by Mary Wine
She snarled beneath her breath, “Ye’re a Blackguard to suggest such a thing while standing on holy ground.” It was a curse, but she didn’t care if he cuffed her for daring to insult his noble person. She tossed her head in the face of his displeasure. “Just because ye think me a fallen woman does nae give ye the right to touch me in plain sight of others. I took a lover because he promised me his name. I was nae a whore for hire.”
“I never labeled ye such a thing, Deirdre. Ye might be surprised to learn what I think of a woman who is bold enough to follow her desires instead of cowering in front of those who tell her what to do.”
There was a hint of approval in his tone, but she forced herself to ignore it. The last time she’d followed such impulses, she had disgraced herself and her clan.
“Stop using my name. We are nae familiar with each other. One stolen kiss does nae make ye anything more than a man I loathe.”
“Careful, lass, I think I enjoy the sound of that challenge more than either of us should.” His attention settled on the fabric covering her hair.
She gasped and then sputtered, because she didn’t care for how weak sounding her response was. “Have ye no honor?”
She was insulting him now, and her attack didn’t miss its mark.
He stiffened and hooked his hands into his wide belt. The thick leather circled his waist, binding the pleats of his kilt in place. Above his left shoulder, the pommel of his sword gained her attention.
“Weapons are forbidden inside the sanctuary.”
He frowned. “So are cursing and lying, Deirdre Chattan.”
His voice dipped low as he spoke her name, and there was a challenge lurking in his eyes that sent a quiver down the backs of her legs. She decided to focus on why the man was there so she might see him on his way that much faster.
“No one lied to ye here, Laird Cameron. Ye assume the queen is here, but ye never asked.”
His knuckles began to turn white. It was an odd little hint at what the man was truly feeling. She certainly couldn’t gain much by looking at his face, for he was showing her nothing but a stone-solid mask.
“I am seeking Joan Beaufort, queen of Scotland.” He spoke through gritted teeth, betraying his frustration. “Is she here?”
A few of his men stood near his back. They tilted their heads so they might watch her face and gauge her true reaction to their laird’s question. Deirdre scoffed at him. “Yer men are already swarming through the sanctuary. It’s too late to ask now.”
She could hear the muffled protests of the priests and the nuns who had been in the inner chambers of the abbey. Out in the yard, there was the stomping of the horses and the conversation of the members of the holy order as they tried to comfort each other.
Quinton snorted. “But ye did nae answer the question, which makes me suspicious of ye.”
Deirdre glared at the man responsible for shattering the peace. “Ye and yer men are acting like hell’s army.”
He should have been insulted. Instead he chuckled. “If I were a Viking, I’d no have allowed ye out of me arms quite so quickly. A true Norseman ravishes first and takes the plunder after he has sated his primary desire.”
That challenge returned to his eyes, flashing brightly as heat twisted through her belly. It was such an unexpected response that her hands moved to cover her lower body, the instinct to protect herself too strong to ignore.
“Enough out of ye.” She shook her head. “I’m nae impressed, I assure ye. Only more disgusted by yer lack of respect for this holy place and the way that ye know ye should be behaving.”
His lips rose into a smile that showed his teeth. “But I am impressed with ye, Deirdre Chattan. Ye are too much woman for this abbey, and I am very displeased to be so burdened with finding our queen, because it does nae leave me any time to enjoy yer fiery spirit.” His smile faded as his eyes darkened, and a promise lurked deep inside them. “A true pity that is, I’m thinking.”
“Well, stop yer thinking when it comes to me. It’s naught but a waste of time.”
He chuckled. “Aye, but a pleasant one, and I’m spending too many hours trying to keep our Highlanders from fighting one another nae to take the opportunity to enjoy something when it stands directly in front of me.”
The man had the audacity to reach for her face, but she slapped his hand before he touched her. The sound bounced off the stone walls, and he chuckled once again.
“A true shame, for I’d enjoy seeing what ye thought of me inviting ye to ride off with me, Deirdre.”
