Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  “Aye?” Jinny didn’t let it rest. “And how is she recuperating? You ken, some folks are never the same again after a bout of paralysis.”

  “Gyllis will come good, mark me.” He flicked his hand toward the door. “Off with you now.”

  ***

  The next morning, Sean couldn’t say what throbbed more, his head or his blasted shoulder. But he wasn’t about to call Jinny and ask for another application of her salve. Listening to her bloody opinions was worse than the pain. Besides, he had an ugly duty to perform and he might as well be in a foul mood for it.

  He grimaced as he pulled on his shirt. He could scarcely lift his left arm. He reached for the flagon, but he’d drunk the damn thing dry. The chambermaid brought in a tray. “Angus said they’ll be ready once you’ve broken your fast, m’laird.”

  “Is everyone looking after my health?”

  “Aye. Everyone kens you didn’t eat a thing all day yesterday and your shoulder is on the verge of turning putrid, and if you do not take care of it you’re going to end up like your da and we’ll not have a chieftain to replace you.”

  Sean stared at the lass. Now a skinny wisp of a girl was spewing the same rubbish he’d heard from Jinny?

  She handed him a spoon and curtsied. “For your porridge, m’laird.”

  He snatched it from her and pointed to the door. “Go. Tell Angus I’ll be down momentarily.”

  Sean had half a mind to leave the food, but it smelled too good. His stomach rumbled. Cook hadn’t missed a thing, porridge, eggs, bacon and haggis. Suddenly ravenous, he ate every bite and then headed down to face his duty.

  By the time Sean walked into the courtyard, Angus had the prisoners lined up on the gallows with their hands bound and nooses around their necks. The man-at-arms had carried out his duty efficiently, without a qualm.

  Sean surveyed the faces of his men, all standing as witness to the hanging. Gawen stood away from the others on the far end. “Gawen, how do you know these men?” Sean asked.

  The lad looked up as if shocked the chieftain knew his name. “Pardon, m’laird?”

  “You heard me.” Sean scowled. “Come forward and tell us about these scoundrels.”

  “I-I do not know them.”

  “Very well. Then you’ll have no qualms kicking the stools out from under these outlaws’ feet?”

  The lad blanched. “N-no, m’laird.”

  Sean nodded at Angus who grasped Gawen by the arm and led him up the gallows’ steps.

  The cleric stepped forward and opened a scroll. “For the crime of attack on Sir Sean MacDougall, Chieftain of Dunollie with intent to do harm, you are sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”

  Gawen hesitated at the first stool. The lad glanced at Sean over his shoulder with fear in his eyes. Sean gave him a thin-lipped nod. Turning slowly, Gawen kicked the stool, followed by a clatter, a twang of the rope and a crack, breaking the man’s neck. Death was never a pretty sight, even when it was done to rid the world of murderers—men who placed no value on human life. Sean had no idea how many people these men had killed or how many women they might have raped.

  In the somber moment of the misty dawn only one thing was certain. Not one would live to pillage another day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sean mounted his horse and drove the beast like he was running from the devil. Aye, he’d attended hangings before, but he’d never presided over one as Chieftain of Dunollie. The image of the men swinging from their nooses, their feet kicking like beheaded chickens would be seared on his memory forever. Would he pass such severe punishment if again faced with the same circumstances? Yes. There would be no question. If not dealt with relentlessly, lawlessness would pervade Dunollie lands and his clan would suffer the consequences.

  He rode full tilt all the way to Ardchattan Priory. When he pounded the knocker, the monk who answered didn’t even ask him his purpose—one look at Sean’s face and the man opened the door. “Miss Gyllis is in her cell.”

  “My thanks,” Sean mumbled, carrying the crutches as he strode past.

  Though he wanted to rush in and gather her in his arms, hold her for hours and ask her to take away the agony caused by hanging four brigands, he stood at the door and watched. She worked the embroidery needle, making painstakingly small stitches—something he knew would be difficult for her. The concentration on her face made his heart squeeze, but it wouldn’t be right to try to help. She was a determined lass and would regain her strength as a result.

