Beauty and the Barbarian
Page 20
Before Ian could react, Merrin sat straight up with a shriek. “Gar!” She clutched the bedclothes to her chest. “Why are ye here, sneaking around and scaring me dog?”
“I…” The maid faced them. Horror darkened her eyes. Her hand flew over her mouth. “Blessed Jesus, spare me.” She crossed herself and sprinted for the door.
Ian jumped out of bed and yanked the cloth off the floor. As the door slammed, the maid’s muffled cries echoed through the corridor. “She bears the mark of the devil! Haste ye—call the guard…”
Ian turned to Merrin, her hands clutched around her throat. “I shouldna taken it off.”
He snatched her shift from the floor and handed it to her. “Dress quickly.”
Ian raced to his clothes, pulled on his shirt and belted his kilt. Merrin reached for a set of stays hanging over the chair.
He strapped his sword in place, the ache in his back becoming easier to ignore. “There’s no time for those.”
Merrin nodded and slipped into a kirtle. She fumbled with the laces.
“Come.” Ian handed her the bow and arrows. “Can ye use these?”
“Aye.”
“Good, cover me back.”
He tugged her along by the elbow and cracked the door open. Below stairs, the deep bellows of the guard accompanied innumerous booted footsteps. Christ, the whole MacRae force was ascending the tower stairs.
“Wait.” Merrin dashed across the room, picked up her neckerchief and hastily tied it around her neck. “What will we do?”
“I cannot fight them all.” Ian drew his sword. “But I’ll die trying. Stay back and train your arrow on the first man up the stairs. If ye must shoot, aim to kill.”
“Heaven help us.”
They crept forward. Merrin shushed Gar and made him heel behind her. The bloody dog had done enough.
The footsteps approached, clamoring up the winding stairs. Ian would rather meet them in the narrow stairwell where he’d only have to fight one or two at a time.
Something grabbed his arm. He sliced his sword around, aiming the point at…Lady Janet’s neck.
She released him and inclined her head. “Come.”
They ducked through a door hidden behind a landscape tapestry.
They followed Janet through a dank, poorly lit passage. Confused, Ian tried to find his bearings. Were they heading to the south wall?
Janet stopped at a case of stairs. “This leads to the water gate. Moored alongside it is a small galley—the one that ferried me here from me father’s lands. Take it. I’ll cause a distraction.”
“Thank you.” Merrin clasped Janet’s hands. “Please. Promise me ye’ll see me da has a Christian burial.”
“I will.”
Ian ran his thumb over Janet’s tear-splashed cheek. “I’ll no’ forget this.”
She nodded and pressed her hands to her belly. “Go. There’s no time to waste.”
Ian took one last gander at Janet’s flat stomach—his future child, one he’d never meet. Regret was a bitter potion to swallow. Taking Merrin’s hand, he ran.
***
Merrin raced behind Ian, barely able to think of anything but the wild shouts of men outside the walls. They were after her—because she was marked. Ian squeezed her hand and dragged her along the dim passageway. She had put him in enough danger already. But she wouldn’t make it to the boat without him.
They came to a solid wooden door dotted with black iron nails. Ian pressed his ear to it and levered the latch. A gust of wind snagged the door and blew it wide. “Quickly.” Ian grasped her hand so tightly, her fingers ached like they would break.
Just as Janet said, a galley moored in the water, tied to the tiny jetty behind the water gate. Ian lifted Merrin by the waist. Flying through the air, she clamped her lips shut against her urge to scream. Her feet hit the deck. Thank heavens, the arrows and bow stayed slung over her shoulder.
Gar scrambled to find his feet behind her, then Ian jumped over, rope in hand. “Can ye man the rudder?”
“The what?”
“’Tis that handle astern. Push all your weight into it on a course out to sea. I’ll unfurl the sail.”
Shouts filled the courtyard.
Merrin looked at the arm of the rudder sticking out from the hull. The oak shone smooth from use. Wind caught her hair and pulled it across her eyes, her kirtle fluttering and slapping between her legs. She shoved her hair away and leaned into the rudder. It hardly moved. She glanced over her shoulder. Ian already had the sail down. It flapped and cracked angrily, like a sheet hanging out to dry. Ian dove for the sail ropes and tied them to belaying pins.
