by Mary McCall
"My wanting you appears to be enough, lass.” He winked.
Alera growled and balled her fists. “I will fight you every time you touch me, you savage."
"Well, if you fight like you just did, I'll not mind.” He raised a mocking brow. “'Twas damn arousing."
"I am not a whore!” She emphasized her point by punching her fist into his rock-hard belly. By all that's holy, now the barbarian had broken her hand. She shook her agonized fingers and glared at him. “I am a lady. I have many important duties and serfs to protect and an uncle to kill. I will not stay here."
"Then I have lightened your load, lass. Your only duty now is to keep me sated.” Duncan grasped her jaw and brought her angry face within inches of his own. “I have heard enough complaints. I have graciously allowed your questions. I have even been patient and let you rage at me."
Alera narrowed her eyes. “You do not know what rage is if you think—"
"Enough! You will not change my mind. I am your laird. My word is your law to obey without question. Nor will you call me anything but laird or Duncan. I will grant you a week to get over your tenderness. Then I expect you to perform the duty I have given you.” He released her jaw, swept her body with his eyes, and returned passion-filled orbs to hers. “And make no mistake, Alera, whether you receive me fighting or smiling, you will do your duty."
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Five
"The barbarian is daft if he thinks to keep me. Leman, indeed!” Alera scrounged through Duncan's departed wife's chest and yanked out a dark brown kirtle.
"'Twas an insult, Henry, and the savage knows it. You have to help me now. To stay as his whore would be a sin. I doubt Almighty God would want that."
She donned the gown then hobbled down the stairs, hissing under her breath. Each time her feet touched the ground, she felt as if hundreds of nails hammered up her legs. Her heart beat so fast she could barely catch her breath. She arrived at the bottom step and saw the door. Freedom. She was almost there. O Lord, she was going to faint from exhaustion and pain before she...
A mocking chuckle to her left informed her of the exact location of her nemesis. “If you are so anxious to be about your duty that you have come looking for me, I'll be happy to oblige, lass."
Alera couldn't decide if she was frustrated, angry, mortified, or relieved, because she couldn't get her mind off her throbbing feet. Her stomach chose that moment to grumble. In a loud and very unladylike way. She gritted her teeth and glared. “I am hungry and looking for food."
Duncan sauntered across the hall. His grin told her he knew of her intent to leave. He scooped her into his arms and carried her out the rear door to the kitchen, which was deserted for the night. Thank Almighty God she was off her feet. And why did she feel so safe and comforted after he picked her up?
He set her on a large work counter in the center of the room. Pots, pans, and other items were stored in a neat and orderly fashion on hooks and shelves. Not what she expected from the quality of the food she had been served thus far. Duncan gave her brown bannock bread, white crowdie cheese, and a cup of milk.
Hunger seized her. She crammed a large chunk of stale bread into her mouth. He chuckled. Her cheeks flamed as she realized her poor manners. She chewed and dared a peek at him. The barbarian winked at her. Her heart slammed in her chest and her blood heated. Her throat was suddenly too dry. The bite stuck. She choked.
He calmly pounded her back, almost knocking her from the counter. “You should not eat so fast, lass. Have some milk and slow down. Your duty has not started yet, so you have all night to finish your meal."
The rogue would have to remind her. The bread finally dislodged. She sucked in precious air then drank some milk. He was gloating again. She cleared her throat. “You Ranalds must have iron palates and guts to eat such fare all the time and not die."
"I'll allow you the excuse this time.” He leaned his hip against the counter beside her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Our cook is getting a wee bit long in the tooth and does not do so well as in the past. But now that you know, the excuse will not serve again."
The beast had gall and was daft for suggesting she needed an excuse. A civilized man would take her word and not push the issue. “I do not know of what you speak."
"'Tis simple. I winked. You choked.” He shrugged and flashed a devilish grin. “You want me, lass."
"Why, you arrogant—"
"You'll have to wait till you're not so tender. Though I'll admit I want you, too."