  Something in her determination, her concentration soothed him. When he watched Gyllis, the evils of the world faded as if they no longer mattered. With Gyllis, his soul sailed to an island of peace.

  When Sean rested the crutches against the wall, she looked up. “Sean!” She cast her sewing aside. “Thank heavens you’re safe.”

  The corner of his mouth ticked up. “You heard?” He had hoped she would have been spared the burden.

  “I’ve been so worried, I could scarcely think of anything else.” Gyllis reached for his hand. “John reported you had injuries.”

  He kissed her hand and sat on the stool. “Just a bruise to the shoulder.” He kept her palm in his. The softness of her skin soothed him as did the depth of the concern reflected in her eyes. The tension in his neck eased. “I hanged four outlaws today.”

  “My God.” Gasping, she clapped her free hand over her mouth. “How awful.”

  “I hope ’tis not something I have to do often. I’d much rather fight a man than tie his hands and hang him—even if he is a scoundrel.”

  “But you risk injury by fighting.”

  Sean said nothing. Painfully aware of the open door behind him, all he could do was stare into those eyes. Gyllis could caress his soul with a single look. And from her expression, he could read so much. She cared as deeply for him as he did her. So intense was the current holding their stares, he could not bring himself to look away.

  Gyllis smiled, her dimples melting the tension from his shoulders to the base of his spine. “And what are you thinking about, sir knight?”

  Sean grinned. “Why, the winsome maiden seated before me, miss.” With her tiny gasp, his blood rushed like a white-capped river.

  He raised her hand to his lips, closed his eyes and kissed. There in that room with monks wandering about the halls, he was completely and utterly entranced with this woman. He’d never met anyone who could calm his deepest agony with a look. Her pulse thrummed a steady rhythm beneath his lips. If only they could be alone.

  Long lashes shuttered those green eyes and for a brief moment, Sean felt lost.

  “I know not what to say,” she whispered, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

  He raised her chin with the crook of his finger. “Sometimes more is said with a look than with words.” He gestured to the wall behind. “I’ve returned your crutches complete with sheepskin armrests.”

  She looked past him and beamed. “They are marvelous, and I’m certain I’ve grown stronger since your last visit.”

  “Do you think you can make it out to the garden?”

  “I’m sure I can.” She clapped her hands. “If I could use those things to walk outside the cloistered walls I would. I’ve felt so cosseted, what I wouldn’t do to sit a horse with the wind in my hair.”

  Sean fetched the crutches. “Well, let us start by taking a stroll out into the sunshine.” He chuckled. The Gyllis he’d grown up with had gradually returned and gone was the skeletal, bitter lass. She’d put on a wee bit of weight and maneuvered her crutches with lip-biting determination. Aye, she indeed was a woman to be admired.

  ***

  Though Sean hadn’t been able to visit the priory as often in the past few sennights, Gyllis’s heart swelled every time she saw him stride through the cloisters. Long legged, tall, and incredibly handsome, her problems faded into oblivion when the young chieftain came to call.

  And on account of his generosity, in the past fortnight she had beco
me more adept with her crutches. How wonderful it was to regain a modicum of freedom and tend to her most personal needs without a monk’s aid.

  Today she and Brother Wesley were working in her tiny chamber due to a bout of morning drizzle. After John and Sean had their disagreement, her brother required the monk to keep the door ajar when he ministered to her within. Gyllis pulled her woolen mantle around her shoulders. “’Tis difficult to believe only yesterday the sun provided a balmy day.”

  “Are you cold?” Brother Wesley asked. His voice always sounded so serene, it calmed her directly.

  She tried not to shiver. “A wee bit.”

  “Shall I light the brazier?”

  “Oh no, ’tis early yet, I’m sure the day will warm. Mother always says ’tis a waste of peat to burn it during the summer months.”

  “Your mother is a wise woman.”

  Gyllis reflected on her carefree upbringing at Kilchurn Castle. Ma had a way of running an efficient keep for certain. “I suppose she is.”

  “I have no doubt of her wisdom. Your brother is still young and is already a prior.” He stopped massaging and arched his eyebrows. “Then there’s Lord Duncan. He’s one of the most powerful men in the Highlands—both men raised by your mother.”

