Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  “What?” Duncan asked.

  Sean swallowed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Tall with willowy limbs, Gyllis had always reminded Sean of a meadow nymph. Chestnut locks framed porcelain skin and her moss-green eyes encircled by rings of black could captivate any man. “Your sister grows more radiant every time I see her.”

  “Which one?”

  Bloody hell, Duncan knew. Sean gripped his tankard and took a long pull on his ale. “I suppose Highland lassies are more appealing after a man’s taken a turn in the Lowlands.”

  “Aye?” Duncan frowned. “Well, nothing’s changed. Friends and sisters do not mix—Lusty Laddie, you’ve tainted my opinion by all the womanizing we did as lads. Bloody oath, you’ll never put those lecherous hands on one of my sisters. You may be the best man I know with a sword.” Duncan glanced at Sean’s crotch. “And I’m referring to the one you carry on your hip. Pray you keep that in mind over the next few days.”

  True, Sean liked the ladies as much as the next man—mayhap better—and he’d earned the moniker Lusty Laddie, but it appeared Duncan had forgotten his own wayward womanizing. Those carefree days hadn’t been all that long ago. Sean cleared his throat.

  Gyllis caught Sean’s eye and stopped mid-stride. She pursed her pouty lips as if gasping. Then she smiled and fluttered a wave. The corner of Sean’s mouth turned up like a simpleton.

  “MacDougall?” Duncan jabbed him with an elbow.

  Sean glanced at his friend. “How do you recommend I react? Pretend your sister doesn’t exist?”

  “Aye, that’s exactly what you should do.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy admiration. Besides, I’ll be heading back to the borders in a fortnight, thanks to you.” Sean bit down and tore a piece of meat from his chicken leg. “How have you fared finding a match for each of your four sisters?”

  “Wheesht.” Duncan eyed him. “That is none of your concern.”

  “Too right. And as I recall, you lifted lassies’ skirts first and asked their names after.” Sean picked up his tankard and guzzled it. Christ almighty, he didn’t come to the games to flirt with some bonny lass deemed too good for him due to his friendship with her brother. Nay, it mattered not that he was to inherit the Chieftainship of Dunollie. Nothing Sean could say would make a difference to Duncan Campbell, the Lord of Glenorchy, unless he agreed that his sisters all marry above their stations.

  He swallowed and glanced up. Then he nearly spewed his ale across the table. Bloody hell, Miss Gyllis stood opposite him, looking more radiant than she had at the far end of the hall.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Sean,” she said with a smile and a curtsey. “’Tis lovely to see you at the games again this year.”

  Must the temptress sound like a heavenly angel?

  Sean’s chair scraped the floor as he hastened to stand. Then the flimsy piece of furniture clattered to the floorboards. “Miss Gyllis, how delightful to see you.” Bowing, he feigned his best attempt at nonchalance, ignoring the toppled chair behind.

  The lassies around her giggled.

  Sean bowed again. “Ah…All of you.” He grinned at Gyllis like he was still wet behind the ears.

  “Take a seat and eat or be gone the lot of you,” Duncan said. “Pick up your chair MacDougall. Bless it, you act like you’ve never seen a lassie before.”

  “Pardon me, ladies.” Sean hoped to God he hadn’t turned red and stooped to right his seat. “It has been several months since I had the pleasure of such fair company.” He raised an eyebrow at Duncan, the bastard. He might be a close friend, but he was a complete arse when it came to his sisters.

  “We’ve already dined.” Helen tugged Gyllis’s arm. “Come. I’m dying to see all the wares on display.”

  “A moment.” Gyllis smiled, looking sultrier than any young maid ought. “Will you be at the feast tonight, Sir Sean?”

  “Aye.”

  She blessed him with a radiant smile. “Will you dance with me?”

  “Gyllis.” Duncan rapped the butt end of his eating knife on the table. “It is not your place to ask a knight to dance.”

  Sean would have liked to grasp her hand across the table, but the blasted board was too wide. He settled for a deep bow. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Gyllis.”

  “I shall see you this eve then.” She dipped her head politely before being steered off the dais by her sisters.

