Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  Ronan shook his head. At first glance, the radiance of her hair, which shone like burnished gold, and the blaze of her steel gray eyes gave the impression of magic’s imprint, but then as he fell he saw round fearful eyes and heard her piercing scream. Faeries were strangers to both fear and surprise. He kicked his horse into a gallop, but Aidan was relentless, and he soon caught up to Ronan still intent on persuading him to forget the girl. Only Ronan couldn’t. For the past fortnight he thought of nothing else.

  “I’m telling you, beautiful maidens do not just appear as if from thin air in the middle of the forest. ‘Tis not so easy as that, or else every man would bide his time in the thicket waiting for a wife.”

  “Laugh at my expense one more time, Aidan, and you will regret it.”

  “Alright, I yield,” Aidan said as he raised both hands in mock surrender. “But, friend, let me ask you this. If this maid of, as you say, unspeakable beauty just happened to be in the woods hunting—a task often undertaken by women,” Aidan added dryly, “how did you manage to fall into the ravine?”

  “I told you already, Aidan. I thought I was alone. I had the stag in my sights, and then out of nowhere she was there, an armed and beautiful woman. Imagine my surprise. Then she turned her arrow on me, and the earth gave way beneath my feet.”

  Aidan’s badgering affected Ronan, but not in the way Aidan hoped. Barely restrained irritation surged within him seeking release. If Aidan said one more thing to him about dreams and faeries as if Ronan was some addle-minded old woman, then he was going to show Aidan exactly why he needed to be afraid.

  Ronan stood almost a full head taller than his friend and his shoulders were nigh twice as large. He briefly glanced at Aidan who had finally quieted, and so he must have sensed that he had pushed him too far. Anger came easily to Ronan—he knew it and so did everyone else, and that moment was no exception. His muscles stiffened with rage. Sure, he was overreacting, but to hell with it. He had been in a foul mood ever since he awoke with a screaming headache amid the rocks on the ravine floor, surrounded by his clansmen whose concerned expressions turned to taunting grins when he told them that he had not been attacked but had merely fallen. His pride was still as sore as his skull. He kept a little dignity by refraining from telling anyone but Aidan about the girl, but now, he wished he had kept it to himself entirely.

  Aidan gave Ronan an encouraging smile and said, “Well, if she does exist we’ll find her. Come along. Let’s have a look in the caves.”

  “I don’t know what annoys me more, when you fight me or when you coddle me,” Ronan growled.

  As quick as Ronan was to anger, Aidan was as patient. In fact, Ronan loathed admitting how much he relied on his friend to keep his own temper in check.

  They jumped from their mounts as they descended the steep incline, which sloped to the water’s edge. As they tramped down Aidan asked after the beauty of the mysterious maiden. Ronan looked over at his friend and saw a wicked gleam in his eye.

  Ronan smiled, “I hate to make you jealous, but let’s just say you may no longer be the village beauty.”

  Aidan chuckled at his friend’s good natured ribbing as Ronan knew he would. Everyone goaded Aidan about his fair looks.

  “Humph,” Aidan said. “The men pester me about my pretty face when all you have to do is cast a girl a smile and she becomes as limpid and pliant as a baby lamb. The only difference between you and me, Ronan, is that most of the time you ignore the women who fawn over you, which, by the by, I will never understand.”

  Ronan snorted his disapproval. He and Aidan were nothing alike in appearance or temperament. Aidan’s curly hair was black, and Ronan once overheard Aidan’s eyes described by a maid as bluer than the sky. And much to the amusement of the other warriors, his features were fine like a woman’s.

  In contrast, Ronan’s square jaw and deep set brown eyes, which glowed amber when he was angry, were anything but feminine. There was truth, however, to the latter end of Aidan’s claim. All of the mothers in the clan considered Aidan to be the greatest threat to their daughters’ virtues; whereas, being the laird’s son, Ronan was constantly pursued by maids and their mothers, seeking his special favor.