  Gyllis smiled, though her heart squeezed. “Do not forget our father was Black Colin of Rome. He had something to do with our rearing for certain and his legacy alone will transcend generations.”

  Wesley grinned. “That it will.”

  “Good morrow,” a deep voice came from the corridor.

  Gyllis’s heart leapt. “Sir Sean, what a pleasant surprise.”

  The good-looking laird strode inside, barely acknowledging Brother Wesley. “I have a surprise for you, m’lady.” He grinned, his teeth flashing white, framed by the shadow of his beard. The chieftain’s dark features and crystal blue eyes could stop her heart.

  Her cheeks grew hot. She loved it when he referred to her as m’lady, though as a baron’s daughter, her proper title was miss. Perhaps one day she would be able to again hope to marry into nobility. Gyllis’s insides fluttered with anticipation. “Do tell me what it is.”

  Sean held out a lady’s riding crop. “I’ll wager you are well enough to sit a horse.”

  Gyllis clapped her hands. “Oh my, I’d love to ride again.”

  Brother Wesley stood. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

  “Why ever not?” Gyllis asked.

  Spreading his palms to his sides, the monk looked incredulous. “Do you realize how dangerous it is? What if the horse rears and you were to fall? Besides, it takes strength of arm to ride.”

  Sean’s fists snapped to his hips. “I assure you, we will exercise the utmost care.”

  “My arms have nearly made a full recovery.” Gyllis grasped the crop. “Besides, it isn’t as if I’ve never ridden before.”

  “But ’tis raining,” Wesley persisted. “You could catch your death.”

  “Hardly a drop fell from the sky during my ride from Dunollie.” Sean collected the crutches from where they were propped against the wall. “Come, Miss Gyllis. Your gelding awaits.”

  With a huff, Brother Wesley strode toward the door. “Do not complain to me if riding a horse sets you back sennights and ruins all my work.”

  Gyllis watched the monk walk away, mumbling something akin to “ungrateful lass”. But his uncharacteristic chagrin didn’t dissuade her. She smiled up at Sean. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him irritated. I’m afraid he’s none too happy about your idea.”

  Sean offered his hand. “If it were up to that pasty monk, you’d still be abed so he could run his fingers along your thighs through eternity.”

  Gyllis placed her palm in his and allowed Sean to pull her up. “Oh please, Brother Wesley wants to see me well just as you do. He just doesn’t have an adventurous spirit like yours.”

  Sean kissed her hand before giving her a crutch. “I doubt that.”

  “You are insufferable.” She grasped it.

  “How so?”

  “You think that poor monk ogles me at his every chance.”

  “I don’t think it.” Sean slid the second crutch under her arm. “I ken he does.”

  Gyllis giggled. “Take me to this horse before I’m forced to wallop you with one of these crutches.”

  He bent down and nuzzled into her ear. Goodness, he smelled fresher than a pine forest. “A fine lady like you wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  Tickles flitted all the way up her neck. If only her confidence would return, she might steal a wee kiss. “I cannot wait for you to spirit me away.”

  Performing an exaggerated bow, he gestured toward the passageway and pulled her cloak from the peg on the wall. “Very well, m’lady.”

  When they reached the stables, Sean’s man, Angus, led an old gelding up to them. Holding her hand to his nose, Gyllis let the horse smell her and then ran her fingers through his sorrel mane. “You’re a kind fella, are you not?”

  Sean placed his warm palm on her waist. “If you’ll pass Angus your crutches, I’ll give you a lift.”

  Her insides jumped like a swarm of butterflies had taken to flight. Leaning into him, Gyllis relinquished her crutches and held up her arms.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She swallowed down her excitement. “Aye.” Sean’s large hands squeezed ever so gently as he lifted her into the sidesaddle. The tang of pine and rugged male curled through her nostrils, making her head swoon. The horse sidestepped, bringing her back to earth. Once situated, Gyllis tried to raise her knee over the upper pommel, but she couldn’t raise the miserable appendage high enough. She cringed.

