The Kindling Heart

by Carmen Caine

  A surprised smile jerked Ruan’s lips. He cast a side-length glance as Bree joined him, wringing the hem of her dress. Her face was pale in the moonlight and looked taut and worried. Without thinking, he gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

  They both stiffened at once.

  Hastily, he snatched his hand back. He turned to Ewan and spoke rapidly to mask his discomfort, “Did ye find it much trouble to take the horses, lad?”

  “Nay,” Ewan shook his head and smiled. “Tormod will nae be missing these two for a few days.” He pointed to the animals tethered a short distance away.

  Ruan inspected them with a frown. They were ancient, creaking beasts. Ruan doubted if Tormod would ever miss them at all. “Two?” he muttered, less than pleased.

  “We’d best start,” Isobel said. She looked up from tying a small bundle onto one of the saddles. “Merry and I will ride the dapple. Bree, ye’ll ride in front of Ruan so ye can guide the horse if he faints. Which, by the look of ye, lad, is fair likely.”

  Ruan tensed at the thought of Bree in such extended, close contact, but the nagging pain of his wound reminded him Isobel spoke wisely enough. With Ewan’s assistance, he succeeded in mounting the beast and sat stiffly as Ewan caught Bree about the waist and tossed her into his lap.

  He clenched his jaw. Her curls were everywhere. His brows furrowed into a deep line. He had to keep his wits entirely about him. He could not afford to be distracted. Impatiently, he brushed her hair away and warned in a low voice, “Keep your hair out of my face.”

  She stiffened and twisted her hair into a braid as Isobel and Merry said their farewells to Ewan.

  Ruan cast his eyes about, seeking to keep his thoughts away from the slender, wriggling form planted firmly between his thighs. He was annoyed that the pain of his wound failed to prevent his body rousing in response. “Hold still,” he growled.

  With Isobel and Merry ready at last, they exchanged their final farewells and rode away, leaving Ewan standing alone in the moonlight.

  Ruan lost track of the countless times he had ground his teeth together on that unrelentingly, torturous journey. It was a small miracle any teeth remained. Every step the horse took jarred his wound unmercifully. Bree proved a constant distraction, but one he’d rather not have. Her softness pressed against him could cause his body to respond with lust, should he allow it.

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, and inadvertently caught a strand of her curling hair. An image of her asleep, hair fanning across the pillow, flashed in his mind, and a surge of desire stirred his blood.

  “By the Saints!” Ruan swore aloud and swatted at the low branches overhanging the path.

  They followed a stream winding along the edge of a steep and stony ravine for some time until the terrain turned marshy. Cliffs rose in the distance and when they arrived at the base of them, they entered a thick wood that blotted out any light the moon might have given. The going was slow. After what seemed like hours, a break in the trees afforded him a glimpse of the sky. Dawn was approaching. The dull light grew brighter as they winded uphill through the woods and out onto the open moors.

  In the distance, he could see the Old Man of Storr turning pink in the rising sun. He drove them at a faster pace. It seemed to take forever until they finally arrived in the shadow of the black precipices.

  “We’ll rest here a wee bit,” he murmured, dismounting in relief. He was exhausted and in severe pain, but they had made it. Tormod would not think to look for them here so soon.

  “Ach, I’m right glad to see these rocks,” Isobel grumbled, sending Ruan a sharp glance. “Ye rode as if auld cootie himself was behind ye, lad.”

  Ruan snorted. No, auld cootie hadn’t been behind him. He wanted to shout that the devil had been sitting in his lap, with a wealth of curls blowing in his face.

  Isobel took one look at him and pushed him down onto the nearest stone. Pursing her lips, she said, “We should have waited. Ye were too hasty, lad.”

  A haze of fatigue settled over Ruan. “Aye, and that is exactly why no one will ever believe we were foolish enough to leave,” he sighed heavily, attempting to rise. “The horses—”

  “The lassies can care for them.” Isobel frowned. “I’ll nae have ye falling ill again. I’ve nae the time for it.”

  Ruan didn’t resist. Sliding to the ground, he leaned tiredly against the boulder and bowed his head. A warm plaid dropped about his shoulders. “Thank ye, Isobel.” He yawned.