"If I were a man, I would—"
"If you were a man, I would have killed you. You should be pleased I'm so generous. I'm only waiting so you can feel pleasure, too."
"I do not want—"
"Well now, lass, if you do not mind the tenderness, as soon as you're through eating—"
"I do mind. And I wish you would let me finish my sentences.” Alera rubbed her brow. She was so tired and so lost. “Can you not see how wrong you are to keep me? You are forcing me into a sinful life. I am English. Your clan will hate me. I can never be happy here when all I wish is to go home. Do you truly wish misery upon a person you do not know?"
She met his gaze and thought she read tenderness, but his roguish guise quickly returned. “You'll not be unhappy, lass. I'll not allow it. Happiness will come just as soon as you settle in."
"Settle in? Settle in! The Lady Alera of Arundrydge does not settle in."
"Do not belittle yourself. I am sure you're not inferior to any lass here. Though I am thinking you may be a wee bit spoiled. We'll break you of that flaw soon enough. You will settle in just fine."
"You obviously cannot be reasoned with. I shall not speak to you again.” Alera took a bite of cheese and pointedly looked away.
The barbarian did the one thing he knew would irritate her. He laughed.
The lass didn't know when to give in gracefully. He had waited five days for her to make her move and she hadn't disappointed him.
He would give her credit for grit, though. She would be lucky if she didn't break her fool neck. The lass had tied gowns together into a long rope and shimmied out his chamber window. She banged herself into the side of the keep a few times and released a few curses that would make his warriors blush. But the lass held on to her tow.
Her feet landed on the ground and Duncan backed into some shrubbery. He would follow her in stealth and scare her out of this foolishness. The night sky lent her just enough light to find the stables, bridle a horse, and set off. He grinned. The lass had picked his faithful stallion.
He would have to settle on embarrassing the lass, though. He didn't have the heart to scare her. After all, she had more spirit than any woman he had ever met. He would just have to direct her merits toward his own ends.
He honestly couldn't understand why she wouldn't wed him. He'd been chased by enough women from both Clan Ranald and his allies to know he was considered a worthy catch. He had no doubt Alera would change her mind soon enough. Until that time, he had no intention of either letting her get away or living as a monk.
As she reached the base of the hill, his shrill whistle sliced the night. Rufus perked up, spun around, and trotted up the hill. For such a proper lady, the lass released one vicious curse. Her efforts were futile, but she jumped from the horse anyway. Her spine rigid, she limped back down the mountain.
Duncan shook his head. He liked women with backbone and here was one with more than her share. He mounted Rufus and rode down to her. She blatantly ignored him. He leaned down, grabbed her from behind, and hauled her upon his lap. “You should have told me you like moonlight rides, Alera. I would have joined you."
She jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “I prefer solitude at night."
"Ah,” he purred in her ear and her body shivered against him. “I cannot let you ride alone now that I know you have so much trouble keeping your delectable seat upon a mount. ‘Twould be careless of me to let you injure yourself, especially since your week is u
p in two days."
With a gloating chuckle, he tightened his embrace and carried her back to his chamber. She fought like a tigress as he undressed her. Even gave him the scratches and bite marks to prove it. His chuckles probably added to her fury, but she was glorious in the emotion. His manhood swelled in anticipation of a battle of the sexes.
He removed his plaid, slid into bed, and pulled her against him. She bit his arm and tried to push away. He pulled her flush against him to still her movements. “If you had any sense at all, lass, you would realize your struggles do naught but feed my lust. I would be glad to end your week now."
Nudging his arousal against her belly halted her struggles. She lay in his embrace, stiff as a board. “Why do you not go sleep with your horse like a good barbarian should? I hate you."
"Ack, lass, but hate can be hard to hold on to. I know. I used to hate all the English."
"And I suppose you do not now,” she said snidely. “What changed your mind?"
"I caught one."
Caught one, indeed! The episode had repeated itself in her mind hundreds of times over the past two days. Her mortification increased with each unwanted memory.
