by Carmen Caine
Her resolve restored, she straightened her back to support her own seat rather than resting against his broad chest. Her body protested the loss of warmth with a shiver, but she refused to surrender her strength of purpose. She had to escape, a task that demanded she remain clear headed, but doubt invaded her thoughts as she considered how she might evade the steel bars he disguised as arms.
Ronan gave a short but firm yank on the reins, bringing his horse to a swift halt. Then he tenderly scratched the steed’s ear, earning a whinny in response.
“Look, Bridget.”
At first, Shoney did not know to whom he spoke and then remembered her choice of alias. She wondered at that moment what her real name would sound like from his lips. She followed the direction of his gaze. Two jutting cliffs soared above their heads with surfaces so sheer as to deny anyone access, and centered amid the two bluffs, high above the waves was the opening of a cave.
“What a peculiar place,” she exclaimed. “I doubt that even you could make that climb.”
“Look closer,” he whispered, his mouth grazing her earlobe, making her body quiver. Damn his soft lips.
She tried to ignore her body’s response to his touch as she studied the wall before her and finally saw a thick rope hanging from the cave opening. Its color, dark with age, blended well into the cliff face.
“It was no small feat to secure the rope initially, but it is strong and will bring us safely inside.”
“You intend to stick me in that cave,” she snapped, his soft lips forgotten, “to imprison me?”
“Do not think of it as a prison, lass. ‘Tis merely a safe refuge,” He replied.
“But I haven’t the strength to climb up or to descend back down. I will be trapped.”
“I know. You will be safe from every trouble, including that which you might make yourself.” His smug smile made her want to scream.
“Do not think for a moment that I will go willing, you conceited son of a....”
He placed his hand over her mouth. “You will kindly stop there and not insult my mother or my father.” He pulled his hand away as he stared at her. “Another tantrum? And here I thought I had a problem controlling my temper.” His voice softened, “You are a strange girl, Bridget. I offer you protection from harm and respite from your unpleasant, albeit forthcoming, nuptials. I expected gratitude not arguments.”
He had every reason to be confused by her behavior. If wedded misery loomed in her immediate future, then mayhap she would embrace his plan, but an unwanted betrothal was not one of her problems. She ached for home, and the prospect of the cave destroyed all hope of return. He sought to provide her a sanctuary, but he unknowingly threatened her with a prison that required no bars or doors—the drop to certain death was lock and key.
How could she explain this to him without revealing her secret? Then fear engulfed her thoughts. The cave would be as dark as a grave. She shivered as she imagined the darkness closing in around her, choking the very breath from her body. She would not live to see the dawn. Either her heart would seize, terror claiming her life, or she would go insane and throw herself from the black mouth of the cave to the murky waters below. Even now, her body trembled as she imagined the worst.
“You are shaking, Bridget. No more protests. I must get you out of the cold,” Ronan said as he dismounted. Then he began to reach for her, but she kicked him away.
“Did you not hear me?” she shouted. “I am not an animal for you to trap. And if you are concerned about my health, ‘tis colder in that dank place than anywhere else on the island.”
He ignored her, but she kept on fighting. Her swinging fists connected with his powerful physique, likely afflicting more pain to her knuckles than to his unyielding hardness, but she did not care. She refused to surrender even as he placed his hands at her waist and lifted her from the stallion’s back.
“You will be quite comfortable. I assure you,” he said.
He pulled her through the briskly moving seas. The waves lapped at her thighs before colliding with the unforgiving cliff wall. She finally conceded she was no match against his brawn. Instead, she tried to think of another reason why they should not ascend the rope.
“What about the horse?” she gasped, breathless from her struggles.
“The tide will not come in for some time. The horse is quite safe.” He replied.
