by Gwyn Brodie
"Laird Murray was a good man. I've heard Ranulf and Aileen speak of him often, but I had no idea he had such a lovely daughter."
Heat rose in her cheeks. "Aye, he was a good man."
"Tell me about Balfour."
She stared into the fire. "I'd seen sixteen summers when he arrived at Windmere with Verona. He treated me with kindness, complimenting me on this or that, and I thought him my friend, but soon found out 'twas only an act. He walked me to my bedchamber one night, then forced his way inside. I fought him off as best I could, but he'd nigh ripped my gown off, by the time Wyn entered the room. When he saw her, he turned and ran out. Since then, I've never allowed myself to be alone with him, for I ken what he is capable of doing. Because he is quite handsome, the lasses tend to flock to him. But once they find out how cold and cruel he can be, they change their minds. And he apparently enjoys using his fists on whomever he beds, which accounted for the bruises I've seen on several of the female servants at Windmere."
Anger flashed through his eyes. "Now I ken why I never liked the whoreson. A man who would strike a woman, for any reason, isnae a man. Did you ever tell your father what Balfour tried to do to you?"
She shook her head. "Nay. He seemed happy for the first time since my mother's death, and I couldnae bear to see him unhappy again."
He shook his head. "Kila, you're a remarkable young woman."
"I loved my father."
"That's obvious. He was most fortunate to have a daughter like you." He added a few more twigs to the fire, and sat back down. "There's something I think you should ken."
"What is it?" Judging from the way he was acting, whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
He exhaled loudly. '"Tis my belief Verona and Balfour are responsible for the attempts made on your life."
Had she heard him correctly? It was true that Verona had never been fond of Kila, but for what reason would her own stepmother, and Balfour wish to kill her? "Are you certain?"
He shook his head. "Nay, no' entirely, but there are factors that suggest 'tis so."
"What factors?"
"He exhaled loudly. "I'd rather no' say—until I find out for certain. I only wished you to ken what I think."
For a few minutes, Kila sat quietly considering what he'd told her—praying he was wrong. She stirred the fire with a stick, sending bits of burning ash into the air, then sighed. "I dinnae wish to talk about either of them anymore tonight. Tell me about your home on Skye. Ever since you asked me to marry you, I've been curious as to what 'tis like."
He grinned. "As you wish. Kinnacraig Castle is my home, and has been home to the MacDonells for many generations. It sits on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the sea. When there's a storm—which is often—the waves crash against the rocks below, sending sea spray several feet into the air. 'Tis a sight to behold." He had a faraway look in his eyes. "My favorite place to go and think is on the ramparts. You can see for miles out to sea. I never tire of it. I cannae wait to show it to you as well. As Aileen said, I'm heir apparent to Kinnacraig Castle, and will become laird upon my father's death, which I hope willnae be for some time. He does just fine running Kinnacraig himself."
She smiled. "It seems you love your father as well."
He nodded. "Aye, I do. He is a fine man and was a fine da to Aileen and myself."
"Kinnacraig Castle sounds like such a wonderful place to live."
He nodded. "Aye, 'tis, and a grand place to raise children."
Our children. Happiness enveloped her, as she tried to imagine the color of their hair and eyes. Would they look like her, their father, or a combination of each?
Duncan got to his feet. "Let's get some rest, lass. I ken you're exhausted." He pulled a plaid from his pack and spread it atop the grass, then lay down, with his weapons within easy reach. "Come, get behind me, where I can protect you."
She didn't hesitate. Drawing her cloak tightly around her, she crawled into the space between the cave wall and his side.
He unfastened his plaid at the shoulder and spread it across them. He stretched his arm toward her. "Place your head on my arm, 'twill be much more comfortable than the hard ground."
She moved closer and placed her cheek on his upper arm, reveling in the unnatural warmth of his body.
He bent his head and kissed her until she was out of breath. "Night, lass."