  He had little time for women between training the warriors and helping his father take care of the clan, which is why he was utterly bewildered by his own response to this girl. He was ignoring his duties, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he enlisted the aid of one of his father’s most trusted warriors who should be supervising the planting of crops vital to the very survival of the clan.

  Ronan stopped in his tracks. “You are right, Aidan. This is madness.”

  “Praise the Lord, you’ve come to your senses…er…I meant to say are you sure you wish to abandon your search for this huntress who is as real and alive as you or me?”

  “You won’t be alive much longer if you do not wipe that grin off your face. Better yet,” Ronan snarled his fist at the ready, “come closer and let me do it for you.”

  “You don’t need that, friend. Put it away. I’ve no desire for a walloping this day.” Aidan sighed, “So what would you have me do now?”

  Ronan stood unmoving. He knew not what he wanted, though he knew for certain what he should do. He should return to the village, to his responsibilities. He considered all the reasons why he needed to give up, yet he refused them all. His actions were contrary to his duties and his own sense, but he could not turn back knowing that she was out there, somewhere. She was a flesh and blood woman, and he would stop at nothing to find her.

  “No, I will carry on, but your part is finished. Return to the village and do my father’s bidding. But tell no one of this.”

  Aidan nodded his consent. “Do not stay away long. Your clan needs you, and your father will soon wonder at your whereabouts…if he hasn’t already.”

  ***

  Once alone, Ronan was free to move at his own pace. He entered the first cave and traversed its full length, searching behind every rock and within even the smallest alcove. Despite her larger than life presence, she had been slight of build. She could easily hide in the low shadows. As he searched, he once again wondered about her identity.

  He knew every maid from Gribun to Benmore Mountain, but he could not recall ever meeting her—an occasion he was sure would have been burned forever into exquisite memory. He was also certain that she lived outside the protection of a clan. Why else would she be alone in the woods hunting of all things? Although he still harbored some annoyance over being left for dead, he couldn’t help but admire her bravery. But then the image of the unwavering huntress soon gave way to the girl with wide, frightened eyes. Her unguarded vulnerability touched him. He wanted to take her into his arms right at that moment and stroke the soft loveliness of her hair and her silken skin. He would shield her from ever knowing fear again. But where was she? Who was she?

  He dismissed the notion of her being one of the fair folk. Her emotional display revealed her humanity. He also momentarily toyed with the idea that she was a weapon of the MacLeans—a decoy to make men lustful and fall into ravines, but this seemed more implausible than the first. Her existence was his only certitude, and if she existed, then she could be found.

  He exited another cave and turned his back to scan the ridges of the cliffs above to place his location on the coast, but nothing was familiar. Only a small region of Northern Mull remained unknown to his clan, the western cliffs of the Witch of Dervaig. A chill coursed down his spine as he realized his proximity to her lair.

  Imagining her evil visage, he started as he heard a splash. He gazed out to sea, but the waves were gently lapping undisturbed at the rocks. Then he heard another splash and realized the sound was emanating from further down the coast. He wished to turn away and return home, but his desire to find the girl smothered his fear. He took a deep breath. The smell of salt and seaweed was pungent and rich, and the sun dipped low in the sky, illuminating everything with its blinding reflection. He climbed over several jagged
boulders and across little gullies of water in the direction of the noise. Almost losing his balance, he lumbered over slick rocks that would be far beneath the water’s surface when the tides came in. He pulled himself atop a large boulder that dominated the area, hoping to find a decent vantage point. But just as he rounded the surface, he spotted trim pale legs disappearing beneath the waters of a wide pool at the boulder’s base.

  The pool gave him pause with its splendor. Several boulders were positioned in a perfect circle, which gave shape to the pool, and the darkness of the water attested to its impressive depth and also concealed the diver. He waited, but the person in question had yet to resurface. For a moment, his unease returned. The swimmer might be the Witch, but he had seen youthful legs, not those of an old crone.

