Straightaway, he noticed the stricken looks on the cook’s and pantler’s faces, but Elora was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?”

  Mary pointed to the far side of the room.

  If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed that one of the village lassies was helping Agnes. But the long, blonde curls were undeniable. Elora was on her hands and knees scrubbing at the floor in a frenzy.

  He drew close, and he cleared his throat. “Ye missed a spot in the corner.”

  ELORA JERKED UPRIGHT on her knees. “Oh, tis ye!” Her face burned as she met his curious gaze. Heart pounding, palms sweating, she cleared her throat, clutching the rag in her fist. “What can I help ye with?” She tilted her chin, trying to muster as much dignity as she could. “As ye can see I’m terribly busy.” Unable to withstand the tenderness of his smoldering gaze, she looked away and renewed her scrubbing. It was a battle she was determined to win. She would rid the floor of the dried spill just as she would rid her mind and heart of all thoughts pertaining to hired renegades whose insights into her soul could penetrate all her defenses.

  “Elora.” His voice called to her as soft as a caress.

  “What?” she snapped, looking up. He had drawn closer, standing directly above her.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  He squatted down so that they were eye level “Ye don’t quite seem like yerself today.”

  Her pulse raced. She brushed at the dirt on her tunic. “Whatever do ye mean?"

  His gaze trailed over her slowly. She felt it like a touchless caress. “Ye’re not wearing a surcote.” He reached out and gently grasped a lock of her hair. “And yer beautiful hair is unbound and trailing on the floor.”

  She swallowed hard. “One does not wear their best clothes to clean the kitchen.”

  A playful smile upturned one corner of his mouth. “When one is a lady, she typically does not scrub the floor.”

  Agnes cleared her throat. “He does make a very good point, my lady.”

  Elora looked beyond Nathan to where Agnes, Mary, and Allison stood, each woman wearing a look of confused concern on her face. “One clan, one back,” Elora answered stiffly.

  She knew she was not behaving like herself, but she was not to blame.

  She turned an accusing gaze at the ridiculously gorgeous man whose face was now a breath from her own. Jumping to her feet. She dusted her hands off. “I’m fine, everyone. Sp
ring is nigh upon us. I simply wanted to make sure the kitchen was ready for the new season, and that was when I noticed this spill.”

  He stood, and, once again, they were only a breath apart. “Ye and I both know that ye didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said softly.

  He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. “I’m dirty. Ye do not want to touch me.”

  “On the contrary,” he began, a seductive smile curving his lips as he gently took her hand in his.

  Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips. Her heart raced.

  “Ladies, will ye excuse us for just a moment,” Nathan said, his intense gaze never leaving hers

  “Nay!” she exclaimed, snatching her hand away again. Then she shifted her gaze toward the women who had turned on their heels to leave the room. “Please don’t go.” She clutched her hands together to cease their shaking. “I can see that I’ve caused some alarm with my informal dress. I will just take my leave then and remedy my appearance.”

  Nathan clasped her waist as she brushed past him. “Allow me to walk ye to yer chamber.”

  “Nay,” she blurted, her heart pounding harder than ever. She seriously doubted whether she would have the self-discipline to leave him outside her chamber door. The image of her throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him the way she had wanted to so desperately the night before came unbidden to her mind. “I’m quite capable of finding my chamber,” she said quickly.

  A sensual smile tugged at Nathan’s lips as if he could read her very thoughts. “Ye really are quite dirty,” he said, his voice husky. “Mayhap ye might allow me to order ye a bath.”

  Visions of him kneeling next to her bathtub, running a wet cloth along her bare thigh assaulted her mind. But just when she could not take his penetrating stare another moment, Firtha, Temperance’s high-strung maid, came racing into the kitchen, her brow drawn with worry. “My lady, ye must come!”