"Good night." She curled against his side, savoring his nearness.
He was soon deep in sleep.
Kila lay beside Duncan, listening to his breathing, the sounds of the night birds and the insects, Tearlach munching on his oats, realizing that even after all that had happened, she was
content to lie beside this man, on the ground, inside a cave. If that wasn't love, then she didn't know what was.
The fire crackled and popped, and the flames flickered and danced along the walls and ceiling. The full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the world outside. She fell asleep, wondering what the following day would bring.
A low growl rumbled through the cave, waking her, and she quickly sat up.
Duncan was already on his knees, a dirk in each hand. "Stay behind me, and dinnae make any sudden moves," he said, his gaze locked on the pack of wolves blocking the entrance.
In the rear of the cave, Tearlach, frightened by the scent of the wolves snorted and danced about.
Kila trembled, her blood like ice pumping through her veins. The large wolf in front bared his teeth and growled, the firelight giving her a glimpse of what the two of them were up against.
"'Tis the horse they want, but they'd no' be minding a wee snack beforehand." He slowly rose to his feet, his gaze fastened on the pack leader. "Toss every piece of wood onto the fire, and saints above, dinnae allow it to go out. "'Tis the only reason they've not already attacked us."
Trembling, Kila piled on one branch after another, until the flames almost lapped at the low ceiling, and whispered a prayer of thanks that they'd gathered as much firewood as they had.
The wolves turned and fled. Once he was certain they were gone, Duncan put down his weapons, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately. "You were wonderful, lass. Many of the women I've known would not have had the sense to follow orders."
She smiled, cupping his face between her hands. "You make more of my doings than necessary, my Highland warrior."
He growled and kissed her again. When he lifted his head, the dark look in his eyes was akin to what she's seen in the eyes of the wolves—hunger. And it was she he hungered for. The realization struck her like a stone. He led her to their bed and lay down, drawing her down beside him, before again covering her mouth with his.
With heart pounding, she returned his kisses, each one growing more intense.
He suddenly raised his head and looked into her eyes. "I want you badly, lass, I'd be untruthful if I said I didnae."
She placed her hand against his cheek. "I want you, as well."
He grinned. "Those sinfully wicked kisses of yours were proof enough for me that you do."
Kila chuckled. She loved Duncan's sense of humor.
"I've waited this long to have you, I suppose I can wait a bit longer—until you're my wife."
"Oh, Duncan. I cannae wait to be your wife, but for now I'm happy just kenning you love me."
"And I do." He kissed her once more, then lay down facing the entrance, with his hand around the hilt of his broadsword. There was always a chance the wolves would return.
IT WAS EARLY MORNING when Duncan opened his eyes. He looked down at Kila, still pressed against his side, and his heart overflowed with emotion. Never had he felt in such a way about a woman, and it both surprised and frightened him. His gaze dropped to her full lips. Remembering the ardent way she'd returned his kisses the night before sent need coursing through his veins. With a low growl, he eased away from her and got to his feet.
The fire had died down and a thick mist flowed into the cave from outside, cooling his heated skin. He led Tearlach to
the entrance, then looked back over his shoulder at Kila. He'd have to wake her soon, for they needed to get to Blackstone before Monro's guards caught up with them.
After allowing the horse to drink, he tethered him near a thick patch of green grass to graze. As he returned from the loch, he spied a small patch of raspberries and ate his fill, before picking a many as he could carry for Kila. At least they wouldn't go hungry. When he returned to the cave, he found her on her feet, folding his plaid.
She smiled when she saw him, and his breath caught, as it always did.
"Look what I found, lass." He showed her the berries.
Her eyes widened, and she popped several into her mouth, their juice darkening her full lips."Umh, they're sweet and delicious."
He groaned. "Nay, 'tis you who are sweet and delicious, lass. A tasty morsel beyond comparison," he said, bending his head to capture her mouth with his. After a moment he broke the kiss, then busied himself shoving his extra plaid into his pack. The feelings he had for Kila were unfamiliar to Duncan, and often caught him off guard.
