by Carmen Caine
She frowned.
“That scowl ‘tis a fine greeting,” he said with a chuckle. And then he held out his hand. “’Tis time for the midday feast. I’m fair starving, and ye look as if ye could use a good meal.”
“I’d rather have a mug of ale and a trencher of salted fish here,” she said, pointing to the pile of straw in the corner of Diabhul’s stall.
Alec’s keen eyes narrowed. He watched her a few moments before saying softly, “Ewan may surprise ye yet.”
Merry’s frown deepened. Ewan had surprised her already. Horribly. She wasn’t certain she cared for another such surprise. “In what way?” she asked sourly.
He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something, but finally thinking better of it, settled for shrugging his shoulders. “’Tis not for me to say, but come and keep me company at least. Am I not worthy of some kindness?”
There was seriousness in his tone that drew Merry’s gaze, and she tensed at the look in his eye. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw desire, but with his next words, she was certain she was wrong.
“Come now,” he insisted with a wink, still holding his hand out. “There’s a bonny green-eyed lass I’ve my eye on. Dinna keep me waiting.”
Taking a deep breath, Merry nodded, but with a marked air of reluctance, followed him back to the castle.
Hermitage Castle’s great hall was a hive of activity, but even in the broad light of day, the place was still depressingly gloomy.
A rather anemic looking lad sat by the fire with a lute in his hands, but he wasn’t playing a tune. Instead, he stared unblinkingly, allowing his fingers to idly drift over the strings.
Pushing through the crowd, Merry spied Ewan at the high table, sitting in an ornately carved chair with Iona at his side. He was handsome. Rugged. Radiating power and vitality. His voluminous white shirt was open at the neck, and his flaxen hair was loose, falling about his shoulders in a way that made her want to run her fingers through it.
Clenching her jaw, Merry shifted her gaze to Iona. Alec was gravely mistaken. How could anyone doubt Iona’s beauty? Clad in a fine white dress trimmed with gold-colored braid, she’d swept her flaming hair into a pearled net. A ruby hung about her neck, glittering on the swell of her bosom, and as she moved, the jewel caught the light of the candlelight.
When they reached the high table, Merry automatically dipped into a curtsey of greeting, but she’d scarcely begun before Alec caught her elbow with a quick laugh.
“Ye can pick it up later, lad,” he said, pulling her upright.
Realizing her error, Merry switched into a hasty, awkward bow and gritted her teeth. She was weary of playing the part of a lad, a part she played poorly.
The expression in Ewan’s eyes revealed that he hadn’t missed her mistake.
Iona’s face appeared as if it were carved of ice. There was no way to know what the woman thought other than the obvious fact that she wasn’t particularly pleased to see Merry standing before her.
“Ye must make room for Moridac at your table, cousin,” Alec said then. “The lad saved our lives. If not for him, we’d all be hanging in Hairibee now, most likely even Ewan.”
“My uncle would never have allowed it,” Iona disagreed, marring her perfect features with a frown.
“Make room,” Ewan ordered, settling back into his chair to idly twirl the stem of his goblet betwixt his fingers.
“Come.” Iona brightened then and pointed to the chair next to hers. “Moridac, sit here by my side and—”
“Nay,” Ewan interrupted her curtly and pointed to the already occupied seats by his side. “’Tis best that my men sit here.”
Iona’s face darkened, but after a few minutes of shuffling, two seats were soon emptied, and Merry found herself with Alec on one side and Ewan on the other.
“Tread softly, lad,” Alec warned in a murmur, tossing her an orange.
And then a servant brought a silver ewer filled with scented water to clean their fingers, and the feast began. As the musician began to strum the lute in a wandering melody, Iona leaned closer to Ewan and slipped a possessive hand onto his forearm.
He immediately shifted away.
She frowned and, twisting her ring around her finger, pointed to the pheasant. “I would have some of that delightful bird, my lord.”
Ewan remained silent but politely carved a savory slice of meat and set it upon her trencher. As she began to daintily pick at the meat, he speared the pheasant with his dagger once again, and removing the bird’s entire leg, this time dropped it calmly upon Merry’s trencher instead.
