The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance

by Trisha Telep

  Four

  Rachel dangled. The toes of her torn slippers dug into any foothold she could find. Her fingers wrapped around a large rock. She’d merely been trying to find a private spot to see to her needs when she’d walked over the edge of this crater.

  She panted. “Help!”

  “Rachel!” Alec’s pounding footfalls washed relief through her trembling body.

  “Stop!” she huffed. “You’ll fall.”

  His footsteps stopped not too far from her in the absolute darkness. “Where are ye?” His feet shuffled, loose pebbles rolling along the jagged floor.

  “Over a ledge.”

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “Can ye light yerself? I canna see.”

  “I think so.” Her words were breathless and she tried to keep the panic from weakening her hold. Rachel funnelled magic towards the faint cut on her leg. A blue glow flooded out of her hands, displaying the horn-shaped rock sticking out of the cliff wall less than a foot down.

  “Bloody damn hell! Hold on!”

  “That was the plan,” she panted.

  His head appeared over the side. “Just look at me.”

  Rachel stared at his perfect face. High cheekbones, a slender nose with just a small bump like it had been broken once. He probably knew the date, place and person who had broken it. His jaw was square and strong. His perfectly formed lips pinched tight with thought. Wet hair framed his face as he leaned over. A clean soap scent mixed with the smell of the dank earth before her face.

  Alec’s chin nearly touched the rock to which she clung. His hands encircled her wrists and he began to pull. But before she could even let go of the rock, the ties holding her long sleeves ripped. A small scream flew out of her as she felt herself begin to slip out of her sleeves. She dug her toes in and stilled, her nose smashed into the dirt covered rock.

  A string of curses, most in Gaelic, echoed. “I need to pull these bloody sleeves off so I can grab yer arms. Who bloody wears long sleeves in the summer?” She didn’t answer. “Are yer feet on a rock?”

  “My toes.”

  “One hand at a time.” He tugged gently on her right sleeve and Rachel released her fingers. The sleeve ripped out of the bodice, and Alec was able to slide his hand around her bare wrist. “Now the other.” Rachel felt the tug but couldn’t seem to let go. It was as if fear had captured her muscles and they no longer obeyed her will. She shook.

  “Rachel.”

  Rachel blinked, her gaze moving back up to Alec’s face. “I have yer wrist now.” He squeezed her right wrist gently. “Ye’re not going to fall, but to get ye up easier, I need both of yer arms.”

  Rachel blinked. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  A lopsided grin broke along Alec’s face. “Ye jumped into battle, yanked an arrow from my bloody chest, rode with a horde of hostile Macbains, and escaped Druim on yer own, lass. And now ye’re afraid to give me yer sleeve.”

  Rachel’s pinched lips relaxed as she breathed. “I’m ready.” He nodded. As soon as she released her grasp, the sleeve whooshed from her arm and Alec’s other hand caught her wrist. He dragged her up. Rachel’s toes dug at the side of the cliff. “Ahh!”

  “What?” He froze.

  “My dress, it’s caught.” Rachel felt the snag. She tried to kick a foot at it and began to slip. She gasped and Alec pulled hard.

  Rrrrrip!

  Rachel’s feet churned up the vertical granite and dirt wall until her knees found the edge. She let her light go out as she scrambled up, climbing into Alec’s lap.

  Rachel wrapped trembling arms around his warm, hard chest. She burrowed her face into his skin, and inhaled his fresh scent. Alec gently moved her arms up over his shoulders. Some part of her realized that she straddled his lap. Her thin chemise seemed to be the only material between them and it rode up high around her thighs. But at the moment she didn’t care, didn’t care about anything except that she wasn’t falling into an unmarked grave on a remote Highland mountain.

  Alec’s arms remained strong and unmoving around her waist. He neither pulled her closer nor let her go. Rachel sat in the dark listening to their shallow breaths. She rested her cheek on his chest and filtered her senses through his body. She glowed softly, piercing the shadows with her magic.

  “Your blood is flowing so fast,” she whispered, her lips brushing the skin over the scar he’d earned that day. “Your heart is racing like you’re in battle. Your muscles hold so much excess energy you could probably lift a horse right now.” Rachel pulled back enough to look at him – and forgot to breathe.

  Alec’s eyes were black in the deep shadows of the cave; only the light from her body illuminated them. They were piercing, smouldering as he stared at her. Rachel swallowed hard, her own heart fluttering like a bird. So slowly that she couldn’t be sure which one of them moved first, Alec’s face was before her own. And then he kissed her.

  Rachel let her light fade, giving into the rush of sensation flooding her body. Heat – a giddy churning, a burning pool of desire – poured through her blood, her muscles. Alec tilted her face to slant against his lips. When she felt the tip of his tongue touch her lip, she groaned and opened her mouth to taste him fully. Alec drew her into his lap and her legs hiked up around his waist as the two of them sat on the cave floor. He pushed intimately against the scrap of material separating them. Rachel’s flush burned across her skin. She should be shocked, repelled at the carnal exposure, but instead her thrumming body gripped him tighter, her own blood begging for more. He shifted her against him and a deep growl climbed up through his chest. He pulled back.