  Her tresses hung down her back in waves and swished across her shapely hips. Even with layers of skirts, her feminine form enticed. Sean rubbed his fingers together, imagining her hair to be finer than silk. No other lass in the hall came close to Gyllis Campbell’s beauty. Unfortunate. If Sean had a mind to court anyone, it would be she. But the Lord of Glenorchy sitting beside him would ensure things never progressed that far.

  Duncan pointed to the trencher. “Are you planning to eat that?”

  “Huh?”

  “The breast.” Duncan reached across and snatched the last piece of chicken. “Are you entering all-around, or are you specializing this year?”

  Sean’s shoulder ticked up. “No use being here without going for a chance to win the purse.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “You as well?”

  “Aye, as long as I’m here keeping an eye on your uncle for my uncle, I may as well enjoy myself.”

  Sean chuckled. “Lorn and Argyll—the age-old feud. By rights we should be fierce enemies.”

  “If it was up to our betters we would be.” Duncan shoved the last bite of chicken into his mouth. “Thank God my father saw the benefit of uniting the clans. No one in Scotland can match the enforcers.”

  Sean held up his tankard. “And so may we continue to keep the peace.”

  Duncan raised his cup and tapped it to Sean’s. “Slàinte.”

  “Slàinte.”

  Sean glanced toward the doors. Every muscle in his back clenched. That damned Alan MacCoul had Gyllis’s hand clasped between his filthy mitts. Worse, she was smiling at him, giggling even. Her voice rang out above the hum of the crowd.

  He grasped his chair’s armrests, ready to spring, watching the bastard bend at the waist and plant a kiss on the back of her hand. Gyllis nodded politely, just as she had done to Sean a few moments ago.

  Duncan sat forward. “What’s that slithering snake doing?”

  Sean shot him a sidewise glance. “Proving he’s an unmitigated arse. Unfortunately, he’s a member of my clan. I shall deal with his impertinence.” Sean pushed back his chair, but by the time he strode to the dais stairs, Alan MacCoul had already shoved through the crowd as if he were planning to dine at the high table.

  He traipsed directly to the base of the steps. “MacDougall, I thought I’d find you near the food.”

  “’Tis a common place to gather at the noon hour.” Sean failed to understand why Alan had always been able to skate by with his impertinence. Even when they were lads Alan had been a bully—and older to boot. Sean would turn up with a black eye or worse, and the Chieftain of Dunollie would grab Sean’s chin and pinch. Hard. “A little bullying will make you strong, son. Next time Alan challenges you, stand your ground—prove to me you’re worthy to be chieftain.”

  Well, that had been close to impossible when they were lads, given three years difference in age. However, now that they were grown, it was another story. Sean stood a good hand taller than Alan, and fighting the weasel would provide no sport whatsoever.

  Alan didn’t try to mount the steps to the dais, but Sean could have sworn he caught a covetous glint in his eye.

  The slithering snake smirked. “I’m surprised to see you here with news of your father’s illness.”

  Sean knit his brows. He’d only had a fleeting moment with Da prior to departing for the games. He’d been home long enough to gather fresh clothing. Aside from a fever, Da had a cough, but dismissed it as a passing ailment. What more did Alan know? The bastard always had his nose in the family’s affairs. Why, Sean wouldn’t be sur
prised if he’d served his father with a tincture that had made him sick. “Da said he’d be along in a day or two.” Sean shrugged. “But ’tis no concern of yours.”

  Alan’s eyes grew dark.

  Duncan moved in beside Sean. “State your business, MacCoul, then I suggest you head further down the hall and sit with your own kind.”

  The shorter, but stocky man sneered. “Just came up to tell Sir Sean I aim to win the tournament this year.”

  Duncan threw his head back with a deep, rumbling laugh.

  But Sean clenched his fists. If the hall weren’t full of women and children, he’d gladly challenge the errant scourge to a duel of swords. Now isn’t the time. “Well then, it will be my privilege to hand you the purse should you be victorious.” He’d meant it as a jibe and it sounded so.

  “That would give me great satisfaction—though I believe I’d prefer the gift to come from the Lord of Lorn’s hand. After all, he’s an earl.”

  Duncan clapped Sean’s shoulder. “Come. Lady Meg gave me a list of items to purchase at the fete. I could use a hand.”

  Alan blocked the stairs, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Two knights heading out on a woman’s errand?”