Merrin levered her feet against the bench and forced the rudder to move.
“There they are,” a guard yelled.
“Muskets, where are the muskets?” another voice bellowed.
Merrin held the rudder firm and peeked over the rail.
Waving her arms, Janet ran to the front of the mayhem. “Stop this. They’re my guests.”
The boat lurched forward. Merrin snapped around to ensure they were on course. The sail billowed, filled with the blowing wind.
She could no longer hear what was being said on the shore, but Janet shook her finger under a warrior’s nose. That woman had grit, though Merrin was thankful she wasn’t aboard. The way she looked at Ian had Merrin’s insides twist in knots.
Ian tied off the ropes and climbed over to Merrin. “Ye’re doing well.”
“It isn’t so hard now that we’re at sea.”
“I can take it from here.” He took the rudder under his arm and gave her a good once-over. “What are ye wearing?”
“A blue kirtle, silly.” She reached inside her bodice and pulled out the stays she’d stuffed down the front. “And a lass cannot leave behind a new set of stays.”
He laughed. “Only a woman would worry about her figure in a time of crisis.”
She clutched the garment to her chest. “And where to now? Is there any place I can go where they’ll not see me as a monster?”
Ian cast his gaze north. “I reckon ’tis time we paid Fladda a visit. We’ll set it to rights as a memorial to your da.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Clouds rolled in with the howling wind. Without a cloak, Merrin clutched her arms around her ribcage and watched the islet of Fladda near. The sheep’s white wool contrasted with the brilliant green. How she loved the colors of summer. If only Niall were there to enjoy it too. Her chin trembled as she choked back her urge to cry.
Ian sailed the boat onto the smooth-pebbled beach. With an excited bark, Gar bounded over the side. Merrin bit her bottom lip. “He’s no’ going to like what he finds.”
Ian hopped over and assisted Merrin to disembark. “Nor shall we, I reckon.”
Ian tied the galley and Merrin stared up the grassy hill, clutching her arms across her midriff. Trepidation crawled along her skin, intensifying the wind’s chill. She didn’t know how she’d react once they got to the cottage.
Ian put his arm around her shoulders. “Come. We shall face this together.”
At the top of the hill, Merrin stopped and clapped her hand over her mouth. She knew it would be bad, but nothing could have steeled her nerves for the sight ahead. The thatched roof was gone. Black char fanned out from the windows and stained the stone walls. A hen squawked in the garden, her back feathers missing.
Ian pulled Merrin along. “It looks like the workshop wasn’t touched.”
She glanced to the old lean-to with Niall’s drying herbs still hanging from the ceiling. She could almost see Niall bent over a mortar, crushing herbs with his pestle. A cry caught in her throat. “Da.”
The bells hanging from the entrance jingled, tink, tink. Niall had been so proud of himself when he’d hung them. “These’ll keep away the fairy folk. I’ll no’ have them messing with me potions and turning them bad.”
He had rigged every charm known to man, but none of them saved him in the end.
Agonizing t
ears streamed down her face as Ian led her to the cottage threshold. The door had been reduced to cinders. Merrin stood and stared at the burnt-out remains of her home. This was the only place she’d ever been where she didn’t have to live in fear—where no one cared about her mark, where her father taught her to sing and dance, and cook.
Her shoulders curled and she bent over, pressing her hands to her face. The pain welled inside and crippled her. “Heaven help me, how will I survive? I feel like I cannot go on.”
Ian pulled her into his arms. “There, there, mo Bana. We’ll make it right.” He rubbed her back and rocked, back and forth.
Merrin had held it in for too long. Her knees buckled as she gave into her sobs, weeping from the bottom of her soul—a gut-wrenching wail. Her insides burned and cramped at the raw memory of Niall’s life’s blood draining from the horrid musket shot. She wanted to die. She didn’t care about the cottage or the workshop or chickens without feathers. She prayed for God to send down a bolt of lightning to strike her dead. How could Ian stay with a woman marked by the devil? Must everyone she love die? Aye, Ian said he loved her, but she would only ruin his hopes to find his place.
