by Amy Jarecki
Merrin hurried to the stairs. “Come, then.”
Bran carried the torch as they approached the cottage. He tapped on the door and then opened it. Ian peered inside. It was bigger than he remembered. “Did ye add on?”
“Aye, a few years back. Needed a place to put all the bairns.”
Enya jumped up from the rocking chair by the hearth.
“How are they?” Bran asked.
She rubbed her hand across her face, making her wimple skew. “Still fevered.”
Merrin grasped her hands. “We’ve brought a new tincture.”
“Good. Come.” Enya led her into the next room, leaving Ian and Bran alone.
Bran gestured to a chair. “Sit. Ye look like shite.”
“We all do.” Ian pulled up a chair while Bran poured two tankards of ale.
Bran sat across the table. “Merrin’s tough. She hasn’t batted an eye at all the taunts being thrown her way.”
“It bothers her, though. She just does no’ let on.” Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and spotted a sealskin cloak hanging by the door. “I’d like to do something for her once the ague leaves us.”
Bran drank and clanked his pewter tankard on the table. “’Tis a good idea.”
“She’s lost everything because of me. I told her I’d make a sealskin cloak like the one over there.”
Bran looked. “I’ve some seal pelts curing in the stable if ye want them.”
“Could I buy them from you?” Ian realized he could purchase sealskins and a great many other things for Merrin. The thought made him sit taller.
Bran batted the air. “They’re yours.”
“Ye’re a good friend, Bran. Ye ken the only dress she owns is the one she’s wearing—ye saw it, Rewan made sure the whole cottage was completely wrecked. I aim to make it up to her as soon as I can.”
Bran pounded his fist on the table. “Bloody bastard. And he was a friend.”
“Aye, but Ruairi put him up to it.”
“It does no’ make it right.”
“What would ye have done if Alexander ordered ye to do the same?”
Bran refilled the tankards. “I would have gone after the culprit, not punish everyone else along the way—Rewan’s tactics were pure cowardice if ye ask me.”
Ian took a swig of ale and stared into the cup. “What do ye reckon will happen if someone dies of this ague?”
“I hate to think of it.” Bran frowned. “I’ve swayed the guard to our side, but if the mob grows out of control, we cannot fend them all off on our own—ye best put Merrin in your galley and set sail for Ireland.”
Ireland? And all Ian had wanted was to earn his place beside his brother. The ague probably struck the clan on account of him—not Merrin.
The women came in. “Enya, ye look like Ye’re at death’s door.” Bran pulled her onto his lap.
She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “It has been a long day, that’s for certain.”
Merrin still stood in the doorway. “But it looks like your bairns are coming good, thank heavens. Willy’s fever has broken.” She glanced at Ian. “We’d best go back to the castle and tend the others.”
Bran waved her to the table. She didn’t look any spryer than Enya. “Come, have some ale and a slice of bread.”
Ian pulled Merrin beside him. “Sit. Ye haven’t eaten all day.”
She slid onto his lap in a heap. “Mayhap one slice of bread.”
Her soft bottom pressing against him made Ian’s mind blank. Oh how delectable it would be if they were alone. Ian would be in heaven if only they could find a bed rather than head back to the great hall.
However, it was a pleasant respite to be in a cottage where Ian didn’t have to have his guard up. He’d been watching Merrin’s back, arguing with clansmen and women who grumbled curses under their breath. Each jibe attacked his heart. He couldn’t strangle every naysayer, but he did what he could to prove his point. Ian thought he got through to some, but others might never come around.
He must keep his ears piqued. If he sensed anarchy, he’d move quickly and spirit Merrin to the galley before the mob could marshal her to the courtyard as they’d done before.
***
The melodic rumble of the surf on the shore cast a calming shroud over the dark night. Together Merrin and Ian crossed back through the castle gates. Bran would join them after he got a bit of sleep. He promised he’d return at dawn.
Dimly lit, the bodies of the sleeping ill strewn on pallets of straw across the spacious hall reminded Merrin of seals on the beach.