  Sean clambered down and stood on the bottom step, towering over the cur. “A knight’s code of chivalry is something you would know nothing about.”

  Duncan barreled down and pushed past Alan’s shoulder. “Come MacDougall, we’ve no time to wag tongues with a sniveling whoreson.”

  Sean gave Alan one last glare—narrowed his eyes so he’d know this wasn’t over. Perhaps it was a good thing he’d have the chance to beat Alan MacCoul in the games. He’d issue the smug toad some long-awaited humble pie.

  Chapter Two

  For the first evening feast of Beltane, Gyllis sat in the great hall with her sisters wearing a green damask kirtle and matching veil, held in place by a bronze circlet. All the lasses were dressed to astound—one thing Mother never failed to impress upon the Campbell sisters—Clothes maketh the lady. Gyllis did not admire fine gowns as much as Ma, but she couldn’t discount the fact that a noblewoman’s dress indeed was important to society.

  Mother and Duncan had gained places at the high table with the Lord of Lorn at one end and the Earl of Argyll at the other. The two highest ranking men in the hall glared at each other like caged dogs and Gyllis was happy to be sitting away from the stuffy posturing and politicking upon the dais.

  Alice pointed toward the door. “Alan MacCoul just arrived with an impressive retinue. Is he a knight?”

  “He looks gallant like a knight,” said Marion.

  Gyllis tore off the butt end of bread and tossed it at the twins. “Sillies. Do you not know anything? He’s a bastard.” She cringed. Alan had stopped her earlier that day and had been a tad too familiar, grasping her hands and telling her how lovely she looked. She’d tried to be polite though there was something sinister in his stare. Gyllis couldn’t put her finger on it, but those lignite eyes made her uneasy.

  Helen raised the ewer of watered wine. “Looking at his ceremonial armor, I’d say he’s a wealthy bastard.”

  Alice craned her neck to better see him, making a blatant show of ogling. “Aye, he must have ample property.”

  “Good heavens, Alice, turn around. You’re making a fool of yourself.” Gyllis eyed her sister across the table. “You’d best set your sights a wee bit higher. Duncan would never approve of an untitled man.” She leaned forward to whisper. “No one even knows who his father is.”

  Alice clapped a hand over her mouth. “That does sound like a scandalous story.”

  Marion giggled. “At least he’s handsome if ill-bred.”

  A servant placed a trencher of roasted meat and stewed vegetables in front of Gyllis. “Thank heavens the food’s here. Your minds have run amuck from hunger.”

  “Pardon me, is this seat taken?” The deep voice came from behind.

  Gyllis cringed. Alan MacCoul had moved out of sight. Please no. She feigned an annoyed frown and turned. Her heart hammered in rapid succession. “Oh my.” She smiled broadly and scooted aside on the bench, squeezing into Helen. “Of course, we would love to have you join us.”

  Sir Sean grinned. He could melt an entire slab of butter with his smile—straight, white teeth, bold jaw with a neat and closely cropped beard. His shoulder-length, dark brown hair and azure eyes made him look devilishly dangerous.

  The bench was so crowded, his thigh and shoulder pressed against hers. In any other venue, such touching would be indecent, but Gyllis couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Her heart fluttered and she leaned into him a bit more.

  “Sir Sean, Why are you not wearing your ceremonial armor?” Alice asked.

  “Honestly?” Sean shot a puzzled look to Gyllis. “That sort of pomp is only reserved for weddings and court appearances. I’m far more comfortable wearing a plaid and doublet.”

  “Alan MacCoul has donned his ceremonial armor.” Marion pointed. “Even the Lord of Lorn is sporting a silver breastplate.”

  Sir Sean’s shoulder ticked up, but a tempest brewed behind his eyes. “Mayhap I incorrectly assumed this eve to be a more casual affair. I’m afraid my uncle makes Beltane a greater spectacle every year.”

  “The church is insisting we call it May Day.” Gyllis lifted the trencher of meat and smoothed her shoulder against his as she offered it to him. “I think you are admirably dressed.”

  “My thanks.” Sean selected a thick piece of roast lamb with his eating knife.

