“Do ye have reason to think someone took your sister up here to the Western Isles?” Alec asked. They’d been quite careful about leaving no indications of who they were.
Tor Maclean gazed directly back at Alec while Duffie’s gaze followed a small herd of village dogs, chased by two laughing MacNeil lads. “Three of Geoff MacInnes’s hounds were cut from their tethers when Mairi was taken. We found their paw prints along the northwest shoreline, along with horse prints. Anyone able to bring horses by boat would have a ship able to handle the crossing to these isles.”
“Interesting,” Alec said. “Bandits wouldn’t take the time to steal dogs. And faithful canines won’t just follow someone away from their home unless they were mistreated there. Perhaps your sister decided she was safer to leave.”
“It was Mairi’s wedding day,” Duffie said. “She wouldn’t have left, and she wasn’t mistreated. ’Twas her choice to marry. And who would snatch away a lass on her wedding day but someone who was at war with the MacInnes?”
“Aye,” Alec said. “I and the MacNeil clan of Barra are at war with the family of Fergus MacInnes, but it will extend to the rest of the clan if I discover others were involved in my wife’s murder.” He glanced at the midsized ship in the harbor. Had anyone on the ship seen Mairi walking the roofline? “If MacInnes hides upon your ship, tell him that none of his clan is welcome here.”
Alec strode away, with Ian and Kenneth flanking him, his wolfhounds jogging behind. Gravel crunched under their boots as they headed toward the church. “Watch them,” Alec said. “If they try to signal or return to their ship, get me. We’ll return to Kisimul before them.”
“Ye best marry her soon, before her kin figures out she’s here,” Ian said.
Kenneth dropped the weight of his hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Kiss her again, man. She’s certainly kissable looking.” He grinned, his brows raised, and veered off the path with Ian.
Alec narrowed a glare at Kenneth’s back and continued toward Father Lassiter, where he swept the front steps to the small church. “Any news or needs for intercession, Father?” Alec asked the wiry man.
He cocked his head toward Maclean and Duffie, who spoke with Ruth at the bakery before she ushered them inside. “Just those two looking around like we’re as guilty as the devil.”
Alec crossed his arms and watched the two Highlanders. “There’s a bit of the devil in all of us, Father. That’s why we need ye here.”
The only reason those two were staying on Barra Isle was to ask the villagers if they’d seen Mairi. Luckily, Alec hadn’t brought the new dogs over yet, in case they had a description. What would that be? Did Geoff tell them to look for canines with their ribs showing through their skin and welts on the young bitch’s back?
A man who treated his dogs that way would likely treat his wife the same. Mairi should thank him for stealing her away. Could another kiss convince her of that? He snorted. Doubtful.
…
Mairi sat in the narrow rocking chair before the fire she’d built in the stone hearth. Daisy lay at her feet, both having feasted on freshly caught haddock, which Mairi had taught Cinnia and Weylyn how to clean, season, and fry. They’d also learned to bake fresh bread without burning it. ’Twas a good day for the children and the small pack of dogs that followed them around. Despite the lack of people on Kisimul, the dogs certainly made the place less lonely.
A knock at the door halted Mairi’s rocking as her heart sped up. She’d been eating below when the dogs alerted them to Alec’s homecoming. Bidding the children good night, she’d retired before he came inside.
“Aye,” she said, rocking once more. The door was barred from the inside, so there was no worry of someone barging in. Daisy sniffed at the crack under it, tail wagging.
“I would speak with ye,” Alec’s deep voice came through the wood.
“Go ahead!”
“Not through a door.”
Mairi huffed and stood, walking over. She placed her hand there and breathed deeply. Alec wasn’t her dead husband’s abusive son, yet the feel of the heavy wood beneath her hand reminded her of another time when she was imprisoned, hiding behind a wooden bar over a door. Subduing a tinge of panic, she lifted and let the bar fall. When Alec didn’t push into the room, she pulled it open. Daisy rushed past his legs and down the stairs after the voices below.
Alec stood with his legs braced apart, one hand on the doorframe, his stare studying her face. “May I enter?”
She swept her arm aside. “’Tis your bloody castle, and I am but a lowly prisoner.”
