Devil in a Kilt

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  COPYRIGHT

  WARNER BOOKS EDITION

  Copyright © 2001 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Warner Books, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue,

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  For information on Time Warner Trade Publishing’s online publishing program, visit www.ipublish.com.

  First eBook Edition: September 2001

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56716-9

  “SAINTS, BUT YOU TEMPT ME,” DUNCAN MURMURED.

  He gathered her into his arms and gently lowered her into the silky warm waters of the bath. “Ne’er in my life have I desired a woman more.” Without taking his eyes off her, he kneeled beside the tub and softly brushed his lips back and forth over hers.

  Lulled into contentment by the sheer magic of his kisses, Linnet felt herself melting. But a tiny voice deep inside scolded her for being a wanton fool. A brazen piece willing to barter her pride for a man’s touch, for the feel of his lips on hers. In truth, she’d sunk lower than a bawd for the thrill of a few moments in the arms of a man who’d never love her—even though he was her husband.

  “Duncan, wait,” she pleaded the moment he broke their kiss to feather lighter ones down the curve of her neck. “Please, I cannot do this after all.”

  “Shhh,” he urged, “of course you can. Hush, dinna speak.” He placed two fingers over her lips, silencing her. “Just feel.”

  Contents

  Copyright

  “Saints, But You Tempt Me,” Duncan Murmured.

  Acknowledgment

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  This book is dedicated with love and appreciation

  to my husband, Manfred, my real-life hero.

  Handsome and noble as any fictitious knight

  in shining armor, he slays my dragons daily

  and makes all my dreams come true.

  acknowledgment

  this book was inspired by my visit to Eilean Donan Castle in the Scottish Highlands and I want to offer sincere appreciation to Patricia Suchy, founder of Novel Explorations, for taking me there, and also for showing me the Clava Cairns.

  Extraspecial thanks and deep appreciation to Kathryn Falk, Lady Barrow, of Romantic Times Magazine and Lady Barrow Tours, for introducing me to her friend, Miss Mary MacRae, whose family are the hereditary chatelaines of Eilean Donan Castle. Miss Mary’s father was Captain Duncan MacRae, Younger of Eilean Donan. Considering how the book’s hero came to me so vividly the day I visited her castle, and Miss Mary’s claim that her father had a marvelous sense of humor and would have enjoyed having the book’s hero named after him, well, I can’t help but wonder… .

  Deepest appreciation to my fantastic agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins, for her belief in me, her support, and for having enough faith in Duncan to send him up against the big boys. And heartfelt appreciation to my first editor, Maggie Crawford, for this chance, her expertise, and for that very special night at Vidalia’s. Our time together was brief, but my appreciation will last forever.

  1

  Dundonnell Keep, Western Highlands

  Scotland 1325

  “’tis said he’s merciless, the devil’s own spawn.” Elspeth Beaton, unspoken seneschal of the MacDonnell keep, folded her arms over her substantial girth and glowered at her laird, Magnus MacDonnell. “You canna send the lass to a man known to have murdered his first wife in cold blood!”

  Magnus took another swig of ale, seemingly unaware that most of the frothy brew dribbled into his unkempt beard. He slammed his pewter mug onto the high table and glared back at his self-appointed chamberlain.

  “I dinna care if Duncan MacKenzie is the devil hisself or if the bastard’s killed ten wives. He’s offered for Linnet, and ’tis an offer I canna refuse.”

  “You canna give your daughter to a man said to possess neither heart nor soul.” Elspeth’s voice rose with each word. “I willna allow it.”

  Magnus guffawed. “You willna allow it? You overstep yerself, woman! Watch yer mouth, or I’ll send you along with her.”

  High above the great hall, safely ensconced in the laird’s lug, a tiny spy chamber hidden within Dundonnell’s thick walls, Linnet MacDonnell peered down at her father and her beloved servant as they argued over her fate.

  A fate already decided and sealed.

