by Laura Landon
“I have been called to spend my life in solitude with the good sisters. I am perfectly satisfied with the path I have chosen.”
She ignored his sigh of frustration.
“If ever you change your mind, you will always be welcome. Never forget that.”
Màiri walked him into the cottage and helped him to the bed. “You must rest now, milord. You have a long journey ahead of you and only three days to rest for it.”
She pulled the covers over his shoulders and turned to leave. Before she closed the door behind her she asked the one question that had bothered her since their conversation.
“Why did you seek the Lady Màiri?”
“It is hardly important now.”
“But—”
He held out his hand to stop her. “My purpose for finding the Lady Màiri no longer matters. Any intent I had has been taken out of my hand. God has seen fit in his mercy to spare her in a way only he can understand, and punish me in a way I will never understand.”
She should fear him. What other purpose could her father have had for sending for the MacAlister if not to kill her? He was a threat to her, and yet. . .
Màiri closed the door behind her, cursing her gift. This time for failing her.
Chapter 3
Iain rose from his bed, then felt his way along the wall until he reached the window. It was the middle of the night and Agatha slept soundly by the hearth, her steady breathing an assurance that she was there. He found comfort in her nearness, contentment in her presence. He did not know what would happen when they separated. He had come to depend on her for everything.
He did not know how he could ever learn to deal with his blindness on his own.
He opened the shutters and breathed in the fresh Scottish air. It smelled clean, and alive. God help him if he never saw another sunrise or another Scottish hillside filled with heather.
He listened to the sounds that filled the darkness around him. Kenneth slept outside in a crude shelter he’d fashioned against the side of the cottage. His soft snoring drifted in through the opening along with the distant sounds one only heard at night. Iain thought of MacAlister Castle and those he’d left behind.
Anger boiled deep inside him. How could he ever be their laird if he couldn’t see?
He leaned his shoulder against the side of the window and let the cool breeze wash over him. If only peace had not been so important to him. If only living in harmony with the warring MacBrides had not caused him to gamble the lives of his men for an impossible goal.
Iain braced his hands on either side of the crude wooden frame and lowered his head. He’d been such a fool. He should have known the offer of the MacBride’s daughter in marriage had been a trap. He should have known Ewan MacBride would not sacrifice his only child for the sake of peace. For him to come to collect his bride with only four men at his side instead of a whole army of battle trained warriors had been a foolish mistake.
His heart ached until he thought it would burst in his chest. How could his life have changed in such a short time? Iain thought of the danger he would bring to his clan when word escaped that the MacAlister laird could not even find his way to the garderobe unassisted. MacAlister Castle would be in danger from every greedy laird with a penchant for riches and land. What he wanted most would forever be beyond his reach. He would never see peace again in his lifetime.
A cold shiver raced up and down his spine, causing him the greatest jolt of fear since he’d opened his eyes and realized he was blind. How could he be the MacAlister laird when he couldn’t protect his people?
He fisted his hand and slammed it against the wood at the side of the window. There was no greater curse to bring to his people than to cast them into constant battle. There was nothing his brother Roderick would relish more.
“Can you na sleep?” Her soft voice spoke from behind him.
He released a long, hostile breath filled with rage. “I did na mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
She stepped close to him until he could smell the clean scent of the roses and heather from her bath tonight. It was not safe for her to be this close. His blindness was such a lonely curse. He wanted her gone before it was too late.
“Go.”
She stepped closer. “When I was a small child my mother told me the tale of a wee fairy who granted wishes. She gathered dust from the moon each night when it was full and bright and saved her magical powder in a leather pouch. According to the tale, she would roam the earth in search of little boys and girls who had been very good and sprinkle them with her magic dust. Whatever that child wished for hard enough would be granted.
“On nights like this when the moon was full and bright, I would pretend to fall asleep quickly. As soon as my mother left the room I would fling open the window and sit on the ledge so the fairy could find me.”
“What was your wish, sweet Agatha? Did you wish for riches and fine clothes? Or a gallant warrior to marry you so you could live happily ever after?”
“Nay. I did na wish for anything so noble.”
The far-away sound of her voice held a hint of longing he could not understand. Suddenly, he wanted the power to grant her wish. “Did you ever get your wish?”
“It was only a tale and I have long since grown from a child. The wish is na longer important. But I remember it every time I look at the moon.” She sighed. “You had best go to bed. You need the rest.”
“Is there a moon tonight?”
“Aye. ’Tis a full moon in the sky.”
“Where is it? Come stand in front of me and point to it.”
Iain stepped back from the window and she stepped in front of him.
“Give me your hand,” she said, reaching behind her for his hand.
Iain stepped close until her back was pressed flat against him. She fit so perfectly, as if she belonged. He breathed a ragged sigh. It had been so long since he’d been this close to a woman. So long since he’d felt this much at peace.
She lifted his hand in hers and pointed upward. “Right there, milord. It’s lighting our faces as if it were a huge candle in the sky. There will be much moon dust gathered tonight.”
