The Prince's Highland Bride: Book 6, the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  The words fell stiff and formal. He couldn’t help it. If he gave a single inch, he feared he would crush her in his arms, telling her with his body how much he’d feared for her, and how grateful he was she lived—or scold her like a parent with a particularly unruly child—or both.

  With a jerk of her chin, she led him away from the others, where they would not be remarked or overheard.

  “Ye are angry.”

  “I did not expect to see ye challenge pirates.”

  Maggie blinked. “Why not? Hola is my responsibility.”

  Phillipe scowled. He glanced down, only to snap his gaze back to hers. “Ye are not mine to command.” He drew a deep breath then sighed. “And if ye were, I would worry over your safety as I proudly watched ye stride into battle.”

  “Ye arenae vexed with me?”

  He lifted a hand, his fingers tangling gently in the strands of hair curving about her chin. “I am vexed with not being here or having fortifications in place—leaving ye unprotected. Yet, even though my heart nearly expired at the thought of ye threatened by pirates, and I almost leapt from the ship when I saw ye on the beach—instead of sheltering with the women and children—I admire your honor and courage.”

  A smile softened Maggie’s mouth, relaxed her shoulders. “I thank ye for understanding. ’Tis not my intent to have others fight my battles.”

  “I wouldn’t have it otherwise, mon coeur. Though I do not wish to see ye facing down a band of pirates again. Let us hope they do not return.”

  Her brow dipped and her smile vanished. “I dinnae believe ye will get yer wish. From what I gather, the pirates have made Hola a regular stopping point for years. If I were to make a prediction, I would say they will return—soon.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Fine wisps of clouds brushed the sky, fading from pink to white as the sun climbed. Rocks dotted the hillside that formed one edge of the field. The grass, cropped short by grazing sheep, crunched beneath Maggie’s feet. Phillipe’s mare and Balgair’s gelding stood apart from the wooly sheep. The MacLean ship rocked gently in the harbor. Thin trails of pungent peat smoke drifted from the thatched roof of the longhouse, the scent faint on the salt-laden breeze. Colyn’s shriek rode high in the clear air.

  “Have a wee bit of patience, laddie,” she chided, struggling to keep her mind on her task. Men traced the path from ship to shore where a growing stack of supplies marred the landscape. Sunlight winked on a bit of metal before Phillipe’s cloak shifted in the breeze to cover his mail, reminding Maggie of the pirates’ visit the previous evening. Wearing the armored protection meant he did not believe the danger was past. She considered the three daggers hidden in sheaths at her waist, forearm, and thigh. Neither did she.

  What will happen if they return before our defenses are ready?

  Colyn shrieked again. She shifted the bird to the twisted branch of a low tree, careful to tie his jesses before removing his hood. The slender leather creance trailed from one leg, though the training lead would soon be removed and the bird allowed to fly free. Her heart sped at the thought.

  “Ye’ve grown apace, me tottie bird. A beauty ye are, even if ye havenae quite all yer feathers in. Soon, laddie, soon.”

  She pulled a hunk of raw meat prepared with a twist of brown feathers from the pouch at her waist and deftly tied it to the lure, her back to the falcon so he wouldn’t see her actions. Quickly hiding a second, featherless piece in her gloved fist, she tossed the lure to the ground. Colyn cocked his head and ruffled his wings, gaze intent on his prey. Maggie tugged the string attached to the lure, making it twitch. Colyn crouched. Maggie dragged the lure, flipping it across the ground, inviting him to chase it. With a flap of wings, he leapt from the low perch, tottering a bit as he swept through the air. He struck the lure with a snap of sound, curving his wings forward for balance and to hide the food he’d just caught. His beak tore at the meat and he gulped it down.

  Maggie knelt beside the bird and gave a low whistle, offering her glove. Colyn stepped to her arm as he had so many times in the past weeks. He quickly sought the meat hidden in her fist and she wound the trailing ends of his jesses through her fingers to keep him from leaping from her hand once he’d finished.