“Water,” a boy called.
Merrin squeezed Ian’s hand. “I’ll bring it—please fetch the tincture. We must give it to them all.”
Together they tended the fifty or so patients. After she gave the last man his tot, Merrin could scarcely stand. She arched and kneaded a knot in the small of her back.
Ian wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It will be daylight soon. We need to rest.”
“Aye.” She pulled him toward the kitchen. “And I must check on me brew. I pray we have enough for the morrow.”
Ian needed a shave, and dark circles had taken up residence under his eyes. But he said not another word to convince her to rest. Driven to do everything possible to beat this sickness, she moved to the sideboard and examined the contents of Friar Pat’s herb jars. She could strengthen the mixture with Jesuit’s Powder, but she’d be short of angelica and anise—and that would be the end of it until they could collect more herbs.
Ian hefted up the kettle and carefully poured the contents into a ewer. He didn’t spill a drop.
Swaying on her feet, Merrin watched. “We need to prepare more.”
“Aye?” He held up the jug. “This is three-quarters full.”
She pulled a mint leaf from its stem and popped it in her mouth. “Ye want one? Tastes fresh.”
Ian slid one onto his tongue. “Ta.” How he made such a simple motion look so wonderfully tasty, Merrin had no idea. A familiar longing stirred inside her breasts. Oh how she regretted running from Ian’s chamber. If she could have that moment back, she’d show him the love he deserved—show him how much he meant to her.
Gar sauntered in from the great hall and plopped in front of the fire. Merrin chuckled. “Ye’re making yourself comfortable are ye not, ye giant mop?” The dog opened one eye and closed it. Merrin snorted. “He has nary a care in the world.”
“He’d do anything for ye, though.” Ian poured a bucket of water into the kettle. “He fought like a lion when Rewan was chasing us.”
Merrin gave the dog a fond glance. “Aye, he did.” Gar whimpered in slumber. “But that does no’ make him any less of a sook.”
While they set the kettle to boil with a new batch of tincture, a hint of daylight lit the sky cobalt through the window. Ian wrapped his arms around Merrin’s waist and pulled her against his body. His stubble tickled her ear. “I cannot wait to have ye alone—someplace where there’s a bed.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled his masculine scent. “If I found a bed, I’d sleep for a sennight.”
“But only after I ravished ye.” Ian lifted Merrin by the waist and set her on the sideboard.
He ran his lips along her neck. Gooseflesh erupted over her skin as Merrin closed her eyes and gave into the gush of hunger stirring to life in her midsection. “That feels so good.”
Ian nudged between her legs and rubbed against her. Heat flared with her need, reacting to the hard manhood crushed to her mons. Merrin tried to regain control. “Are ye always standing like a stallion?”
His low chuckle brought another wave of gooseflesh across her skin. “Only when Ye’re near.”
“All day?”
He arched his brows with a devilish grin. “Aye.”
Merrin couldn’t resist latching her ankles around the back of his thighs. Ian covered her mouth and swirled his tongue, tantalizing her with succulent mint and male. He slid his hand over her breast and k
neaded. “I like it when Ye’re not wearing your stays.”
“Ye’re a wicked man, Ian MacLeod.” Merrin arched her back and shamelessly ground against him. Her breath quickened. “I wouldn’t run from your chamber if I had it to do again.”
“I wish ye were there now.”
“I love ye, Ian.”
“Show me how much.”
His pale blue eyes bored through hers, stripping her soul bare. Tapping her tongue to her top lip, she slid her hand inside the front of his kilt and touched him.
Ian rocked his hips and moaned, his half-cast gaze still focused on her. “Stroke me.”
Merrin grasped him with her fingers, though his belt hindered her movement.
He chuckled again and raised his kilt. Merrin could scarcely breathe. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. Longer than a hand, his manhood stood proud, demanding her attention. Merrin fondled him with long, languid strokes, her own need building, coiling with desire.
He leaned into her. His hand knocked a stoppered jar. It teetered noisily.