Iain lifted his face to the same spot where he pointed and sighed. She moved to step away from him. “Nay. Please stay with me.”
When she walked no further, he held her by the shoulders and pulled her back against him, wrapping his arm around her waist. They stood in each other’s arms for a long time before he dared to break the silence. “It’s hard to believe I will never see the moon again.”
“You canna believe you will always be blind,” she said, lowering her hands to rest on his arms. “You could wake up tomorrow and be able to see.”
A slight smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Is that what I should wish for? At times I am so desperate to believe your words that I imagine the darkness is not so black but a dark gray instead. It’s amazing the tricks your mind plays when you want something so much.”
“Perhaps it’s not a trick. Perhaps your sight is struggling to return.”
“I think I would have better luck waiting for your fairy to sprinkle me with moon dust.”
“There was na injury to your eyes, milord. It’s as if your head received such a blow it has shrouded itself in darkness.”
“A darkness that may never leave me.”
“A darkness that may be gone tomorrow.”
Iain laughed. “You are good for me, sweet Aggie. Are you sure you canna come with me to MacAlister Castle and be my eyes?”
She moved and he put his hands out to stop her.
“I must go, milord. It is na right for you to hold me thus.”
“Not tonight. Please. For tonight be my eyes. Tell me what I canna see.”
He heard her sigh of resignation, then she ceased her struggle to get away and turned to face him.
“What would you like to see, milord?”
“Is the heather in bloom? And the poppies? And the clover?”
&nb
sp; “Aye, milord. The heather and the clover and poppy are in full bloom. The hillsides are ablaze with color. Purples and reds and whites. And yellows and oranges and greens. The grass and the trees and the bushes are rich with the shades of summer. Just lean out the window and breathe. You can smell it.”
There was a lilt to her voice he found mesmerizing. Iain moved closer to the window and breathed. For just a moment he could almost see the colors of Scotland.
His arm touched her, her muslin gown soft to his touch. “And tell me, what of Kenneth? Is he fair or dark, old or young, tall or short?”
She laughed. “He’s tall, milord, though not as tall as you, and broad of shoulder and strong like you. And he has a twinkle in his eyes that glows with mischief.”
“That I do na have?”
“That I have na seen.”
“How very cautious of you. Go on.”
“He has hair as red as the sun at sunset and a beard with streaks of silver that he keeps trimmed neatly. He is kind and gentle and has a ready smile on his lips at all times.”
“How old do you think our Kenneth is?”
“Perhaps forty summers. I do na think many more.”
“And what about you?”
“Me?”
“Aye. What do you look like? Are you dark or fair? Just pretty or beautiful?”
“Far from beautiful, milord. I am very plain to look upon. Hardly noticed.”
“I canna believe that. And what of your hair?” Iain lifted his hand and ran his fingers through the long silky strands that hung nearly to her waist.
“It is brown, milord. A very ordinary color of brown.”
“And your eyes, my fair Agatha? What color are your eyes?”
“I am na sure, milord. I have been told they are blue at times and green at others. It is a color I took from my mother, except hers were a beautiful green as vibrant as the leas after a spring rain.”
Iain cupped her cheeks between his two hands, her skin silky smooth to his touch. He rubbed his thumbs over eyes he imagined as green as the leaves, then along her high, noble cheekbones and down her upturned nose, then along the ridge of her jaw. The feel of her delicate features beneath his fingers sent his heart to racing in his chest. “What of your smile, my Aggie?” he asked running a thumb over her lips. “Is it as warm and inviting as it seems?”
“I don’t…I’m na… Please, milord,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and ragged.
“Do you think it would be possible to call me by my Christian name? It’s Iain.”
“Please, Iain—”
Before she had time to beg for anything more, he lowered his head until his lips touched hers. She was not eager for his kiss like he’d hoped, but timid and shy. Almost as if she had never been kissed before.
He pressed his lips against hers, tasting her sweetness, reveling in her innocence. He moved with soft deliberation, kissing her gently until she lifted her mouth to meet him with more confidence. Over and over he worshipped her mouth, his lips pressed against hers, his tongue lightly tracing the juncture to her warm cavern. He froze at the opening, hesitant to enter.
Raking his fingers through her hair, he cupped the back of her head to hold her close, then moved with infinite pleasure to the side of her neck, nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear. A low moan escaped from the back of her throat and Iain pulled her closer and pressed his mouth against hers with greater desperation.
He kissed her again and again while his hands moved over her body, down her back, over her hips, around her front to just below her breasts. He was past the point of all rational thought. He wanted nothing more than to have this fairy who had sprinkled him with her own special moon dust to make his blindness tolerable.
He kissed her again, deeper, then again, vowing that he would stop before it was too late.
He owed her that much.
. . .
The blood thundered in her head. Her heart pounded in her breast. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t tear herself away from him like she knew she should and run where it was safe.
He touched her and set her flesh ablaze. He held her close and the churning in her stomach burned like liquid fire, rushing in molten rivers to that place deep within her she never knew existed. Her knees weakened beneath her and she wrapped her arms around his neck with even more desperation and kissed him back.
