Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  Sometimes her mind was hazy with longing, and she lost herself to daydreams. It would start with a breeze that swept the hair off her neck and made her tremble, reminding her of Ronan’s warm lips searing a trail of slow kisses down her spine and across her bare thighs. Or, she would be admiring a fine tree in the distance, and then she would see his tall, thickly muscled frame leaning against the tree, naked as though they had just made love. His lips would curve to the side as he gave her his lazy grin. Then suddenly either Morna or Una would command her attention, forcing her head from out of the clouds and her feet back on the hard, brutal ground. Despite how she wished otherwise, her daydreams could not alter reality.

  She threw a couple more loaves on the fire and looked to the midday sun. Today appeared no different than any other summer day, but to her and surely to the rest of Gribun, it was a dark day indeed. On the morrow, the men would leave. Ronan would lead them into battle, and she would return to her home on the cliffs and once again become Shoney.

  “Bridget,” Una’s lyrical voice interrupted her thoughts, “would you like to sup with me tonight? You have not had a chance to meet Guthrie.”

  “But he leaves in the morning. Would you not rather spend the evening alone? Besides, I told you I met him briefly when I first arrived.”

  “I’m not asking you to spend the night,” she winked and once again Bridget could not help but admire her friend’s dancing black eyes and the frost of black curls contrasting against her white skin.

  “Bridget, you look like how I imagined faeries looked as a child with your golden hair and queer silver eyes. You truly are lovely,” Una said to Shoney’s surprise.

  “I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she laughed. “Actually, not the part about faeries, I was thinking how becoming motherhood is to you. Your time is coming soon, is it not?”

  Una smiled as she rubbed her swollen stomach. Then her black eyes became watery pools, filled with forlorn tears.

  “Guthrie will likely be away during the birth. I was hopeful he would be here,” she whispered.

  “Oh, Una,” Shoney folded her new friend in a warm embrace. “Do not fear. I will help you through the labor, and then you will have a beautiful surprise for Guthrie when he returns.” Big, dark eyes, wide with fear stared back at her.

  “He will return, Una.”

  She exhaled and dried her eyes. Then she straightened her tunic and brushed the curls from off her brow. “You are right, Bridget. All will be well.” Una pointed to the fire pit at their feet where several bannock rolls were turning black. “I can’t say the same for our bread,” she chuckled.

  Shoney whisked the bannock off the flames with a small knife. They rolled onto the ground, stopping at the feet of a young boy.

  “I hope that is not my supper,” he laughed.

  “Take them and feed the chickens, will you?” Una called.

  Shoney watched the boy grab the bread and run off to carry out Una’s bidding. She marveled at the whirl of activity surrounding her. The village was alive with the mingling of noises and smells, but there also was tension in the air. More likely than not, some of the men would not return, and the women already gave comfort to each other when fear crept into their hearts. Shoney refused to consider the possibility of Ronan not returning. That he might be struck down seemed impossible. He was too vital, too powerful. Surely, there was no warrior alive that could best him. The moment doubt stole its way into her heart, she shook her head and threw herself into the seemingly endless array of tasks to be done.

  “Will you come, Bridget?” Una asked.

  Shoney hated to disappoint her friend, but she was confident Ronan would come to her that evening. Surely, he would not go off to war without saying goodbye. With this in mind, she did not want to stray too far from her hut.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay for long, but I will come around to meet Guthrie,” Shoney said.

  “Thank you, Bridget, ‘tis important to me.”

  They finished cooking the last of the bannock, and Shoney wondered what task would be next.

  “Right,” Una breathed, “come along then. I told Morna we’d help polish the last of the steel. The Norse will be blinded by the gleam of our men’s swords. They won’t be given the chance to raise their own weapons.”

  Shoney admired how Una struggled to remain hopeful and courageous in the face of war, and she could not help but envy the various certitudes that defined Una’s life—her kin, her duties, and a love shared with Guthrie, which thrived without deception. A lifetime of love from those around her had nurtured a strong and sensitive woman. She was a vital and essential member of her community.