  The cool air pressed against Rachel’s scorching cheeks. She took deep breaths to clear her head. Alec’s body was throbbing as fast and hot as her own.

  He cleared his voice. “Ye’re welcome.”

  “What?” Rachel gasped as Alec cupped her backside and rose, her legs still around his waist. He walked to the front of the cave.

  “If that indeed was ye thanking me.”

  Rachel’s blush intensified to a point near pain. Did he think this was how she thanked a man? As they stepped into the firelight, she struggled to get him to put her down. He lowered her slowly, letting her slide down his nude body. Rachel kept her eyes centred on the small scar on his forehead.

  “Do you usually kiss your prisoners? Because there is a word for accosting young maids,” she snapped.

  His grin hardened as his eyes turned to ice. “It seemed a mutual response.”

  Rachel glanced down at her white cotton shift, careful to keep her gaze away from Alec’s body. He didn’t seem to mind being totally naked in front of her. Was he used to parading around women naked? The thought twisted her stomach. Alec snatched up the wool blanket and tossed it to her as he strode to the mouth of the cave. He came back tucking his kilt into place around his narrow hips.

  Rachel draped the blanket around her shoulders, pulling the ends together in front of her barely concealed breasts. She collapsed into a sitting position before the fire. Her body still trembled from the near fatal fall. And the kiss. Rachel kept her eyes on the fire. Alec removed the hare from the spit, cut off some of the warm, delicious-smelling meat and handed it to her. She barely stifled her automatic response of “thank you” as she took it. Anger and embarrassment made the meal tasteless, but it stopped her stomach from growling.

  “I have no sweets to finish the meal,” he said with a half grin. Was he trying to dispel the thick unease between them?

  “Raspberries sweetened with honey,” Rachel murmured.

  “Raspberries?”

  “’Tis my favourite,” she mumbled but her mortification wouldn’t allow her to look him in the eye. He walked around her to place another blanket out on the ground furthest from the rain misting into the cave. Rachel stiffened as he neared.

  Alec squatted down, his eyes level with hers. “I doona rape, Rachel. So ye can sleep soundly knowing that I willna kiss ye again.” A small grin played at the corners of his mouth. “At lea
st not until ye ask me to.”

  Munro Keep surged out of the cliffs as Alec’s horse loped through the tall pines. Relief relaxed his face. He inhaled, craving the fresh heather-scented air off the moor that stretched before the village encircling his home. The flowery scent that flowed into him, tangling his thoughts, though, was not of the field before him, but of the silky, dark tresses feathering against his face.

  Alec frowned and purposely opened his mouth to breathe without being tempted by the lass’s sweetly edible scent. He’d been riding since dawn with her lovely, barely-concealed backside pressed against him. Her warmth melted into him each time his mount surged forward. And her damnable curls teased him ceaselessly. He’d stopped counting the times he almost buried his face in her hair. What the hell had he been thinking, telling her he wouldn’t kiss her again? Every inch of his body rebelled against his oath.

  His captain of the guard saw him coming and raised the thick iron-toothed gate. Alec clopped into the bailey, dismounting before the horse completely stopped. He lifted Rachel from her seat. She followed him with downcast eyes like a dutiful prisoner.

  “Phillip.”

  His friend and second-in-command leapt from the table in the great hall. “Bloody hell, am I glad to see ye,” he greeted and grabbed Alec in a thumping hug. Alec smiled at the obvious worry in his friend. “We found Macbain bodies and ye were gone.”

  “Someone was praying for me,” Alec quipped, his glance catching Rachel’s wide eyes.

  Phillip’s gaze turned to her, his smile becoming predatory. Alec frowned. “I take it, William Brindle and his other daughter made it here?” Phillip nodded without taking his eyes off Rachel. Alec walked over to stand in front of her.

  Phillip’s eyebrow rose at the show of protection. “Aye. They are in the dungeon.”

  Rachel gasped.

  “Ye placed a woman in the dungeon?” Alec shouted.

  Phillip shrugged. “I meant to put her in Dugger’s room, but she wouldn’t leave her father and he deserves the dungeon.”

  Alec rolled his eyes at Phillip. “What?” Phillip asked, eyes innocent. “I made sure the lass had plenty of blankets, food and water.”

  Alec caught Rachel’s wrist and towed her behind him. He grabbed a torch from the wall as they descended to the cells. Phillip followed. The smell of rotting food and animal waste permeated the air. Alec shook his head. This wasn’t endearing Rachel to him.

