by Gwyn Brodie
Though it had been almost a fortnight since that last heated kiss in her bedchamber, 'twas still crystal-clear in his mind. He closed his eyes, remembering in vivid detail the delectable sensation of her enticing full lips pressed against his. It struck him how easily she peaked his desire, unlike any other woman—even Rowena—ever had. His only consolation was carrying her to and from the great hall, and her daily trips to the stables. Once she could walk again, he would not be able to do even that. Not that he did not want her to walk, he certainly did. But he would miss her arms around his neck and her curves pressed against him.
Alex tossed peat onto the fire, then turned back to the window. He cursed beneath his breath, seeing that the snow was now falling much harder. Dark shapes appeared in the distance, and he squinted to get a better look. He smiled. Drostan had returned.
He grabbed his cloak, hurried from his bedchamber and rushed down the stairs. "Have the servants bring food and drink to the great hall for our returning clansmen," he told Maggie, as he left the castle to wait for the travelers in the bailey. "Raise the portcullis," he shouted up to Glenn.
"Aye, m'laird."
Drostan, along with the MacKintosh and MacPherson guards, rode into the bailey, then dismounted.
"Food is served. Go inside and eat your fill," he told the exhausted men. "The horses will be taken care of."
They nodded and murmured their thanks, before wearily making their way into the castle.
Drostan handed his stallion over to a stable lad, before walking inside with Alex. "I had each man take a vow of secrecy before returning," he said, keeping his voice low.
Alex frowned. What the devil had he learned that would require a vow of secrecy? "First, fill your belly, then we'll talk. Meet me in the solar once you've finished."
"Aye," he said, before heading into the great hall.
What had Drostan found out about Ceana? As he pondered the question over and over in his mind, speculation gnawed at him like a ravenous wolf as he paced back and forth in the solar.
After what seemed an eternity, Drostan walked in, closed the door and took a seat close to the fire. He looked up at Alex. "You'd best sit down, as well, my friend."
His heart pounded against his ribs as he did. "Tell me."
Drostan leaned forward and whispered, "I believe Ceana to be a MacGregor."
Alex's chest tightened. It did not matter a hill of beans to him if she were a MacGregor, but to some it did—including King James. And that was what worried him. "Do you have good reason to believe so?"
"Aye."
"Why? Because 'twas a MacGregor who sold the hawker the wolfhounds?"
"Nay," he said, shaking his head. "After I generously dropped two coins into the cunning old badger's outstretched hand, he told me he purchased them from a Campbell. When I pressed him as to where Campbell might have gotten the animals, he said he didnae ken, for he didnae ask."
Alex raised a brow. Everything was starting to make sense. "Go on." He poured two cups of whisky and handed one to Drostan.
"At an inn three nights ago, I overhead several Campbells, deep in their cups, bragging about a recent attack they'd made on Teineaer Castle, where they'd killed a great many MacGregors—including the laird and his lady. That castle has belonged to the MacDougals for centuries—not the MacGregors. Ceana had said she was a MacDougal, and that her parents had been murdered. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence to ignore."
"It appears that 'tis. I overheard her telling Grant the Campbells had murdered her parents and tried to kill her. What I cannae figure out is why tell Grant? From what she said, he's naught but a stranger to her."
Drostan frowned. "Do you think the lass is lying to you?"
"I dinnae ken. But I do ken there's much she hasnae told me. But I intend to find out soon enough."
He snorted. "How do you mean to do that?"
"By going to Teineaer Castle myself."
His friend grinned. "Given a full belly and a good night's rest, I might just be persuaded to go along with you."
Alex chuckled. "I thought you might. But first, I want to speak with Ceana. If she will tell me the truth, then there'll be no need to make the journey."
Drostan stood up and stretched. "It's been a long day, I'm going to get some sleep."
"I ken you're tired. I'm sorry to have kept you from your bed so long, but I do hope you understand how much I appreciate your help," Alex said, squeezing his friend's shoulder.
