by Madelyn Hill
Ah, a distraction from the lovely Fiona. He eyed the group of men, some already deep in their cups. Their company was a poor substitute for her beautiful face, but he’d no choice in the matter. At least for now.
He accepted the tumbler of whiskey and took a long draw, the liquid sliding down and settling into his stomach.
If it took all night, he’d quench not only his thirst, but his desire for the red-haired vixen.
Chapter 2
Cam woke with a plan to woo Fiona.
It smarted how he had to woo her when any other lass he’d pursued came willing and eager. Since he’d caught the eye of his first lass years ago, all he had to do was beckon and a comely woman would be his for the night. Not that he was a bastard toward women. But he was a man after all, and since Fiona kept him at bay, he enjoyed his share of conquests. Women were a mystery to him, but he loved exploring and savoring all shapes and sizes. Soft skin. Luscious curves. Eyes that glittered with desire. And when he tangled his fingers in their tresses and inhaled, och, it sent desire straight to his cods.
How he loved the scent of a woman.
No matter the dalliances of his past, his mind and heart belonged only to Fiona. And he had to let her subtly ken his feelings.
He rubbed sleep from his eyes and headed to break his fast. After training the men and ensuring the protection of the clan’s territory, his time would be limited. And his laird might send other duties his way, as he was wont to do. But all he could think about was Fiona.
The gentle slope of her neck, the vibrant red of her hair, those shiny green eyes, her fiery spirit—all consumed him. Ever since they were young, she’d captivated him. Och, she was intelligent, often teaching him a thing or two. Her wit and biting tongue might send other lads running, but to him, ‘twas what made her who she was.
And who he loved.
Cam dressed and secured his sword to his belt. He tethered his hair with a leather strap and pulled on his boots.
One quick glance about his chamber and he frowned, then left in search of food.
He didn’t ken why his chamber bothered him. Barren, with hard surfaces save the coverlet on his bed. Bare chest of drawers and flooring. No comfort. ‘Twas no sign he belonged and it lacked the touch of a woman. Aye, Mal’s chamber had warmth, trinkets strewn about, Mairi’s doll and wooden horse before the fire, and the faint scent of feminine soap lingered ever so slightly.
He’d lived in the keep since he was but a wee lad and his father had been felled when his clan aided the Sutherlands during a clan skirmish. His mother had died during his birth, and he certainly didn’t have anyone to call family. ‘Twas why he’d shadowed Malcolm when they were lads and proved his way through training and fighting and until he was named Sargent-at-Arms.
And now Mal was married. More bairns would come. He’d rely on Cam more and more to protect the clan and Mal’s soon to be growing family.
Och, a family—how he wanted what his friend had.
Guilt settled in Cam’s gut over his envy.
Laird Sutherland had lost just as much as he had. His parents both gone, although he’d had been lucky to have them longer than Cam. And Mal had the responsibility of the clan, securing their borders and now Laird Gordon’s, too. Not to mention feeding a clan the size of Sutherland Keep and at times their Sept clans, those who were tied through family and alliances to the Sutherlands. Worse, Mal had to agree to a deal in which they depended on the veracity of a man like Gordon—a bastard, to be sure.
Cam wore his duties proudly and was loyal only to the Sutherland and the Sept clans. And if his laird asked him to go to the border between Gordon and Sutherland territories, he’d do it in a thrice. ‘Twas what he owed the man and the family who’d helped him after he’d lost his father.
And while he owed them, he also needed to do something for himself. Having Fiona as his wife would certainly make him the happiest of men. He wanted a family of his own; surely no one would begrudge him such.
He entered the bustling, main hall and searched for something to start the courting process. Since he’d never had to woo a lass before, he’d have to elicit help with any romantic machinations.
Ah, the perfect person walked into the room.
“Cam. Good morn to you,” Brae greeted.
He smiled at the kindly woman and bade her sit. A frown settled between her brows.
“‘Tis nothing to be afraid of, Brae. I’m in need of your help.”
