He did not love her. He could not. She was a lady, born and bred for the gentle life. And he was a Highlander, a barbarian.
But he did love her.
Love. Why was it never simple?
He had not meant to love her. And surely a woman like Meredith MacAlpin could never love the man who had stolen her freedom.
Meredith’s lids flickered, then opened. For a moment she was strangely disoriented. The eyes staring back at her were dark, narrowed in thought.
Brice watched as the last clouds of sleep were blinked away and reality set in.
Brice. She had fallen asleep practically in his arms. And though she was fully clothed, he had little more than a strip of cloth for modesty. As she realized where she was, Meredith pushed herself away from him and sat up.
He studied the flush that colored her cheeks, and noted the guarded look that came into her eyes. Wonder of wonders. This same bold woman who had stripped him of his clothes and tended to his wounds with all the skill and care of the queen’s physician, was now suddenly shy with him. Her reaction was oddly appealing.
Her hair fell in a tangle of curls and she dragged a hand through, pushing it away from her face.
“How do you feel this morning?” She tried not to stare at the dark mat of hair that covered his chest, or at the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders. For days he had been a mortal wound to be healed; today he was much more. Today he was a man.
“Like any man who just awoke with a beautiful woman in his arms.”
“I did not mean to... I had not intended...”
“Meredith.” He chuckled, low and deep in his throat, and reached out a hand to her chin, forcing her to meet his dark gaze. “It brings me comfort to know that, despite my grave wounds, my manhood is still intact.”
Her face flamed. Scrambling to her feet she retorted, “I will see about some food. You have grown extremely weak in the days you have been recovering.”
“I feel far from weak at this moment. And it is not food I crave.”
She turned at the door. Arching a brow she shot him a haughty look. “I will speak to Mistress Snow about sending a Highland wench to see to your needs. There may be an old crone about the place who will not find you too offensive.”
As she flounced from the room Brice lay back and gave in to a roar of laughter. The woman had fire. It was one of the many things he loved about her.
~ ~ ~
“Where are you off to?” Brice lay weakly against the cushions and watched as Meredith drew a warm cape over her gown.
“I ride with Angus to view the repairs being done to the homes nearby.”
He nodded, oddly pleased that Meredith would take such an interest in the fate of his people. When she left in a flurry of cloak and bonnet he lay back and closed his eyes, annoyed at the weakness that kept him from taking charge as he had always done.
Angus had told him about Meredith’s many kindnesses to the Highlanders who had been made homeless by Gareth MacKenzie’s invaders. While the men repaired the burned-out cottages, the women and children had been made comfortable in Kinloch House. Meredith had given Mistress Snow permission to use whatever was left in the burned-out storehouse to see that everyone was given enough food and clothing. The refectory had become an open kitchen to all.
Brice lay back, listening to the sounds of activity. The forest rang with axes felling trees for new cottages. Below stairs was the bleat of a newborn babe. In the courtyard the women called to one another as they hung their clothes to dry. The halls resounded with the barking of the hounds as they romped with the children who seemed to fill every room. The sound of their joyous laughter was everywhere.
Because of Meredith’s kind concern, his people shared his home, his food, his supplies, until they could once again see to their own needs.
Meredith had taken this cold ancient castle and had filled it with love and laughter. She thought it a simple feat. He found it amazing. Home. She had made his house a home.
~ ~ ~
Meredith’s frequent forays into the forest were always a source of amazement to her. Every Highlander had a story about Brice Campbell. And every one of them was eager to share the story with Meredith.
“When I lost my husband in battle,” Mistress Snow said, riding along beside Meredith, “the attackers began burning our cottages. I hid, along with my babe, in the forest. And when the invaders had gone, I returned to the burned-out shell that had once been my home. That is where Brice Campbell found me. Sitting on a pile of rubble, rocking my babe in my arms.”
“What did he do?” Meredith asked.
“He lifted me onto his horse and brought me to Kinloch House. Everyone there was so kind. And when I was strong enough to take charge of my life once more, I realized that I would rather stay at Kinloch and see to the running of the castle than return to live alone in my cottage in the forest.”
“But what of the babe?” Meredith could not recall seeing a child.
Mistress Snow’s eyes misted. “The babe had been dead for days before Brice came along and found us. In my grief I could not bring myself to bury her. She was all I had left of my husband, and I knew that when I consigned her to the earth, I would be completely alone.”
“Oh, Mistress Snow.” Meredith caught the woman’s hand and pressed it between her own. “How you must have suffered.”
“Aye. It was four years ago and the pain is with me still. But,” the woman said softly, “I have learned that life must be lived. And each day the pain diminishes a bit more. Because of my lord Campbell’s kindness and patience, I know now that I can survive anything.”
It also explained to Meredith why, despite the fact that Angus was attracted to the housekeeper, and she obviously returned his affection, they made no move yet to wed. Mistress Snow needed time. And Angus, in his great love, understood her need.
Meredith stored Mistress Snow’s story away in her heart. And when every family in the forest told of a similar experience at Brice’s hand, she began to realize the depth of his goodness. She knew now why his people loved him so.