  Shoney hung her head in shame. She was a fraud and did not deserve the affection of her new found friend. More than ever, she wished for Ronan to appear around the corner and ease her uncertainty. She missed him and her vulnerability invited doubt about his reasons for staying away.

  What if his absence could not be blamed on his desire for her to remain in Gribun? What if his feelings had changed? Perhaps having seen her through the prejudiced eyes of his father, he now wanted nothing more to do with her. Or, mayhap, Ronan had finally accepted the truth that she had known in her heart for some time—the obstacles keeping them apart were too great to surmount.

  “Bridget, lass do you hear me.” Shoney looked up from the sword she was polishing and saw Morna staring down at her with a smile.

  “Forgive me, Morna, I didn’t hear you,” She replied.

  “You were daydreaming again, lass.”

  Shoney sighed, “So I was.”

  “One of these days you are going to have to tell me who he is,” Morna chuckled, “but now is not the time. Tomorrow will be a hard day, so off you girls go. I will be around in the morning to wake you, Bridget.”

  She followed Una back to her hut and helped her prepare Guthrie’s supper. It was not long before the door swung wide and a broad-shouldered warrior ducked his grinning head inside.

  “Where is my pretty lass?”

  He was not quite as large as Ronan, but he seemed to overwhelm the hut with both his form and his smile. Una rushed forward and threw her arms around Guthrie’s neck. They shared a long, sensual kiss. Shoney could not help but feel awkward and out of place.

  Una must have sensed her discomfort, because she pushed against Guthrie’s chest as she tried to peel her lips away.

  “Guthrie, we have company,” she said as she pointed to Shoney.

  “Hello there, Bridget. Forgive me, but I did not see you. Not that I would have resisted kissing my woman even if I had. Give us another, Una,” he laughed as he pulled Una back into his arms. She playfully slapped his arm and chided him on his manners.

  “So, Bridget McLeod, are you joining us for supper?” he asked.

  “Nay,” she said. “I can’t stay long. Una wanted us to meet.”

  “Well then, come and sit with me while Una pours the ale.”

  Shoney shooed a chicken off one of the seats as she sat down at the table. Her mood was already improving. How could it not when in such fine company. Despite his looming departure and the uncertainty of his future, Guthrie’s wide and infectious smile never faltered. He was not the handsomest of the warriors with bushy hair and a nose that had been broken too many times, but his eyes twinkled and filled with love every time he glanced toward his lovely Una.

  “So Bridget, what do you think of the MacKinnon lads? Has anyone in particular captured your interest?” Guthrie asked. “Nary a maid has been able to resist Aidan’s fine features, even my Una I’d wager. That is until I won her over with my hairy good looks,” Guthrie teased.

  “Aidan seems a good and fine sort of man, but I would not fancy binding myself to a man who was prettier than I,” Shoney said, causing Guthrie to whoop with laughter.

  “Teasing fair Aidan is one of Guthrie’s favorite diversions,” Una said. “You’ve just made a friend for life, Bridget.”

  After a brief but enjoy
able visit, Shoney kissed Una and said goodnight to Guthrie. She was anxious to return to her borrowed hut, hopeful Ronan already waited for her. With every step that drew her closer, her unrest grew. Events unfolding beyond Mull ensured that on the morrow she returned to her true home and cast off the mantle of Bridget MacLeod, and Ronan would set sail on a quest to defend his king and country, but tomorrow had yet to come. Tonight would be theirs.

  She raced the last of the pathway to her hut and swung open the door with anticipation, but inside she found only shadow.

  She rekindled her fire and warmed some bannock and leftover porridge. Her disappointment combined with exhaustion made her suddenly long for sleep, but she finished her supper and sat in wait for his coming. Fatigue fought to claim her as she lay her head down upon the roughhewn wood of the table. As her eyes fluttered heavy with sleep a white light flashed in her mind’s eye, and she was lost to a vision. With a start, she came to and released a sob that wracked her body. Her vision had shown a future so bleak it caused her to retch her meager dinner.