  Footsteps warned of an approach. Maggie glanced up. Phillipe halted a few feet away, a question reflected in the tilt of his head. She stared at him hungrily. His leine was made of wool so fine it fell elegantly over his broad shoulders and moved with every breath. Trews wrapped his muscular legs, disappearing into boots which rose to his calves. The memory of his return the night before swept through her. The reason she’d scarcely slept. He’d called her my heart.

  “Ye have done well with the falcon.” His voice rumbled, warm velvet.

  “Thank ye.” She stroked the soft feathers on the falcon’s breast, searching wildly for something else to say.

  I am verra glad ye have returned.

  I counted the days.

  Please say ye willnae leave again.

  She caressed the supple leather lead dangling from the bird’s leg. “He is almost ready to allow off the creance.” Coward.

  Something flickered in Phillipe’s eyes. He nodded and moved closer. “Aye. The first time will be the most difficult. Not knowing what will happen. Will he return to ye or will he discover his freedom?”

  He touched her cheek as he had the night before. Heat blossomed over her skin. His hand fell away and he took a step back. “Come. Show me the caves. I did not expect to need them so soon and wish to know if they are defensible.”

  “Give me a moment to place Colyn in the sheep fold and ask Narfi to keep an eye on him. I’m using the shed as a mews whilst the sheep are at pasture.” Maggie hurried down the path, Phillipe matching his stride to hers. “Not that we’ve many predators on the isle, but the occasional company keeps him attuned to people. Narfi has been a lot of help.”

  She bit her lip to slow her rambling speech. Her step faltered and she glanced at Phillipe. “I missed ye.”

  Better.

  His lips curved upward and the skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “I missed ye as well.”

  Happiness swept over her and she ducked her head to hide her smile. He shouldn’t affect her so. He was a mercenary—albeit a well-spoken one—pledging his sword where he willed. She was a cast-off wife who had failed to give her husband a child. A pang lodged mid-chest. She swallowed and cast a glance at Phillipe. He knew why she was here—likely knew the entire tale as it was no secret. The church condemned her. Even other women found her lacking. Yet, when he looked at her, he smiled.

  The knot in her breast unraveled, then vanished. The sun shone a wee bit brighter, the salt tang in the air sharpened. A gentle breeze kissed her neck and teased an errant strand of hair. A weight lifted from her heart and she settled Colyn in the make-shift mews with a smile she couldn’t seem to control.

  She shielded her eyes as she exited the dim interior of the shed and immediately caught sight of Phillipe chatting with Narfi.

  The lad gave her an amiable nod. “I’ll keep an eye on the wee bird, freya. Dinnae fash.”

  “I thank ye, Narfi. We’re going to take a look at the caves.”

  Her attention could not linger on the lad. Phillipe tugged at her awareness, banishing the presence of all others. His dark, hooded eyes, his lean cheeks and close-cropped beard, nose slightly hooked—beckoned her. He was mysterious and exciting. And he’d set aside the pain of his past to help her.

  They followed the path the women and children had trod the day before seeking safety. The earthy scent of decay rose from the mud. Maggie slid on the trampled, rain-slicked grass. Phillipe caught her elbow, steadying her as she regained her balance.

  “Thank ye.” She sent a glance to the silent man at her side. He gave her a brief nod and set her back on her feet.

  Maggie indicated the cliffs a short distance away. “I’ve been to the caves only once—to learn where they are should the need arise.” She frowned.
“I dinnae expect . . . pirates.”

  Phillipe’s hand lingered on her elbow. “The people had not mentioned them. Asatrus’s explanation last night was unsatisfying. I understand I was not on the isle long enough to learn everything, yet I felt we had gained their trust—or I would not have left ye.”

  “The pirates have apparently forced them to their bidding for a number of years, without recompense. No one beyond the isle queried their safety, only their ability to tithe to whomever claimed ownership. Though I admit I find it troublesome to realize after a fortnight here, they had not confided in me.”

  Phillipe released her arm. “Mayhap they hoped we would provide protection before the pirates arrived this year. Asatrus and his men seem to know little of defense, and the fact they rely on retreating to a cave to protect themselves . . ..” He shook his head. “They are not warriors.”