Iona made a sound of minor distress as Merry stiffened in alarm. She cast a quick glance at Ewan. ‘Twas unseemly for a man to serve a lad. Hoping no one had noticed, Merry quickly seized the leg and took what she thought to be a manly bite.
Alec chortled from her side.
“I didna know ye to be a fancy-fingered lad,” he said, meeting her quizzical expression with a challenging gleam in his eye. “Ye should eat more like a man. Mayhap ye’d have luck with the lasses then, aye? Allow me to show ye!”
And with that, he wrenched the pheasant’s remaining leg free and bit into it, tearing a large mouthful of meat off in a single bite. As the grease dripped down his chin, he cocked his brow at Merry and nodded. “Your turn, try again,” he said.
Merry scowled in disgust. She finally felt clean for the first time in weeks. But with a glare, she took a large bite and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand like she thought a man would.
It took several attempts to remove all the traces of sauce and grease from her face. And the fact that Alec chortled in outright amusement told her that she hadn’t quite succeeded.
Casting him a look of disapproval, Ewan leaned close to Merry. “Eat however ye please, lad,” he said firmly. “Alec is hardly a man to follow.”
But Alec just laughed and clutched his heart in mock pain. “I’m wounded by your words.”
Strangely uneasy at Ewan’s closeness, Merry reached for her goblet and took a generous mouthful. But she swallowed wrong and began to choke.
At once, both Alec and Ewan clapped her back.
“I’m fine,” she gasped at them both, keenly aware of Iona’s icy gaze locked upon her every move. “Truly,” she assured them, her voice growing stronger by the moment. “I’m a strong lad, aye?”
Alec chuckled a little at that and withdrew, but Ewan’s hand moved up to rest lightly upon her shoulder. He was very close. His thigh was pressed solidly against hers. And with his blue eyes penetrating hers, he slowly lifted his thumb to wipe a bead of wine from the corner of her mouth.
There was no denying the intimacy of the gesture, and Merry froze.
She knew she should move away. She couldn’t allow the man’s reputation to suffer when all in the castle knew her to be a lad. But it was impossible to wrench herself away. How could she ignore the flutters of delight rippling through her from the mere touch of his skin upon hers?
But then Alec’s hand clamped down upon her shoulder, and he pulled her back.
Ewan’s hand fell away.
“Would ye care for a wee bit more to drink, lad?” Alec asked, thrusting her goblet back into her hand.
Merry closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she remember that Ewan was a betrothed man? How could she allow herself such feelings?
She suddenly wanted to be away. Far away.
“I’ve never cared for this place,” Alec was saying as he cast an eye about the gloomy hall. “Some say the specter of the wicked Baron de Soulis wanders here.”
Grateful for the distraction, Merry cleared her throat and asked, “Wicked? And why was he so named?”
At her side, Ewan remained silent. She didn’t want to look at him. She could only imagine how angry Iona must be.
“Some say he ate the bairns of the village,” Alec continued lightly. “I dinna know if he truly ate them, but he was boiled in lead for some such cause. Boiled in a cauldron at the ancient stone circle, Ni
ne Stane Rig, not far from here—”
“Oh, dinna speak of such things,” Iona interrupted.
And then Merry had no choice but to look in the woman’s direction.
She’d been wrong. Iona wasn’t angry.
She was furious.
With her blue eyes locked upon Merry’s she leaned close and brushed her breasts along Ewan’s arm. “But I have nothing to fear,” she almost hissed. “I have a strong warrior to protect me, a man whose name alone brings fear into the eyes of the bravest of men.”
At that, Ewan rose abruptly to his feet, and without a word of explanation, quit the hall, disappearing under the darkened arch that led to Lothar’s chamber.
“Ye have him, do ye?” Alec asked his cousin in open amusement.
Iona’s eyes turned flat and hard as she gave a scornful laugh, and then with fire in her voice, she turned to Merry.
“You’re rather homely,” she said with a fierce little smile. “’Tis fortunate you’re not a lass. There wouldna be a prayer of a husband for ye then, aye?”