Yawning, Drostan nodded. "I do, you're welcome, and goodnight," he said, then left the library.
Alex finished his drink and headed upstairs. He stopped in front of Ceana's bedchamber and closed his eyes, recalling with clarity her tantalizing scent, the sweet taste of her lips, the silky smoothness of her skin, and the overwhelming desire she evoked within him.
There were times he tossed and turned all night, knowing there was no more than an unlocked door keeping them apart. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and make her his for all time. But before he did, he had to know the truth—even if he ended up having to go all the way to Teineaer Castle to find it.
Chapter Eight
The following morning, Ceana sat still while Flora brushed out her hair and added a blue ribbon. She spread the skirts of the matching gown over her legs and feet. Alex would soon arrive to take her down to break her fast, and she could not wait. She enjoyed being in his arms and cherished the times they spent together.
A knock sounded.
She took a deep breath. "Come in."
Alex opened the door and came across the room toward the bed, a smile on his handsome face. "You look lovely, as always, my lady."
"I thank you, kind laird."
He chuckled. "I ken you're hungry, as am I, but I wondered if I might speak with you before we go down to break our fast."
Her heart sprang against her chest. She knew what he wanted—the truth—something she could not give him—not yet. "Aye, of course," she managed to say, gripping the side of the bed for support.
Alex watched the color drain from her cheeks and saw the stark whiteness of her knuckles where her fingers clutched the bed. His request had clearly frightened her, and he regretted making it. But there was no helping it. "Leave us, Flora," he said to the maid, before dragging a chair closer to the bed. "Ceana," he said gently, taking one of her small hands in his. "As you well ken, 'tis my duty as laird to protect this castle and those inside its walls. And in order for me to do that to the best of my ability, I need you to tell me the truth. Are you a MacGregor?"
Her eyes widened, then filled with tears, as she stared past him into the fire. "I pray you will forgive me for keeping it from you," she pleaded, "but as you well ken, 'tis not something one wishes to reveal, especially to someone they hardly ken."
"Listen to me, Ceana. I care not if you're a MacGregor, but I well understand you keeping it from me, for I'm guessing 'twas the only reason your parents were killed."
She nodded. "When Lyall Campbell and his men attacked Teineaer, he had my father killed, then he murdered my mother himself for rejecting his advances, while her husband lay dead at her feet." She choked on a sob, as tears spilled down her cheeks. "When I grew to trust you, I wanted to tell you the truth, but feared that once you knew, you'd want no more to do with me, and I simply could not bear it."
He shook his head. "That could never happen, lass." He gently squeezed her hand.
"You've treated me with such kindness, and once I'm well enough, I'll leave here, for I dinnae wish to bring the king's wrath down upon you and your clan." She wiped her tears away with her sleeve.
The thought of her leaving him sliced through his heart. In the short time, she had been at Blackstone, Ceana had become as much a part of him as the air he breathed—his reason for being. Alex brought her trembling hand to his lips. The absolute anguish he saw in her brown eyes nigh broke his heart. "Dinnae fash about the king. All will be well, you'll see. Now, let's go and break our fast, I'm starving." He
lifted her in his arms.
"The dogs, Duff and Ross, do belong to me," she admitted, sliding her arms around his neck.
He raised a brow and grinned down at her. "I thought as much. Now, you must tell me which is Duff, and which is Ross," he said, then carried her from the bedchamber, already planning his journey to Teineaer Castle.
WAITING FOR DROSTAN to join him in the solar, Alex squatted before the fire and tossed more peat into the flames, sending a spray of fiery ash into the air.
Drostan came through the open door and closed it behind him. "Playing in the fire again, are we, lad?"
Alex chuckled, then got to his feet and dusted off his hands. "I well remember Mother scolding me for doing just that."
"As do I." He sat down on the edge of the settle and leaned toward the crackling heat. "Ceana appeared quite reserved at the table this morn. I assumed 'twas because you'd already spoken with her."
