“Good afternoon,” she replied in a husky voice she barely recognised.
His nearness was having other strange effects. Her nipples tingled and she seemed to be alarmingly wet in her private female place. He nuzzled her nape. She was definitely too hot. Mayhap fewer clothes might help.
Alarm bells went off in her head. The terrifying events of the last hours must have stolen her wits. Disrobing in front of a man she barely knew! Nay!
She pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed, squinting as the sunlight arrowed into her eyes. “This chamber is too bright,” she complained.
He traced a fingertip down her spine. His touch sent more wet heat flooding between her legs. She decided she must be afflicted with some noxious sickness from the filthy cells.
“It used to be a nursery, I think,” he drawled.
She looked around. The chest and armoire were indeed appropriate for a child, though they were old fashioned and showed signs of being well used. Ochre stars and moons had been painted on the plastered walls. A cracked and chipped chamber pot sat atop the armoire. A fearful notion crept into her brain. “Do ye suppose this was Robert Stewart’s chamber when he was a bairn? I ken his grandfather raised him.”
He sat up and put an arm around her shoulder. “It’s possible, but ye cannot concern yourself with Robert Stewart. He has forfeited any claim he ever had on ye. Once he is caught and it’s safe to travel again, we must petition the Queen for an annulment of the betrothal.”
She frowned. “Safe to travel?”
He inhaled deeply, scratching the stubble under his chin. “It pains me to say it but the biggest danger to ye now is my brother. He’s never been a reasonable man.”
Immense sadness shadowed his brown eyes. Wanting to comfort him, she put her hand to the side of his face. “But why is he determined to persecute me? What have I done to offend him?”
Their gazes locked as he pressed one hand over hers and brought her palm to his mouth. She moaned softly as desire spiralled into her womb. “It’s nothing ye’ve done, Margaret. It’s me he resents. If he suspects I care for ye—”
“Ye care for me?” she whispered.
He put his hand behind her head and drew her closer, brushing his lips over hers. He nibbled her lower lip, then coaxed with his tongue.
She’d laughed out loud when Braden had described how men liked to put their tongues in women’s mouths, but now she opened willingly, shivering as he ran his fingers down her neck and twirled his tongue around hers. The softness of his beard had the peculiar effect of making her legs fall open. He growled when she sifted her fingers through his tangled hair.
He broke off the kiss just as she was getting the hang of breathing with him. He hugged her tightly, his arms like bands of steel. She pressed her flattened breasts harder against his chest, needing to be part of him.
Someone was whimpering and she suddenly realized the mewling sound was coming from her throat.
“I more than care for ye, Margaret. Ye fire my blood,” he rasped, licking her earlobe.
She’d long held the conviction she would surrender her maidenhead to her husband on her wedding night. How astonishing the notion was suddenly of no importance. Her heart admitted that if he asked she would willingly give herself to him. The events of the past days had underscored the fleeting nature of life. She wanted Rheade now. He had awakened feelings and delicious sensations in parts of her body she’d never given much thought to. Perhaps she wasn’t such a good girl.
He loosened his grip and went down on one knee before her. “I am a man of honor,” he said, kissing her hand. “This isna the time or place, but I swear to ye, Lady Margaret Ogilvie, I will see ye free of Robert Stewart, and I will make ye mine.”
~~~
Rheade was elated he might have stumbled upon the woman he wanted to spend his life with, but was it too soon? Living under Tannoch’s nitpicking eye, he’d started to believe he was incapable of making a good decision.
But his heart told him this was the right one. Margaret Ogilvie was beautiful, courageous and had a sense of humor. Naming her horse Bàn! Because the beast was white! Well, mostly. Hah!
He’d been right to rescue her and flee Dunalastair, but it rankled he’d been obliged to abandon the castle he loved. Besides if Margaret was to be his wife, they’d need a home. Exile was out of the question. It was his right to live in Dunalastair, to share in its prosperity, and Margaret deserved a splendid dwelling.