  “You are welcome,” Bree replied, hesitantly.

  Surprised, he opened an eye. She attempted a smile, but her lips were too tight. He watched as she joined Merry to struggle with the saddles. Part of him wished he had the strength to help—he’d make short work of it—but the rest of him enjoyed the fascinating way in which she moved. Tilting his head, he allowed his gaze to rove over her slender figure, enjoying the pulse of his blood before becoming aware of the nature of his thoughts.

  Expelling a sharp breath, he clamped his eyes firmly shut.

  Chapter 16: Reenan

  Ruan seemed gravely ill. His skin was grey and he was in obvious pain. A fresh, red patch of blood stained his shoulder.

  “He should be abed, foolish lad,” Isobel mumbled, searching the saddlebags for her bundle of herbs. Her expression was grim.

  “He is strong,” Merry said loudly, too loudly.

  Bree squeezed her hand in comfort.

  They watched Isobel clean his wound and sprinkle it liberally with herbs. Once satisfied that it was no longer bleeding, she leaned back on her heels. “Bree, love, I’ll need a wee bit of help.”

  Prepared to be squeamish, Bree stepped forward, but this time the expected nausea didn’t arrive. His wound was healing remarkably well, and she found his muscular chest occupying her thoughts instead.

  He was lean and strong and his skin was warm to her touch. Several times, she fought the urge to run her fingers through his hair.

  Finally, they were done and she became aware of Isobel observing her with twinkling eyes. Bree ducked her head to hide the color rising in her cheeks.

  “Ach, now, we should rest a wee bit,” the old woman said. “A lassie on each side should be enough to keep him warm.”

  In short order, Bree found herself promptly tucked in next to him with Merry on the other side.

  Isobel dusted her hands, surveying her handiwork with satisfaction. “I’ll watch for a spell. Rest while ye can. I’m sure the lad will wake soon and have us moving once again.”

  Bree expelled a breath and burrowed deeper in the plaid. She could feel Ruan’s steady breathing. He generated an enormous amount of heat even though he was ill. His eyes remained closed and this time he did not awake under her curious inspection. His lashes were incredibly long and black. Once again, she experienced an urge to touch him, especially the curve of his lower lip.

  Catching the nature of her thoughts, she frowned and instead forced herself to ponder what lay ahead.

  She awoke some time later.

  A thick blanket of fog had fallen, draping the mountains above them in mist and cloud. It was growing late and the sun struggled to shine weakly from its position low on the horizon. Thunder muttered far away, signaling the arrival of a storm as fine droplets of rain caressed her cheeks.

  Cautiously, Bree slipped from under the plaid and discovered Isobel had fallen asleep on her watch. Ruan hadn’t moved and he appeared much the same. Merry snored, nestled on his shoulder.

  Bree glanced around. The horses were grazing a short distance away, their forms large, moving shadows in the mist. All was silent. If Tormod had followed, he’d have to be extremely fortunate to find them in this fog

  She breathed deeply in relief and then shivered. It was growing colder. Ruan needed shelter and warmth. A fire would help, if she could even start one in these conditions.

  Searching for something dry to burn, she scouted around the edge of their camp and came across a small gully with several old trees at the bottom
. Hoping to find some fallen branches, she moved toward them. Loose stones slipped and slithered under her feet as she descended and arrived at the bottom. As her first step sank rapidly into the mire, she scrambled back in alarm. She’d heard many tales of unfortunates happening upon a bog. Their deaths were gruesome, sinking slowly before they disappeared entirely, never to be seen again. Reluctantly, she decided the trees were impossible to reach.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. She turned quickly to see a form flitter through the mist and up to the opposite side of the gully. Suddenly uneasy, she lifted her muddy skirts, climbed the wet heather to the top, and ran back to the camp.

  Ruan was awake, leaning on Merry’s shoulder as Isobel paced frantically in circles. Upon spying her, they all exhaled in overt relief.

  “’Tis dangerous here, lass!” Isobel exclaimed, rushing to her side and clasped Bree in a bosomy hug. “There are steep stones and bog pits all about! I feared the worst!”

  “Aye,” Merry chimed.