She had no idea a man’s touch could do this. No idea a man’s kiss could bring her to this point. No wonder her mother had told her a man’s passion was more dangerous than the temptation of the greatest sin. The world moved beneath her feet every time he touched his lips to hers, demanding more of her soul than it was safe for her to relinquish. She burned in the pits of Hades and could not find a way to escape.
Her mind screamed the warning but her body yearned for more. She wanted this MacAlister like she never thought she would want a man. She wanted to give to him what he would take from her. She would gladly burn in hellfire just for a moment in his arms. Isn’t this how her mother warned her it would be?
Màiri’s mother’s dying words echoed through the dark recesses of her mind. Her warning to find pleasure with no man. To find seclusion with the good sisters of the convent. The warning to trust her heart to no man because no man could ever understand the gift.
Màiri thought back to the years of torture her mother had endured because she’d given herself to a man. Kissing this Scot was a mistake. She never should have weakened before him. It was a mistake that would be infinitely more terrifying than death.
With new-found strength, she turned her face away from his kisses and flattened her palms against his chest. She pushed as hard as she could until his grasp around her loosened. A desperate plea escaped her lips and she pulled out of his arms until she was safe on the other side of the room.
“Do na be afraid of me, Agatha,” he whispered in the darkness. He sounded as out of breath as she and spoke with the same ragged voice.
“I should na have allowed you to kiss me. It was wrong.”
“Nay. It was na wrong.”
“It was wrong! I would have your word you will never do so again.”
“We only shared—”
“I would have your word or when Kenneth and I leave, you will stay behind and he can come for you when I am safely at the convent.”
“You are that afraid of a kiss? It was meant only—”
“I would have your word, or we will na wait, but leave in the morning without you.”
He hesitated slightly. “Very well. You have my word. And my apology. I will never make such advances again.”
Màiri rubbed her kiss-swollen lips as she huddled before the dying embers of the fire in the hearth. By all that was holy, what had she almost done? Her heart pounded in her breast as she fought the panic rising in her throat.
Unable to control the tremendous guilt one more second, she grabbed the cover from her pallet and wrapped it around her shoulders before running from the cottage. She needed to separate herself from what she had done. She needed to get away from the MacAlister Scot who had given her a glimpse of what it was like to lose her heart to a man and begin the journey down the path that would lead to nothing but pain.
His voice echoed her name once as she made her way across the courtyard to the small enclosure where Kenneth kept the horses. When she reached the far side of the pen, she rested her arms on the wooden barrier and lowered her forehead. She’d never felt so confused in her life. She’d never felt so alone.
“Are you all right, mistress?”
Kenneth’s voice came as a whisper from the shadows.
“I let the MacAlister kiss me. After all my mother’s warnings, I let him kiss me.”
Kenneth didn’t say words to comfort her or chastise her. A window opened in her mind and Màiri saw that Kenneth knew exactly what she’d let the MacAlister do. He stepped beside her and leaned against the wood planks that penned the horses.
“Does your gi
ft na tell you anything?”
“Nay. My gift fails me where the MacAlister is concerned. I feel na warning. I feel na danger. I only feel a burning I have never felt before. It is the burning my mother warned me of, isn’t it?”
“Ah, lass.”
Màiri worried her lower lip and raised her gaze to the full moon in the sky. “Why does my gift tell me nothing where he is concerned, Kenneth? It has never been like this before. The warnings for others come without my bidding. Now, I feel nothing except a strange confusion when he is near.”
“What will you do, lass?”
“We will leave for the convent in two days, then you can take the MacAlister home to MacAlister Castle. I can stay here with him na longer. In time what we shared will na matter.”
“Are you sure you want to stay in the convent?”
Màiri fought the panic in her breast. “Aye, Kenneth. Now more than ever.”
Kenneth stood beside her in the moonlight a while longer, then turned to go back to the cottage.
“Kenneth? Do you think my father has given up his search for me?” she asked hopefully.
“Perhaps.”
She hugged her arms around her middle. Even though his answer held promise, her gift saw it for the lie it was. Her father would never give up his search to find her.
Kenneth walked away, leaving her to stare up into the moonlit sky, remembering the tale of the fairy gathering moon dust. Her eyes misted as she thought of all the lonely nights she’d stared into the sky waiting for the fairy to sprinkle her with magic. All the nights she’d waited for the fairy to come to answer her wish.
Her wish hadn’t come true then as it would not now. She would never be like others. Her gift would always make her different. If she let herself feel anything for the Scot, the time would come when he would hate her as her father had hated her mother. As her father still hated her.
Màiri stared at the moon as tears swam in her eyes. She had only a few more days to keep away from the Scot and make sure he did not hold her again.
She had a lifetime to try to forget his kisses. It would take that and more.
. . .
Màiri wrapped the food she’d prepared into bundles, then placed each package into the two woven baskets that would be tied to either side of the small mare along with the few supplies they would take with them. They would leave in the morning.