  Not until this moment had she believed her sire would truly send her away, especially not to a MacKenzie. Though none of her six older sisters had married particularly well, at least her da hadn’t plighted a single one of them to the enemy! Straining her ears, she waited to hear more.

  “’Tis rumored the MacKenzie is a man of strong passions,” Elspeth pronounced. “Linnet knows little of a man’s baser needs. Her sisters learned much from their mother, but Linnet is different. She’s e’er run with her brothers, learning their—”

  “Aye, she’s different!” Magnus raged. “Naught has plagued me more since the day my poor Innes died birthing her.”

  “The lass has many skills,” Elspeth countered. “Mayhap she lacks the grace and high looks of her sisters and her late mother, may the saints bless her soul, but she would still make a man a good wife. Surely you can purvey her a more agreeable marriage? One that won’t so sorely imperil her happiness?”

  “Her happiness matters naught to me. The alliance with MacKenzie is sealed!” Magnus thundered. “Even if I wished her better, what man needs a wife who can best him at throwing blades? And dinna wax on about her other fool talents.”

  Magnus took a long swill of ale, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “A man wants a consort interested in tending his aching tarse, not a patch of scraggly herbs!”

  A shocked sputter escaped Elspeth’s lips and she drew herself to her full but unimpressive height. “If you do this, you needn’t tax yourself by banishing me from the dubious comforts of this hall. ’Tis gladly I shall go. Linnet will not be sent to the lair of the Black Stag alone. She’ll need someone to look out for her.”

  Linnet’s heart skipped a beat, and gooseflesh rose on her arms upon hearing her soon-to-be husband referred to as the Black Stag. No such creature existed. While animals of certain prowess often adorned coats of arms and banners, and some clan chieftains called themselves after a lion or other such noble beast, this title sounded ominous.

  An omen of ill portent.

  But one she had little time to consider. Rubbing the chillbumps from her arms, Linnet pushed aside her rising unease and concentrated on the discourse below.

  “’Tis glad I’ll be to see your back,” her father was ranting. “Your nagging willna be missed.”

  “Will you not reconsider, milord?” Elspeth changed her tactic. “If you send Linnet away, who will tend the garden or do the healing? And dinna forget how oft her gift has aided the clan.”

  “A pox on the garden and plague take her gift!” Magnus bellowed. “My sons are strong and healthy. We dinna need the lass and her herbs. Let her aid th
e MacKenzie. ’Tis a fair exchange since he only wants her for her sight. Think you he offered for her because she’s so bonnie? Or because the bards have sung to him of her womanly allures?”

  The MacDonnell laird’s laughter filled the hall. Loud and mean-spirited, it bounced off the walls of the laird’s lug, taunting Linnet with the cruelty behind his words. She cringed. Everyone within the keep would hear his slurs.

  “Nay, he doesna seek a comely wife,” Magnus roared, sounding as if he were about to burst into another gale of laughter. “The mighty MacKenzie of Kintail isn’t interested in her looks or if she can please him or nay when he beds her. He wants to know if his son is his own or his half brother’s bastard, and he’s willing to pay dearly to find out.”

  Elspeth gasped. “You know the lass canna command her gift at will. What will happen to her if she fails to see the answer?”

  “Think you I care?” Linnet’s father jumped to his feet and slammed his meaty fists on the table. “’Tis glad I am to be rid of her! All I care about are the two MacDonnell kinsmen and the cattle he’s giving in exchange for her. He’s held our clansmen for nigh onto six months. Their only transgression was a single raid!”

  Magnus MacDonnell’s chest heaved in indignation. “’Tis a dullwit you are if you do not realize their sword arms and strong backs are more use to me than the lass. And MacKenzie cattle are the best in the Highlands.” He paused to jeer at Elspeth. “Why do you think we’re e’er a-lifting them?”

  “You’ll live to rue this day.”