She pushed away. Ian reached out, but she batted his hands down. “Leave me be.” She ran with no purpose but her need to be alone—her need to come to grips with everything that had happened. As fast as she could, Merrin ran for the north side of the isle and fell to her knees. Gar bounded beside her and leaned in. She pushed him, but he refused to budge. “Oh, Father, Father, why did ye leave me? First Ma, now ye, but it always should have been me.”
***
Ian watched Merrin flee. His first inclination was to run after her, but his feet didn’t move. She’d pushed him away. Perhaps she needed time to come to terms with all that had happened. She hadn’t much time to mourn her father’s death.
Ian scratched the beard that had grown in since they left Fladda. She might be resenting him, as he thought she would.
Ian turned full circle. Perhaps he should leave her alone for a time. He needed to start cleaning up the mess so they could rebuild.
Tam, the old gelding, snorted behind him. Ian turned and ran his fingers along the old nag’s nose. “She’ll come round. Do no’ worry.”
Ian pulled the remains of the door away and walked inside. It was a bloody mess. Black soot charred the walls—most of the furniture was unrecognizable. He strode to the hearth. At least Merrin’s iron pots and kettles were still in working order, though they’d have to be scrubbed clean.
Ian heaved a sigh. May as well start. He pulled Niall’s old wooden barrow from the shed and hauled load after load to a burn pile out back. He looked around for scraps of wood, but found nothing of use for a rebuilding effort. A few spindly birch trees grew in a grove, but were not what he needed to reconstruct the roof. He gazed across the narrow caol. Unless they wanted to sleep in the lean-to, they’d have to go to Brochel.
The sun touched the western horizon and peeked between a gap in the heavy clouds when Merrin and Gar walked through the lea.
She held an open palm out to him. “I found some strawberries.”
Ian snatched one with blackened fingers. “Looks delicious.”
“Ye’re covered with soot.”
“Aye, cleaned out most of the mess. But if we’re to rebuild, we need to go to Brochel and ask me brother for supplies.”
Merrin touched her throat. “Ye best go on your own.”
Ian clasped her hands to his sooty chest. “Nay. I promised I’d take ye.” A splash of rain slapped his forehead. “Besides, I cannot allow ye to stay here alone.”
She jerked back. “Ye cannot allow me? Since when did ye start making me decisions?”
“Since ye lost your da.”
Her face fell and she swiped away a tear, but didn’t argue.
“I’ve a chicken on the boil. We’ll leave at dawn.” Ian popped the strawberry in his mouth. The sweet made his stomach rumble.
Merrin grasped his wrists and surveyed him from head to toe. “Ye’ll need to wash up first. We’ve plenty of ash to leach out some lye and I can make soap from lard.”
He pointed to a clump of yellow flowers. “I’ll bet those primroses will add a pleasant fragrance as well.”
Merrin nodded and went to work. Ian watched her. Her movements slow, she said nothing. Had she realized he was to blame for everything? Had she begun to hate him?
Raindrops splattered his face. Ian pressed his hand on to her shoulder. “Come, we’ll eat in the workshop.”
She nodded and hefted the pan from the fire in the cottage hearth. “It only needs to set now.”
Ian got her under the shelter before Merrin’s gown soaked clean through. He portioned out the chicken on a breadboard—one Niall obviously used to chop herbs.
They stood alongside the bench to eat. “We’ll gather oats and flour at Brochel as well.”
Merrin took a bit of chicken and passed a morsel to Gar. “Will we sail?”
“Aye, that makes the most sense. We can put the supplies in the galley. The roof will need a fair bit of timber.” He rubbed her kirtle between his fingers. “And ye need more than one gown.”
She glanced away. “This is enough for me.”
He took a step into her and reached out. He wanted to pull her into his arms. Would she push him away? Ian settled for smoothing his fingers through her hair.
She turned her head. “I’ll fetch the kettle. I’m sure the soap has set by now.”
“Let me help ye carry it.”
She held up her hand. “Nay. I’ll manage.”