How strange, she thought, to discover so many mysteries about the man. She had believed the myth about the Highland Barbarian. If she had not been forced to learn of him for herself, she would never have discovered the wonderful, flesh-and-blood man beneath the myths.
His goodness was one more reason why she loved him so. Leaving him would be heart wrenching. Knowing that, she no longer made secret plans to escape. For now, her prison had become a haven.
~ ~ ~
“What is that damnable noise?”
Meredith looked up from the tunic she was mending. Now that Brice’s wounds were healing, he was beginning to show signs of resisting his confinement.
For days she had ordered Mistress Snow to prepare his favorite foods. She had encouraged Angus and the other men to visit Brice’s chambers frequently, in order to pass the hours of inactivity. Jamie, too, spent long hours with his hero, reading from the precious books in Brice’s library, telling and retelling the tales of heroics of Brice’s men during the attack by the MacKenzies.
In time those same stories would be woven into the fabric of which legends were made.
But Angus and the others, having repaired the nearby cottages, were engaged in rebuilding the castle. They had little time to spend amusing their leader. And though Mistress Snow had the servants working overtime, Brice showed little interest in the special food they prepared for him.
“Your men are replacing the beams in the great room that were destroyed by fire.”
“How can I be expected to rest with that pounding?”
“They are doing this for you.” She bit through the thread and set aside his tunic. “They plan to have Kinloch House restored by the time the laird of the manor is up and about once more. They wanted to spare you the sight of all the destruction.”
With a sigh he squirmed about his pallet. “I have remained idle long enough. The men need my direction.”
> “The men are doing fine under Angus’s leadership.” She had no idea that her words only inflamed him further.
“Inform Mistress Snow that I wish to sleep in my own bed tonight, and not this miserable lump on the floor.”
Meredith stood, obviously stung by his sharp words. “I will inform her immediately.”
As she passed him, Brice caught her hand. She looked down at him and saw his look of remorse.
“Forgive me, Meredith. I have never before been a man who complained about discomfort.” He sighed and ran a thumb across her wrist. Instantly her pulse leaped. “It is just that I have never before been forced to lie about while others cared for me. Though it may be the dream of many a man, it does not sit well with me.”
She smiled and dropped to her knees beside him. “I know that, my lord. But I do not think you understand just how close to death you were. We feared each minute would be your last. Now that you have survived, we enjoy taking care of you. We all feared that you would not return to us from that other world that held you in its grip.”
“Had I not returned, would you have grieved, my lady?”
The words were spoken lightly, but Meredith was aware of the way he watched her while she responded to his question.
“Aye. I would have grieved, as would all the others who—care for you.”
Her reply gave a sudden lift to his spirits.
“Help me up, Meredith.”
“You wish to walk to the window?”
“Nay.” He flashed her a smile and she felt her heart stop for a moment. “I wish to go below stairs and see what causes my men to disturb my rest.”
“You have not attempted the stairs yet, my lord. The effort may sap your strength.”
“It is high time I tried. Give me a hand.”
As Meredith leaned toward him he wrapped his arm about her shoulder and got to his feet. Though she felt the jolt at his touch, she forced herself to behave as though nothing had happened.
“Stand very still for a moment,” she cautioned. “It is only natural to feel light-headed when you first stand.”
“And I thought it was because of the nearness of you.”
She turned her head and was aware of his wicked smile. “Be warned, my lord, that if you tease me beyond my limits, I shall be forced to take action.”
“Will you put a potion in my broth?”
She laughed. “Nay, my lord. I will simply let you go. Without me to lean on, you are as helpless as a bairn.”
“You would be so cruel to a man who has returned from death’s door?”
She shot him a sideways glance and began to walk slowly toward the doorway, with Brice clinging to her. “You will only discover the answer to that if you overstep your bounds.”
At the entrance to his chambers he bowed slightly, then caught her arm once more. “I will be the model of a Scots gentleman.”
“That you most certainly shall. Or you will be forced to make a very ungentlemanly appearance at the foot of the stairs. In a heap.”
With a laugh he made his way down the great stone steps leaning heavily on her strength.
The stench of charred wood still clung to the lower rooms of the castle. Along the walls the rich tapestries, many of them woven a century earlier, hung in tatters. The fur-draped settles lay in a broken heap beside the fireplace, to be burned as needed. Blackened beams crisscrossed the ceiling, while soot-covered windows blocked all but a few jagged rays of sunlight.
A dozen men, stripped to the waist, strained beneath the weight of the trunk of a giant tree that was being lifted, by a series of ropes and pulleys, to the ceiling, where it would replace a beam destroyed by fire.
When the men spotted Brice they called and shouted their greetings. Those not engaged in the effort at hand crowded around him and clapped him on the shoulder or embraced him warmly.
Angus, in charge of a work crew, shouted a few orders before hurrying forward to greet his old friend.
“We had hoped to have all of this completed before you had a chance to see the damage.”
Staring about him, Brice’s tone was almost reverent. “From the looks of things it is a miracle that all was not lost. How did you manage to save Kinloch House, old friend?”