Fion’s revelation plagued him. His heart clenched when he thought of his beautiful mother and her torment, but if Tannoch was indeed a bastard, it meant—
Time enough to ponder that matter later. He’d formed a plan while dozing with Margaret in his arms, one he hoped would make it possible to wake every morning with her tempting body pressed to his groin.
His promise seemed to have taken Margaret by surprise. Mayhap she didn’t care for him, though the aroma of female arousal flooded his senses, along with the fragrant rose petals, and…what else was in the silk bag? Her eyelashes were fluttering like bees’ wings, but he suspected it was because she was uncertain.
“I mean what I say, Margaret. If ye’ll have me as a husband I’d be honored to wed with ye.”
She lowered her head and brushed her lips over his knuckles. “It will be my honor, Rheade Robertson, but we must make a plan to solve the dilemma of Robert Stewart, and yer brother.”
Elation warmed his heart like a comfortable plaid. “Aye,” he agreed, sitting beside her on the bed once more. “I have decided to return to Dunalastair.”
She startled. “Nay, I canna go back to the cells.”
He squeezed her hand. “Ye’ll remain here. I brought sufficient food for a few days. If I return home, Tannoch will believe ye have fled with yer relatives. I’ll claim I searched for ye without success. He’ll turn his attention to Stewart and I’ll make sure he hunts away from Blair Castle.”
She fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve. “It grieves me I have put ye at odds with yer brother.”
He shook his head. “Tannoch and I have been at odds since we were lads. But Logan is different.”
She smiled. “I sensed it and I’m glad. My brothers were my best friends.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the secret Fion had shared. The more he considered Tannoch the greater his conviction the man wasn’t his father’s son. But this wasn’t the time to burden her with the news.
He rose from the bed. “Ye willna be here alone long. As soon as I can I’ll ride to Queen Joan and request an annulment for yer betrothal.”
The color drained from her face. “Listen,” she said hoarsely. “Horses. Coming at speed.”
He hurried to the narrow window, relieved to see his younger brother cantering into the bailey with four of his friends. “’Tis Logan,” he told her, relieved the fear had left her face.
“Be careful,” she shouted as he ran from the chamber headed for the stairs.
STEWARTS
Margaret hesitated, unwilling to go near the window. Vertigo would be the inevitable result of looking down. But something drew her. She took one slow step after another, her feet encased in lead. She gripped the stone ledge. It was sticky. Nigella and honey had likely been daubed on it at one time to catch flies. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes then reopened them and peered out, frustrated to see only an empty bailey.
The sun bounced off the snow on the Grampian peaks.
Already feeling dizzy, she slowly turned her head to the door Rheade had left open. She heard the excitement in his voice as he and his brother ascended the stairs, but couldn’t discern what they were saying.
She took one hand off the ledge, happy to see both Robertsons enter with a grin on their handsome faces. “What’s happened?” she asked.
Logan put a hand on Rheade’s shoulder. “Our chieftain finally awoke from his drunken stupor in time for the midday meal. He seemed at first to have forgotten Lady Margaret, until of course Glenna reminded him. Howeve
r, he must have decided the pursuit of the assassins is more important because he hasna ventured into the cells.”
“He’s nay aware the Ogilvies have escaped?” Rheade asked.
Logan’s grin widened. “Not yet, and he and his lovely wife have been closeted in their chamber since the early afternoon. Evidently Glenna is being rewarded for her loyalty. He’s announced the resumption of the search for the regicides at first light on the morrow and plans to follow a different route into the Grampians, convinced that’s where they are hiding.”
Margaret gripped the ledge. “Will they come by this castle?”
“Probably not,” Logan replied. “But I deemed it best to keep ye informed.”
“This changes things, Margaret,” Rheade began, but then he smiled. “Are ye affixed to yon sill?”
She laughed, feeling her face flush, and let go of the sticky ledge, taking one last glimpse out of the window. She looked back at Rheade, but a feeling something was awry niggled at her.