There was no doubt in Merry’s mind then.
Iona knew.
Chapter Nine – Dinna Tease a Dragon, Lass
After checking up on Lothar and finding him safe in the gentle hands of the redheaded maid, Ewan retreated to the priest’s chamber in search of parchment and a quill. The holy man received him cordially, inviting him inside with a sweep of his aged hand and then guiding him toward a table littered with a variety of parchment, inkpots, and quills.
Sitting carefully to lessen the pain in his side, Ewan selected two sheets.
He must write two letters: one informing Iona’s father that there would be no union between the MacLean and Hepburn clans. The other would be sent to Ruan MacLeod, to let him know that Merry was safe in his care.
Spreading the parchment upon the table, he dipped his quill into the clay inkpot and hurriedly scratched the first missive. Just as quickly, it was sealed.
And then pulling the second parchment onto the table, he smoothed his hand across it and addressed his longtime friend, Ruan MacLeod.
The quill tip scratched loudly across the paper in the silence of the chamber as he wrote the words explaining how Merry had saved their lives.
He paused then and smiled at the memory of their first meeting.
In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see the raven-haired lad standing outside his cell, holding the keys to set them free. Even then, her large brown eyes had sparkled with spirit.
Blinking a little, he focused his attention and, returning to his letter, described how valiant a lass he’d discovered her to be. Aye, she’d evaded the English soldiers through strength and cunning.
Again, his mouth quirked into a smile, a smile that made him realize he’d been smiling quite oft of late, something he’d thought never to do again.
Aye, it was because of Merry. Among many things, she’d helped him to remember how to smile. She’d done more than that though. In her presence, he felt more alive than he’d felt in a good long while. Alive in many ways.
The vein on his temple began to pulse.
Slowly, Ewan laid the quill down and absently ran a hand over his jaw.
He’d almost kissed her at the feast. And he would have, had not Alec pulled her back out of his grasp. The bead of wine upon her lips had beckoned him to taste them again in a slow, lingering kiss.
He arched a brow, surprised to find his heart was no longer empty. Instead, it was filled with a raw, aching need. Aye, a deep hunger that Merry alone could satisfy.
It was startling and yet felt so right.
He hadn’t been looking to fill his bed, but he knew now that he would. There was no denying the desire kindling deep within his soul, the desire for a bold lass with deliciously enchanting curves. A lass with succulent lips that he would claim deeply and make them his and his alone.
Aye, she’d done more than make him smile again.
Never had a lass enthralled him so. She not only held the power to make him breathless with a mere glance, but he also admired her courage, heart, and spirit.
And she made his blood boil.
He could not lose her. He would not lose her. At the mere thought of it, he was undone. He would see her lips swollen with his kisses; hear her scream his name in the throes of passion. Again and again. And she would belong to him and no other man.
Picking up the quill, he made his mind up at once.
In bold strokes, he informed Ruan that Merry was safe in his care, and that she was likely to stay there for the remainder of her days if he could win her heart as thoroughly as she’d won his.
He blew softly on the wet ink, reading what he’d written. Briefly, he wondered if Ruan would find him an acceptable suitor for his sister’s hand. And then, with a resolute nod, he sealed the letter.
Rising to his feet, he handed both missives to the priest who had kindly offered to dispatch them, and with the greatest of haste.
Then, with the man’s permission, he lowered his aching body down upon the narrow cot under the window and closed his eyes, intending to rest just for a moment.
* * *
As the servants circled the hall, adding fresh rushes to cover the wine and other spills, Merry pushed her trencher away, unable to eat one more bite. There was no reason to stay. Ewan hadn’t returned, and she was weary of Iona’s venomous company.
Raking her chair back from the table, Merry stood up, made a slight bow, and announced, “I’ll be off—”
Iona’s hard eyes fastened upon her at once. “I insist ye stay,” the woman interjected with open hostility.
“Dinna allow the beastie to torment ye, lad,” Alec advised Merry with a bored yawn. Rising to stand at her side, he leaned over Merry’s shoulder to level a stare at his cousin. “’Tis not as if ye are the Queen of Scotland, aye?”