  When at last she was able to compose herself, she stood and quickly donned her cloak. Then she opened the door and saying a prayer to Skatha to send her courage against the shadows, she rushed into the night. She stole through the village toward Dun Ara Castle, thankfully passing no one along the way. Everyone else was sound asleep after the day of exhaustive labor. She passed through the open gate into the courtyard and dashed up to the keep but the door was locked. Then she remembered the side entrance Morna had led them through on the morning of Anwen’s recovery. She raced around the keep and sighed with relief as she pushed open the door.

  The muted sconces in the great hall scarcely illuminated the two winding staircases. One she knew led to the chieftain’s quarters. Dread gripped her as she imagined meeting Nathair. She remembered the burning hatred enflaming his amber eyes as he stalked her with murderous intent. Shivering, she pushed the image from her mind. She thankfully had not laid eyes on him since that first morning, and she could only hope she never saw him again.

  The narrow stone steps wound around and around until they deposited her on a short landing in front of what she prayed was the right door. Closing her eyes, she raised her hand to knock, but her knuckles only grazed the wood as the door flew open, and she was yanked against a wide chest with a knife to her throat.

  “Shoney?”

  She recognized Ronan’s voice and sighed with relief. “Aye, who did you think it was, King Haakon?” she replied.

  “Forgive me, Shoney, but I heard someone skulking up the stairs, and I grew suspicious.”

  “I was not skulking,” she reproached. “I was merely trying to not draw attention to myself. What would Morna think if she knew I’d come to your rooms.”

  “At this moment, I could not care less about what Morna thinks.”

  He smiled and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground as his lips slowly lowered to hers. She groaned into his mouth as her arms encircled his neck. She hungrily returned his kiss. It had been so long since he had held her, too long. His tongue swept inside her mouth, igniting a fire deep within.

  “Why have you stayed away?” she whispered. “I know we fought, but…”

  “I did not want you to leave,” he interrupted. “You are stubborn, Shoney. Even if you wished to stay for a while, you would have said goodbye if I gave you the chance. I stayed away to keep you in the village.”

  One arm came behind her thighs, and she was swept into his arms. He carried her across the room, his lips never leaving hers. Only when he laid her on his pallet did his kiss end. Orange embers crackled in the hearth as he turned to rekindle the fire. His golden brown hair fell on broad shoulders, and the thick muscles of his arms shifted as he stabbed the cinders with the iron. When he turned, his eyes bore into hers, heavy with desire. He knelt in front of her, and his features lightened as his lips slowly curved to one side.

  “I knew you would come to me,” he said. She reached up and stroked his forearm.

  “Having now seen a fair share of men up close, I now know what I have always suspected,” she said.

  “Aye, and what is that, lass?”

  “That you are finer made than most.” Her fingers caressed the hardness of his chest, making a trail down the ridged muscle of his abdomen.

  “The Mother of all cut your form from the strongest stone, and Taranis, the god of thunder, filled your eyes with lightening so they would glow amber with passion when it suited you and fire when you swung your sword.”

  His sword.

  How could she forget her vision? His hold was too great on her heart. It emptied her mind and filled her body with an unquenchable fire.

  “Oh Ronan,” she cried, “you stir my body and make my mind numb—I forgot my reason for coming.”

  He came over her then, covering her body with his hard warmth. “I know, my love. It has been too long, but do not worry as I have forgotten nothing. I know every luscious curve and every sweet smell.” His hand found the edge of her tunic, and he began to push it past her knees.

  She grabbed his hand, trying to keep her clothing in place. “No, Ronan. You don’t understand. I came here to ask you to run away with me.” He froze as the smile left his face.

  “Shoney, not now,” he groaned. “Not again. I cannot leave my clan, nor can I abandon my duties.”