  She replaced the tray. Helen nudged Gyllis with an elbow and she scooted flush against Sean’s thigh. Though she wore layers of skirts, his leg felt hard as stone. Goodness, with flesh as solid as his, he needs no armor. She dared glance his way. “Apologies. The hall is awfully crowded.”

  Sean faced her and lowered his lids, fanned with long, dark lashes. Gyllis liked that he had to cast his gaze downward to meet hers. So often she was self-conscious about her height, but Sean MacDougall stood at least a head taller.

  “Are you looking forward to Beltane?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she said. “The games will be great sport.”

  Helen leaned forward. “I hope the weather remains in our favor.”

  “Me as well.” Sean held up his eating knife. “I prefer running on dry ground.”

  “I’m looking forward to the Maypole dances,” Alice said.

  Marion licked her lips. “And pigs on the spit—nothing better than pork roasted over an open fire.”

  “Mm, I can practically taste it now.” Under the table, Sean’s fingers brushed Gyllis’s thigh. “And you? What are you looking forward to on the morrow?”

  “Everything.” She inhaled, her heart hammering like a snare drum. Sir Sean smelled of rosemary soap and spice. How undeniably intoxicating. Her eyelids fluttered while her head swooned. “Would you care to sit on our plaid…weather permitting of course?”

  He reached for his tankard as if considering.

  Gyllis could have kicked herself. Oh heavens, I’ve been too forward. He most likely has other plans. She flicked her hair with a toss of her head. “I’m certain Mother and Duncan will enjoy your company. After all, we haven’t seen you at Kilchurn Castle in ages.” Now I’ve done it. Why can I not keep my mouth shut?

  Sean sipped then offered a nod. “I’m not positive Lord Duncan will approve, but I would be remiss if I did not accept your generous invitation.”

  “You will?” Beneath the table, Gyllis clasped her hands, trying to quell her excitement. “Very well, then. I shall ensure I bring along a plaid of ample size for us all to sit upon.”

  She hesitated for a moment, wondering what she should say next. Did Sean agree because they had been friends for such a long time? Nine years her senior, she’d known him nearly all her life, looked up to him when she was a wee lass, and as a teenager, admired him. They’d shared many a glance across Kilchurn’s great hall, especially since she came into her majority. Gyllis had always inter
preted meaning into those glances. However, Sean had never been more than courteous—though he was a good dance partner when he wasn’t off on the king’s business with Duncan. She stole a sidewise glance at him then quickly looked at her plate.

  He’s staring at me. Surely that must mean something.

  The musicians moved into place on the balcony above—a fiddler, a drummer and a piper.

  Alice clapped her hands. “It looks like his lordship has planned country dances for this eve.”

  Gyllis stole another look at Sean—he was still staring and now grinning at her. “Ah…It looks like a plaid and doublet were the perfect choice for this evening’s dancing.”

  The fiddler started in on a reel and benches scraped across the floorboards. Sean stood and offered his hand. “I believe I owe you a dance, Miss Gyllis.”

  Her heart thrummed in tandem with the foot-stomping music. “You’re ever so kind, sir knight.”

  “You must dance with us all, Sir Sean,” Marion chimed.

  Gyllis wanted to tell her sisters to go find their own dancing partners. But that wasn’t the way of things at a Highland gathering. Everyone danced with everyone. At the moment, however, Gyllis rested her palm atop Sean’s powerful hand. Though they were barely touching, gooseflesh rose across her skin. She prayed this would be a very long reel indeed.

  ***

  Sean probably shouldn’t have agreed to sit with Gyllis and her family at the morrow’s Beltane feast, but her eyes had looked so hopeful, he couldn’t say no. Since his father was ill, as future Chieftain of Dunollie, Sean should keep company with his clan. But he wouldn’t worry about that now. He led the lovely lass to the dance floor, his thigh still tingling where it had been flush against hers. All he cared to do at the moment was watch her gracefully twirl in the crook of his arm.

  In a fortnight he’d return to the borders, sleeping in stables with a mob of smelly warriors. He could allow himself a modicum of enjoyment over the next sennight, even if Duncan Campbell didn’t exactly agree. Besides, the coming months would have no such pleasures. Sean was never one to buck a challenge, and he’d had been enamored with Gyllis since…since…honestly since she’d turned from a spoiled gap-toothed lass into a stunning woman.