He began to wrap the top folds of his plaid around her, securing her body to his. She was trapped and unable to fight. Not that it would have made a difference. At any moment, he would climb the sheer wall to the great height above where she would be swallowed by a dark hole in the rock. Terror gripped her mind, poisoning her heart and causing a layer of perspiration to blanket her brow despite the chill in the air. Once again, her body betrayed her as tremors surged down her limbs and a knot gathered in her throat.
“No, Ronan,” she whispered as wet tears filled her eyes. “Please, do not put me in there.” Shame settled over her as the pleading tones left her lips, but there was naught else to be done. She could not face the darkness.
“Hush, lass,” he crooned as his arms encircled her. “Are you so afraid of the height?”
“No,” she cried.
“’Tis a very deep cave. You will not fall, if that is what worries you.”
“That is not why I am afraid.”
“Then why?” he asked.
“’Tis the dark,” she whispered. Her head hung heavy with disgrace.
She felt the pressure of his finger under her chin as he forced her to meet his gaze. She expected him to scorn her, but instead his eyes glowed with amber warmth.
“You are a rare lass,” he breathed, “so strong and yet so vulnerable.”
He stroked her cheek, and she felt herself succumb to the gentle caress. “You will find yourself quite at home up there, Bridget. You must trust me.”
“But, I have no reason to trust you.”
He said nothing in reply. A slow, sensual smile pulled at one side of his lips, and she could not help but admire his easy confidence. She made no further protest as he finished tying the folds of his plaid. Then grasping the rope firmly in his hands, he proceeded to scale the daunting precipice.
Shoney turned away at last and looked out to sea. The water reflected the dusky shades of sunset. Pinks and oranges imbued each wave’s approach, but the colors were cut away by the shadow of the massive cliff. Each wave that struck the rock face was as grey and stark as the stone itself.
“You must hurry. Dusk is upon us,” she said.
“I am sorry if my pace displeases you,” he chuckled as he crossed one hand over the other, pulling them ever higher, “but if you care to muscle the two of us up this rope, then by all means, you may take over.”
Mother of all, he was maddening.
“I have a different purpose for this rope in mind,” she began. “It involves a strong branch and you dangling beneath.”
“Hmmm, it would seem that my warrior has vanquished the vulnerable maid. I think I prefer when you are frightened.”
Shoney intended to give him a tongue lashing meant to wipe the smug smile off his face for good, but one of his hands released the rope and covered her mouth. He lowered his head, and she felt his warm breath on her ear. Her mind spiraled back to the moment when his kiss first grazed her neck as her wet, naked body pressed against his hard, muscled physique. She shivered but this time not from the cold or fear of the dark.
“Be silent for once woman,” he whispered, “or the light will be gone, and I will be forced to sleep in the cave with you.”
Shoney’s eyes opened wide, and she pressed her lips together. His eyes mocked her, daring her to speak, but she kept her silence.
Ronan continued to climb the rope with seemingly little effort, occasionally catching a foothold in the wall. She dare not look down; instead she clung to his frame and focused on the feel of his back muscles shifting beneath her hands and the smell of his skin. Finally, they reached the mouth of the c
ave. As he pulled their bodies inside, he twisted to avoid pinning her beneath him.
Her worst nightmare realized, she was frozen, drenched, and famished, cowering at the entrance of a perilous cave, surrounded by darkness. Which would truly be the worst fate—being left alone to freeze or starve to death in a desolate cave or confessing her true identity and putting her fate in the hands of the MacKinnons?
He walked deep inside the cave into the dark unknown, and she wondered with fear if he expected her to follow. She started to ask what he was doing but then remembered his threat if she were to speak again and decided to remain silent.
She sighed with relief when he emerged from the deep and knelt at the edge of the cave entrance. He began making a familiar tapping noise, and just moments later, there was a steady fire building. She did not try to conceal her joy as the small fire grew, illuminating the cave. The firelight revealed a deep, dry space, which was twice the length of her home and about half its width. In the back, she could just make out a stack of peat for fuel. She stood up and began to walk about.