Turning back to the window, she narrowed her eyes and scanned the horizon, searching for the movement that had caught her attention. As the breath left her lungs she clamped both hands on the ledge again.
“What is it?” Rheade asked, hurrying to her side.
“There,” she pointed, “coming in this direction, from the mountains. Men.”
He squinted against the sunlight, trying to see what she had seen. His breath fogged the glass. She rubbed it clear with her sleeve. “Do ye see them?”
“Aye,” he said after a minute or two. “Well spotted. Seven, mayhap eight, on horseback. They look rough.”
Logan pushed against his brother. “Can ye make out who it might be?”
Rheade confirmed what Margaret feared. “Given they are headed for the castle and have the appearance of men who’ve been in the mountains for a while, I’d hazard a guess it’s the Stewarts.”
“Why would they come back here?” Logan asked.
Rheade shrugged. “Hard to say. Mayhap for provisions. The Earl is an auld man. Hiding out in the mountains canna be easy. Perhaps he’s ill. They may believe the castle safe, either assuming it’s already been searched, or they might have watched from a vantage point when Tannoch was here.”
He pulled her away from the window and put his hands on her shoulders. “Ye must remain in this chamber. We’ll deal with the Earl of Atholl.”
Logan hurried to the stairs.
She wanted to protest, but Rheade clamped his mouth over hers and kissed her with a passion that rocked her to the core. She clung to him as tongues mated, breath mingled. She savored again the heat of the whisky they’d sipped. He held her tightly, arching her body to his. The iron grip, the urgency of his kiss and the hardness of his body assured her of his desire. He’d asked for her hand in marriage, but said nothing of love.
She melted into him, not caring whether he loved her or not. If he failed to return from confronting the fugitives, she would forever remember his male scent, the exhilarating softness of his beard, and the splendid strength of his body pressed against her.
She startled when he broke them apart, suddenly feeling cast adrift.
“I will return,” he rasped, pecking a kiss on her forehead. “I love ye.”
He was gone before she had a chance to tell him she loved him in return.
~~~
Despite the imminent danger Rheade ran down the winding steps, elated by Margaret’s response to his advances. She hadn’t admitted her feelings out loud, but he’d seen it in her eyes. Truth be told, his avowal of love had rather surprised him. Nothing like impending combat to sharpen a man’s sense of what was important in life.
Breathless, he jumped down the last few steps into the Hall. “I love her,” he blurted out to Logan like some lovesick swain, embarrassed when he saw his brother’s friends standing with him. “Sorry. I suppose there are more important things to consider at the moment.”
Surprisingly, none of the four sniggered or looked at him curiously, but he was thankful his plaid concealed his arousal. Logan broke the silence. “Then you’ve something to fight for,” he said with a smile. “However, we’ve no time to plan our strategy for capturing the fugitives.”
“They’ll be wary, even if they believe the castle still abandoned,” Keegan said.
Rheade scraped his nails over the itchy stubble under his chin. Hopefully it hadn’t been too rough on Margaret’s face. He pounded his fist into his palm, irritated at his preoccupation. For years women had pursued him. None of them had captured his interest. Now at the most inconvenient time, he’d fallen in love. But he had to concentrate on the looming fight. “We’ve the advantage. They dinna ken we are here.”
“But we are few in number,” Logan replied. “If they encountered a large army they would likely surrender. They’ll be less inclined to give in readily to a small force.”
“They’ll head for the stables first,” Rheade decided. “We must bring our horses into the Hall.”
“Right into the tower?” Alasdair asked, scratching his head.
“Aye,” he replied, hastening to the door. “No time to waste.”
They made their way to the stables. Rheade explained his plan on the way, relieved they weren’t visible from the foothills. They quickly saddled their mounts, then led them back to the castle. He grew nervous when it took longer than he expected to coax the beasts through the main door.
As Rheade mounted Dubh, he sensed the horse’s uncertainty. “Stay quiet,” he whispered. “They mustn’t suspect we are in here.”