  Ronan sat perched on the rock, his concern mounting with every passing moment. Whoever was down there, he was certain, had met with trouble. Perhaps a loose rock shifted, pinning them to the sea bed, and at that moment they struggled to break free. Ronan stood and ripped off his belt, plaid, and sword, leaving them in a pile on the rock. He kept his dirk sheathed and strapped to his thigh lest the situation demand a blade, whether to cut the victim free or to save himself if the swimmer proved to be the Witch in disguise. He filled his lungs and dove into the icy waters.

  ***

  Shoney gripped a large rock with one hand to keep from rising to the surface and was hurriedly scooping handfuls of Dulse with the other, putting the slimy clusters into the sack hanging about her neck. Dulse was her favorite seaweed. Its translucent pink color was hard to spot, but it grew in bushels at the bottom of her pool. If infused in a bath, it soothed sore limbs, and its oil cleansed the skin, clearing away unsightly dry patches. Satisfied she had gathered enough, she released the stone and swooshed her arms, swirling in a circle. Her hair fanned out, covering her face and wrapping around her waist.

  The sting from the icy water subsided so that she could truly enjoy the feel of being submersed. The bottom of the deep pool gleamed with smooth white rocks, which seemed to light the murky water. She was enclosed inside rocks directly below her home where she knew none of the clansfolk would ever dare to venture, allowing her to leave behind the Witch’s cloak and every other stitch of clothing for that matter. Nothing delighted her more than to feel the rush of cold water over her bare limbs. Nothing made her feel more alive, but she was running out of breath and knew she had to surface.

  Her feet touched down on the bottom, and she bent her knees, pushing against the white stones to hasten her swim to the surface, but she did not surge through the water as expected. Large hands grabbed her from above, blocking her momentum. She seized with panic as she flailed against her captor’s grip. The water churned, bubbling from her efforts, but she was powerless against the strong arms that wrapped around her from behind and pulled her against the unyielding hardness of a man’s chest. Every corded ridge of muscle pressing against her naked back shifted as he pushed off the bottom, propelling them both toward the surface.

  They emerged from the depths, and he pulled them to the edge of the pool. Shoney sucked air into her lungs. Too long had she been submersed and now felt dizzy. Despite her reeling head, she lunged to escape the hands still grasping her shoulders, but his hold only tightened. Then, for the first time, she tilted her head back to look upon her captor.

  “You,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” he said. “This is my island. What are you doing here?”

  “Taking a bath,” she gritted.

  She could not believe the giant, the one called Ronan, was in her pool. How dare he invade her rightful territory. Fury consumed her but also terror. Not only was she unarmed, but he was even larger than she first realized.

  “I am finished now,” she said. “So release your grip, and I will be on my way.”

  “A bath she says.”

  He turned her around in his arms so she faced him. Then he wrenched the sack from around her neck and threw it into the water. Shoney watched as it sunk beneath the surface. “I have been searching the whole island for you for a fortnight only to find you nigh drowning, leaving me no choice but to dive in to save you.”

  “Save me? Is that what you thought? That I was drowning.” She could not help laughing, but stopped when his hand slid down the curve of back.

  Shoney was suddenly very aware of her state of undress. Her curves were concealed from his eyes by the water, but what he could not see surely he could feel as his arms pressed her close. She gasped as she felt the contours of his muscles shift against her skin. The heat of his body provided warmth against the frigid water, and his arms seemed to touch more than just her waist. They reached beyond her physical form, satisfying a craving for contact, which solitude had entrenched deep within her heart. He was powerful and intoxicating, and her response to him was shocking. She never imagined a man would feel so good, so strong, but she knew it had to be wrong. Shouldn’t she be outraged? She had to escape his hold. Her hands pressed against his wide chest as she thrust away from him, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Let me go, this is indecent,” she snapped.

  “No more indecent than leaving me to die, lass. I was only trying to save you.”