"Aye, I did. She admitted to being a MacGregor and that the dogs belonged to her. She said Lyall Campbell had her father killed, then killed her mother himself, just as I'd heard her tell Grant." He shook his head. "Her tears nigh broke my heart. She thought I would be angry with her if I knew the truth. I told her I didnae care who she was, and that I understood. She told me no more, nor did I ask. I couldnae very well tell her I already knew most of what had happened at Teineaer. I'd have had to admit I was listening in on her conversation with Grant."
Drostan nodded. "I see your predicament. What do you have in mind?"
"Ceana has come to mean a great deal to me, and I want to learn as much as I can about what happened to her and her family. I realized after speaking with her, that in order to do that, I need to see Teineaer for myself. I also intend to bring back what's left of her things—if any. Besides, I'm certain any survivors would be interested to learn of her fate, especially those who cared for her."
"Do I see a marriage in your future?" He grinned.
Alex smiled. "Perhaps, you do, but for now, let's talk about the journey." Even as recently as a month ago, he would never have imagined himself considering marriage to a dark-hair lass who had stolen his heart.
"Very well. I was exhausted last night and forgot to tell you one of your men has been to Teineaer."
"Which one?"
"Conn, he sought hospitality there several years ago during a snowstorm."
Alex got to his feet. "Then I must speak with him immediately."
Drostan followed him downstairs and into the great hall.
Alex scoured the room, until he found Conn, seated at a table along the left side of the room with the other men, and motioned him over.
"Aye, m'laird?" Conn's eyes widened.
"Follow me," Alex said, leading the way into the library.
"Is something amiss, laird?"
"Nay. I only wish to glean a bit of information from you."
Conn nodded his head of long dark hair.
"Drostan tells me you've been to Teineaer Castle."
"Aye. 'Twas many years ago, but the MacDougals were a good and kind lot and I very much enjoyed m' stay."
"Do you remember how to get back there?"
"Aye."
"Good. Those who rode with Drostan to Argyll—and myself—will be leaving for Teineaer in a few days, and you'll be leading the way."
Conn grinned. "I'll be more than 'appy to, m'laird."
Alex grasped the guard by the shoulder. "Now, go and finish your meal." A sudden thought came to his mind. "Conn?"
The guard turned. "Aye, laird?"
"You've seen Lady Ceana, have you not?"
"Aye, in the great hall."
"Do you remember seeing her during your stay at Teineaer all those years ago? Of course, she would have been much younger."
Conn thought for a moment, then nodded. "By the saints, I do remember the lass. I deem she was no more than fifteen summers but just as lovely. That first morn ye carried her into the great hall, I thought she looked familiar, but didnae ken why."
"Much thanks"
The guard nodded once, then left the library.
Alex turned to Drostan. "As soon as the weather clears, we leave for Teineaer Castle."
MOUNTED ON A MACGREGOR stallion, Lyall Campbell grimaced into the falling snow, as he and his men headed home to Kilchurn Castle. After having searched every inch of Teineaer, a few servants had been found, including the old steward, but not the MacGregor lass. Now he was certain it was she who had stolen his warhorse, and he would be damned if he would give up looking until he got him back. The stallion was worth the cost of three regular horses, and he had paid as much.
He shook his head. Still, he could not fathom how she had managed to ride him. Perhaps she was a witch. He snorted. But he did not believe in witches. Once the weather let up, he would come back this way and search every byre and stable until he found him. And while he was at it, he would teach the wench a thing or two about what happens to those who steal from Lyall Campbell.
ALEX BROUGHT JET TO a halt beside Drostan's chestnut, Eachann, and looked out over the snow-blanketed valley below. They had been traveling for three days, with their pace slowed significantly by occasional bouts of heavy snowfall.
Conn rode up beside him. "Teineaer lies on the other side of that mountain, laird. Once we reach the top, ye'll be able to see it."
"Much thanks."