“I’d curse ye, and that is a promise, yer lairdship.”
He chuckled but it was a dark sound full of promise. “That makes me even sorrier that I cannae devote any time to discovering how to make ye purr for me.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise when she heard such brazen talk in the doorway of the abbey. Two of the nuns crossed themselves in the yard when they overheard him.
His men began returning. They shook their heads, which made him frown. Laird Cameron sent them back to their horses with a flick of his fingers. His attention remained on her.
“If Her Majesty should arrive, be sure to tell her she will be better off with me than William Crichton.”
“I cannae imagine the queen coming here.”
Quinton Cameron’s expression hardened. “I can. It is the only reason I would have sent my men into an abbey. Her Majesty is first cousin to the king of England, and there are many who will extort her if she makes the mistake of becoming their prisoner.”
Deirdre discovered herself shocked into silence. There was no missing the fact that Quinton Cameron had no real liking for what he had just ordered done. But he stood firm, facing what he considered a necessary task.
She might not care for his method, but she couldn’t fail to respect him for the dedication he applied to keeping the clans from feuding. If the Highlands dissolved into bloody raids, England would find it simple to invade. Joan Beaufort wasn’t just queen of Scotland. When she and her husband, James I, had arrived after being ransomed from England, Scotland’s nobles had sworn their allegiance to both of them. Many considered her a monarch in her own right, and the English might use that to overthrow her young son, who had been crowned James II.
Quinton Cameron was watching her, studying her reaction to his words.
“Go on with ye now that ye know the queen is nae here.”
He grunted, narrowing his eyes for a moment, the fact that he wanted to remain evident in them. Deirdre lifted one hand and pointed toward the doorway.
“Do ye need a map to find yer way, my fine Earl of Liddell?”
He groaned and thrust his hand out faster than she could avoid. This time, he captured her wrist, closing his fingers around her smaller arm. She gasped, but not because his grip hurt. The man controlled his strength expertly, tugging her hand up until she felt the warm brush of his breath and a moment later the soft press of his lips against the inside of her wrist.
“Nay, lass, I know my way around a spitfire sure enough, and if ye needle me, be very sure I will no’ retreat from the challenge ye offer.”
Sensation rippled down her arm and into her body like lightning. The delicate skin of her inner wrist was suddenly alive with a thousand points of recognition. Passion flickered in her belly again, tighter and more intense than before. She gasped, her body unable to contain all the impulses rushing through it. Quinton didn’t rush the kiss but lingered over her flesh while watching her reaction.
“Truly do I regret needing to depart so quickly, Deirdre Chattan.” His thumb passed over the spot he’d kissed, sending a softer bolt of pleasure through her before he released her arm. “But I must, else I’d remain and do my best to prove I know well how to deal with the fire ye breathe.”
She jerked her arm away from him with a hiss that would no doubt gain her a reprimand from the mother superior.
“A true blessing. I shall thank God tonight for taking ye from my sight.”
He snorted
with amusement but turned toward the yard and his men.
She followed him to the doorway and watched as he fitted one foot into the stirrup and mounted. The man rode a full-blooded stallion that didn’t remain still but shifted from side to side with eagerness to be moving. He reached down and patted the animal with a sure hand, but his gaze shifted to her.
“I hope yer memory is sound, Deirdre Chattan.”
His lips twitched, and her temper flared up once again. Oh, there was nothing wrong with her memory, but without a doubt, the man was not asking her if she recalled what he wanted her to tell the queen.
There was a flare of heat in his blue eyes she recalled very well from the night he’d kissed her.
“Ye are no’ one who I care to remember, nor anything ye have to tell me.”
He laughed at her, and so did his men. The arrogant beast shot her a look full of promise.
“Perhaps I’ll return to take up yer challenge to make a more lasting impression upon ye.” His stallion danced in a wide circle. When he was facing her again, his expression was serious. “Maybe ye might add that hope to yer prayers.”