She grinned and nodded. “Get on with it, I havena’ all day.”
Such a feisty woman. She’d run the kitchens and serving lasses since he could remember. Fair, but strict she was, assuring the clan’s ability to make do with wretched crop yields. When Mal’s father died, Brae was the one who’d approached with the news of the dwindling food stores.
“I want to woo a wife.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “You’ll not be needing my help with that, lad. Why, I could go in the kitchen and announce you’re looking for a wife and the lasses would run me down trying to get to you.”
He chuckled, relaxed in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to woo Fiona.”
Abruptly, Brae sobered and then her eyes widened. “Fiona,” she exclaimed with wonder and a bit of surprise. “Are you certain, lad?”
He grinned. Fiona had earned her contrary reputation honestly. “Aye.”
“Well.” That single word held a heavy dose of skepticism. “‘Twill be tricky. She’s hurting and not likely to receive your attention. She’ll refuse you if you push her.”
Aye. Fiona was an independent woman, but with a vulnerability about her and something painful in her gaze that resulted from more than Mal’s so-called betrayal. Cam had witnessed it too many times. When those green eyes turned sad, it broke his heart. For her soul was strong and if sadness lingered, ‘twas a grievous wound within her.
“Lad, you’ll have to go slowly.” A quick smile flashed on Brae’s aged face. “Little things. Things a lass such as Fiona would appreciate. Nothing obvious.”
Aye, from what he knew of Fiona, she wouldn’t want a gift-giving swain made public. “Could you send a meal to her chamber as a courtesy?”
Brae’s smile forced her wrinkles to crease around her eyes. “For certain, Cam. ‘Tis a kind gesture.” She patted his arm and relayed his desire to one of the kitchen lasses.
His wooing would need to be quick, for if Fiona discovered his plan she’d fight him and the desire he kenned she’d have for him if she just gave him a chance.
Aye, he’d court her, gently but swiftly, for he’d only a fortnight.
And she’d be his by Christmas.
“Fiona, lass,” someone called from the hallway.
Fiona pulled a pillow over her head. The knocking persisted. “Ugh,” she grunted as she tossed the pillow aside. Squinting at the bright morning light, she propped herself on her elbows.
Who the devil would wake her so early?
She plopped back onto the mattress and buried her face in her pillow to ward off the sunlight.
“Fiona?” the voice grew testy. “I havena all day, lass. ‘Tis duties I have.”
“Come in,” she mumbled into the pillow.
“Get up, lass.” Una, one of the cooks, bustled into her chamber with a swirl of purpose. “I was asked to bring you a tray.”
She frowned as she tossed the pillow aside and sat up. “Why?”
“Och, I don’t ken. Something about a man wishing you to start your day right.”
Fiona bit at her lip. “What man?” Her mind reeled. Had Mal reconsidered? Was there hope?
Una set the tray on her bed and shook her finger at Fiona. “Does it matter? You’re breaking your fast in your chamber instead of a noisy hall.”
Aye, bu
t it did matter, greatly. It mattered if she’d allow herself an inkling of hope.
“Now get your arse up, eat your food, and then go to Brae. She’s something for you to do.”
Brae was forever bossy, but Fiona did have a soft spot for the auld woman. She’d taught her a good thing or two as she’d grown. And since Fiona’s parents were gone, Brae had taken her under her wing.
The aroma of the salty bacon enticed, and Fiona picked up a rasher as Una moved about her chamber, trying but failing to look as if she weren’t being nosey. ‘Twas obvious the woman was trying to linger enough to get out of serving in the hall. A boisterous clan like the Sutherlands made for chaotic mealtimes and a busy kitchen.
Fiona didn’t envy the lasses who had meal duty. Being stuck in a hot kitchen would drive her to distraction. And while her duties were sometimes laborious, she had the freedom to move about the keep as she pleased.
Una slanted her head to the side and gazed at her with shrewd eyes. “‘Tis grand news our laird has taken a wife.” She slid her hand along the chest of drawers, then peered at her fingers. Una would not find a speck of dust in her chamber.
