by Terry Spear
“I will. Come, Corrie. Ye must go with me for now.”
Gavan headed for the kitchen, relieved the hound had chosen to obey her mistress rather than follow him. Other than the mousers that kept the pantry clear of rodents, Cook would not tolerate an animal in her domain, especially not one covered in long, shaggy hair.
Marsali and Corrie waited for him when he arrived in the hall. The hound stuck her nose against the package he carried. “Later,” he warned her. “Or we’ll leave ye behind.” Not that he would, or likely could.
“Come here, Corrie,” Marsali ordered. The hound moved reluctantly to her mistress’s side, her gaze on Gavan’s hand.
The walk to the loch took most of an hour. They followed a burn, laughing and talking under a green and silver canopy until their path broke out into a wide glen. The loch sparkled in the sunshine, its rich blue surface ruffled in the light breeze.
Marsali gasped. “How beautiful!”
Gavan looked around, trying to see the familiar scene through Marsali’s eyes. Steep hillsides covered in deep green pines and varied greens of birch, oak and rowan surrounded the dazzling blue loch. Overhead, the sky arched, a rare perfect crystal blue, unmarred by any cloud.
Corrie barked and raced ahead of them—and kept going into the water.
“Corrie, nay!” Marsali cried, but the dog ignored her, paddling out a bit, then turning along the shoreline for a distance before returning to the beach. They reached her just as she shook a loch-full of cold water from her coat.
Marsali shrieked and covered her face.
Gavan turned his back and waited until Corrie finished spraying them before touching Marsali’s arm. “Let’s sit over there,” he said, pointing to a level spot under some trees. “We can eat, and ye can enjoy the view.”
“Aye, now that we’ve had our bath. Bad, Corrie!”
Corrie just looked at her, then raced off again. Not into the water, this time. Gavan was thankful for that. “She’s probably happy to be free of the keep’s confines. Let her run. She’ll settle down soon enough.” He spread a plaid on the ground and unpacked their meal. Marsali removed her cloak and sat beside him with a sigh. He contented himself by watching her enjoy the view and Corrie’s antics as the hound raced along the shoreline and back again.
Marsali mesmerized him. That worried him, but at the same time, oddly pleased him. He’d learned so little about her in the short time since they’d met, but what he did know made him want to know more. She was the most alluring combination of confidence and insecurity. She wanted adventure, yet to him, she felt like home. She seemed innocent, yet wise at the same time. He expected their time together would be brief. Too brief…he stared off at the loch, the idea of food forgotten for the moment. Then she shifted beside him, reminding him they were supposed to be enjoying the scenery and a meal. They’d best eat, lest she think something was wrong.
Their fingers touched as Marsali and he reached for the same block of cheese. Marsali smiled and didn't pull away, so Gavan wrapped her fingers in his and grabbed the block with his other hand.
That made her laugh. “What are ye doing?” She reached for his plunder. He quickly broke it in half and offered a piece to her.
“For ye, milady.” He paused and cocked an eyebrow. “I canna believe ye lied to me about that. Lady Murray.” He grinned to soften the accusation.
Marsali took his offering without returning his grin and nibbled, then picked up an apple before answering. “I was there to find a man to love me for me,” she said, turning the fruit over in her hands, “no’ for my position in the clan. Or to kidnap me for ransom. So I wished to appear…” She spread her hands, palms upward, fingers of one hand curled around the apple she’d yet to taste.
“Just-Marsali. I understand that now.”
“Do ye?” She set the apple aside, her expression still serious.
Gavan could see the hope in her eyes. It scared him, but somehow, sharing all of this—the food, the day, what they were feeling—felt right. “Having seen yer home, yer father, and with what ye have told me about yer prospects, I think I do.”
She smiled at that, then changed the subject. “What about ye, neither heir nor spare?”
He shrugged. “I’m content to be master of the hunt. For now.”
“For now.” Her smile told him she understood his need for challenges and far horizons. After all, she shared it.
