“Why, prioress?” Fiona asked. “What is his interest in me?”
“From what I have heard, Lord Huntly was...well, an ardent suitor of your mother’s.”
“Do you mean he wanted my mother’s hand?”
“Aye, Fiona. I mean he was madly in love with her. He made no secret of it, and he always said he would someday win her back.”
“But he never did.”
“Nay, lass. He never did.”
Chapter 13
There I saw Nature present her a gown
Rich to behold and noble of renown,
Of every hue under heaven...
—William Dunbar “The Goldyn Targe”
Familiarity breeds contentment, Alec thought.
For the first few days, Fiona had been complaisant enough. In fact, she’d been better than he’d expected—following the lead, staying to herself, occasionally exchanging a word or two with Robert. And Alec had been at peace.
Then, starting a second week in the saddle, she’d become restless and agitated. Around mid-morning today, she’d galloped to the front of the line, where she and Alec had argued like tinkers over the fact that she’d wanted to ride in front with him. In too brusque a tone, Alec had adamantly refused, explaining the dangers, the difficulty of protecting her there.
But Fiona hadn’t listened. When Alec had demanded that she get back, she’d called him names. Finally, after he’d threatened to gag her and tie her to her horse, she’d called him a bully and had marched back to the middle of the pack. She had ignored him since.
He missed her harassment.
Alec knew his disposition had gone downhill from the moment the group had left the Priory gates. All along the way there had been people waiting for them as they went by; crofters and fishermen, MacLeods and MacDonalds, even lepers had come out to wish her farewell. At every turn there had been an emotional outpouring for her. But his response to this attention had grown progressively sullen. After all, for the safety of all involved, he had wanted to leave the island covertly, without too many knowing which way they planned to travel. But with everyone in Skye seeming to know about their route, Alec was certain that the whole of Scotland also knew.
It certainly appeared that he’d been correct. After crossing to the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh, they had been surprised by a crowd of well-wishers who had gathered at the dock. But the murmurs of support that went through the throng were directed not at a king’s daughter. Alec had heard the voices, and he’d heard the word “angel” over and over, like a chant. Like a prayer.
But he had worried as they’d crowded close around her—reaching out, touching her. He knew that his fellow Highlanders’ belief in the supernatural was deeply rooted and strong. And Fiona was a living incarnation of that faith. He now knew that her deeds had long ago become legendary in this part of the country and that it was only natural for news of her real identity to travel ahead of them like a brushfire across a moor.
But he could not risk future scenes like this. She had no fear. No reservation. In every instance, despite Alec’s objection, Fiona had dismounted and joined the peasants. It was amazing how the people poured their hearts out to her and how she responded. She was all compassion and kindness. All generosity and tenderness. Alec glowed inwardly with a sense of pride looking on her, but he forced himself to focus on his task. Her safety was at stake.
When had her safety not been on his mind? Concerns had been dogging him the entire trip, but not without good reason. The attack on Fiona had not been a matter of her simply being an available victim for the outlaws.
Not long after Neil MacLeod had left Skye, a nagging idea had occurred to Alec. It was at least possible that Neil MacLeod himself had instigated the attack on Fiona. But Neil was not a thinking man. He followed orders, and that bothered Alec even more. And the gold they had discovered on the dead men after the attack had only confirmed Alec’s theory.
There were powers out there that wanted her destroyed. The potential enemies and the list of motives were plentiful, and scattered across Scotland. There was Kathryn who, by having Fiona alive, would lose Drummond Castle and all that went with it. Then there were the men that had killed Fiona’s mother. It was very possible they were still alive. Would Fiona be able to recognize them? While she’d been on Skye, after the attack, Alec had made certain that she was guarded and watched all the time. But here in the open countryside, it was a different story.
So as they continued, he had pushed them to travel at a breakneck pace. They had ridden late into the darkness each night, and started out early, sleeping and stopping for only the hours needed to rest themselves and the horses. Alec had planned it so they would skirt villages when they could, following the mountains and the lochs east into the Highlands and finally crossing Loch Ness where it narrowed beneath the impressive profile of Ben Nevis.
Now they were only two days’ ride away from Benmore Castle, and Alec was all too aware of the weary but stalwart face of Fiona all day. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize her health by pushing too hard.
The warriors and the squires were busy setting up camp on the edge of the shimmering Loch Lochy. Above them, a bluff was reflecting the golden light of the descending sun. Alec had been delighted to see the bluff and the ruined stone tower perched on top of it, for this landmark was familiar ground. For the first time since they’d left the Isle of Skye, Alec was beginning to feel at ease.
Casting his eye around the bustling groups of men and horses, he searched for his sparring partner. This journey was taking forever, as far as Alec was concerned. So many nights staring up at the starlit sky, he’d wanted to go to her. Having her so close and yet so unreachable was becoming more intolerable with each passing day. And night.
But he’d forced himself to stay away, refusing to give in to longing on his part that might compromise her future.
Tonight, looking around him, he decided enough was enough. He ached for her company, for her barbed wit, for the pleasure of just being near her. That is, if she’d consent to even talk to him.
