The Kindling Heart

by Carmen Caine

  Bree nodded, not really wanting to think of Effric. She smoothed the sheepskins with the palm of her hand. As usual, she felt awkward in Ruan’s presence. A shadow fell and she glanced up to find him towering above her.

  Ruan eyed her for a moment and then tossed a plaid next to the sheepskins. He collapsed onto it.

  He was much too close and Bree pulled back, nervously.

  Ruan caught the motion, but only smiled as he stretched his boots to the flames.

  “Shouldn’t you sleep next to Jenna?” Bree finally asked in a strained voice, silently cursing her burning ears.

  “Why? Aren’t ye the one in danger?” he replied. He raised a brow before adding with a good-natured chuckle, “Ye’ll be in danger of running, if nothing else.”

  “I’ve nowhere to run,” she admitted tightly, clutching her blanket and inching away.

  Ruan extended a sympathetic hand, but she jerked sharply away. What was the man doing? Jenna surely would misunderstand. Sending him a flustered look, she yanked the sheepskins several feet away. She settled once again, turning her back with a deliberate flare. She’d no time for further bilious thoughts. He reached over and placed a light hand on her shoulder.

  Bree sat bolt upright, her heart racing, but managed to summon a fierce frown. She nodded in Jenna’s direction.

  Ruan smiled hesitantly, obviously mystified.

  “Jenna!” she gulped her explanation, hoping he didn’t notice her reddening cheeks. “Jenna is right there!”

  “Aye?” Ruan’s dark brows knit together. He studied her before opening his fingers to reveal a small knife. “Ach, ye wee beastie, I only wanted to give ye this sgian dubh. I don’t plan to ravish ye.”

  A deeper crimson rushed to Bree’s cheeks, she hoped the firelight was too dim to reveal it. What ailed her thinking? Of course, the man was not interested in her! Feeling utterly foolish, she reached for the knife, but he grasped her wrist and pulled her forward. She fell heavily against his chest, startled.

  “Aye,” Ruan whispered, eyes glittering. “I dinna ken what evil ye’ve done, lass, but it must have been uncommon wicked. An innocent lass would never be so cursed as to be caught betwixt the sons of the devil himself.”

  Bree swallowed, keenly aware of the hard muscles upon which she lay. Her heart pounded faster. “What do you mean?” she squeaked.

  “Trust no one in this place,” Ruan murmured into her hair. “Least of all, sons of a MacLeod. Stay far from Tormod, I dinna ken his intent, but there’s something in his voice when he speaks of ye.”

  Her fingers went ice-cold as he molded them around the hilt of the small knife.

  Then, his jaw hardened and he sat up, pushing her away, “Move to yon side of the fire. I’m weary. Ye can plunge that sgian dubh in my heart if I turn your way.”

  Filled with a sudden fear at the mention of Tormod, Bree crept back onto the sheepskins, clutching the knife. Gone were the fanciful thoughts; ones of stark reality replaced them. Dunvegan was a harsh place, and the inhabitants were dangerous. And; no doubt, Ruan was as well.

  It was a long time before she could finally sleep.

  Bree awoke early the next morning to find Ruan gone and Jenna still peacefully asleep, her hand gently cradling her swollen belly.

  The jealousy was not as strong and Bree felt a sense of relief. Whatever minute feelings she’d developed for Ruan were already fading. With a lighter and satisfied heart, she grabbed the water bucket and slipped outside in the cool dawn to trudge down the hill to the small stream.

  The water was brown, infused with heather and peat. She grimaced. Everything about this place was brown. Kneeling by the stream, she dipped the bucket in. The water was icy cold, chilling her to the bone. She shivered, recalling her narrow escape of a frozen fate on the moors. Ruan had rescued her. She smiled, recalling how gentle he’d been, and then thoughts of him standing before her naked fled through her mind. He was handsome. She’d never thought a naked man could be appealing. Blushing at her thoughts and ashamed to be thinking of him once again, she struck the bucket.

  “You are such a fool!” she snapped crossly, smacking the bucket a little viciously. “A fool! A fool!”

  “Ach, lass, ‘tis only a poor, wee bucket,” Ruan’s deep voice rumbled in her ear.