Fiona paused mid-bite. Her hand shook as she set the bacon down and glared at Una. “What’s so grand about it?” she demanded with wavering control.
Una folded Fiona’s arisaid and set it upon the chest of drawers. “A nasty hole.” She fingered the rent in the woolen material.
Aye, and the tear had been earned when Fiona raced back to the keep after Malcolm introduced his new bride.
She fumed at the cook. “Answer my question.”
Una crossed her arms across her bosom and glared back. “You’re vexed because you always thought he’d be yours, but the rest of us kenned otherwise.”
Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Fiona shifted restlessly. “He was to be mine.”
Una softened her stance and stretched out a hand as sympathy filled her gaze. “Men tend to make decisions without asking us. But ken this, he loves you like a sister, no more. He’s always told you as such. But you’re too stubborn to listen.”
Fiona shook her head in denial. “No.”
They’d vowed to wed when they were children. Aye, they were wee, but there was a pledge because he’d promised to always be there for her, always take care of her. As they grew, she and Mal—Cam, too—plotted, played, and worked side by side. Mal filled her memories with happiness and love. And now he had another, sharing his days. His nights.
Her gut clenched anew at the idea of Mal in another woman’s arms.
Then she sighed. “Tell Brae I’ll be down in a thrice.”
Una waited for a moment, her gaze tight on Fiona, before she turned and left the chamber.
Pushing the food aside, Fiona rose from her bed. Who was the fool who’d sent her the tray? Surely Mal wouldn’t care, now that he had a wife.
No matter. Chores awaited about the keep.
She pulled her hair into a respectable knot at the base of her neck and riffled through her clothing for something clean to wear.
The image of Lady Rossalyn came to mind, elegant and beautiful whether she wore a gown or serviceable skirt and liene. Next to her, Fiona felt like a bumbling lass. She raised a frown to the ceiling and heaved another sigh. She’d never been at a loss for bravado and now this new woman had put her on the defense.
After securing a dark wool skirt about her waist and tugging on a clean enough liene, she fled her chamber determined to find Brae and ignore the new lady and her bairn. Not to mention Mal and Cam. Soon, she’d be avoiding the entire keep.
Mal had yet to talk to her about what she’d done, or reveal what type of punishment he’d dictate. She shivered at the thought of having a conversation with him. A wretched conversation which included his wife and new lass. She inhaled sharply. Why did she act so rashly? Why?
As she trotted down the staircase, her heart lurched at the sight of Malcolm standing near the laird’s table as he pointed to the grand tree in the main hall.
If only he’d smile at her that way.
The wee lass, Mairi, clapped her hands. Mal reached down and lifted her upon his broad shoulders. Mairi kissed him on the head and if possible, his smile grew.
Fiona clutched her chest. ‘Twas heart wrenching to watch.
The lass babbled as they strode to the tree. Lady Rossalyn approached from across the room and touched Mal’s arm.
The woman wore the clan tartan across her chest. Aye, she’d already become one of them. Fiona had never felt so useless.
Mal gave his new wife a soft smile and she returned his grin with a brilliant one of her own. There was no mistaking the look they shared. This was a couple in love.
She clutched her stomach and slipped from the hall, out the back of the keep. Brae’s chores could keep until later and Fiona already kenned what the woman wanted her to do. ‘Twas what she did every day.
Despite the despair nearly choking her, she found her way to Helen’s crofter. Caring for others would be a way to distract her from her broken heart. The auld woman had been sickly as of late and Fiona would see if she could help. She knocked on the door and heard a muffled plea to enter.
“Good day to you, Helen.”
Smoke assailed her as she entered the dark crofter.
“Fiona, me lass. ‘Tis lovely to see you.”
Even with her heart aching, Fiona smiled at the woman’s greeting. Helen sat in her chair by the fire with a shawl about her shoulders. Her grin lit her face. ‘Twas a shame she lived alone, for Helen was a grand woman with many stories to tell.