Gavan ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the accord they’d reached. Her wish to find someone to love her made sense. Spell or no spell, could he be that one? He’d never given much thought to what he wanted in a wife, since for years the decision had already been made. But now that he had a chance to consider it, someone adventurous, clever, smart, beautiful, someone much like the lass sitting beside him, would suit him just fine. Marsali would suit him just fine. The realization floored him.
“Thank ye for bringing me here,” Marsali said, breaking into his thoughts. “’Tis a gorgeous scene.”
Gavan couldn’t take his gaze from her profile, her lush mouth, the fall of her hair. “Aye, it is.”
Marsali caught him staring and laughed. That was all he needed to break through his reserve. He leaned toward her, gaze locked with hers.
She stilled, frowning. “What?”
“I’m going to kiss ye.”
Her eyes widened as he waited for her reaction. Would she deny him?
Finally, she spoke. “I’ve never been kissed before.”
“I dinna believe that.”
“’Tis true. I was betrothed quite young. He died before we met again. And no one dared accost the chieftain’s daughter. I told ye there was nothing for me at Murray. I meant what I said.”
Gavan remained silent, studying her. The sincerity in her eyes and her sad little smile convinced him what she said was true—as she saw it.
“Then it’s past time to rectify the lack.” He cupped her head in one suddenly trembling hand and touched his lips to hers, gently, lightly, giving her time to become accustomed to the sensation. Then he leaned closer and pressed harder, running his tongue across her lips until her exclamation opened them. Even then, he didn’t pounce. He simply continued, tentatively touching the inside curve, never venturing deeper. Giving her time. Her sigh told him she liked what he’d done so far. Only then did he leave her mouth to kiss her cheek, to run his tongue over her earlobe and down her throat. Her moan pulled him back to her mouth. When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing harder.
Gavan relished the flush staining her cheeks, and the heavy-lidded gaze that told him she would be passionate, once awakened to everything else they could share. “Now ye have had yer first kiss, would ye like another?”
She heaved a contented sigh. “We shouldna.” Then she quirked an eyebrow, her gaze on his mouth. “Should we?”
He obliged her, skimming his fingertips down her throat as his lips wooed hers. He could happily keep kissing her for days.
She answered by grasping his shoulders, then tangling her fingers in his hair. “Gavan,” she whispered as he lifted his lips from hers.
Taking her breathlessness as permission, he laid her back on their blanket and stretched out beside her, then wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his hard length. Her startled squeak of surprise gave him entry into the recesses of her sweet mouth. This time, he plundered, savoring her gasps. He pressed his hips against hers, trying to ease the ache in his trews, but touching her there only made him harder, made him want more. He lifted his hand from her waist and stroked upward to cup one full breast. Her moan encouraged him, and he let his fingertips trace the neckline of her bodice to slip inside. The heat and fullness he found there made him eager to explore further, to find her pebbled peak. Marsali groaned, but then she placed a hand on his chest and pushed. “Nay, ye mustna.”
He withdrew his fingers, then kissed his way down the column of her throat to her bodice and back again. As much as he wanted more, he would honor the limits she
set. “I want ye, Marsali, I do,” he murmured as he wrapped her in his arms and rocked against her, savoring the sensation of holding her. “But dinna fear me. I willna take ye. No’ yet.” He smoothed her hair out of her face. “Someday, perhaps.”
“Someday?”
“We’ll see. We must no’...I canna take ye, ruin ye. I wouldna do that to ye.”
She pushed him away and sat up, suddenly stiff and distant. “Ye really dinna ken which of us to choose, do ye?” She rested her elbows on her knees and scrubbed at her face with her hands.
Off balance, Gavan rolled onto his back, then sat up, frowning as he eyed her. “Which of ye? What do ye mean?” What was the lass blathering about?
Her lips thinned. “Ye look upon me like a man looks upon a meal after days without food. Yet I’ve seen ye look upon Fenella almost the same way. Have ye done this with her since ye returned?” She skimmed an upturned hand over her bodice to her lips and back.
“Nay!” He didn’t want to talk about Fenella, not now. Not after what he’d realized. After what they’d begun to share.