He walked in, shutting the door behind him. “I do not enter where I’m not wanted.”
“Ye entered my room at Kilchoan,” she said.
“I believe ye beckoned me in.”
She blew air from her cheeks. “I didn’t know who ye were. Had I known, I wouldn’t be a prisoner here.”
“Think ye could have stopped me from taking ye to Kisimul?” he asked, crossing to the fire. He squatted low to poke it with the iron stick.
“Certainly.”
He looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
“Or I at least would have screamed loud enough to make your ears bleed. And ye’d surely have suffered bruises.”
He stood and leaned back against the wall, resting his arm on the shallow mantel. Good Lord, he looked rugged and fine relaxing there, a grin turning up his mouth. “Ye’re a right bloodthirsty bride.”
He may be the handsomest man she’d ever seen, but he was still a scoundrel for stealing her. She huffed. “Bride? Ha! Prisoner.”
“Ye’ve been treated very well for a prisoner. Perhaps I should rectify that.”
She took a step back. “If ye try to lock me in that cell again, ye’ll feel my blade, MacNeil.”
“No need for cells or blades if ye wed me,” he answered, meeting her step with one of his own.
“And then what? I marry ye, and ye let me leave? Go back to my home on Aros?”
He paused his advance, studying her. “Ye would like to return to Aros on the Isle of Mull? Not Kilchoan?”
“I’ve told ye, I do not consider myself a MacInnes.”
“But ye were about to wed a second one.”
She opened her mouth and closed it twice before talking. “My duty…” She cleared her throat and tipped her chin higher. “As daughter and then sister to the Maclean of Aros, was to form alliances with our neighbors by wedding into another clan’s family.”
He frowned. “Your brother, Tor Maclean, made ye wed into the MacInnes clan.”
“Nay. My father did. Well, he asked me to. I could have refused, but then I would be a burden to my family, not an asset. When Geoff MacInnes asked me again to wed within their clan, Tor said I did not have to. But I would be an asset, not a burden.”
“Ye could be an asset to the Macleans by wedding The MacNeil of Barra,” he said, watching her closely.
She stepped up to him, her eyes narrowed. “If ye hadn’t noticed, MacNeil, I do not like being forced to comply. A woman wants to have a choice in the matter.”
“Will ye wed with me?” he asked, not breaking the bond of their stubborn gazes.
She concentrated on not blinking. “Asking me while I’m trapped in your bloody castle isn’t asking me.” She could just make out a long white scar running under his close-cropped beard. It ran the length of his jaw. His face was angular and beautiful in its intensity. His piercing eyes made her heart hammer too quickly. Did he ever smile with joy or did his lips only slant with a sardonic grin?
“I am patient,” he said.
She scoffed. “Ye’re also brittle, stubborn, and if ye blow that damn whistle for me to come, I’ll shove it down your throat.”
The edges of his mouth turned upward. “Noted. Now it’s my turn.”
“Your turn?”
“Aye. Mairi Maclean. Ye are undisciplined, stubborn, and rash.”
“Rash? Undisciplined? How would ye even know any of that? Ye’ve been away f
rom me most of the last week.” Of course, he was right. Her mother and brother had both called her rash and undisciplined, but the blasted devil had no right to call her such without knowing who she was.
“Ye kissed me when ye were about to wed another,” he answered. “That is rash and undisciplined.”
Mairi clamped her teeth and sucked air in through her nose. “I was told that a man was coming to tempt me, by my betrothed, to see if after I kissed him I would still want to marry Geoff.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Quite risky of him. Did the kiss work?”
“What? Nay,” she yelled but felt her face heat. The man couldn’t possibly know that she’d considered calling off the wedding when he released her from that kiss.
“So, if I was to…kiss ye again, that wouldn’t change your mind about wedding me?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, crossing her arms. It took strength of will not to let her gaze drop to his sensual mouth. Like a starving dog with a meaty bone waving in front of her, she felt the pull. Was she so lonely that she would throw herself into the arms of her enemy? Even if those arms were warm and gentle, wrought of power and stone-hardened muscle?