“I shall not,” she sputtered. “Yer suggestion is most misplaced in this holy place. Are ye color-blind and cannae see I’m wearing an undyed robe?”
His gaze lowered to her clothing but centered on the swell of her breasts. “I see ye very well, and the robe does nae belong on ye, lass.”
He drew in a deep breath and raised his attention back to her face.
“But duty first, eh, hellion?”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Quinton Cameron turned his stallion toward the road and let the animal have its freedom. His men followed, forming two columns that raised a cloud of dust while the sound of the horses’ hooves diminished into the distance.
Deirdre found herself the object of scrutiny from the nuns standing in the yard. Her face heated, but she held her chin steady.
Curse the man.
And damn her for responding to him. She turned her back on those watching her. Her heart was still beating too quickly, and she knew what it was that heated her insides. It was passion or lust; both promised her hours of worry as she tried to decide if she was beyond redemption.
How could she favor a man such as Quinton Cameron? That would gain her nothing but another lover who would use her and then discard her once he was finished with her.
She chewed on her lower lip, a sliver of guilt assaulting her.
Quinton Cameron was not a dishonest man. He’d never lied to her as Melor had done, but that bit of knowledge didn’t settle her thoughts any.
He was still, without a doubt, a man she needed to avoid. He was far too dangerous for her to make the mistake of ever seeing him again—much less trust him enough to allow him to do any of the things she had seen flickering in his eyes.
***
“Ye did what ye had to. The man provoked ye.” Kaie’s voice was low, but it didn’t mask her distaste.
Deirdre looked up from the floor she was scrubbing; the day was almost gone now, but there were still chores for her to do. “Do nae bother to try and soothe my feelings when ye clearly disapprove of my actions.”
Her sister watched as she leaned over to dip the rag she was using into the nearby leather bucket. The smell of lye rose from the water, and her hands burned from the countless nicks and scrapes she had earned with other duties. Among those seeking to humbly serve the church, she was the lowest of them all. The fact that she toiled alone was proof of that. The other nuns had sought their cots and were enjoying being off their feet, while she remained on her knees in the last hours of the day. The sunlight no longer filled the room where the holy order ate. There was now only a dim evening gloom. Even the coals in the hearth were hidden by ash to keep their ruby glow from offering any cheer. But Deirdre refused to grant them the victory of hearing her beg to be allowed to seek her own bed before she had completed every task assigned to her.
“Ye think too harshly of me, Deirdre.”
Deirdre looked up at her sister as she let the rag drop to the stone floor. It made a wet splat and sent water onto her skirt, but she didn’t care. “And you are too mild in temperament, Kaie. It’s hard to believe we were born of the same parents.”
Kaie smiled, but it was a gentle curving of her lips that didn’t show any of her teeth. She had her hands tucked up inside the sleeves of her overrobe and looked so serene Deirdre simply shook her head.
“I envy ye yer happiness, Kaie, but I am also glad to see ye so content.”
A soft sound passed her sister’s lips. It was a bare whisper of a laugh and made Deirdre smile.
“And yet I envy ye the courage to have stood so confidently in Laird Cameron’s path. I was bending to his earthly position of power without enough protest.” Disgust edged her sister’s voice.
“For all the good it did me.” Deirdre began to scrub at the floor again. “No’ that I regret it.”
“No one thinks ye’re repentant.”
There was a note of regret in Kaie’s voice that made Deirdre grateful for the chore, which made it possible for her not to look at her sister. It wasn’t shame making her want to avoid eye contact, but a desire not to quarrel. Kaie enjoyed the humble life.
“I’m no’ proud of arguing with the man like a shrew.”
She heard her sister sigh. “I believe Laird Cameron could take notice of nothing short of what ye gave him in a woman. That man needs a wife who can demand his attention.”
Deirdre jerked her face up toward her sister. “Do nae begin with that, Kaie.”
Her sister returned her glare with too much sweet serenity. That brought a touch of heat to Deirdre’s cheeks, for it felt like she was being surly with an innocent child.