  Ruan opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was lost, as his brows rose in surprise, and his attention focused over her shoulder.

  Whirling, Bree found herself staring into the curious gaze of a young woman with intensely blue eyes and white skin sprinkled liberally with freckles. She was short and slender and her blonde hair was twisted in a loose braid that fell down the length of her back. One of her arms was thrown around the shoulders of a boy about ten years of age, and a smaller child peeked cautiously from behind her skirts. Both children shared her complexion and build.

  “Ach, lad,” the woman squeezed the boy’s arm. “’Tis nae cause for alarm here, methinks. ‘Tis just a few weary travelers, by the looks of them, love.”

  “Reenan!” Ruan’s deep voice called out.

  The woman jerked in surprise, craning past Bree, and her mouth fell open. “Ruan! Why, ‘tis a wee surprise to see ye! What brings ye here, man?”

  Ruan’s lips cracked into a smile, but it caused him to break into a bout of coughing. He winced in pain and leaned hard against Merry.

  Reenan rushed to his side.

  He managed a weak grin as she guided him to the nearest boulder. “Aye, but your bonny face is a wondrous sight!” he said.

  “What are ye doing here, lad. Ach, yer hurt!” Reenan touched his shoulder, but withdrew her hand as he exhaled sharply.

  Shaking her head, she ordered the boy, “Laddie, bring the cart. We’ll get this daft one out of the rain! I never would have seen ye if it hadn’t been for the lass poking by the bog, and even then, with all the mist, ‘tis a miracle!”

  “Bree, love, ‘twas dangerous there,” Isobel clucked, shaking her head.

  Bree felt her ears redden.

  “Aye, but I’m pleased she did,” Ruan grunted, struggling to his feet.

  Looping an arm of support around his waist, Reenan frowned. “What happened, lad?”

  The gesture was an intimate one and Bree wondered just who, exactly, this Reenan was. She was quite fetching and Ruan was obviously happy to see her. She found herself frowning.

  “I thought of coming to ye,” Ruan was saying through clenched teeth. “But, with Sean gone, I’ll nae be wanting to cause ye trouble, and trouble is sure to follow me.”

  “There is nothing unusual in that,” Reenan said with a husky laugh. “Though ‘tis well Sean is up north, he still wants yer blood for that last kiss.”

  Ruan snorted with a crooked grin, “I was drunk; I dinna ken who ‘twas.”

  “Ye shouldn’t hurt a woman’s pride so,” Reenan teased in reply. “Well, ye’ll be staying whilst ye get yer strength back and there’s an end to it. I’ve missed ye so, though, ye’d best know that Lorna is with me now.”

  Ruan’s brows tightened and he fell into another bout of coughing.

  Reenan chuckled, “Aye, well, there’s a bed ye regret lying in, no? I told ye, time and again, lad, that–”

  “Ye’ll be meeting Bree,” Ruan interrupted, nodding in Bree’s direction. “My wife.”

  The shock was apparent in the woman’s expression. She belatedly masked it with a smile. “Wed! Ruan wed! Heaven knows how many tried to accomplish that! To think I would live to witness the mighty Ruan in love!”

  “I’ve said naught of love,” Ruan gave a deep-throated growl.

  Bree didn’t know what irritated her more, the fact that she was hearing of a Lorna and the many women trying to wed him, or that he’d just announced that he didn’t love her. Of course, he didn’t love her. She knew that, but it was hurtful to hear just the same. She whirled and stalked after the horses, no longer wanting to observe their reunion.

  The horses hadn’t strayed far. She grabbed their bridles, but they ignored her feeble attempts to move them. Placidly chewing the dry stalks of grass, they eyed her for a few moments before shaking their heads free and stepping away. She shot them a poisonous glare.

  “I’ll help,” a small voice chimed.

  Bree turned to find a girl, slightly younger than Merry, grinning at her. She possessed the same shock of blonde hair and the brilliant blue eyes as her mother, and Bree wondered just how many children Reenan had.

  It took the girl no time at all to have the horses obediently following and Bree found herself trailing behind with a grimace.

  A rickety cart rolled into view, already loaded with their belongings and Ruan settled amongst them. Reenan leaned over to murmur something in his ear as she tucked a plaid under his chin.