He glanced her way, noting her pinked cheeks, as she ate the rest of the berries, and forced himself not to reach for her again. Keep your wits about you Duncan, or else you'll get the both of you killed.
THEY'D BEEN RIDING for several hours, stopping only to allow themselves and Tearlach to rest and to quench their thirst. Kila had never sat a horse as long as she had the past two days and every muscle and bone in her body ached with resentment. But clearly, Duncan wasn't bothered at all.
Dark clouds had been hovering overhead for the past hour, bringing with them an occasional rumble of thunder, and the wind had picked up considerably. A drop of rain struck Kila on the nose, and she lowered the hood of her cloak.
Duncan wrapped her in his plaid. "There's an abandoned crofter's hut nearby, hopefully the storm will hold off until we reach it."
The winds soon turned to gale force and roared through the glen, whipping the tree branches and tall grasses about. It tore at Duncan's plaid, and ripped the hood of her cloak from her head. Then the sky opened up and the rain poured down upon them. Soon they were both soaked to the skin.
The cold wind sliced through Kila's wet clothing like a sharp knife, and by the time they reached the abandoned and dilapidated crofter's hut, Kila's teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
Duncan jumped off the horse, and lifted Kila down, then carried her inside and set her on her feet. I'll be back, lass." He had to see to Tearlach. He led him into the crumbling byre where he'd at least be out of the wind and rain, then grabbed his pack and hurried back inside the hut. He had to get a fire going, before Kila caught her death of cold.
He found her sitting on the floor, still shivering, and her arms wrapped around her knees to stay warm. He took his flint and steel from his pack, and soon had a small fire burning in the middle of the dirt floor.
He sat down close to the fire and pulled her onto his lap.
"Ummh, you're so warm," she said, snuggling against him.
He chuckled. "We'll spend the night here. The old place has seen much better days, but it will suffice. With this gale raging, such as it is, more than likely Monro's men have sought shelter as well."
A shutter blew open, and slammed against the wall. Kila jumped and the fire flickered.
Duncan set her aside and hurried to close it. They couldn't afford to lose any heat—especially Kila. He was used to being wet for long periods of time, but she was not.
He knelt, and removed her wet shoes, then placed them close to the fire.
When he lifted her skirt to remove her stockings, she raised a brow.
Duncan grinned wickedly "'I swear 'tis only the stockings I'm removing, though, I'd very much like to be removing more."
His eyes darkened as he slowly removed first one, then the other, before hanging them over the back of a broken chair to dry.
By the time he finished, they were both trembling—and not from the cold.
"Keep your feet near the fire. I dinnae wish you to come down with a fever. I'm no' much of a healer, and there's no telling what sort of vile tasting concoction I'd have you drink."
She giggled, then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He groaned. Her stomach growled.
She pulled away from him, certain her face was red with embarrassment.
"Hungry, are you, lass?"
She nodded.
He opened his pack and took out what remained of the bread and cheese—which wasn't much. Reaching into the pack once more, he removed the rest of the tarts and handed her one.
Kila bit into it, ignoring the slight staleness. When she finished it, Duncan handed her another.
She shook her head. "Nay. Give that one to Tearlach."
He nodded appreciatively. "The lad will be most grateful." He placed it aside, and rose to his feet. Stay there where 'tis warm. I'm going to see what's around here we could use to keep the fire going. Soon, dried leaves, twigs, and bits of straw from the soiled pallet in the corner, formed a heap nearby.
After adding to the fire, the place seemed to become much warmer, or else she had finally started to dry out.
Gloaming turned into night, and still the storm raged on. Kila lay on her cloak beside the fire, listening to the wind howl, and the rain beat down upon the roof—or rather—what was left of it. A puddle had formed inside, near the door, where the roof had partially collapsed.