As they rode through the valley and up the mountain, Alex wondered what he would find once he reached his destination. At the summit, he drew his mount up and surveyed the estate below. Even by the rapidly fading light of day, 'twas most obvious there had been a battle fought. Most of the buildings were blackened by fire, and their roofs missing. Smoke trailed from the castle chimney, a sure sign there were at least some who had survived the onslaught. As Jet cautiously picked his way down the steep hillside, he heard shouts. They had been seen. "Be watchful, but keep your weapons sheathed," he told his guards. He did not wish anyone thinking they were being attacked yet again.
Several yards away from the portcullis, he motioned for his men to stop, then he and Drostan rode on up to the gate. "We seek hospitality," Alex shouted to anyone who might be listening. "Take a look at the portcullis. 'Tis undamaged," he told Drostan. "It appears, someone deliberately let the attackers in."
"Aye. I see what you mean," Drostan agreed. "'Tis in perfect condition."
It was eerily silent for several minutes, then the castle door opened. An elderly man, with white hair sticking out in all directions, approached, carrying a lantern. "Be ye friend or foe?" he called out.
"I'm Alexander MacPherson, the Laird of Blackstone Castle. We have no quarrel with the MacDougals—nor the MacGregors—but if we might be allowed to stay the night, I do have several questions I'd like answered."
"Wait here," he said, before disappearing back inside. Suddenly, the portcullis was raised.
"Stay alert," Alex ordered his men. "We dinnae ken what's waiting for us inside those walls." He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case he needed it, and they rode into the bailey.
The old man was waiting for them. "I'm Hugh MacDougal, the steward here—or at least I was. Ye must tend ye own horses, fer there's no one left to do it. There's oats to be had, and hay, what wasnae burned in the fire." He held out his lantern. "Take this. Ye'll need it inside the stables, then come up to the castle. I'll have someone ready you a bit of food and drink in the great hall."
"We thank you." Alex took the lantern and headed toward the stables, where luckily, the roof had been left intact. Once the horses were seen to, they made their way up to the castle entrance, where a lad of about twelve summers waited. He opened one of the broad double doors, which showed considerable damage, then stepped aside.
The entryway revealed how fierce a battle had been fought there. Blood spattered the once beautiful tapestries on display, and dark stains covered the stone floor, though 'twas obvious someone had tried to scrub it away. Once beautiful oak furniture now bore sword marks, and seve
ral of the paintings, still hanging on the wall, had been slashed beyond repair.
Hugh came out of the great hall. "If ye'll come with me, laird, a meal has been prepared for ye and ye men."
Alex nodded, and followed him, wondering if the survivors had enough food left to feed themselves, let alone, all of them. He took a seat at the high table, with his back against the wall.
Drostan sat down beside him. "Either everyone is in hiding, wondering if we've come to finish them off, or there were few survivors," he whispered, as an elderly woman filled their goblets with ale.
"Aye." He took a drink, keeping a close watch on the entrances.
Hugh returned to the table. "Ye indicated ye had questions," he said, taking a seat on a bench across from Alex.
"What happened here?" Alex waited for his answer.
The old man studied him for a moment as if weighing his words before speaking. "The Campbells attacked one morn whilst everyone was breaking their fast. Unprepared, many died."
"What about the laird and lady? Do you ken what happened to them?" Of course, he already knew but thought he might glean something more from the steward.
"Aye. I managed to make it to the hidden chamber, and peered through a small crack in the mortar." He shuddered. "'Twas an awful thing their chief did to Lady MacGregor. Once his men had murdered the laird, he tried to force himself upon her. She let out a scream and sliced his face with her sgian dubh. Without so much as a second thought, he sliced open her throat."
And Ceana had been a witness to it all. Alex's throat tightened. "How many people remain here?"
"Ummh, perhaps fifty—only those who carried not the MacGregor name were allowed to live. Thankfully, the MacGregor women and children survived by reaching the hidden chamber, before the Campbells fought their way into the great hall. As for the others, most have returned to the village or their own clans."
Alex swallowed his mouthful of venison stew. "I feel there's more to this story, and I'd very much like to hear it all." Hugh had not yet mentioned Ceana, and he wondered why. Did he think he was protecting her?
