by Madelyn Hill
Even though ‘twas obvious Fiona wanted nothing to do with him.
Fiona was like a daughter to the woman, and Helen had often claimed she’d never survive without Fiona’s help. Cam had been aware of what she did for the elder clan members. Day after day and sometimes several times a day if one was ill, she’d trek about, bringing food, water, and company to those many had forgotten. The poor souls were bound to their homes, rarely able to venture into the keep and enjoy the festivities of the main hall.
And there she was, striding across the bailey, her glorious, fiery hair swaying in tandem with her hips. Full hips, womanly, and how he itched to slid his hand along her trim waist and over their curve.
He feared Fiona didn’t realize what a special woman she was. Strong in spirit and body, kind, gentle if needed, and lovely beyond compare. And she should be cherished—by him.
Her assistance of the clan’s elderly warmed his heart. A caring woman would be a caring wife and mother.
If possible, he loved her more because of the selfless acts.
Aye, he loved her—always had.
Just the mere sight of her made his stomach fill with nerves, despite his desire to remain steady. Quite the lad he became when she was near. Sweat ran down his back, he had to restrain all thought of touching her, and when she smiled his heart nearly stopped. The curve of her mouth lit up her face and added a sparkle to her green eyes. Glittering orbs, they were.
If his men learned of his sentimental thoughts, they’d surely throw him from the keep and call him man no more.
Still, he couldn’t help wondering if he was worthy in her eyes. Or would she always be comparing him to Malcolm? And Mal was a grand man who led the clan with honor. ‘Twould be trying, to be always compared to him.
Cam gathered a load of wood and headed toward Auld David’s crofter. The man had been infirm since he’d broken his leg a year past. Fiona was partial to him. And the elder was equally charmed by her. He loved to regale her with tales of years past and always claimed Fiona was his favorite audience.
Lady Rossalyn and Mairi strode past Auld David’s crofter toward him. “Good day to you, Cam.”
He bowed his head. “And to you, m’lady and Lady Mairi.”
“Cam, I’m going to see my pony.”
“‘Tis a fine day for it, lass.”
Mairi jumped up and down, her dark curls bouncing along with her until her mother gently set her hand on her shoulder. Still, the lass wriggled as if it killed her to wait for her mother to head to the stables.
Lady Rossalyn looked questioningly at him. “Where are you headed with your arms loaded with wood?” Her brow lifted.
Surmising she kenned he was supposed to be training the men, Cam flashed what he knew was a most charming smile. “I’m helping fair Fiona.”
“And does she welcome your help?”
Cam laughed. “Nay, m’lady.” But he wouldn’t let that stop him.
Her mouth quirked with a smile. “Good luck to you, Cam.”
Lady Rossalyn guided Mairi on their way to the stable. Cam continued to Auld David’s crofter.
“Do not take one step closer, Cameron.” There she stood with a frown on her face and her chin lifted up in defiance. The haughty tilt sent sunlit flames over her hair as well as a caress along her beautiful face and down her neck. “I mean it.”
With a chuckle, he started relieving his burden outside David’s door.
“Not so close,” she chastised as she picked up each piece he dropped and set them toward the south side of the crofter. “Do you want the man to have another mishap?”
He followed her, noticing the flush of red on her cheeks. She looked so fetching, it took his breath away.
“I can do this myself. Don’t I every day?” She continued to fix each piece of wood he stacked, muttering under her breath as she did so. He couldn’t help but grin at her frustration.
“Last one.”
As she turned to set the final piece of wood on the stack, she tripped right into his arms.
Soft, oh, so soft. Her curves fit perfectly against his body. A sigh slipped past her plump, bowed lips and her green eyes widened with shock and a bit of curiosity. Her tongue darted across her mouth, wetting it.
He couldn’t help himself.
Slowly he eased toward her and brushed a kiss against her lips. When she didn’t yell or shy away, Cam dove in for more.
Desire coursed, swift and potent. Their lips tangled and he swallowed the sweet moan rumbling from deep within her. He tugged her closer, her full breasts pushing against his chest. Pure agony, as his cods swelled with stark need.
Home, the kiss represented . . . finally, he was home as he threaded his fingers through her hair and her nails dug into the sensitive flesh at the back of his neck. He slipped his tongue into the moist cavity of her mouth.
He could go on tasting her forever.
But she wrenched away from him. Panic filled her eyes as her chest heaved. “Don’t ever touch me again.” Her hand lifted and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh shocked him.
The lass struck me!
He opened his mouth to say . . . to say anything, yet no words formed. His skin heated and he touched the spot where she hit him as anger surfaced.
Fiona backed up and covered her mouth with both hands. “Cam—I—”
He thrust out a palm to stop her from speaking. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”
Her gaze pitched to the ground.
She’d struck him. ‘Twas the first time he’d been struck by a woman and he prayed ‘twould be his last.
What should he do? Ignore her? Let her go?
His heart clenched at the thought of losing her.
All of his dreaming, of a wife and bairns, had quickly turned into a nightmare.
“Go,” he whispered with as much control as he could muster.