  Bree jerked, startled as a hand slid over hers to pull the bucket out of the water.

  He was standing behind her, and far too close. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he murmured, “Pray tell, what the wee bucket could have done to incur such wrath and be called a fool?”

  Bree swallowed. The man was overpowering. It was hard to think. Flustered, she replied, “I was speaking of myself! I’m the fool!”

  She tried to free her hand from under his, but his grip tightened.

  “Ach, a fool?” Ruan snorted a little. “Over what?”

  She could hardly tell him the truth. She frowned. It was hard to think, her heart was beating so loudly. She whispered, “Let me go.”

  “Ye find my touch so disturbing?” he asked in a low voice.

  His skin was uncomfortably warm on hers. Again, unbidden thoughts of him standing so boldly naked in the chamber flashed through her mind, and she flushed scarlet.

  “Ach, ye wee beastie, I’ll bring the water,” he said, moving to stand beside her. He took the bucket from her hands. “Ye should rest a wee bit yourself.”

  Nervously, Bree swallowed, watching him from the corner of her eye. His muscles rippled as he hefted the bucket from the stream.

  He turned to her with a bow and said, “Please, lead the way, my lady.”

  There was no denying the man was charming. It was no wonder so many women had fallen for him. Bree took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow down.

  She could not tread the path of where these thoughts led.

  Turning on her heel, she wrestled her way back up the hill, through the slippery mud, acutely aware of Ruan following closely behind, whistling softly.

  She was grateful that once in the croft Ruan’s attention shifted fully to Jenna. He sat on the edge of the bed, announcing he had duties to attend to, but would return when he could.

  “Take care, love,” Jenna replied. She smiled tiredly as he kissed her forehead. With a deep yawn, she promptly turned over and fell back asleep.

  Ruan stared at her for a little while, his brows drawn in a worried scowl. As Bree passed, he reached over and laid his fingers over her wrist.

  “Watch her well,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll see if Isobel can come soon and have a wee look.”

  Bree nodded, pulling at her hand, but his fingers tightened.

  “And rest yourself, lass,” Ruan continued, his dark eyes boring into hers. “There is no cause to work so hard. Ye look a wee bit pale.”

  Bree swallowed uneasily, but managed a nod. She tugged her hand again.

  “Ach, do ye find me so unbearable?” Ruan asked, but his eyes had narrowed and his voice sounded huskier.

  “No!” Bree denied, clearing her throat hoarsely. “I’ll… I’ll always remember your kindness… and—”

  “Remember?” Ruan tilted his head to one side, still capturing her wrist with his fingers. “Is there something about me that ye know? Am I dying?” The corner of his lip twitched.

  “I meant… when our… marriage is annulled,” Bree said and blushed furiously, averting her gaze. It was hard to talk to the man.

  He blinked and relaxed his hold all at once. “Aye,” he said, nodding curtly. “I’ve affairs to tend. I’ll see if Isobel can be spared.”

  Without a backward glance, he strode to the door and was gone.

  Bree looked at her wrist and then guiltily at Jenna. No, she could not rest, regardless of what Ruan said. She had to keep herself busy and her mind focused on anything other than that dark eyed and disturbing man.

  The day was a hectic one. Clouds had gathered along the horizon by mid-morning, threatening rain. Bree set about working quickly. She’d discovered
the hole in the roof was larger than she’d originally thought. It took longer than she’d planned to gather the heather and tie it into bundles.

  Once or twice, Jenna tottered to the door and insisted that Ruan could take care of it when he returned. Bree shook her head politely, reassuring her that she found it relaxing. It was true enough. The work kept her mind occupied. By midafternoon, her heart had once again lightened. She decided she’d misinterpreted her odd feelings of the past few days. She was beginning to think of Ruan as a brother.

  Bree had just clambered onto the roof with the last bundle of thatching when she felt the first rain drops fall. She smiled in satisfaction. She’d timed it well. Hiking her skirt about her waist to avoid tripping on it, she climbed up a little farther, stuffing the last bundle into the hole.

  “Well done, lass, well done,” she said, smiling wryly at herself.

  “Aye, well done,” a deep baritone agreed, chuckling.