Alera huddled into the thick bear pelt she had stolen from Duncan. She cast her eyes toward the cloudy gray sky and groaned. Where was the sun in this dreary land? ‘Twas April, for heaven's sake, and spring at Arundrydge. At least she would find greenery when she arrived there.
Adjusting the pouch that held her purloined goods tied about her waist, she increased her pace through the dead forest. She couldn't judge time without the sun, but it must be at least an hour past the nooning. Duncan should wake soon. She wouldn't be caught this time. She had to take care of Arundrydge and kill Uncle Mortimer. ‘Twas a matter of duty and family honor to seek revenge.
She wanted to search for Papa, too. He couldn't be dead. Surely his spirit still called to hers. She had to save him. Duncan couldn't be permitted to thwart her.
What kind of power did the barbarian have over her, anyway? She had awoken these past nights and found her body plastered atop his. Moving away for pride's sake left her feeling bereft. Relief would surge through her when he reached out and pulled her back.
'Twas almost as if she belonged in his embrace. Even now, the thought of never seeing him again left her sad and incomplete. If she stayed near him much longer, she might give into her wanton nature and never leave.
A chilly breeze swept a shiver through her. She certainly missed the barbarian's warmth right now. Was the day growing colder? At least she hadn't encountered wild animals.
Alera forged onward, limping through the lifeless forest. She would make it to Arundrydge this time, damn if she wouldn't. She had planned better.
Duncan had made a habit of bringing her a tray of terrible food in the evenings and sitting with her while she tried to swallow the muck. He leered and undressed her with his eyes—at least that is what she thought he was doing. But the barbarian didn't know everything. ‘Twas her turn to gloat. She had checked that other phial and found a mixture of feverfew and mandrake root. She dosed his ale good when he wasn't looking. A smirk crossed her lips. When he woke, he would be as mad as a pilfering bear caught with his paws on an angry bee's honeycomb.
She chuckled, thinking about how enraged he would be. “I am glad I did not let him know I could speak Gaelic either, Henry. ‘Twas obvious it galled him to speak English."
The forest opened, and Alera found a stream dividing the woods. Kneeling at the water's edge, she raised the icy liquid with cupped hands and quenched her thirst. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth then brushed back some curls that had fallen over her shoulder.
Looking up and down stream for a narrowing to cross, she saw none. “I do not suppose you would want to part the waters for me, Henry?"
Alera released a weary sigh. “I thought not. Have I mentioned lately that I do not appreciate your laxity? A good angel guardian would make a tree fall at the very least."
The stream was at least two times her height wide but appeared shallow enough. Alera removed the pouch at her waist and hitched up her gown between her legs, tucking her back hem into the front of her pilfered girdle. She removed the foot wraps she had made from one of Duncan's pelts and ribbons from the chest. She shook her head over the pitiful condition of her feet and tucked the wraps into her pouch.
Holding the bag aloft, she stepped into the frigid water. She waded too fast through the cold stream and lost her footing on the slippery floor. Throwing her arms wide, she landed on her bottom and sank up to her neck. “Damnation! Henry, is this trek through hell revenge for the time I baited Elfrid's bull or for all my mischief combined?"
She stood up in the water and her kirtle hem slipped out of her girdle, the material plastered to her body. She glanced about for her pouch and located it beside her pelt, safely dry, on the bank behind her. She snorted. “Well, I suppose I should thank you for that favor."
Alera ran out of the stream, shivering. She spread her pelt upon the ground then removed her soaked gown and shift. She tossed her dagger and thigh sheath on the pelt and delved into the pouch. She grabbed up one of the shifts and vigorously rubbed her arms. If she wasn't careful, she would re-bruise her almost-healed self. She shuddered, too cold to finish drying. She had to have covering.
She wrapped the shift around her wet head and donned another. The gauzy material clung to patches of still wet flesh. She draped the pelt around her shoulders. After moving all morning nonstop, she should be able to take up to an hour here and still elude Duncan. Why, the big lummox might not even pick up her trail.