Her face leeched of all color. She turned, but glanced over her shoulder before she darted into the crofter.
Those emerald eyes still mesmerized him as they filled with sadness.
Did she regret her action? If she did, would he forgive such an action?
Dare he pin his future on such a slight indication?
Just before the door closed on the crofter, Fiona looked directly at him. A shimmer of crystalline tears filled her gaze.
Were the tears because she slapped him or because she felt she’d betrayed Mal? Cam kenned the lass held a lingering torch for their laird, but surely she didn’t think there was still a flicker of hope? And would she respond so to him if she loved another?
Bollocks. Didn’t matter, for she’d slapped him.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. What a wretched mess.
Yet she’d responded to his kiss, pressed herself against him, moaned when he delved for the second time. That little moan, just a moue from her full lips, set fire to his loins as no woman had done before. She’d responded to him.
Not Laird Malcolm Sutherland. To him.
Aye, mayhap he should risk his future and chance another slap by pursuing her.
For she was the love of his life, ‘twas no going back.
His life would be hell without her.
Fiona leaned against the door and blew out a breath. How could she ever make amends?
She’d never raised a hand to another in her life, and now she’d hurt one of her childhood friends. Dear God, she’d struck someone. The clap of flesh against flesh reverberated through her mind. Harsh, even cruel. How could she have acted in such a manner? But . . . but the man had taken liberties. She’d been saving herself for Malcolm and Cam was certainly aware of that love. And even if Mal was no longer part of her future, it didn’t give Cam permission to—to kiss her.
Why did he k
iss her?
Right in the middle of the bailey, where all of the clan could see if they’d a mind to. By the evening meal, word of the kiss would spread. She rubbed her hands along her arms. Truth be told, when his lips had brushed against hers, she’d been shocked. Then tendrils of heat coursed through her and admittedly, curiosity propelled her to allow the kiss to continue. Not only continue, but savor and enjoy and match his enthusiasm with her own.
Desire and such sweetness filled her. He’d been gentle and then . . . then he’d drowned her in a flurry of emotions. Flutters in her stomach, heat through her veins, and och, did her heart actually pound against her chest?
“Lass?”
She opened her eyes and looked at Auld David. The man must think her mad.
As must Cam.
Would he ever forgive her? Then she wondered when she had ever wanted Cam to forgive her. Aye, he was a childhood friend, but as a man, he’d barely given her a second glance unless he set himself to chastise her. And now he wouldn’t stop following her, helping her.
“You’re a wee bit flushed, lass.”
She gave a sigh. “I’m well.” As the man chatted about his various aches and pains, she tidied his crofter and set to making a meal for him.
“Was that Cam?”
Did the auld man hear or see what happened? “Aye, he carried the firewood.” She headed toward his table and grabbed a dirty pot. Luckily, he’d water left in the bucket so she could clean it. She’d hate to run into Cam as she fetched more.
David grinned and bobbed his grizzled head. “Such a helpful lad, he is. And braw to boot.”
Scrubbing harder, she took her ire out on the pot as if it were her worst enemy. Did every clansman think Cam was a braw lad?
Why had he kissed her? Och, her mind spun with the idea of the gesture and the emotions wrought from his lips against hers. She clutched her chest, wetting her liene as she tried to gain control of her thoughts.
Cam was not the man for her.
But which man was? She wanted to love and be loved back. Malcolm was no longer hers for the taking. Her mind kenned this, but her heart still reeled at the idea he’d wed another. How was she to move forward?
She stopped scrubbing and stifled a sob. When had her life become such a mess?
“Lass, the pot is clean.”
“Aye, David,” she said as she wiped away her pointless tears.
“Come and sit, while I tell you a story.”
She suppressed a sigh, then set the pot aside. Collecting tumblers, she filled them with ale for both her and David. When a Highlander had a tale to tell, she kenned ‘twould take a wee bit of time.
“I loved many a woman in me day,” he said as he waggled his brows. “Beauties, all of them. But none were as lovely as my dear Maggie.” After a draw on his ale, he continued, “But I was not the only man who wanted her.”
Fiona rested her hand on her chin and listened to the auld man speak. He’d a cocky grin on his face and a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. “Hard to believe there was a woman who could resist you,” she teased.
He canted his head to her and winked. “Aye, but resist she did. In fact, she was to wed the other man.”
“And you stole her away?”
A coarse chuckle rumbled from the auld man. She tried to see the lad he’d been. But at the wizened age of seventy, ‘twas hard to discern. With a craggy face, a few scars across his brow and chin, mayhap he was handsome enough to win a lass away from her intended.
“Stole, such an ugly word,” David said with a shrug. “Nay, she was always mine, the other man just wouldn’t accept she wasn’t his.”
‘Twas obvious, his motive to tell her such a story. Apparently the entire clan kenned of her love for Mal. Och, hadn’t she called him hers since they were just wee bairns? The folk must think her the biggest fool.
“And did he ever accept Maggie was yours?”
David gave a sad shake of his head as he indicated for her to refill his tumbler. “‘Tis a bit of a tragedy, lass. The man never recovered and left the keep. We haven’t seen him since. ‘Tis told he was killed near Inverness. Others say he died a lonely, auld man who never found love.”