Merrin slipped her hand away, suddenly aware of her surroundings. Holy fairy feathers, Ian was ravishing her in the kitchen. “What if someone finds us?”
With a playful grin, he lifted her from the counter. “Pick up the candle.”
Gripping her legs around his hips, Merrin did as asked.
Ian carried her into the larder and locked the door. “No one will bother us in here.”
He set her down and Merrin placed the candle on a barrel. Ian spooned his body behind her and slid his hands over her belly. Swirling upward, he cupped both breasts. Merrin arched and met his mouth over her shoulder. Ian ran his palm down the length of her body and slowly hiked up her skirts. The hem tickled her legs as he pulled it up, one agonizingly erotic tug at a time.
He pushed the wool aside, his fingers caressing her bare flesh, her need reaching a pinnacle of expectation. Merrin’s breath stuttered as he fondled through the soft mound of curls at her apex. She moved with his motion, her skin sizzling with each encroaching touch. “Please.”
Finally his fingers slipped between her sacred folds. “Open your legs for me.”
Yes, merciful mercy. Merrin slid her ankles apart and gasped when he stroked her wickedly hot, sinfully sacred place. Nearly coming undone, she cried out, grinding her buttocks against the long column wedged to her backside.
Needing to see him, she twirled around and loosened his belt. She watched his face while she let it drop to the ground. With a growl, Ian snatched her up and walked her against the wall. “I can wait no longer.”
He grasped her buttocks and lifted her. Merrin cupped his face with her palms and moved her bare legs up over his hips. The thick column of his manhood stroked her. Back and forth, the friction built. “Take me.”
Right there, Ian tilted his hips and entered her. Merrin circled over him as he gradually buried himself within her. Their mouths joined, completely on fire. Ian started with languid strokes, sliding into her wet womanhood and pulling out, driving her to the brink of insanity. Merrin clamped on to his shoulders. “Faster.” Her hips slapped against him as she rode him like a galloping stallion, completely out of control. Ian’s hands clamped on to her buttocks. Growling, he drove into her with wild thrusts that matched her own.
A sharp cry caught in the back of Merrin’s throat—her eyes flew open and then rolled back, unable to focus. Her entire being went completely rigid, followed by the shattering of blessed release.
Chapter Thirty-one
A serving maid gave Merrin a haughty glare when Ian tugged her back into the kitchen. All too quickly, the reality of their plight came back. She would treasure fleeting moments shared with Ian, but Merrin also would not soon forget her treatment by the clan. As soon as she could, she’d slip away and let Ian return to his life. He dreamt of supporting his brother and adding value to the clan. That was something Merrin could never do.
“What have the cooks got planned for the morning meal?” Ian asked.
The woman pointed toward the great hall. “I dunna ken what to do. They’re all out there on their backs, crying for food.”
Ian pointed toward the larder. “Fetch the oats.”
“I can cook,” Merrin volunteered.
Ian looked at her in disbelief. “But ye haven’t had a wink of sleep.”
Merrin pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. She had to stay awake. “Who else will do it?”
Bran pushed in through the back door. “Any change?”
From the grim line between his eyebrows, Bran really meant to ask if anyone had died during the night. Merrin took in a deep breath to clear away the ugliness of her horrendous thought.
Ian shook his head. “Nay.”
Merrin grabbed a water bucket. “There’s no use standing around.” She handed the pail to Ian. “Can ye fetch the water? Bran, can ye bring in some sausages from the larder if ’tis not too much trouble?”
She glanced at the serving maid, who came in with a small barrel of oats. After setting it down, the wench shook her head, held up her hands and walked back to the great hall.
Bran started after her. “I’ll no’ stand for rudeness.”
“Let her go.” Merrin groaned. “’Tis no use having a backstabber in the kitchen.”
Still heading after the woman, Bran called over his shoulder, “Then I’ll see to it she tends the fires.”