Duncan grabbed his pack, and took out a bag of oats. "I'm going to see how Tearlach is faring." He picked up the tart, and left the hut.
A few minutes later, he ran through the door, and began kicking dirt onto the fire. "We must leave here, now!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fear wrapped around Kila's throat until she could hardly breathe. "What is it, Duncan?"
"Tearlach alerted me to horses close by. And where there are horses, there are riders, as well." He grabbed his pack. "We must make haste, lass," he said, before going back outside.
With trembling hands, she hurriedly pulled on her stockings and shoes, fastened her cloak and rushed out behind him, into the first light of dawn and the pouring rain, where Tearlach stood saddled and waiting near the door.
Duncan lifted her onto the horse, then mounted. "Dinnae speak, until I tell you 'tis safe. Voices carry far on the wind."
Kila nodded, and prayed they'd not be found. It wasn't herself she worried so much about, it was Duncan. She couldn't bear the thought of him being killed in a duel because of her.
He pulled Kila against him, and wrapped her in his plaid, hoping to keep, at least, some of the downpour off of her. The wind driven rain pelted them like pebbles, until they were as drenched as they'd been prior to reaching the crofters hut.
Several times, Duncan distinctly heard voices carrying on the wind, but hadn't been able to distinguish from which direction they came—nor how far away. But at the moment, he had a more urgent matter to address. Not long after they left the crofter's hut, Kila had started shivering, and her teeth chattering. Duncan was growing more worried by the minute. He felt her forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. Her skin was cool beneath his hand. At least, she hadn't come down with a fever from her earlier exposure to the cold and rain the night before—not yet, anyway. But he had to get her some place warm and dry before she did.
By the time morning arrived, the wind had died down, and the rain slowed. No voices had reached Duncan's ears for some time, and he prayed Monro's men had taken a different route to search for them. "Are you well, Kila?"
She nodded, but said naught, which caused him to worry even more.
The scent of peat smoke reached him on a gust of wind, and he searched the glen for its source. A short distance away, smoke curled above the roof of a small house. Perhaps he could offer whoever lived there payment for food and shelter. And Kila was in desperate need of a fire to warm herself and to dry her clothing. He worried that Monro's men might see the smoke as well and stop to see if they were there.
He'd deal with them when, and if, he had to, but for now, Kila was his main concern.
As they rode up to the small stone house with its thatched roof and attached byre, a middle-aged woman peered through a partially open shutter, and a man poked his head out the door. "Can I help ye?" he asked.
Duncan nodded. "Aye. My wife and I were caught out in the storm. She's been shivering for some time and I fear she'll catch her death. I'll pay you well for the use of your home so that the lass might rest and warm herself."
"Bring her in, where 'tis dry," the woman said, before her husband had a chance to answer.
Duncan jumped off the horse, then lifted Kila down, and carried her inside.
Kila almost groaned as the warmth inside the house enveloped her like a thick blanket. Duncan put her down on the bench beside the fire and turned to the man.
"Do you have some place I could put my horse? I'll pay for whatever he's fed." He needed to get Tearlach out of sight as soon as possible.
"Aye. The byre is warm and dry and there are plenty of oats. Give the lad what he needs."
Duncan nodded. "Much thanks." He squeezed Kila's shoulder, then left.
"Go help him, Fergus," the woman said. "The lass needs to get out of her wet clothing."
Fergus turned and followed Duncan out.
The woman unfastened Kila's cloak, and hung it in front of the fire to dry, before helping her undress down to her shift. "I'm called Maggie."
She smiled. "Kila. Much thanks for your kind hospitality, Maggie."
"Ye're welcome. There's a room in back, with a bed. Ye and yer husband are welcome to it, if ye need to rest for a while, or stay the night."
"We wouldnae wish to take your bed." She stood as close to the fire as she dared, and her shivering lessened. She removed her shoes and placed them beside the fire.