He stepped forward. “Are ye certain?”
“Aye.” She opened her eyes wide, her heart thumping behind her breast. “Ye don’t frighten me with threats of persuading kisses, MacNeil.”
He touched a curl along her cheek, his hand brushing her face. Mairi stood as still as a marble statue, mutiny on her lips, despite the itch of her fingers to touch him. Aye, it was loneliness that weakened her resolve.
“I don’t suppose ye ever get frightened, Mairi Maclean.” His words were low, rough, like the prickle of his cropped beard must feel sliding along her skin.
Mairi remained rooted to the floor. If she backed away, Alec would take it as some sort of victory.
He brought his hand downward, touching her bottom lip with his thumb, and her breath caught. “Ye are brave and disordered,” he said. “But the softest, most beautiful creature I’ve ever met.”
His words wrapped around her more firmly than chains. Beautiful? She’d never been called beautiful by a man.
He leaned in, eyes on her as if waiting to see if she would turn away. But she didn’t, wouldn’t. If he wished to see if he could affect her with a kiss, then dammit, she would meet his challenge with one of her own.
Chapter Eight
Alec’s mouth touched her lips, and he inhaled the fresh sea rose scent of her. She slanted, opening immediately. He’d expected cold and distant. Instead the woman was kissing him back, her fingers curling into his shirt at his shoulders as she molded herself in to him. She was all curves and heat, and tasted slightly of honeyed ale. Her hands worked up to circle behind his head, nails raking through his hair, battering his restraint.
He crushed her to him, leaning over to taste her deeply. She was more intoxicating than whisky. Thoughts of strategy melted away as erotic fire beat with each thrum of his heart. More. He wanted more of Mairi Maclean.
A noise hummed from the back of her throat, much like a moan, making him grow rigid beneath his kilt. Holding her with one arm, his other hand roamed down her back, pressing her lovely, rounded arse against him. His body demanded he strip her bare, and she wasn’t helping. It was as if she’d given in to the carnal heat flaring between them, the one he’d tried to ignore from the moment of their first kiss.
She rubbed her pelvis against his length, driving him wild with want. He groaned, lifting her until only her toes touched the floor. The bed was only two steps away. Cold logic beat against the inferno coursing through Alec’s body. Nay. This was wrong. She considered herself his prisoner with no ability to escape him. Would he add ravishment to stealing away a woman who he was realizing was innocent?
Alec’s hands came to Mairi’s shoulders. With one last taste, he broke the kiss. She panted, her large eyes dark, as if she too had let the kiss sweep away her good sense. Lips still damp, Mairi rubbed them closed against each other. “Go ahead,” she said, still breathless, but her eyes clearing of the frantic passion between them. She swallowed and wiped a hand over her mouth. “Ask me to marry ye now.” She stepped back, crossing her arms, her answer obvious.
Alec adjusted himself and watched her gaze drop to his kilt. Her eyes rose when he crossed his arms to mimic her stance. “Ye can kiss a man like that and still love another?” he said, his words cutting. Were all women disloyal? Joyce had kissed him, but then left without a word. His mother had said she loved her son, but then abandoned him to Kisimul.
“I never said I was in love with Geoff MacInnes,” Mairi said, blinking. She tipped her chin up again. “I was marrying him for duty, a duty I chose to uphold.”
“For duty? Or a need to prove yourself worthy to your family?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes, tipping her head to the side. “And why do ye stay on a rock in the sea, alone? For duty? Or to prove yourself worthy of being the laird of Barra?”
Knock. Knock. “Mairi? Da?” Weylyn’s voice came through the door.
Without breaking her stare, Mairi called out. “Aye, come in.”
Alec’s son pushed inward with Artemis rushing past his legs to circle them before the hearth.
“Did ye give Mairi her signal?” Weylyn asked Alec, making Mairi finally break the stare between them.
“Signal?” she asked.
Weylyn pointed to the whistle tied about Alec’s neck. “The whistle. I’m two short blasts. Cinnia is two long blasts, and yours is to be one short and one long blast.”
Ballocks. Alec released a long breath as he waited.