  “The only saving I need is from you,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Release me. You have no claim over me or my body as I am neither your wife nor your whore.” She renewed her struggles and shrieked, “Let go of me.”

  His grip loosened slightly, and she felt the warmth of his breath as his head dipped close to hers. His hand swept the length of her torso and then gently caressed her cheek.

  “I know I need to let go of you,” he whispered. “I know that I am disgracing you as well as myself, but I cannot bring myself to do so.”

  She met his smoldering gaze. His lips were but a whisper away from hers. Try as she might, she could not take a deep breath. Her quick, shallow breathing was unnerving. And then as he pressed her body into his, her breathing was forgotten completely as was the cold water that encircled them, the crash of the waves, and the call of the birds. All she was aware of was his eyes, the closeness of his mouth, and the racing of her heart. He slowly lowered his lips, taking possession of the soft skin just below her ear. She closed her eyes, feeling a strange heat at the place where his lips had been. His hot kisses trailed down the length of her neck. The heat spread like languid fire throughout her body.

  She had never felt the strength of a man’s hands on her skin. Nor had she ever known the tenderness of a kiss. Her breathing quickened. Her body felt like it was swelling, preparing to burst, and she liked it. She pressed herself closer and felt the crushing strength of his muscles as her fingers explored his form. Her hands swept down his powerful arms, sliding over muscled ridges. And then they traveled down past his lean waist to stroke the length of his hard thigh, but instead of smooth, wet skin, her fingers touched something cold and sharp.

  Her eyes snapped open, and her senses returned with a strength that would have knocked her over had it not been for the water and the support of his caressing hands.

  Mother of all, what spell was this?

  He was even more dangerous than she first imagined, for he could control her thoughts and her body. She had to break away from his embrace. Her hand returned to his thigh, only this time she had no intention of stroking his skin. She seized his dirk from its sheath and with a practiced hand she thrust the pointed end of the blade beneath his chin. She smiled ruefully at the small droplet of blood that appeared beneath the dagger’s point.

  “You keep your blade sharp. I thank you for this kindness.”

  His eyes darkened and narrowed as his stare grew menacing. She faltered only for a moment but long enough for him to seize her hand and snatch the knife from her grasp. He pushed her from him, and she watched as his strong arms effortlessly pulled his large frame from the water. The muscles that rippled along his legs and across his back and shoulders shone in the sun. H
e turned to face her, and she saw golden brown hair wet and slick across his bronzed chest as it tapered in a line down his hard, flat stomach and further still. Shoney jerked her head away as crimsoned heat covered her face.

  “Do not play at being the lamb when just moments ago you nearly slit my throat,” he said.

  “I was simply trying to break free from that stronghold you call a body,” she snapped.

  Shoney blushed again when she remembered what transpired between them before she made the play for his dirk. Her mother warned her about the lustful appetites of men, but what of her own hunger? She hung her head in shame and told him to look away so that she could get out of the water.

  “Am I not to have the same opportunity to feast my eyes on your lovely form as you have done mine?”

  “Turn away, and stop looking at me like that,” She insisted.

  As soon as he faced away, she swam to the opposite side of the pool where she had left her clothing and leapt out of the water. She donned her white linen kirtle and faded gray tunic, which she quickly belted before she fastened her cloak in place. She turned to face him and defiantly returned his glare. They were on opposite sides of the pool, and she had the advantage.

  She spun around and leapt to the ground. He would have to cross the pool fully clothed and armed or backtrack to the coastline to find a pathway over the cliffs; whereas, she was only a stone’s throw from an easy incline to the top. Once on open land, she might outrun him. His giant body, although strong, was not ideal for running, and she was fast. She hurried to the slope and began making her way up the cliff side. Her hands found holds that she used to pull herself upward. She was almost to the top—to freedom. She dared not look behind her, knowing that to do so would only slow her progress, and she needed every precious second to ensure her escape. Her hand reached the top of the cliff, and she fumbled around for the tip of an embedded rock on the surface to grip.