  Bree whirled to see Ruan resting against the lower ledge of the roof. Suddenly, she lost her grip and began to slide. Frantically, she grasped the thatching and succeeded in stopping her descent.

  “Be careful there, lass,” Ruan advised with a half-smile on his lips. His eyes trailed downwards.

  Bree followed his gaze and then blushed. Her skirt had caught on heather, riding up to reveal a healthy portion of her leg. Biting her lip, she yanked it free, barely managing to maintain her grip on the slippery roof.

  Then, inexplicably, Ruan’s strong hand latched onto her ankle, giving it a sharp tug, deliberately pulling her, and she was sliding uncontrollably down. She collided with him full force, knocking him back off his feet. His head struck the ground, and he went limp.

  Bree caught her breath, remaining where she was, but when Ruan didn’t move she scrambled to the side. His dark lashes remained closed. Hesitantly, she prodded his shoulder. “R ... Ruan?”

  He didn’t respond.

  All at once, she began to panic. Shaking his shoulder more forcefully, she raised her voice, frantically calling, “Jenna! Jenna!”

  The door to the croft slammed back as Jenna charged her way. “What happened!” she gasped, dropping heavily to her knees.

  “He fell back from the roof!” Bree heard her own voice shake. “I think he is hurt! He isn’t moving and—”

  Jenna stared at her, a little puzzled and interrupted, “The roof? ‘Tis only a few feet, love.”

  It was true; the roof ended only a short distance from the ground.

  “He pulled me down and…” Bree’s voice trailed off. She didn’t want Jenna to misunderstand. “I mean… I… I slid… I think I knocked him back, and he hit his head…”

  Jenna bent over Ruan’s face and then straightened with a growl. “Help me up, lass.”

  Bree jumped to her feet, supporting her elbow. “Shall I get Isobel? Is he…?” Surely, he was not dead? Or was he? Horrified, she searched Jenna’s face.

  “I’ll think of a suitable punishment for ye,” Jenna snorted, kicking Ruan in the side. “I nearly dropped the bairn! I told ye to help the lass, nae play with her!”

  Dumbfounded, Bree stared as Ruan opened his eyes and chuckled.

  “Ach,‘twas far more pleasurable to watch,” he said. He reached over and grabbed Bree’s ankle, giving it another twist.

  Losing her balance, Bree fell, landing mostly on top of him. He didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he seemed to find the entire thing quite amusing.

  Shaken and embarrassed, Bree scrambled back to her feet. How could the man act so in front of his lover? Not wanting to cause Jenna any distress, she said in a rush, “He is not himself! He means nothing by it! He must have struck his head!”

  Clutching her skirts, she ran into the croft without daring to look at either of them. What was the man playing at? Her fingers were shaking a little as she threw a few handfuls of oats into a wooden bowl.

  The door swung open and Ruan stepped inside.

  “I only meant to jest, lass,” he explained from the door. “I meant no harm.”

  Bree tensed. Summoning her best frown, she muttered, “Then, at least think of Jenna!” Could he not see how she might misunderstand?

  “Aye,” Ruan cleared his throat, apparently hearing.

  He stood back to let Jenna pass in.

  “I’m well, love, don’t mind me!” Jenna assured with a bright smile.

  Bree turned and stared at her, a little confused. They were both watching her, appearing somewhat confused themselves. Exchanging glances, they moved to the other side of the croft and began to discuss the state of several sheep. Returning to the bannocks, Bree focused on her work, trying to think of nothing but her list of chores.

  The evening was an awkward one. Ruan mentioned that Merry and Isobel would try to come the following day, but other than that, he avoided her. He concentrated, for the most part, on Jenna.

  It was late when Bree finally spread her sheepskin next to the dying hearth, Ruan and Jenna’s voices still murmuring softly.

  She must have been tired. She fell asleep almost instantly. She was not aware she’d even done so until she awoke suddenly, disoriented. It took a moment to recall where she was.

  The sound of an axe splintering wood resounded through the croft, and any remaining lethargy was shattered. She leapt to her feet.

  “Bree!” Tormod yelled drunkenly through the door. “Ye’ve made me angry!”

  Bree gulped.

  “’Tis no cause to fret, love,” Jenna’s voice echoed softly. “Ruan will handle him.”