Together the three of them prepared a grand feast of porridge and sausages, while rumblings grew in the great hall. Ian and Bran ran trenchers of food out to the tables and above stairs for the laird and ladies—at least, anyone who was well enough to eat.
After administering another round of tonic to the sick, Merrin returned to the kitchen, thinking she’d find Ian there, but things had been so frantic with only a few people tending to the ill, they’d had no option but to spread the work and go their separate ways.
Merrin glanced at the mound of dirty pots, trays and trenchers. She nearly dropped. Her vision blurred and she rubbed her eyes. Now that the morning meal had been handled, mayhap she could slip above stairs and sleep. Gar looked up from his mat in front of the hearth. She bent down and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “’Tis much fancier than our home, hey, big fella?”
A woman cleared her throat from the outside doorway.
Merrin’s skin crawled. She glanced back in hopes that Ian would come from the great hall. Bethag was one of the reasons he felt it necessary to be so protective.
The old woman glanced around the kitchen and raised her chin. “Ye think you’ve come in here to take over, aye?”
“Of course not. There was no one here to cook the morning meal.”
Two more women stepped in behind the old crow.
“What kind of sorcery did ye use to mix the tincture?” one asked.
Bethag cackled, nodding her head. “She has our Ian bewitched, that’s for certain.”
“Nay.” Gar bounded beside Merrin and growled. “Can ye no’ see I’m trying to help?”
“No one was sick afore ye arrived.”
Merrin shook her finger toward the tower. “Alexander had a cough. I witnessed it meself.”
Bethag sneered. “Ye witnessed it? Ha. That means nothing.”
“We should put her to the floating test,” said the plump one.
Merrin’s heart raced. The three stepped closer, hate in their eyes. Gar leaned toward them, growling, baring his teeth.
Bethag recoiled, clasping her fists against her chest. “Your dog does no’ scare me.”
The plump one shot a worried glance at the dog. “She’ll kill us all.”
The third wicked woman joined in. “Burn her.”
Merrin’s entire body shook. She hadn’t slept in more than a day. She’d put up with taunts and jeers and sideways looks, all the while trying to help. She could take no more. Her eyes filled with tears. She grasped Gar’s collar and ran for the door. The cackles of those hateful women followed her all t
he way to the rear gate. Once outside, Merrin turned full circle. Fladda was northwest—the only place in the world she’d ever been safe. Her father and Friar Pat had walked to and from the castle many times. She could do it as well.
Gar rubbed against her leg. “Come,” she said. “We shall never return to this hateful place again.”
***
Ian took the cup from Alexander’s hand and felt his forehead. “I think your fever’s broken.”
“I’m definitely feeling better—mayhap I was wrong about Merrin.”
The heavy burden upon Ian’s chest lightened for the first time since he regained consciousness. “I concur with that.”
“Are ye planning to keep her at Brochel? I could use your sword beside me.”
“The clan proved they do no’ deserve her.” Ian shook his head. All this time he wanted to earn a respected place beside his brother, and now that he had, he no longer wanted it. “I doubt she’d like the idea either. I think it would be best if we rebuilt the cottage on Fladda.”
“Very well.” Alexander yawned. “But I ask ye to think on it afore ye make a decision.”
“That I will.”
Alexander sat up and stretched. “I’ve been abed long enough.”
“Ye’re rising so soon?” Ian could have hugged him. “I must tell Merrin. She’s been sick with worry—some in the clan have been blaming the ague on her.”
“Honestly?” Alexander’s joints creaked as he crossed to the basin and splashed water on his face. “And ye allowed it?”
“We called for sanctuary until ye could hear her plea. I must confess, ’tis near impossible to enforce punishment on so many at once.”
Alex picked up the drying cloth. “I’ll put an end to it straight away. The last time the ague spread through the castle, it took ages to clear—and two good men died.”
“Merrin was so worried—never stopped working, did no’ even sleep.”
“By the looks of you, ye did no’ as well.”
The corner of Ian’s mouth ticked up. “I’ll fetch her and see to it I remedy that.”