The rain had stopped. Droplets sprinkled down from the rafters, but the shed was dry. Ian found a tallow lamp on the workbench and lit it with the flint and knife. He turned full circle. The wood outside was too wet to build a fire with, but a pile of hay was stacked against one wall. He spread it evenly and made a pallet.
Merrin returned carrying a heavy pot, the water sloshing over the side. Ian jumped up and grasped it. “Och, ’tis too heavy for ye to carry.”
She brushed off her hands. “I’ve done it afore. I’m no’ helpless.”
Ian placed the pot on the workbench. “I did no’ say ye were.”
She pointed to the stool. “Sit.”
“Aye, m’lady.” He complied.
She frowned, but then stepped into him and pulled his shirt lace. Ian’s heart fluttered. He allowed her to take the lead, raising his arms when she tugged the shirt. Merrin stood between his legs and moistened her bottom lip. Her fingers brushed across his bare chest. Gooseflesh stood proud. Ian closed his eyes and moaned.
Merrin pulled a cake of soap from her pocket. “Scented with primrose, per your request.”
Ian inhaled. The scent intoxicating—almost as powerful as her own. “Gratitude.” He squeezed his fist so he wouldn’t grab her by the waist and tug her into his arms.
She rested the soap on the workbench. “Before I can start, ye must be bare, because right now, I’m making the decisions for you.”
Asserting her position as lady of the house, was she? Ian chuckled and reached for his belt.
Her hands stopped him. “I’ll do it.” He liked that even better.
Staring into his eyes, she unfastened his belt and let it slip to the ground. Her breathing labored. Ian sat motionless, his heart threatening to burst through his chest.
Merrin’s gaze slowly inched down his body as if her stare was palpable. Ian shivered. He wanted her hands on him again. She drew in a deep breath and grasped his plaid. Her eyes met his again while her hands pulled the plaid open. He lifted up enough to let her tug it away. Her eyes dipped to his swollen member, only for a fleeting moment.
She turned her back, folded his clothing and placed it on the bench.
The cold breeze blew, chilling his skin. If only he could reach out and pull Merrin into his lap. But something told him he must wait. The anticipation drove him mad. He wanted her more now than ever before, more than anything he’d ever wante
d in his life.
She picked up the soap and dipped it into the water. She took a long, ambling look at his naked body before she grasped his hand and ran it around his palm. “Do ye remember the last time I bathed ye?”
“Aye.” His voice rasped. His heart stuttered, ever so grateful for her resumed touch. “I shall never forget.”
She ran the cake up his arm. “It turned me insides into a raging fire.”
Ian couldn’t resist. He pulled her in his embrace and covered her mouth. Merrin returned his kiss, but slid her palms between them and pushed away from his chest. Parting from his mouth, she sighed. “Ye must wait until I’ve finished.”
A droplet formed at the tip of his cock. She wanted him. Thank God and all the angels in heaven. Ian could think of nothing sweeter than to pleasure her. He closed his eyes and held out his arms and let Merrin work her magic while his cock stood rigid between them.
She washed every inch, avoiding the one place he wanted her to touch most of all. When she stepped away, he hoped she might be finished. She scrubbed her hands in the basin and turned, soap bubbling between her palms. Her hips swung suggestively when she stepped up to him again and clasped her fingers around his turgid cock.
She tilted her head back, her eyes shuttered, half cast and dark. Gently, she stroked him. Ian thrust his hips forward and willed himself not to come. Her fingers slipped to his ballocks and cleansed him with a swirling motion that took him to the edge of his self-control. He reached for her.
“No’ yet.” She pulled the cloth from around her neck and wet it. “I’ll rinse ye now.”
Ian trembled as she tortuously meandered through the whole process again. By the time she finished, he needed to jump into the cold sound to regain his mind.
She draped the cloth over the bench and faced him, licking her lips again.
He tugged open her kirtle laces. “Now ye.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Ye do no’ intend to bathe me?”
“Nay.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But I’ll strip ye bare.”
Aroused to within a hand’s breadth of his sanity, Ian couldn’t take his time and savor peeling every strip of cloth from her body. He shoved the kirtle from her shoulders and pulled it down around her ankles. She held up her arms and he tugged the shift over her head. Thank God she hadn’t gone and bound her breasts with those constricting stays.