“Everyone helped,” Angus said modestly. “The servants worked alongside our men until they could no longer stand. I saw men beating out the flames with their bare hands. And I saw women remove their skirts and use them against the fire. But in the end, we won.”
“And now you labor to restore what was destroyed.”
“It is good work. It has brought all of us together for a common goal. The anger we feel toward Gareth MacKenzie drives us, feeding our energy.”
Brice cast an admiring look at his old friend, then turned to where Jamie and several men were planing a second timber.
“I thought it was time the lad learned other than battle skills,” Angus said quietly.
With Meredith’s assistance, Brice walked closer.
Jamie gave him a wide smile. “Bowen says I will soon be able to work alone, with only a bit of assistance from him.”
“Then you must be doing a fine job. Bowen is the most skilled woodsman in our company.”
Jamie beamed at the praise. Though he continued working, he often looked up to watch as Brice moved about the great hall. Leaning on Meredith’s arm Brice walked slowly about, stopping often to talk with the men.
When Mistress Snow announced that their meal was ready in the refectory, the men set down their tools and pulled on their tunics before following their leader from the room.
It pleased Meredith to see Brice join his men at table. Servants passed around steaming bowls of soup and freshly baked bread. Joints of mutton and breasts of pheasant rounded out the meal, along with tankards of mead and ale. Although Brice ate sparingly, he seemed to gain strength just being a part of this jovial company.
When the others finished their meal, Brice stood and leaned heavily on Meredith’s arm.
“Would you like to continue to watch the men, my lord, or would you prefer the solitude of your chambers?”
“It was good to join my men once more. They have renewed my vigor.” He leaned closer and murmured, “But I believe the silence of my room will not seem nearly as confining as it did earlier.”
As they climbed the stairs Meredith was surprised at the strength in him. In no time he would be well enough to sit a horse and wield a sword.
She experienced a stab of momentary regret. For these long days and nights she had been given a special gift. She had been forced to watch him lie helpless, had gloried in his healing, and come to learn a great deal about the Highland Barbarian. He was a true warrior, who would not give up even when all were against him. He was a man of high moral principles, despite the legend and lies that had sprung up about him. He was a man much loved by his people. And he was a man who had come to mean a great deal to her. When he was strong enough to return her to her people, she would miss him.
That thought shocked her.
She pushed open the door to his chambers and took his arm. “I asked Mistress Snow to prepare your bed.”
They crossed the sitting chamber, then entered the dimly lit sleeping chamber. A fire had been set in the fireplace. Candles had been lit in the sconces set along the wall. The snowy linens had been turned down in preparation for his return.
She eased him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I will be in your sitting chamber, my lord. If you desire anything, you need only call to me.”
“Do not leave me.”
When a look of pain touched his features, she knelt before him, her brow furrowed with concern.
“You are unwell. Where does it hurt, my lord?”
“Here.” He touched a hand to a spot on his chest.
“But you were not wounded there.” As she reached up he caught her hand and pressed it to his heart.
“Can you feel it?” His voice was low, hushed.
> “Feel what?”
“The way my heart thunders when you touch me.”
“My lord...”
As she tried to pull away he caught her hand and held it, palm flat against his chest. Though he held her as tenderly as a fragile flower, she could feel the carefully controlled power in his grip.
His words were softly seductive. “You said that if I desire anything, I need only call you.”
“Aye, but...”
“I desire you, Meredith. You are the first thing I see when I awake, and the last I see before I close my eyes. Even in my dreams you are there, touching me, arousing me. All these long days and nights I have wanted you. And now that I am strong enough, I want to show you how I feel.”
“You must not.”
“I cannot let you go, my lady.”
“I believe I have something to say about that.”
“Nay.” His voice was gruff. “You do not.”
He pulled her firmly against him. She brought her hands to his chest as if to hold him at bay. But it was already too late. His mouth covered hers.
This was no tender kiss, no gentle brushing of mouth to mouth. With an urgency that stunned them both, Brice poured out all the longing, all the needs, that had been building inside him for so long.
What was even more shocking, Meredith returned his kiss with a passion that left them both reeling.
Where had it come from, this need, this hunger? How long had it been growing inside them?
When they should have pulled apart they continued clinging to each other, his mouth avid, seeking, her mouth hungry for more.
“I want you, Meredith. God in heaven, how I want you.” At his words she went very still. For days now, while she had hovered about his still form, praying that he would find the strength to recover from his wounds, she had known. No other man would ever mean as much to her as Brice. No other man could touch her with a single word, a single look.
But wanting someone was not enough. If she gave herself to the Highland Barbarian, she would be sullied in the eyes of every other man in Scotland.
And yet, her heart whispered, even that would no longer matter. There was no other man in all of Scotland who could ever own her heart. There was only this man. Her love for him crowded out all other thought.
She continued to kneel, trapped between his knees, while he rained kisses on her upturned face. His lips skimmed the corner of her lips, her cheek, her temple.
Highland Barbarian Page 14