  “Rue the day? Bah!” Magnus leaned across the table, thrusting his bearded face forward. “I’m hoping the boy is his half brother’s brat. Think how pleased he’ll be if he gets a son off Linnet. Mayhaps grateful enough to reward his dear father-in-law with a bit o’ land.”

  “The saints will punish you, Magnus.”

  Magnus MacDonnell laughed. “I dinna care if a whole host of saints come after me. This marriage will make me a rich man. I’ll hire an army to send the sniveling saints back where they came from!”

  “Perhaps the arrangement ’twill be good for Linnet,” Elspeth said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I doubt the MacKenzie partakes of enough ale each time he sits at his table to send himself sprawling facefirst into the rushes. Not if he’s the fine warrior the minstrels claim.”

  Elspeth fixed the laird with a cold stare. “Have you ne’er listened when the bards sing of his great valor serving our good King Robert Bruce at Bannockburn? ’Tis rumored the Bruce hisself calls the man his champion.”

  “Out! Get you gone from my hall!” Magnus MacDonnell’s face turned as red as his beard. “Linnet leaves for Kintail as soon as Ranald has the horses saddled. If you want to see the morn, gather your belongings and ride with her!”

  Peering through the spy hole, Linnet watched her beloved Elspeth give Magnus one last glare before she stalked from the hall. The instant her old nurse disappeared from view, Linnet leaned her back against the wall and drew a deep breath.

  Everything she’d just heard ran wild through her mind. Her da’s slurs, Elspeth’s attempts to defend her, and then her unexpected praise for Duncan MacKenzie. Heroic acts in battle or nay, he remained the enemy.

  But what disturbed Linnet the most was her own odd reaction when Elspeth had called the MacKenzie a man of strong passions. Even now, heat rose to her cheeks at the thought. She was embarrassed to admit it, even to herself, but she yearned to learn about passion.

  Linnet suspected the tingles that had shot through her at the notion of wedding a man of heated blood had something to do with such things. Most likely so did the way her heart had begun to thump fiercely upon hearing Elspeth’s words.

  Linnet’s cheeks grew warmer… as did the rest of her body, but she fought to ignore the disquieting sensations. She didn’t want a MacKenzie to bestir her in such a manner. Imagining how her da would laugh if he knew she harbored dreams of a man desiring her chased away the last vestiges of her troublesome thoughts.

  Resignation tinged by anger settled over her. If only she had been born as fair as her sisters. Lifting her hand, she ran her fingertips over the curve of her cheek. Though cold to the touch, her skin was smooth, unblemished. But while her sisters had been graced with milky white complexions, a smattering of freckles marred hers.

  And unlike their hair, always smooth and in place, she’d been burdened with a wild mane she couldn’t keep plaited. She did like its color, though. Of a bolder tone than her sisters’ blondish red, hers was a deep shade of copper, almost bronze. Her favorite brother, Jamie, claimed her hair could bewitch a blind man.

  A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Aye, she liked her hair. And she loved Jamie. She loved each of her eight brothers, and now she could hear them moving through the hall below. Even as her father’s drunken snores drifted up to her, so did the sounds of her brothers making ready for a swift departure.

  Her departure from Dundonnell Castle. The dark and dank hall of a lesser and near-landless clan chief, her ale-loving da, but the only home she had ever known.

  And now she must leave for an uncertain future, her place at Dundonnell wrested from her by her father’s greed. Tears stung Linnet’s eyes, but she blinked them away, not wanting her da to see them should he stir himself and deign to look at her as she exited his hall.

  Squaring her shoulders, Linnet snatched up her leather herb pouch, her only valued possession, and slipped from the laird’s lug. She hurried down the tower stairs as quickly as she dared, then dashed through the great hall without so much as a glance at her slumbering da.

  For the space of a heartbeat, she’d almost hesitated, almost given in to a ridiculous notion she should awaken him and bid him farewell. But the urge vanished as quickly as it’d come.