Mairi tipped her gaze upward, moving from Weylyn’s innocent face to the ceiling and back down, in an arc, to land on Alec. “And what is your father’s signal?”
“There’s only one whistle,” Weylyn explained, his young face pinching in confusion. “It belongs to the chief, so he doesn’t have a signal.”
Her eyes cut into Alec, for the space of a heartbeat, then she threw her hands up in the air. “Out! Everybody out,” she yelled. “Except Daisy.”
“But—” Weylyn started.
“Out, and I will have no signal.” She pointed at the door and took a deep breath to center a look on Weylyn. “And neither will ye or your sister, Weylyn,” Mairi said. She glared at Alec. “We are not dogs.”
“But it will be easier to hear when he needs one of us,” Weylyn demanded, his shock turning to belligerent loyalty.
“He has a voice and a pair of legs,” Mairi fumed. “Now both of ye, out.” She pointed to the door where Daniel, one of the four seamen who knew of Mairi on Kisimul, stood. They’d come back with him earlier in case Mairi’s brother tried to dock.
“And who the bloody hell are ye?” she asked, her temper still high.
“Daniel MacNeil,” he answered, but his gaze shifted to Alec and darkened.
Alec immediately reached for his sword. “What’s amiss?”
“A ship is docking on the back side of Kisimul.”
…
Mairi raced after Alec as he strode down the steps into the great hall where two other men, whom she recognized from the journey over to Barra, stood, swords in hand. Alec’s massive wolfhounds took up station on either side of him.
“I said for ye to stay in your room,” Alec said, looking back at her. He pointed to Cinnia and Weylyn. “Ye two also, with Mairi up in her room. Now.”
The children grabbed Mairi’s hands, tugging her back toward the steps above. “I told ye they’d come for me,” she said.
The red-haired man, Ian, jogged in through the door from the courtyard. “’Tis Angus Cameron,” he said, catching his breath. “He’s here on George Macrae’s ship. He landed with five men and…his sister.”
Mairi’s hope drained out of her like water through sand. Neither the Camerons, nor the Macraes, knew or cared who she was. Fergus MacInnes had disliked the Camerons, and they had threatened him with sending the English to Kilchoan. If they knew her ide
ntity, they’d likely applaud Alec’s efforts or try to take her themselves. Mo chreach.
Alec cursed low but sheathed his sword. He looked back toward her. “Take the children above. Angus Cameron is a childhood friend and will not carry ye away from Kisimul on a Macrae ship.” She narrowed her eyes silently. “Take the children and yourself above…please.”
It was the please that moved her. Had the word tasted bitter on his tongue, having to use it before his men? Cinnia and Weylyn tugged again, and she followed stiffly. They made it up to the landing when a man’s voice boomed out.
“Lo, MacNeil. I’ve brought ye a prize to fix all your bloody problems.”
Mairi followed the children into her room and gently shut the door. “Who is Angus Cameron?”
“One of Da’s old friends from the mainland,” Cinnia said, picking up the fire poker to push the burned peat around inside the hearth. “There was a festival with the Macdonnell clan when Da was a lad, and his father would take him there to compete.” She frowned at the fire that licked up anew.
“Ye don’t like him?” Mairi asked. She could hear the man’s voice from below but not the words.
“He’s loud,” Cinnia said. “And big, like a bear. And he smells.”
“He’s a warrior, Cin. Of course, he smells,” Weylyn said, as if she were the silliest creature he’d met. He turned to look at Mairi, excitement on his face. “He’s also funny, and whenever he comes, things happen.”
Cinnia rolled her eyes. “I don’t think Da likes things happening when Angus is here.”
Alec surely wouldn’t like disruption to his routine. Maybe she would like Angus Cameron. For no reason other than he messed up Alec MacNeil’s carefully laid plans.
“And George Macrae?” she asked.
Weylyn shrugged. “He’s been here a few times to discuss trade, but that’s all I know.”
“I wonder why Angus brought his sister,” Cinnia said.
“Do ye like her?” Mairi asked.
Cinnia shrugged. “I’ve only met her once. Bessy Cameron. She’s pretty, in a breakable kind of way.”
The Wolf of Kisimul Castle Page 7