  His temper suddenly exploded. “Will ye have done, woman!” he roared. “Above all others, ye know I’m incapable of love and I’ve naught to my name! The past is dead and buried.”

  “Ach, things like women rarely stay buried,” Reenan sniffed.

  Ruan choked again.

  “Her husband died three months past, and she’s my cousin. I can scarcely turn her out.”

  Ruan growled.

  “Ye’ve nae told me what brings ye this far out,” Reenan switched subjects. “By the look of ye, ‘tis nae good news.”

  “Nay,” Ruan replied, blanching a little. “’Tis ill tidings of the worst sort. Robert is dead.”

  She stared at him for some time and then wordlessly patted his shoulder. Motioning to her son, the cart lurched forward. Isobel joined Reenan to sit in the front and Bree followed with the children.

  The cart creaked so much that further conversation was impossible, not that Ruan appeared as though he wished to speak. He lay in the back with his eyes firmly closed, and mouth shut tight.

  Bree’s thoughts wandered to Lorna. She was obviously his lover, or had been. She frowned deeper. Lorna would almost assuredly be beautiful. Her jaw tightened, wondering why it bothered her. She had no real claim on the man. They were riding as fast as they could to Cameron, where Ruan’s first action would be to seek an annulment of their marriage. She glanced away.

  The fog was so thick it was difficult to see. At times, the mist lifted to reveal they were traveling away from the mountains, passing by rugged rocks and grassy slopes. She could see the trunks of slender birch and the occasional pine.

  It was not long before a large croft arose unexpectedly out of the mist. The acrid smoke of a peat fire billowed from the roof. The door flew open and out popped several more children, all of them chattering in excitement.

  Encompassing them into a sweeping hug, Reenan bundled the entire lot into the croft.

  They had scarcely entered the croft when a tall, willowy woman stepped forward from the shadows.

  Bree sighed.

  Lorna was far more beautiful than she had imagined. She was the kind of woman who reduced others to the status of dowdy with a mere look. Her fiery, red hair framed a flawless, creamy face. She shared the same radiant, blue eyes as the rest of her kin. As those luminous eyes fell upon Ruan, her face suffused with pure joy, and she launched herself into his arms.

  It was simply too much.

  Not entirely sure why, Bree spun on her heel and slammed the door
of the croft with guilty pleasure. The pleasure was short-lived. Her heart felt oddly heavy.

  The mist had parted to reveal a short line of trees next to a low, stone building not far away. Moving toward it, she berated herself. She was jealous. Somehow, she had let the man under her skin. How could she?

  She headed toward the small stone building, and rounded a corner to nearly trip over a flock of geese. The birds scattered, squawking and flapping their wings. Bree mumbled an incoherent apology their direction and plodded ahead.

  A shadow fell across her path, and she glanced up to see Ruan’s inscrutable face. He blocked her path.

  “Wait,” he said hoarsely. “’Tis nae what ye think. Well… some might be… I should explain, I think.” He licked his lips and added, “Perchance.”

  If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought him nervous. He seemed inordinately self-conscious. And then, the image of the beautiful woman in the croft crossed her mind. No doubt, he wished his wife gone so he could be with Lorna. That thought hurt.

  Angry, she attempted to charge past him. The scuffle was brief. As her knee headed for his groin, he swung her about with consummate skill, pinning her arms behind her back and against his chest.

  Panting with exertion, she stopped struggling, brown curls covering her face in wild disarray. Let him think he’d won; he’d have to loosen his grip soon. He was still weak. Growing angrier, she blew at the hair from her face. Images of him kissing Lorna paraded unbidden in her mind. Wanting to banish the thoughts, she stamped her foot in frustration, inadvertently grazing his shin.

  Ruan swore under his breath. “I’ll thank ye to hold still,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Not quite knowing what possessed her, she tossed her head back against his chest and deliberately attempted to push him away.

  He twirled her again to face him, there was something in his expression that made her pause, but then she shook her head, regaining her anger. “Let me go! It is best not to keep your lovely Lorna waiting!”

  Ruan’s expressive eyes shuttered instantly as his grip tightened about her wrists.