  Why should she bother? He’d only grouse at her for disrupting his sleep. And was he not pleased to be rid of her? Worse, he’d sold her to the laird of the MacKenzies, the MacDonnells’ sworn enemies since long before her birth.

  And the man, king’s favorite and strong-passioned or nay, only wanted her for the use of her gift and because he’d been assured she wasn’t bonnie. Neither prospect was flattering nor promised an endurable marriage.

  Linnet took one last deep gulp of Dundonnell’s smoke-hazed air as she stood before the massive oaken door leading to the bailey. Mayhap in her new home she wouldn’t be suffered to fill her lungs with stale, ale-soured air. “Oh, bury St. Columba’s holy knuckles!” she muttered, borrowing Jamie’s preferred epithet as she dashed a wayward tear from her cheek.

  Before more could fall, Linnet yanked open the iron-shod door and stepped outside. Though long past the hour of prime, a chill, blue-gray mist still hung over Dundonnell’s small courtyard… just as a pall hung over her heart.

  Her brothers, all eight of them, stood with the waiting horses, each brother looking as miserable as she felt. Elspeth, though, appeared oddly placid and already sat astride her pony. Other clansmen and their families, along with her da’s few servants, crowded together near the opened castle gates. Like her brothers, they all wore sullen expressions and remained silent, but the telltale glisten in their eyes spoke a thousand words.

  Linnet kept her chin high as she strode toward them, but beneath the folds of her woolen cloak, her knees shook. At her approach, Cook stepped forward, a clump of dark cloth clutched tight in his work-reddened hands. “’Tis from us all,” he said, his voice gruff as he thrust the mass of old-smelling wool into Linnet’s hands. “It’s been locked away in a chest in your da’s chamber all these years, but he’ll ne’er know we took it.”

  With trembling fingers, Linnet unfolded the arisaid and let Cook adjust its soft length over her shoulders. As he carefully belted the plaid around her waist, he said, “My wife made it for the Lady Innes, your mother. She wore it well, and it is our wish you will, too. ’Tis a bonnie piece, if a wee bit worn.”

  Emotion formed a hot, choking lump in Linnet’s throat as she smoothed her hands over the arisaid’s pliant fold
s. A few moth holes and frayed edges didn’t detract from the plaid’s worth. To Linnet, it was beautiful… a treasure she’d cherish always.

  Her eyes brimming with tears, she threw herself into Cook’s strong arms and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she cried against the scratchy wool of his own plaid. “Thank you all! Saints, but I shall miss you.”

  “Then dinna say good-bye, lass,” he said, setting her from him. “We shall see you again, never worry.”

  As one, her kinsmen and friends surged forward, each one giving her a fierce hug. No one spoke and Linnet was grateful, for had they, she would’ve lost what meager control she had over herself. Then one voice, the smithy’s, cried out just as her eldest brother Ranald lifted her into a waiting saddle. “Ho, lass, I’ve something for you, too,” Ian called, pushing his way through the throng.

  When he reached them, the smithy pulled his own finely honed dirk from its sheath and handed it to Linnet. “Better protection than that teensy wench’s blade you wear,” he said, nodding in satisfaction as Linnet withdrew her own blade and exchanged it for his.

  Ian’s eyes, too, shone with unusual brightness. “May you ne’er have cause to use it,” he said, stepping away from her pony.

  “May the MacKenzie say his prayers if she does,” Ranald vowed, then tossed Linnet her reins. “We’re off,” he shouted to the rest of them, then swung up into his own saddle.

  Before Linnet could catch her breath or even thank the smithy, Ranald gave her mount a sharp slap on its rump and the shaggy beast bolted through the opened gates, putting Dundonnell Castle forever behind her.

  Linnet choked back a sob, not letting it escape, and stared straight ahead. She refused… she couldn’t… look back.

  Under other circumstances, she’d be glad to go. Grateful even. But she had the feeling that she was merely exchanging one hell for another. And, heaven help her, she’d didn’t know which she preferred.