David was sitting on a fallen tree by the loch, eating his evening ration of oat cakes and dried meat with Robert. As Alec approached, the two looked up at him with a puzzled look on their faces.
“Well, where is our serene little dove?” Alec asked with a smile. “Out upbraiding the warriors for their mistreatment of the horses?”
They stared at him in silence for a moment, the drinking cup en route to Robert’s mouth frozen in his hand.
“She’s not with you?” David blurted out, leaping to his feet.
Alec looked hard at the two.
“Why would she be with me?”
“M’lord, she left a half hour ago,” Robert blurted out.
“Aye,” David broke in. “Robert told her you knew the connection between that tower up there and the late king.”
“She was asking...she said she was going to find out more,” Robert stammered.
“We thought she was going to ask you...”
Alec turned quickly, glancing up the bluff at the stone pile at the top.
“I’ll go after her,” he said. “There’s no telling what she might run into out here after the sun goes down. We don’t want to put any lions or wolves in any unnecessary danger.”
“Do you want me to come along?” David asked. “For safety’s sake?”
“Nay,” Alec said, patting the sword at his side. “I’m more heavily armed than she.”
Striding to where Robert had tethered Ebon, Alec leaped onto the bare back of the steed.
“Lord Alec,” David called walking up and tossing the rider a hastily assembled packet of food and drink. “She may be more amenable to coming back with you if you’re willing to take the time and show her the tower.”
Alec held the packet up quizzically. “And what is this for, bribery?”
They both laughed. Then, wheeling the horse toward the steep and winding trail leading to the summit, Alec disappeared into the
lengthening shadows.
Leaving the circuitous route the trail was following, Fiona directed her steps onto the steeper, more rugged path up the cliff face. Warm from the climb, Fiona had draped her cloak over one shoulder. She shook her hair free of its braid as she peered up at her goal. As she drew nearer and nearer to the top, she grew too caught up in her own excitement to pay any attention to the sun descending behind her. The old trail she was following was nearly obliterated by the leaves, briars, and ferns that clung to the rocky face of the bluff. When she felt the hem of her dress catch on an encroaching branch, Fiona hiked her skirt up, tucking the hem into the belt encircling her waist.
The sound of falling water came from somewhere above, and Fiona continued the final leg of her sojourn. The evening was warm, and the air on her legs felt good as she climbed.
Reaching a small gorge just below the summit, Fiona found herself facing a shallow and rocky pool surrounded by clumps of birch and green ferns. She breathed the fresh coolness of the air and dropped to her knees beside the clear, burbling water. Swinging her legs around, she removed her shoes and dipped her dusty feet into the cold, spring-fed pool with a slight shiver.
Fiona glanced up past the small waterfall to the tower, just a few yards above her. She’d made it, and a sense of satisfaction swept through her. There was no one around, and the quiet security of the glen offered the moment of peace Fiona had sought.
Tossing her cloak and shoes onto the bank, the young woman unlaced the top of her dress. Cupping the water with her hands, she began to wash the bare skin of her legs and her arms. Then she stopped and straightened up.
This is ridiculous, she thought, looking about her again. Wading to the bank, Fiona unfastened the belt that held the dagger Alec had given her. Then she quickly stripped off the soft wool dress, pulling her arms free and pushing the garment down over her hips. Standing in the glen in her chemise, she felt a sudden thrill of liberation as the warm breeze caressed her naked shoulders. Walking back into the pool, Fiona made her way into the deeper area beneath the falling water and submerged her shivering body in the cleansing spring-fed currents.
Surfacing, Fiona felt the gooseflesh rise at the cold shock of the water, but she enjoyed the sensation. It was a refreshing pause from the hot and demanding days in the saddle and from the strenuous climb. She swam back and forth in the confined space, wondering whether her absence had been discovered yet by those below.
Standing to squeeze the water from her long mane, Fiona paused and found herself wishing him here.
True, she was tired of riding in the grimy wake of Alec and his warriors, but she wanted to ride with him, talk to him. She had missed his attention, his wit, the lingering looks that made her skin come alive while those warm, liquid feelings filled her insides with longings she had never known.
And there were so many questions that she had. So many that she hoped Alec would answer. But he had been surly, ill-tempered, and had not been very receptive to her very civil advances.
Safety, my eye, she thought. What she’d already put up with was more than any reasonable person could possibly be expected to endure. Quietly, that is.
Today, she’d reached the end of her patience. She’d felt tired, filthy, and quite fed up with being treated like a cow on the way to market.
But she felt differently now.
Wading back to the edge of the pool, Fiona quickly pulled the wet chemise over her head and dried herself with her cloak. She was shivering uncontrollably by the time she put her dress back on. She tried to dry her hair as best as she could, then ran her fingers through the wavy mass. She hung her chemise on a nearby branch to dry. Then she sat on the cloak, leaning back on her hands, her head tipped back, her hair a blanket spread around her. She felt good, relaxed.