“There is plenty of fuel to keep this fire going for days.” His voice was soft as he took her hand and showed her the amenities the cave offered.
“There is a pallet for sleeping and some plaids to keep you warm. You will of course have to wear the MacKinnon colors.” He smiled at her. She sensed he was proud of the cave’s secret comfort.
“You will also find dried meat and ale,” he said, pointing to a plain wooden chest. She had to admit that for a cave it was rather cozy.
“’Tis wonderful, Ronan, but why is this all here?” she asked.
He removed his sword and stood it against the wall. “I first started coming here as a lad when my older brother, Nachlan, died. I was eleven, and I came here thinking I could escape the sadness.”
Shoney stared at the large and powerful man before her and could not believe that he was ever so small.
“I am sorry, Ronan.”
“It was long ago, Bridget. I keep this place well supplied for when I need a little peace and quiet. Solitude is rarely granted a chieftain’s son.”
Ronan’s confession had Shoney’s mind reeling. Their lives were so different. His life was a tapestry of friends and family, custom and duty, which sometimes drove him to this place of isolation; whereas, destiny demanded she walk through life alone. How often had she prayed for the Mother of all to bring her solace from loneliness? It never occurred to her that someone else might seek it out.
She sat beside the fire, warming her hands above the flame. “You have my thanks, Ronan. I’m sure I will be very comfortable here.”
“I am glad you are pleased, but with comfort in mind, Bridget, you must change out of your wet tunic or else catch your death.”
He handed her one of the dry plaids before he turned away. For a moment, Shoney was confused. Surely he did not intend for her to wear a plaid folded as he did with just a sash across her chest. As she contemplated how best to dress herself, her teeth began to chatter from the cold. She shrugged off her drenched cloak and yanked her tunic and kirtle over her head. Then she set about wrapping herself in one of the large tartan blankets. In the end, she swept it around her shoulders, holding it in place with her hands.
“You may turn. I am decent…barely,” she muttered under her breath.
Ronan started to laugh the moment he turned around. “You truly are the most unusual lass I have ever known.” He closed the distance between them and reached for the plaid, but she ducked under his arm to avoid his touch.
“You have naught to fear, lass. My intention is to assist you into your clothing not to remove it, although you hide nothing that I have not already had the pleasure of viewing.”
Mortified by his blunt reminder, her embarrassment soon gave way to rage. She lashed out, slapping the smile from his face and in the process losing her grip on the tartan all together. She stood before him as naked as the day she came into the world. Though, her hands rushed to cover the more intimate areas of her body, she
stood straight and proud, refusing to acknowledge her disgrace.
She expected him to taunt her or to strike her in return, but instead he stared with wide, somber eyes. She followed his gaze to her arms. Shoney gasped as she understood why he was transfixed. Raising a hesitant hand, he grazed the tips of his fingers across one of the bruises now lining her arms. They were a reminder of the crushing strength he used against her earlier that day, following her claim to be a MacLean.
He crouched low and scooped up her plaid. Saying nothing, he walked behind her and with adept hands he wrapped the plaid around her form. Using her own belt, he secured half the fabric at her waist. Then facing her, he crisscrossed the remainder over her chest and around her shoulders then back around her chest again and secured the folds with a pin he produced from his sporran.
He still did not speak but took her hands in his. She felt for a moment like a child. Her small hands seemed to disappear in his mighty grasp. He knelt in front of her.
“Forgive me, Bridget. I have a wicked temper, but I did not think I was capable of such cruelty.” He released a half-hearted chuckle that surprised her. “You see, I am naught but a bad joke. Earlier, I congratulated myself for the restraint I have shown since we set out to come here. There have been several occasions when I might have lost my temper, but you somehow make me feel…peaceful, even with your tantrums and foul language.” His eyes brighten from brown to amber, and she realized they revealed the intensity of his emotions.
“Look at what I have done to you.” His hands gestured to her arms.