The stallion shook his head, but made no sound.
Margaret’s palfrey fretted until Dubh turned a stern eye on the animal. Rheade considered tethering the riderless beast, but decided a distraught horse running amok might actually help their cause once the fugitives entered.
The five horsemen arrayed themselves in a semi-circle facing the door, drew their broadswords, and waited.
~~~
Unable to pry her hands from the ledge of the small window, Margaret kept her gaze fixed on the band of men making its way down from the mountains. Their obvious caution seemed to indicate these were indeed the fugitives. Was Robert Stewart among them?
A movement in the bailey caught her eye. Rheade and his men were leading their horses towards the tower. It appeared they meant to bring them inside.
She ran to the landing, took a deep breath, and looked down into the entry. The horses’ hooves clattered on the stone floor. The men mounted, leaving only Bàn without a rider. Her palfrey fretted next to Rheade’s horse, snorting and looking panicked, then suddenly quieted.
Rheade sat atop Dubh, broadsword drawn, the others spread out around him. It was a strange tableau. The entry hall had seemed huge when she’d first entered the castle. Now the horses dominated it.
She said a silent prayer for the worthy Highlander who had come to mean everything to her in a few short days. As if sensing her presence he looked up, and smiled. It was difficult to be certain from such a height, but she was sure he winked. Her heart fluttered. Had a man ever winked at her before?
It occurred to her they had no way of knowing how close the Stewarts were to the castle. She ran back into the chamber and peered out, taken aback by the progress the fugitives had made. An older man she assumed to be the Earl led the way. Despite the days he’d likely spent in the mountains, Walter Stewart couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a nobleman. His spine was rigid, his bearing proud though he rode a mountain pony. A white fur cape covered his shoulders. She shivered. This man had killed a king, and she stood trembling in his castle, his would-be captors below her, waiting. What would become of her if Rheade’s plan failed?
Her eyes wandered to the younger man who rode at his side. “R-R-Robert S-S-Stewart,” she stammered, scarcely able to breathe.
He was tall, dark, swarthy, gaunt, with a thick beard. Older, but she’d expected that. For years she’d looked forward with great anticipation to meeting him again. He’d been t
he man of her girlish dreams, the one she was to wed.
Her belly knotted. At least ten men accompanied them, armed to the teeth—the army of the damned.
Her gaze went back to Robert. She stared hard, trying to see some resemblance to the suitor she’d met eight years ago. There was none. And the man of her dreams waited below.
The fugitives reined to a halt beyond the stables, looking around cautiously. Robert suddenly looked right up at her. She stumbled backwards away from the window and fell on her bottom.
Scrambling to her feet, she ran to the landing. “They’re at the stables,” she shouted.
All five looked up, but it was Rheade who asked, “The Earl?”
“Aye. But they are a dozen at least.”
He clenched his jaw. “Get back into the chamber. Close and bar the door. Open to no one but me.”
~~~
Logan grinned at Rheade. “Quite the woman you’ve found for yourself,” he rasped.
Rheade returned the smile. “Aye. Our little scout.” He scanned his troops. “It will take them a moment to become accustomed to the darkness of the interior. We’re fortunate the sun is shining this day.”
“Aye,” Keegan agreed. “A good omen.”
Logan chuckled. “Tannoch will be fyking mad when we arrive home with the Earl in our custody.”
The others laughed in agreement, but Rheade pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush. We havna captured them yet. Keep perfectly still until they see us, then Keegan and Alasdair, ye close the circle behind them. They may surrender when they see they’re trapped, but I doubt it. They are desperate men.”
“We’ll have to take care our horses dinna lose their footing on the stone floor,” Logan advised.
Rheade remembered Margaret’s remark concerning the rushes. The castle wouldn’t smell as sweet if blood was spilled during the attempt to capture the Earl. “They’ll strike out at the horses. Hopefully they won’t have their weapons drawn.”
Pride of the Clan Page 6