  Ruan was already there, flinging the door open. He stood in the moonlight with arms crossed and feet planted wide.

  “Ruan!” Tormod gulped in alarm, lurching back.

  The brothers locked gazes and then Ruan raised a cold brow at the axe embedded in the door.

  There was a deadly pause.

  “Ye’re here…” Tormod mumbled, licking his lips nervously.

  “And why did ye come?” Ruan cocked his head to the side.

  “Bree,” Tormod slurred. “I’ve to speak with the lass.”

  “What matter do ye wish to speak on in the dead of night?” Ruan drummed his fingers on his arms, flexing them in preparation.

  Tormod mopped his sweating brow.

  “If I see ye anywhere near Bree, I’ll have your head, be ye The MacLeod or no!” Ruan said through clenched teeth. “And, as violence is the only thing ye can understand, I’ll leave ye with this to remember it by!”

  Tormod stared blankly.

  It was an unfair fight. Tormod was too drunk to defend himself. In short order, he stumbled away clutching his profusely bleeding mouth and nose. Bree’s consternation warred with a deep ripple of pleasure. It was impossible to resist stealing an admiring glance at Ruan. She hoped Jenna wouldn’t notice.

  Ruan wrenched the axe free and tossed it on the chest with a grunt, “That should keep him at bay. I’ll mend the door in the morning and I’ll speak with Robert on—”

  “Ruan,” Jenna interrupted in a voice taut with pain. “Ye’d best nae wait to fetch Isobel. The bairn is coming.”

  Chapter 13: I’m Nae in Love!

  Jenna suffered long into the next day and night, panting and wheezing in excruciating pain. At dawn, Isobel arrived with Merry toting her collection of herbs. She promptly put Bree to work brewing a variety of teas, some for Jenna to ease her suffering and others to keep everyone else awake.

  At times, Jenna could not sit still and insisted on walking about the croft. At other times, she huddled on the chair as they rubbed her back. Periodically, Bree stepped outside to inform Ruan and those waiting with him of the progress.

  With each passing hour, their anxiety grew, but she did her best to pass on Isobel’s assurances that all was well. After seeing her endless suffering, Bree was convinced she’d much rather die than ever give birth to a child.

  “’Tis taking too long!” Jenna screeched in agony.

  “Ach, the MacLeods are ones to take their time, lass. It mus
t be a boy…they tend to dally a wee bit,” Isobel crooned and beckoned to Bree. “Here, lass. Take Jenna’s hands for a spell, my fingers have gone numb.”

  It hurt dreadfully. With each labor pain, Jenna crushed Bree’s fingers and they both shed tears.

  After a time, Isobel took pity and replaced her, sending her out to keep the others abreast of the slow progress. The cycle repeated through the day and long into the night. She lost track of how many times she delivered the same message.

  Evening arrived. Mercifully, there was no sign of rain. The moon hung large in the sky, the stars were bright and twinkling as she stumbled from the croft once again, yawning tiredly.

  Ruan and Ewan had built a fire. Merry had joined them, leaving the croft after deeming the birthing process no longer interesting. Others from the village came and went. Someone was roasting a coney on a spit. Everyone stopped speaking when she appeared.

  “Is it done?” Ruan asked, rising to meet her.

  “No,” Bree said, shaking her head.

  Ruan was obviously worried. He had hovered around the croft from the beginning of Jenna’s labor, taking little food and drink. It was rather heartwarming that he cared for his child so deeply. For whatever tales Jenna had spoken of, painting his past as a raucous and heartless man, he was now quite kind.

  Collecting her scattered thoughts, she yawned again, “Isobel says these things take time, especially the first one. I’m sure your son will come soon.”

  Ruan broke his stride and raised his brows as Ewan glanced up from the fire.

  “I’m sure all is well,” Bree repeated tiredly.

  “Ruan?” Ewan queried softly.

  “My… son?” Ruan’s brows lifted, shushing Ewan with his hand as he peered down at Bree. “Aye, I can see how that takes time.”

  Ewan promptly swallowed a chuckle.

  Ruan shot him a black look.

  “Yes,” Bree agreed, feeling suddenly timid. “Isobel says the MacLeods tend to dally.” She attempted a smile, but found Ruan’s scrutiny unnerving.