She pulled the comb from her pouch and whisked the tangles from her hair. “You do know, Henry, Father Lawrence will surely sentence me to a convent for the rest of my days after my next confession. I will have to tell
of everything from stealing to profanity to fornication."
She braided a long rope down her back and tied the end with an extra piece of yellow ribbon. Her teeth chattered as she tied on her foot wraps. “I need a fire! Henry, if you were a good angel guardian, you would ask Almighty God to bring out the sun."
She collected fallen branches and twigs along with some dead leaves and piled them near her pelt. Fires at Arundrydge were started using tinders, and she had never started a flame without one. She had heard rubbing a couple of pieces of dried wood together could start a fire. She began rubbing. She rubbed until she thought her knuckles would split. Then, she realized she wasn't actually rubbing the wood. She was shivering and the wood rubbed as a result. “Oooooh, burn!"
"You should have told me that you like bathing in the outdoors, lass. I would have shown you a stream closer to home, so you could get to hearth and flame quicker."
Alera groaned and her shoulders slumped. She had been so sure she was safe. From the sound of his mocking voice, the barbarian stood too close for her to make a run for it.
"Your week is up. Undress and we'll get you warmed.” Command rang through his quietly uttered words.
Alera stood and whirled around to face him. The pelt fell from her shoulders to the ground. “How did you get here so fast?"
Duncan dismounted and walked toward her. He stopped a few yards away with his hands on his hips. A grin that didn't reach his eyes sizzled across his face. “I wondered why your manners improved last night until I came back from getting you that extra oatcake that you did not eat. You see I picked up my ale, and... Well, I am sure you can guess the rest."
Alera looked away from his angry gaze and gulped. “I am going home."
"Only if you know Laidirkin is home."
"My home is Arundrydge.” She beat a fist against her chest. “'Tis a stronghold on England's west coast and where I belong."
"You belong where your laird tells you.” He gave her an exasperated look. “Now quit this nonsense. Your lips are blue and you're shivering from that wet gown. Take the damn thing off, so we can get you warmed."
"Go to Hades!” Alera tur
ned and ran.
He caught her before she had gone three steps and pulled her freezing back against his warm chest. She released a hissing breath as the comfort-promising heat of his body pressed against her cold flesh.
His hot breath fanned her ear. Her heart raced. Tension coiled in her belly. She didn't fight—didn't have the urge to. Tears blurred her vision as her body betrayed her yet again. Why could she not summon her demon rage to fight him? And why did she feel a glow of joy in her heart that he'd come for her?
Duncan felt the shivers flowing through her body. “Damn it all, lass, you'll catch a chill and die if we do not get you warmed."
He cradled her in of his arms and carried her to the pelt. With great care, he couched her upon the soft fur and removed her wet shift. Then he doffed his plaid and lay full length upon her, sending the heat of his hot body into her freezing bones. Her soft bouquet flamed his desires. He kissed her eyelids and tasted salty tears.
"What is this power you have over me, Duncan?” she asked in a half-baffled, half-resigned voice.
Duncan caressed her delicate jaw. “Ah, Alera, do you not yet know? You are the one with the power."
His mouth possessed hers in a voracious plundering. Her body yielded to the primal appetite he evoked within her. His heated flesh penetrated her, and the fire she had sought enflamed her body until she was caught up in a searing rapture.
Duncan belted his plaid, draped the long end over his right shoulder, and anchored the material at his waist. He glanced down at Alera sleeping peacefully on the pelt. She had fainted again from the power of her release and still hadn't wakened. He would have to revise his opinion of English women. All of them weren't cold as Ben Nevis's peak.
A grin swept across his face. The lass might hate him for keeping her, but her body enjoyed his. And she had a glorious body to behold.
A shiver rippled through her. He tossed one of the shifts over her naked flesh. Her attempt to spark a flame crossed his mind and he frowned. Alera was definitely accustomed to a warmer climate and servants to tend her needs. She wouldn't survive on her own in the wilderness. If she didn't freeze to death, she would meet up with some wild beastie with nothing more than her puny dagger.