Or arguing with a mother superior. Deirdre smiled at her sibling. “Ye are raising to the challenge of yer station here, Sister. Maybe I should have pushed ye in front of Laird Cameron.”
There was a rare flicker of pride in Kaie’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Nae I believe ye stepped up to the man for a reason, one which will become clearer in time. I’d send some of the others to help ye, but I know ye would refuse the kindness.”
“I would.” Deirdre dunked the rag again. “I shall endure. I promise ye.”
Kaie’s expression became somber once more. “Spite has no place here; the chores should be shared by all. The novices need to be reminded of that fact.” She paused, her eyes narrowing with consideration. “I also believe yer spirit has its place, Deirdre, and it isn’t inside these convent walls.”
Her sister didn’t give her any chance to respond. Kaie turned without making a sound and walked with soft steps along the side of the room. Deirdre watched the way her sister kept near the wall, even when she entered the hallway. Kaie didn’t go down the center of it. Instead she drew as little notice to herself as possible. That had always been her way, and somehow, Deirdre had never considered that Kaie belonged wearing the undyed robe that had been given to their younger sister, Brina. The third-born daughter went to the church; it was tradition, and their father had followed it.
Deirdre smiled as Kaie disappeared from sight. Well, it might have been expected that Kaie would marry, but she hadn’t, and she was happy. Brina was pleased to be wed to Connor Lindsey as well, or at least Kaie claimed that was what Brina’s letters said.
Deirdre heard the wind howl outside and looked down at the section of floor she had yet to wash. It would be past dark when she finished, but that did not send her looking for a candle to light. She continued to work, moving fast enough to keep warm while the wind rattled the wooden shutters covering the windows. Her eyes adjusted to the fading light, and soon she could see the faint red glow of the coals in the hearth in spite of the layer of ash covering them.
She suddenly lifted her head, a sound rising above the wind gaining her attention. Her fingers tightened on the rag, making water stream out of it to soak her robe.
The sound came again, this time closer, and
the huge wooden doors, which were closed against the night, vibrated as someone pounded on them.
Fear shot down her back, but she stood up, unwilling to cower on the floor with a washrag in her hands. Deirdre shook off the whispers of a hundred remembered tales of raiders and Vikings that she had heard around the winter fire during her childhood.
Hell’s army had not been seen in many years. Many of the Highlanders were descendants of the Norsemen who had settled down instead of raiding their entire lives. Besides, raiders wouldn’t be knocking.
She went to the window nearest the door and unlatched the shutter. She opened it and looked out to see who was standing in front of the doors.
“Sanctuary, we seek sanctuary.”
The words were whispered, from one of four forms standing near the door. But the voice was undoubtedly male.
“This is the convent,” Deirdre informed them. In the dark, it was impossible to see any details about who they were. The moon hid behind dark clouds that promised rain before morning.
The group shifted, turning toward one while they whispered. They leaned in to conceal their words while the wind whipped at the hems of their long cloaks. Deirdre felt suspicion ripple its way through her thoughts as the group argued among themselves for several long moments before there was a short grunt from the man who had requested sanctuary. He turned back toward her.
“I request shelter for the ladies.”
Deirdre set her teeth into her lower lip, but she could not refuse a request of sanctuary. It was a strict order of the pope, and living beneath the roof of the abbey meant she must be obedient to that dictate.
Deirdre pushed up the heavy bar that held the door secure, and stood it beside the doors. A single lantern burned outside, its flame protected by tin that had numerous tiny holes punched into it to allow the light to illuminate the door for pilgrims who needed the church’s mercy.
“We will return at dawn, Yer Ma—”
The man shut his mouth, but it was too late. Deirdre recalled instantly Laird Cameron’s reason for searching the abbey.
It would appear that the queen had arrived.
Three people entered, flipping their hoods back to reveal that they were women. The men who had escorted them turned and disappeared into the shadows beyond the light of the lantern.