A shiver chased down her spine. Was his tale a warning? Would she suffer the same fate as the man in his story? Wandering Scotland, never to find love? ‘Twasn’t the life she saw for herself, alone, without love.
David raised his tumbler. “May those who lose love find it, better, richer, and for the rest of their days.”
Her lips quivered as she absorbed the story shared by the man. ‘Twas a thinly veiled tale of warning if she clung to her love of Mal. That much, she kenned. Was it the truth? Och, she wasn’t certain. David had married Maggie, but she’d died five years past and Fiona wasn’t sure if their union happened as the man said.
Easy to find out. Brae would be more than willing to tell her.
His cup hit the table, the clatter stopping her musings. “Lass, ‘tis time for you to forget the pledge of so many years ago.” David captured her hand, his skin tanned and gnarled from age against hers, white and callused from hard work. He squeezed tight. “You deserve love, lass. A love of your own, no’ one who is enamored by another.”
Many days, she’d visit the elders’ crofters and enjoyed their stories and words of wisdom. She’d tuck away bits to be savored later. Today, each word of advice grated her very last nerve. Aye, Mal was wed. Aye, he’d never seen her as his wife. ‘Twas her cross to bear—the man didn’t want her.
But to find another love seemed dishonest to her heart. She couldn’t forget the admiration and desire she’d held for Mal within a mere thrice. And it appeared as if every clansmen she crossed wanted her to do just that. For years she pined for him, loved him, made plans for when they were wed.
Mayhap it was possible to find another to love, but she doubted it.
“Cam is a fine lad.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed as she clenched a fist in frustration. “So I’ve been told.” Too many times for her taste. Did the man ask the elders to champion his cause? Nay, surely he had more pride than that. In fact, until today’s kiss, she’d never have thought of Cam having interest in her.
David sat there, grinning as if her opinion mattered not, that if enough people told her, she’d find herself miraculously in love with Cam and out of love with Mal.
“I’ll visit you on the morrow,” she finally said.
“Aye, Fiona.” He winked and shooed her on her way. “If you see that fine Cameron, tell him good day for me.”
“Grand,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Eh?”
“Aye,” she said louder. Not that she’d go out of her way to find the man, though she needed to think of a way to make amends for slapping him.
She rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Twas a wretched thing she’d done. And she kenned just how to fix it. She waved to Auld David and headed toward the kitchen.
“Ah, lass. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Brae looked up from kneading bread. Flour covered the table, the floor, and most of the woman’s clothing.
Stifling a chuckle, Fiona said, “I need to bake something.”
“Bake?” Brae asked as her voice rose in pitch. “I don’t recall you ever baking before.”
Aye, ‘twas a problem. Yet, how hard could it be? A little flour, some honey, and mayhap some apples. She’d seen it done many a time.
“I’ll be fine.”
A dubious look swept over Brae’s face. “Work over there,” she said as she pointed toward a table to the right.
Fiona grinned and gathered what she needed. Brae kept glancing her way and shaking her head. Truly, how hard could baking be?
She mixed some flour and a wee bit of sugar, a splash of water and began pressing to tr
y and make some type of dough. “This isn’t hard,” she said to herself.
She sliced some apples, tossed them in honey.
“Lass, make sure you—”
Fiona sighed and cast a look at the woman. “Brae, I ken what I’m doing.” True, she mostly spent her time out of doors, but she wasn’t addle minded. When she was young she’d sit and watch her mother make one sweet after another.
The woman huffed and continued to shape the bread. “Dear Lord, please protect whoever eats this tart from any malady befallin’ them.”
Fiona ignored Brae and her prayer. Pushing her sweaty hair from her face, she grabbed a pan and layered the dough in the bottom. Then she added the apples and just for good measure, drizzled more honey. Aye, it looked lovely.
She set it near the fire to bake.
“And just who are you baking for?” Brae asked as she moved toward her table. She sniffed at the pastry cooking on the hearth of the fire, then pulled a face.
Fiona bit at her lip, hesitant to share why she was baking. ‘Twouldn’t do to share the story with too many people. She wavered under Brae’s direct gaze.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. ‘Tis for Cam.”
Brae lifted her brow and crossed her arms before her amble bosom. “And what has poor Cam done to deserve your baking?”
Fiona scowled at the tease in Brae’s voice. Prolonging an answer, she traced shapes with her finger in the flour spread all over the table.
“Fiona?”
She sighed and looked up. “He . . . I—I slapped him.”
“You slapped him?” Brae yelled as her eyes widened in shock, then quickly looked about the kitchen to see if others heard her. She took a step closer to Fiona. “And why in God’s gracious name would you do such a thing?” she whispered.
Fiona cast her gaze to the table. “I don’t ken.”
But she did. The man had kissed her. Twice. Not only that, he’d made her respond, damn him. Her body had betrayed her, the delicious heat and tremors coursing through her as quick as lightening flashed during a summer storm. Aye, stormy, ‘twas an apt word to describe such swirling emotions, feelings, and desires.