  Sean closed his fingers around her thigh. “Allow me to help.”

  Even through her skirts, his simple gesture made her shudder. A jolt of pleasure and need spread through her entire body. His touch was so different than Brother Wesley’s, so much more rugged, yet reassuring…and exciting.

  Not trusting her voice to speak, she nodded.

  He grasped her ankle and grinned. Oh how incredibly handsome he was when he smiled. His azure eyes narrowed slightly with a wee crinkle at the corners, and his teeth gleamed healthy and white. Sean’s gaze darkened as if he had a secret he wanted to share. Hot, raw energy passed between them while he took his time bending her knee and lifting it over the pommel. All the while, his fingers plied her thigh.

  Gyllis caught her breath on a gasp and fanned her heated cheeks. “I think you rather enjoyed that.”

  He patted her knee. “I did.” If his grin could grow more devilish, it did.

  “You are bold.”

  When he leaned within a hand’s breadth of her chin, his smile stretching his features, it was all she could do not to clasp his face between her palms and kiss him. But Sean’s retinue of guards surrounded them. Gyllis sat upright and adjusted her skirts while watching him from the corner of her eye. Aye, she’d enjoyed the few kisses they’d shared, but she wouldn’t lose her head. Things had grown so different. At one time she’d been awash with confidence, but her illness had stripped that away too. A lead ball suddenly sank in her stomach. She would never be able to bear it if Sean rejected her.

  Of course ages ago, he’d said he loved her—words Gyllis would never forget. It wasn’t as if he’d said it again, though. Yes, he did kiss her rather passionately. His love couldn’t exactly be compared to brotherly love, but she was too clumsy for it to be real man and woman love. Is there such a thing as kissing friends love? She didn’t know, and right now she didn’t want to think beyond spending the afternoon with Sean.

  He brushed her nose with the back of his knuckle. “Is boldness such a bad thing?”

  A fire inflamed her cheeks and she fixated on the reins. “Nay,” she admitted in a whisper.

  “Exactly what are you doing?” John marched into the stable.

  Gyllis lifted her reins. “Sir Sean is taking me riding.”

  John crossed his arms and glared at the chi
eftain. “Not through Fearnoch Forest, ’tis not safe.”

  Sean faced him. “I assure you my men have cleansed the forest of all outlaws.”

  “Are you certain? You suffered attack yourself. Have you caught the culprits since we last spoke?”

  “Four men hanged.” Sean placed his palm on John’s shoulder. “Has it been so long since we rode together you have forgotten our oath of brotherhood? You may have become a priest, but our bond of kinship will endure for a lifetime.”

  John stopped and stared, then his shoulders dropped. “You are right. I would trust you not only with my life, but the lives of every soul in Ardchattan Priory.”

  The two men grasped each other at the elbows—a sign of Highland kinship. Sean held firm. “I’ll have her back before compline.”

  “I’d expect no less.”

  Once Sean had mounted his stallion, they rode straight out the gates. The rocking motion of the horse beneath her gave Gyllis an enormous sense of freedom. “’Tis wonderful to ride again.”

  Sean walked his horse alongside hers. “I thought you’d enjoy a jaunt away from the cloistered halls of the priory.”

  A breeze picked up the hood of her cloak. “I couldn’t have thought of anything more invigorating myself.”

  Thunder clapped overhead. Sean arched his brow and gave her a sideways glance. “I’d hoped to picnic beside the babbly burn at Glen Nant.”

  Gyllis peered at the sky, swirling with grey clouds. Please withhold the rain, if only for a little while. She grinned. “What a lovely idea.”

  Thunder rolled and Sean cringed. “I’m not so certain. I wouldn’t want to see you end up with the sweat or worse.”

  “Perhaps if we increase our speed to a fast trot, we shall arrive sooner.” She glanced back toward the priory. The grey stone walls were as foreboding as a prison. In no way did she have any intension of turning around.

  He stared at her for a long moment and then clicked his tongue. The entire retinue sped the pace to a trot. Droplets started falling, but this was Scotland. It always rained, but rarely did they have a lasting downpour.