Shoney sensed his sincerity and was moved by his words, but as Ronan continued, her sympathy turned to fury.
“You are the weaker sex. ‘Tis my duty to protect not to harm.”
“What,” she cried as she shoved him with all her might, the force knocking him back on the hard rock floor.
“You are saying all of this only because I am a woman?” she shouted, shaking her fist in his face. “A woman can be a threat as well as a man. A woman can fight with steel and fist.” She stared down at him, breathing hard. Then she offered him her hand. “You thought me a threat to your clan and so you acted.” He reached out and accepted her help to stand. “I do not want your treatment of me to be dictated by my sex but rather by my merit,” she said.
He stared at her for some time. Shoney could not tell what he was thinking. Then his full lips curved into his sideways grin, and she suddenly felt breathless and unsure of herself. With both hands, he cupped her face and tilted her head back. She could feel the warmth of his breath and smell his rich, masculine scent.
“As I said before, you are the most unusual lass I have ever known.” Then he pressed a kiss to her brow, but as his lips touched her skin a white light erupted in her mind’s eye, and she was lost to a vision.
There was a man riding hard over the moors. His black curls stuck to his face as sweat dripped from his brow. To his rear were five riders giving chase and gaining on him. He disappeared into a thick haze and one by one the riders followed. Thunder clamored with deafening force as the black-haired rider pushed on unseeing through the dense fog. Then five gleaming blades cut through the mist like veins of lightening, piercing his body. He cried out and fell, vanishing into the thick haze. As the fog lifted, his bloodied body crumbled at the foot of the Cillchriosd Standing Stone, and in the distance fled five riders with a horse in tow. The man opened his eyes. They were as blue and bright as the summer sky, and from his lips came forth a simple plea, “Shoney,” he cried.
Shoney’s eyes snapped open as she inhaled sharply.
“Bridget, what happened? Are you hurt?” Ronan’s
voice tugged at her senses, releasing Shoney from her trance.
She was fine, but somewhere out there was a man with black hair and startling blue eyes who was hurt and in desperate need of aid.
“I will be alright, Ronan, but I’m afraid I do feel a bit faint, and I am famished.�
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He looked doubtful. “Why did you not answer when I called your name?” His hand went to her brow. “You do not feel feverish.”
“I am hungry and tired. Please, I really must rest.”
“Let me roll out your pallet, and you can lie down while I prepare the meat and ale.”
Shoney appeared to rest while Ronan retrieved their nourishment, but in truth her mind was racing. Often her visions were symbolic, requiring interpretation, but tonight’s vision conveyed a clear message. The man with the blue eyes needed a healer, but trapped in the belly of a stone beast above the rising ocean tides, her skills were useless. Ronan was not going to let her leave without explanation. She simply had no choice but to try to push the man from her thoughts.
“Here, let me help you sit up,” he said as he slid his broad hand underneath her back and lifted her upward to a seated position.
His hand covered a large expanse of her back, demonstrating once again his size and strength. He gave her the food and drink, which she gratefully accepted and gulped down.
“Thank you,” she said. “This is a welcomed surprise.”
“I have never brought anyone up here before. You are a welcomed surprise,” he smiled.
Shoney felt herself blush. As she reached for more meat, she brushed against his plaid. “Ronan, you are still wet. You ought to change as well.”
Shoney turned her head toward the cave wall. She waited for him to make a quip about having already seen him naked, but he refrained, which she was glad for—she had blushed enough for one night.
“I am decent,” he said.
She looked up at him and admired his tall form. His plaid slashed across his broad chest and over one of his powerful shoulders. The brawn of his torso slimmed out at his waist where his skirt began. The material fell in folds just at his knees, revealing muscular calves. The light provided by the fire revealed numerous scars that twisted his skin. They were reminders of battles fought alongside and on behalf of his kinsmen, men and women who wore the same plaid that she wore now.