  They rounded the point without further mishap. The sea lapped noisily against the shore, slapping against boulders before sliding upon the rock-strewn sand in a lacy froth. Seals eyed them from the finger of coastline a short distance away, safely tucked in their rookery. Gray coats splotched with white blended with the dark cliffs streaked with bird droppings. Their coloration would have made them unremarkable on the rocky shore, but their barks of warning and ungainly movements drew Maggie’s attention.

  “They should give birth in the next month or so,” she said. “Then the breeding season will start and I’ve been told we’ll hear the males fighting clear on the other side of the isle.”

  Phillipe chuckled. “Males brawling over females is never a quiet affair.”

  “’Tis a gey wheen of seals making enough noise without there being squabbling males,” Maggie quipped. Her merriment slipped. “Narfi said they’ll wait until the pups are weaned before hunting the seals for meat and skins.”

  “This troubles ye?”

  “A bit,” she admitted. “I understand the need and they have always done so, but my sympathy lies with the seals.”

  “Mayhap ye can offer a different solution. Bring in looms to help weave the wool the sheep provide. Import wool if necessary. Simply because they have always hunted the seals does not mean ’tis the only way.” He nodded to the rocks. “’Tis dangerous for the hunters as well.”

  “I had focused on the orchard and mead production. There is much I need to learn. So many things to accomplish.”

  “I am pleased to offer any assistance ye need.”

  Maggie sighed and leaned against a boulder. “How long before the abbey is completed?”

  Phillipe’s steps slowed. He faced her. Stopped. “We should discuss this.”

  She tilted her head, a frisson of alarm sending warning tingles down her spine. “Why? What has changed?”

  He stepped close. He took her hands, lifted them. Gently squeezed her fingers. “My lady, when I left the isle, my only goal was to see to the rebuilding of the abbey, to give ye a place to live and to ensure ye were protected when ’twas time for me to leave.”

  Maggie’s heart lurched. She did not want to listen to his concerns, his misgivings. That he would someday leave. Her fingers curved, gripping his. His thumb moved gently over the backs of her hands, soothing. She sighed, easing her grip. Phillipe caught her gaze, held it as he drew her hands upward. He kissed the backs of her hands, his breath warm on her skin. Her breath fluttered in surprise. With deliberate slowness, he lowered them, not relinquishing his hold.

  “I lied to myself. And, therefore, to ye. ’Tis my desire we have truth between us. Are ye willing to listen?”

  Phillipe turned her hands over, opening her palms to his gaze. Callouses lined the soft skin at the base of her fingers. Another protected the thick muscle beneath her thumb. She believed in working hard for her dreams. He loved this about her.

  The pulse quickened in Maggie’s throat, the blue line clearly visible beneath her pale skin. Her lips parted. Closed. She lifted her chin. “Aye. I would hear what ye have to say.”

  “When I arrived in Scotland, the prospect of explaining my presence to Baron MacLean overwhelmed me. ’Twas cowardly, yet I chose to not approach him or his family, though they had been more than my own kin to me for many years.”

  “Ye approached them for my sake.” Appreciation warmed her voice.

  Phillipe ghosted a smile. “Aye. Though I gained much more than help for ye.” His smile broadened, remembering the baron’s welcome. The unexpected peace. And hope?

  “Tell me,” Maggie urged.

  “I did not receive the censure I deserve. The baron listened and offered the wisdom he has always shown. When I spoke of your needs, he proved more than willing to assist ye.” Phillipe drew a deep breath. He was fairly certain Maggie wasn’t going to like what he said next. “But he does not believe this is a good plan.”

  Her scowl wasn’t as deep as he’d feared, and she did not pull away from him. Her gaze, however, threatened mutiny. “I willnae return to my da.”

  “Ye should have walls and warriors to protect ye.” He spoke the words, seeing them unexpectedly from her view. Walls to cage ye. Warriors to see that naught ever touches ye again. Not fear or hope. Neither hatred nor love. That was not the life he wanted for her.