It was true, she had called him a few names. Good ones. They all seemed to fit. Well, she thought with a smile, not exactly.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the invigorating air. She certainly had not made life very easy for him today. She sighed, again wishing him here.
“Alec Macpherson,” she called out softly, smiling at the sound of the name in the serenity of the glade. The name suited him: strong, colorful, noble, beautiful.
“Aye, m’lady,” the voice responded from the rocky ledge above the pool.
She leaped to her feet. “You!” Fiona blurted, watching him perched comfortably on the rocks. “You scared me half to death.”
Alec stayed where he was, captivated by the sheer beauty of the woman before him. His hard ride up from the loch had been faster than Fiona’s climb, and he’d arrived at the base of the tower in time to catch glimpses of Fiona working her way up the face of the bluff. When she hadn’t gotten to the tower when he judged she would, Alec had started down, only to find her going into the clear waters of the pool.
When she’d begun to swim, he considered calling out to her, but then had quietly settled on the rocks, content to watch her at her simple pleasures, enraptured by the exquisite charm of the scene.
But then, when she had walked out of the water, her chemise clinging so provocatively to her perfectly sculpted body, Alec had stopped breathing. And when Fiona removed the thin wet undergarment, the young laird had thought his heart would burst through the wall of his chest.
She was a vision. Like some wood nymph, like some unearthly being, some goddess, gracing the waters of the glade with her beauty, with her very presence.
Suddenly, involuntarily, Alec averted his eyes. Etiquette called for him not to watch, to turn away, to offer this solitary Diana in human form the privacy she had obviously sought. But then Alec’s gaze swept back, drinking in the scene. For this was Fiona, the woman he loved, cherished, and desired. Solitude be damned.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fairy in her element before,” Alec said. “And I’m sure I’ve never heard one call my name under a greenwood tree.”
Fiona stood looking at him, her hands at her sides, unsure of whether she should deny the suggestion or not.
“Have you been...” She flushed. “Have you been there long.”
“Ages.”
With a nimble movement, the warlord leaped from his ledge to the bank beside the bubbling waterfall and strode to where Fiona stood.
“You weren’t watching me,” she declared hopefully. “You wouldn’t. Would you?”
Alec took her swiftly in his arms and drew her tightly to him, stopping her questions with a hard and thorough kiss. He drew his lips back from hers.
“You tell me, love.”
Fiona gasped for breath, her heart racing at the suddenness of his embrace. Where he held her waist tightly against his own body, she could feel his arousal hard against her.
“You are a scurvy rogue, Alec Macpherson,” she whispered. But the sound of her words lacked any sign of conviction, even to Fiona. Something within tingled at the thought of his eyes on her, of his hardened manhood pressing against her so intimately. She knew she was blushing madly. She grasped for something to say. Where is your wit now, she thought to herself. “It’s... it’s lovely here, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” Alec responded, never taking his eyes off of her. “It is lovely, indeed.”
Fiona’s eyes and his locked in an exchange of longing. Then the reality of the moment sank in, astonishing her. She wanted him. And the want was more than spiritual. It came to her plain and simple. It was physical. She wanted him to hold her, to run his hands over her, to kiss her...and more.
She had to step away, to clear her head, to calm the violent pounding of her heart. She gently pushed at his chest, and he released her.
Alec stepped back. Then, with a quick movement, he unfastened his sword from the leather belt at his waist, dropping the sheathed armament to the ground beside Fiona. She glanced up at him hastily, startled by the suddenness of the act.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Alec grinned mischievously, undoing the clan broach that
held his tartan in place. He dropped them both onto the sword. “I’m going for a swim.”
“With me here?” Fiona blurted.
“With you here,” he repeated seductively.
“You’ll do no such thing. You can find your own place.”
“Don’t they even teach sharing in that convent?”
“What?” She watched as he kicked off his boots, exposing his muscular calves.
“Sharing, Fiona.” He stole a quick kiss. Then, straightening, he started pulling the shirt out of his kilt. “Sharing. Of course you could, if you like, go swimming with me.”
“Swimming? With you?” Her voice trailed off as Alec removed his shirt, and she was confronted with his muscular chest.
Like a god he stood framed by the glowing light of the sun behind him. Like Phoebus Apollo he loomed. Magnificent. Fiona ached to reach out to him, to run her fingers across the rippling lines of his powerful warrior’s body. As if the wind had been knocked from her, she stood. Breathless.
“With me.” He slowly started taking off the thick leather belt that held his kilt in place.
“With nothing on?”
“Stark naked.” Alec whispered. “Would you like to?”
“What...what happens if someone comes by?”
“Nobody will,” he responded, finding himself aroused beyond belief at the possibility of Fiona taking him up on his offer. “There is only one way to get up here, and that’s blocked by my men below.”
Fiona couldn’t believe that she was actually contemplating his offer. And she was tempted. His mouth came down on hers again for another fleeting kiss. “Do you want me to help you undress?”
Fiona shook her head, looking at him wide-eyed. Her throat was as dry as an old bone. “Alec Macpherson, you’re a...you’re a rascal.”
Angel of Skye Page 21