Merry tossed him a warning scowl. There was no need to make Iona an outright enemy. But then a quick glance at the anger simmering within the woman’s eyes announced it was probably a wee bit too late for that already.
Iona’s nostrils flared. But with a false, placating smile, she replied acidly, “Forgive me, I truly meant no disrespect.”
No apology could have been more insincere.
Alec rolled his eyes. “Ye have an uncommonly sharp tongue, cousin, and ye’d best soften it or ye’ll be left with no choice other than to take the holy vows.”
She greeted this with a harsh intake of breath and a haughty, frigid glare.
Shaking his head, Alec helped himself to a generous handful of almonds. Then, taking Merry by the hand, he left the table, pulling her after him and leaving Iona sitting alone, fuming silently.
Once out of the hall, Alec released Merry but beckoned her to follow him. Walking swiftly down a dark corridor, he mounted the narrow steps that led to the ramparts outside.
The sun was bright overhead, but clouds threatened in the distance. The breeze that greeted them warned another storm was on its way.
Shading her eyes to admire the vast view spreading out before her, Merry took a deep breath of the fresh air and sighed.
“We shall be leaving soon, ye think?” she asked softly. “Mayhap on the morrow?” She didn’t even attempt to hide the pronounced wistfulness in her tone.
Alec didn’t respond at first. He simply stared straight ahead as if unseeing. Finally, he answered, “We’ll stay here at least a week, if not more.”
“A week?” Merry’s eyes widened in alarm. How could she bear an entire week of Iona fawning over Ewan? “Why?”
“Ewan’s still hu …” he began easily enough but paused and checked himself mid-word. With his green eyes still fixed upon the distant moorlands, he said, “There’s word that Ewan must wait for.”
Merry scowled and turned away, a leaden feeling weighing her heart. Aye, she recalled quite well that very morning Iona had informed Ewan that her father would arrive soon.
Marriage matters.
Well, Ewan had to wait to
discuss them, but that was scarcely reason for her to stay. In fact, it was all the more reason for her to leave. And Ruan was probably mourning her by now.
But then Alec’s strong fingers caught her chin in his hand. Forcing her eyes to meet his, he advised with a charming, lopsided grin, “Mind ye, ye canna let the harridan nettle ye so. Take this time to rest, aye? Ye look like ye could stand to eat a few more meals afore we ride again.”
He moved his fingers, letting his thumb trail the line of her jaw before dropping his hand.
The gesture made her pause. He was standing close, mayhap a wee bit too close. But that didn’t necessarily mean he meant it all in an intimate way.
Shrugging her imagination aside, Merry gave a tired laugh. “Ye speak words of wisdom, Alec,” she said, rubbing her neck. “I’ll not deny that this past month has been a taxing one.”
He winked and gave her his characteristic smile. “I’m always happy to lend an ear, lass. Ye look as if your lips have words to say.”
“Nay, not truly, I suppose …” She trailed off slowly.
They stood in a companionable silence, staring at the moors and gentle hills spreading out before them.
A strong wave of longing rolled over Merry.
She missed Skye.
“I suppose I’m pining just a wee bit for home,” she admitted in a soft whisper, surprising herself at speaking it aloud. But then, Alec’s presence had a comforting effect upon her, a relaxing one. So, she let the words tumble out. “I would see the mists creeping up from the bogs, and the burns flowing down to the sea. Aye, and I miss the perfume of bog myrtle, and riding Diabhul on the yellow coral beaches. I even miss the wailing cries of the gulls surfing the winds over the Maidens…” Her throat swelled with yearning, and she couldn’t speak.
Alec stood close. She could feel his eyes upon her. And then, he noted quietly, “Skye. You’re from Skye.”
His voice held a husky note, and Merry glanced up sharply.
There was no denying it. His green eyes looked down upon her with desire.
Strangely, she didn’t move back.
Their eyes caught and held and then, lowering his head, he murmured into her ear, “Tell me, what is your name?”