  He placed both of her hands in one of his. He drew the fingertips of his free hand across her cheek, sweeping slowly across the flush spreading from her neck to her ears. He touched a strand of flame-red hair, startled when the coil did not burn.

  “All my life I’ve studied warfare, and I agree with the baron. If I design a heavily fortified keep, ye would need more than a score of men to defend it. For a time, the outer defenses would suffice. But sooner or later, someone would decide breaching the walls is a challenge he could not resist. And ye would not be able to outlast the siege, for there is not enough foodstuffs and water to feed the warriors needed.” He studied her face, the subtle denying shake of her head.

  “Maggie, mon coeur, without ye here, ’tis likely the pirates would be the only threat. A problem a handful of warriors can manage. Your presence is another matter. Ye cannot remain on Hola.”

  Her lips thinned, bitterness furrowed her brow. “Ye ask me to give up my freedom, my chance to make a new life.”

  “Nae, I ask ye to change your plan, protect the people of Hola, exchange your dream for another.”

  “Without Hola, there is naught for me.”

  Her despair tore at his heart. That she did not rant against his words told him she knew he told the truth. “I know ye would give your life for the people of Hola, though ye know little of them.”

  “But if I remain, I ask them to give their lives for me?” Anger flickered in her eyes. “Where do I go, Phillipe? What must I do to escape the curse leveled against me when the earl cast me aside?”

  “Marry me, Maggie. Become my wife and I will protect ye and give ye new dreams.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  “Marry ye?” The words spilled in a whoosh of disbelief before she could stop them.

  Phillipe raised a brow. “’Twould not be the hardship ye seem to envision.”

  Maggie swallowed, pulled her hands free. She flattened them against the cold stone at her back. “I dinnae know what to say.”

  “Might I hazard the thought ye care for me a bit? Ye did say ye’d missed me.”

  A teasing glint lit his eyes.

  “I willnae deny it.” She glanced down, then back to him from beneath her lashes. “There is something between us that speeds my heart. Compels me to listen for yer step.”

  “And what else, mon coeur?” Phillipe eased closer until the hem of her gown fluttered intimately about his feet.

  Maggie’s skin tingled. Her lips parted, silent words pouring forth.

  It pulls me to yer presence—yers and none other’s—begs for yer touch—for yer kiss.

  As though he’d heard all she hadn’t said, Phillipe’s head lowered until his lips skimmed hers. Rough silk. Coarse hairs of his beard lightly tickled her skin. The sensation was exhil
arating—and completely unsatisfying. Maggie leaned closer, needing the fullness of his touch, the heat of his mouth. His lips firmed beneath hers, parted slightly. Their tongues touched, polite query, then tangled in a flurry of passion.

  She pressed against him and his arms encircled her waist, pulling her tight.

  A moment later, he released her. “This . . . this will require more honesty, Maggie. A story ye must know before ye answer me yea or nae.”

  Reality flooded Maggie in an icy wave. “I must tell ye, Phillipe, I am certain the church wouldnae bless us if I accepted yer offer. The church stood firmly on the earl’s side when I was told I should retire to a nunnery and live my life in penance for my failure as a woman. Because I refused, I was assured I am outside the favor of God.”

  Phillipe’s jaw clenched. Damn! Damn the earl and damn the people who’d convinced Maggie any failure was hers alone to bear. The smiles and laughter he’d witnessed from her since they’d landed on Hola were more precious than he’d ever known.

  He tucked a crooked finger beneath her chin and raised it with gentle insistence. He touched his lips to hers, lingering until she drew a shuddering breath before he released her.

  “Mon coeur, do not doubt your worth based solely on your ability to bear a child. ’Tis far more likely the earl is at fault for the lack of children than are ye. Despite what ye were told, bearing the earl’s child would have been more along the lines of a miracle than fulfilling your duty. ’Tis not always the woman’s fault there are no children, whether the man believes it or not.”

  Maggie’s face whitened, the pink touch of the wind vanishing from her cheeks. “’Tis heresy to speak such.”

  He quirked a brow. “Ye do not believe men are somehow infallible, that women are only as honorable as their husbands?”