Marsali studied him. “Ye’re angry with her, but ye still feel obligated to her.”
“I dinna!” He shook his head, adamant his relationship with Fenella had ended. “Ye are wrong. Besides, how would ye ken such a thing?”
“’Tis on yer face. Ye canna believe she would choose yer brother over ye. But Fenella has had the chance to make her ambitions real. She is doing what she must. I doubt she’s as confused as ye are.”
“I’m no’ confused. I’m here with ye, where I wish to be. Fenella and I are done.”
“Are ye?”
He scraped his fingers through his hair, then clutched a handful and glared at the loch. Lasses! Was she serious? Or, he suddenly thought, had his advances frightened her into pushing him away physically and verbally? He softened his expression and turned back to Marsali. “I told her so, soon after I returned home. And she agreed. Ye’ve seen her with my brother, how they are together. If ye fear I’m still smitten with her, why did ye welcome my kiss? My touch?” That silenced her for the few moments Gavan needed to catch his breath.
She stared off into the distance, over the loch. “I dinna ken,” she told him, her words like a slap to his face, then stood, called for Corrie, and went about packing up the remains of their meal, tossing the meat scraps to the hound.
Gavan stood, watching her avoid his gaze. How had this outing gone so wrong, so quickly?
***
After the long, tense, silent return to the keep, Corrie seemed reluctant to end her afternoon outside. Marsali told Gavan to go on about his business, and she settled under a tree just outside the gates to let Corrie run some more. Before long, Corrie plopped down beside her, panting.
“Finally had enough, have ye?” She scratched the hound’s ears and looked around, noting that Gavan remained in the bailey, talking to some of the other men. Though she wanted to stare, she pulled her gaze away from him. “Perhaps we have. Had enough of MacNabb, that is. If Gavan thinks to use Fenella to convince me the spell failed, I’ll no’ tolerate being treated that way. What do ye say, lass? Should we follow the wedding party to the Lathan’s Aerie? Ye can track them. I have nay doubt of that. We’ll just have to be more careful than when we left Murray. Da will be after us in a heartbeat and…there might be more bandits.” She shuddered at the memory of that encounter. Thank God Gavan had been nearby.
The thought of leaving him made her heart heavy, made her chest hurt, right underneath where his fingertips had brushed her skin, where no man had ever dared touch her. After their trip to the loch, and what they had done there, she was sure her heart would break. Especially after the way he’d kissed her and held her. Not that she had anything to compare against, but his kiss had seemed tender, and full of emotion. Not just longing, not just lust. His kiss told her he cared for her, at least as much as he wanted her. Or he would have taken advantage of her innocence then and there. And she would have let him. More fool, she. “Better we leave before I give him the chance, no matter where we go, aye, Corrie lass?”
Aye, Gavan was the first man to take such liberties. She wanted him to be her only. Her last. If her spell had worked, if there had been any truth to the superstition, he would be. But if the old wives’ tale was true, well…it couldn’t be. Nothing seemed to be going the way it should. He had resisted her. Said he would not ruin her—for another man.
“Should we go home?” she mused, glancing back at the hound by her side. “Or at least back to the stones to try again?” She looked skyward, noting the early-setting moon. Waning, damn it. She would have to wait weeks to try her spell again. Not that it would it make any difference since the spell hadn’t worked the first time. A lump formed in her throat. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Nay, she would not cry over Gavan or any other man. Especially not here, where he and others could see.
She looked around, taking note of other people’s expressions, the sounds and voices she could hear, and the smells, from baking bread to fire and hot metal from the blacksmith’s shop. Everything seemed so ordinary and yet so different. The mood here seemed lighter, happier than at Murray. “How can I leave a place like this?”
Suddenly, Gavan’s brother, Keenan, stepped into view from somewhere behind her. Heat rose in her face. What had he heard?
“Dinna do anything hasty, Marsali,” he said, as if he’d been part of her conversation with her hound all along. “I’d hate to see ye leave us.” He squatted beside her and plucked a blade of grass, rubbing the long, green stem between his nimble fingers.