  He stood up and walked to the window. Then he turned to face her again. “Don’t you understand, Shoney? I would have no honor. I would no longer be the man you love.”

  “You will be dead.”

  “What?”

  “You will die, Ronan. I have seen it.” He turned away from her, but she continued. “You will march with your men to Largs, and there will be a battle. Storms will rage, casting the land in darkness for many days. Then the clouds will break, and the sun will stream down upon your back and ignite your hair like amber flames as you stand on a great precipice. The enemy will ascend from all sides, their blades gleaming in the sunlight. You fight with valor, but you will be overrun, and they will cut you down.”

  He closed the distance between them. His eyes were torches lit with anger.

  “Why do you tell me this when you know I must go?”

  “Did you not hear what I said, Ronan. You will die.”

  She took his hands and pulled him toward the door. “Please, Ronan, come away with me,” she implored. “You can escape your fate.”

  “Shoney, if I run, I am dead.”

  He ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “My men will march, and they look to me to lead.”

  She desperately searched her mind for some way to convince him to stay behind. He must not die. They were destined to live apart; this much she knew. Neither could bend to meet the other without losing too much of what made them who they were, but to breathe life into her body knowing his was cold was profoundly unthinkable.

  “Ronan, there must be a way. If I but think for a moment longer, the solution will come to me.” Panic was taking hold of her. “Ronan, I cannot live in this world, knowing you are gone.”

  He put his arms around her waist. “Shoney, hush and listen to me. Stay here with my clan as Bridget MacLeod. I will return, and we will make our life together.”

  “Stop it, Ronan. This argument no longer has any meaning. Our battle ends without a victor. Regardless, of my name, you will go, and you will die. Don’t you see? We have no future about which to argue.”

  He pushed her from him. “You put too much faith in your visions and none in me.”

  He leaned with both hands on a large table littered with his various belongings. His sporran was packed and ready. His polished dirk and sheath lay side by side near a mug of ale and several unlit candle stubs. His shoulders flexed in agitation. Then, in one swift movement, he scattered the table’s contents across the room and turned to face her.

  “I will return, Shoney. You will not escape me so easily,” he growled.

  Never had he appeared wilder.
He moved toward her with predatory intent. His eyes promised danger, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. She thought to make a run for it, but he stood between her and the only way out.

  “You cannot run from me anymore, Shoney. You came to my rooms, and you are not leaving tonight until I have your word that you will remain in the village while I’m gone.”

  Shoney lifted her chin in defiance. No Scotsman was going to order her around, not even the one she loved.

  “Never,” she said, “now let me pass.”

  “Not until I have my promise,” he smirked as he walked toward her.

  His movements were measured and deft like a shark searching for prey in the shallows. She scurried back until she felt the cold stone wall behind her, at which point she knew there was nowhere else to go. Panic began to set in as she watched his approach. He moved slowly. The heat of his gaze seemed to burn where it touched. He was so close now. She could not breathe as he took the last slow step that brought her face within inches of his chest. She could not guess at what would come next, but she did not have long to wonder.

  He took hold of her hand and slowly pushed it behind her back. Then he grabbed the other. His smile held a wicked gleam as he lifted her feet off the ground and laid her on the table. She tried to shuffle off the side to freedom, but he held her in place with one hand. Then he bent to the ground and grabbed hold of a length of plaid. She knew what he intended and would be damned if she would let him tie her down without a fight. She twisted and kicked out with all her might. Her foot caught his chin, and his head snapped back, but he only smirked in response as he held her down and tied her arms. Then with another plaid, he trapped her legs at the ankles.

  “You are mad, Ronan.” She struggled against the knots, but they only seemed to tighten with her efforts.

  “No, not mad, my dear,” he whispered in her ear, “but I am done playing fair. I am going to take what I want.” Then he seized her tunic at the neck and tore it asunder and threw the pieces on the floor. Her kirtle soon followed.