Fiona propped the door open and moved to the fireplace. ‘Twould need to be examined at by one of the men. Fiona caught her lip between her teeth. Unless I climb upon the roof meself and clean the stack.
Would she be able to manage? Aye, she was a strong lass. She didn’t need a man to help her with her duties.
“‘Tis a bit of wood outside if you’ll be wanting to stoke the fire.”
Dear God, ‘twas nearly boiling in the crofter as it was. “Nay, Helen. ‘Tis a bit of cleaning I’m up to. Did you break your fast?”
The woman flapped a hand and said, “Aye, don’t be worrying.”
Fiona grabbed an apron from the peg on the wall and started tidying the small crofter. Poor Helen had lost her husband a few years ago and didn’t have any living children to help her in her dotage. Fiona did what she could, but she wasn’t able to visit as much as she would like.
“I’ll gather some fresh water.” She found the bucket knocked over in the kitchen. “Och, Helen. Have you been without water since I was here last?” With all of the drama of Lady Rossalyn’s arrival, it had been several days since she’d visited Helen’s crofter.
The auld woman cast her gaze to the floor and fingered her shawl. “Not as long as that, my dear. I tripped over it yester eve.”
As the woman’s gaze failed to meet hers, Fiona doubted ‘twas just the eve before. She knelt before Helen and gripped one of her wrinkled hands. Helen met her gaze. “Next time, tie a handkerchief on the door latch as I showed you.”
Tears rimmed Helen’s rheumy eyes and she lifted shaking fingers to pat Fiona’s face. She was a large-boned woman, strong in her youth, but her pride was the problem. She didn’t like accepting help. Fiona saw it each and every time she aided her. ‘Twas why she asked advice or guidance with even the most menial of chores. Truth be told, Helen had taught her so many things.
“‘Tis a grand lass you are, Fiona dear. You do well by your parents.”
She gave a wry smile. Aye, she’d done well by them and here she was, husbandless and bairnless at her ripening age, taking care of the elder clan members. She loved them all and never regretted her duty. But she was lonely, her nights becoming long and cold. And her heart . . . her heart needed ten
ding and someone to love. With Mal wed, such love might never come her way.
“‘Tis a pleasure to help you, Helen.” With a quick glance about the crofter, Fiona noticed there was little wood for the fire. “I’ll gather some water and wood. Then I’ll collect some stores for your meals.”
Helen patted her arm. “Before you leave, tell me about the new lady. ‘Tis a beauty, I hear.”
Fiona rolled her eyes heavenward before she could catch herself.
Helen chuckled, which led into a coughing fit. Fiona patted her back until the fit eased.
“I’ll fetch some honey as well.”
As she tried to walk away, Helen gripped her hand. “Lass, will she be a fine lady for our laird?”
The word “nay” nearly leapt from her mouth. With a sigh, Fiona nodded. She kenned Mal and knew he’d never forsake his wife for another. Especially a wife on whom he bestowed such desired-filled glances.
Helen grinned as she patted Fiona’s hand. “Grand. ‘Tis grand news.”
Scowling as she left the crofter in search of wood and water, Fiona thought about the times she and Malcolm were inseparable. Riding across the glen, hiding from Malcolm’s father when they’d done something vexing, and sneaking tarts from the larder. Their escapades had lessened as they’d grown and Mal’s responsibilities expanded. Now, they’d cease altogether. With a deep breath, she headed toward the well.
“Early to work, I see.”
Fiona stilled, then continued forward. “Aye, as I am every day.”
He didn’t follow her, but she felt Cam’s gaze upon her as if he were actually touching her skin. Heat rushed over her face. She rubbed the back of her neck, vexed the man affected her so. He’d never bothered her before but now, och, Cam was such an annoyance.
“Are you aiding Auld Helen, then?”
“Aye,” she called over her shoulder. Didn’t the man see her leave Helen’s crofter with a bucket in her hand? Men be daft.