She studied him for a moment, wondering what he was up to. “Why? I dinna belong here. I forced Gavan to bring me. There isna a place for me here anymore than there was at Murray.”
“Are ye sure, lass?” Without asking her permission, Keenan settled onto his backside and rested an arm on one raised knee, joining her in the shade of the tree.
Perhaps being the heir conveyed the prerogative to go anywhere one wished. Marsali shook her head, both at his effrontery and in answer to his question.
“To come here, ye were brave enough to risk the unknown. Can ye no’ be brave a while longer?”
She eyed him. “Am I to wait for anything in particular? The new moon?” She hooked a thumb toward the early-setting crescent in the western sky. “Or the first snowfall? What do ye have in mind?”
Keenan took her hand and squeezed. “I like ye, lass. Ye have yer wits about ye and use them well.” He released her hand and nodded, reaching out to ruffle Corrie’s rough hair. “’Twillna take so very long, I think.” His glance slid into the bailey, toward Gavan.
Marsali refused to look at Gavan, so near, and yet so far from her. She kept her gaze on his oldest brother. “Until what?”
Keenan got to his feet and smiled benevolently down upon her. “Why no’ wait and see?” Then he walked away without another word.
Marsali looked down at the hand he’d held, more confused than ever. Keenan thought to keep her here by being mysterious?
Then Fenella met Keenan in the bailey, rose on her toes and kissed him, long and hard. If Fenella had seen what just happened, she could not be pleased with Keenan, so why…? Ah…perhaps that had been Keenan’s purpose all along, to make Fenella jealous in return. If so, she’d just taken his dare quite publicly.
In that case, Marsali hoped Gavan also had seen Keenan take her hand, and hated it. Hated it enough to make a decision where she was concerned. The decision he claimed he’d already made when, at the loch, he’d said he and Fenella were done. But nay, he hadn’t moved. Had he even seen what happened?
Then his longing gaze met hers, piercing her heart. She held his gaze for a moment, willing him to come to her, to admit his feelings for her. When he didn’t stir, she sighed and looked away. She wanted to believe him, but how could she when he kept his distance? The problem, she realized, was she didn’t trust herself or how much she wanted Gavan, not when that yearning affected her judgment.
If only she could believe in his feelings for her, she’d know whether she could stay, go home with her father, or follow the others to the Aerie.
Chapter 7
The morning Marsali had been dreading arrived. But she’d agreed with her father. She could delay no longer. It was time to go. She packed her few belongings, all the while thinking about his schemes and the bargain she’d made.
Her prospects at home were worse than they had been when she left. Her father’s anger at the way she’d left Murray might persuade him to marry her off to the oldest, ugliest, or cruelest of the available Campbells. Her stomach soured. She should not speculate about what he would do to her as punishment. At least, she could be fairly certain after what he’d seen here, he wouldn’t waste her on a Murray cousin. He’d risk one more betrothal before packing her off to a nunnery as a lost cause.
She could console herself with one thing. Her father took pride in the impression she’d made on the people here, if for no other reason than her actions reflected well on Murray. On him. But she also knew he saw her success as increasing her bride price, her desirability as a potential wife—to Campbell, if not to a certain MacNabb. Though she could not imagine how he proposed to explain to the Campbell why the MacNabb’s high regard had not translated into an offer for her.
All she could think was that Gavan did not wish to sway her decision to stay or to leave. His silence the first day, when her father demanded to know his intentions, had hurt. And since…had he forgotten their kisses and…the rest? Her face flushed as she remembered the afternoon at the loch. Nay, it appeared what they’d done there made no difference.
He must still be too wounded by Fenella’s desertion to open his heart to anyone else.
She felt heavy, hopeless, moving slowly, as if her limbs were reluctant to do what she’d promised. She wrung her hands, then went to stare out the window at the far horizon. She dared not attempt to strike out for the Lathan Aerie, not while her father remained here. And with her da and the MacNabb so friendly, she’d get no help from him. Nor could she bear to stay as a servant—even one with a respectable status such as a tradeswoman would have—not as long as Gavan remained.