  “Isabelle! Father!” Rachel called when she spotted them in the dim cell. Alec released her and unlocked the bars. Rachel flew inside, her blue light glowing faintly. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he’d barely notice.

  “Good God,” William Brindle rebuked. “Where are the rest of your clothes? Your mark is visible! Cover yourself.” He threw his blanket over the birthmark Alec had noticed on Rachel’s wrist. “And stop that …” he swatted at her and Rachel dutifully let her light go out. She hugged her sister.

  “We’re fine, really,” Isabelle said. “What happened to you?”

  “I got lost.”

  “And ended up nearly naked, out in the night with …” he indicated Alec.

  Alec crossed his large arms over his bare chest. “Alec Munro, the chief of Clan Munro and yer captor.” Alec glanced at Rachel. Her eyes seemed large in the darkness. Was she surprised at his title?

  William’s lips pressed tight. “You cannot hold an English subject,” but the force had left his voice.

  “Ye are charged with thievery and trickery for deceiving my father over the last decade.” Alec watched guilt flash in the man’s watery, weak eyes before Brindle turned them towards the filthy straw floor. “We will discuss this matter after ye’ve had a chance to think.” He motioned to Rachel where she clung to her sister. “Come, we’ll give ye a room above stairs.”

  Rachel shook her head. “We stay with our father.”

  Alec waited for Brindle to insist they go above, but the coward kept his mouth clamped. The man gave no comfort to his daughter, who could have died or been attacked during their night apart, yet he let her protect him. Alec stalked past Phillip, almost out of the hearing of the prisoners.

  “Place William Brindle in Dugger’s old room. See that his daughters are given my sister’s quarters. Have Maddie bring them some of Catherine’s dresses.” Phillip nodded to each instruction. “Warm baths for the ladies, and Phillip …” Alec paused without turning.

  “Aye?”

  “Doona touch her,” he said in Gaelic. He switched back to English. “She is mine.”

  “Which one?” Phillip asked, but Alec just stalked away.

  Five

  She was his? What did that mean?

  Rachel mulled over the three simple words that had captured her more firmly than the iron bars she’d stood behind just an hour ago.

  Now bathed and dressed in a blue gown, Rachel waited with Isabelle for an escort to the evening meal. She and her sister were now guests. Their father was housed in one of the cramped servant’s quarters, but he probably deserved worse. Rachel sighed. Her father’s morals had turned dark ever since their mother had died. His whole life now centred around material wealth and finding a higher placement in the hierarchical ladder at court.

  “So he’s the chief,” Isabelle commented, her raised eyebrows adding unspoken questions. The edges of her mouth turned up subtly. Rachel nodded with a meek shrug. “And he captured you outside the Macbain’s castle.” Isabelle already knew this from her sisterly inquisition earlier so Rachel didn’t feel the need to respond. “And you spent … a whole night together in a cave wearing only your shift.” Rachel ran her fingertip absently along the beaded pattern embellishing her snug velvet bodice. A long pause stretched. “Did you kiss him?” Isabelle whispered. Rachel snapped a look at her sister.

  Isabelle laid her hand on Rachel’s wrist where the bruise from her rescue in the cave shone. A faint light gave Rachel’s skin a bluish tint as Isabelle dissolved the pools of blood beneath her skin. Rachel was certain that her sister could also detect her deep blush and the way her heart raced. Isabelle smiled broadly at the unspoken admission. “He’s quite handsome in a robust, wild type of way,” Isabelle commented.

  “It wasn’t like that,” Rachel defended. “Thank you,” she whispered as Isabelle smoothed her now healthy-looking skin.

  “So, how was it then?”

  “He’d just saved me from certain death. I was panicky, grateful, overwhelmed.”

  “Hmm … ‘overwhelmed’,” Isabelle said, as if understanding, even though Rachel knew her sister had never been overwhelmed in that way before.

  A sharp rapping on the door made them both jump off the bed. A smiling face peeked around the frame. “Time to sup.” A little grey-haired lady with more wrinkles than last year’s apples beckoned them.

  Rachel and Isabelle grasped hands as they followed the maid down the winding steps. They walked on silent slippers under an archway into the great hall. A churning tide of deep, guttural voices ebbed, slowly fading to silence as all eyes turned towards them. Isabelle nearly squeezed the blood from Rachel’s hand. The only other women in the room whisked around with platters of meat and baskets of bread. Two long tables with short benches held tankards and bread trenchers along their polished surfaces. Their father was absent.

  Rachel spotted Alec easily by the hearth. His height and breadth set him apart. Even with the loose linen shirt covering his chest, the broad strength of his form could not be concealed. Rachel swallowed as she recalled the smooth, hot skin of his stomach, the soft sprinkling of hair across his chest, the thin lines of scars giving evidence of his continued survival in this harsh land. Her inhale cut off when she met his smouldering gaze. She couldn’t look away. It was as if an invisible tether tied her. Isabelle tugged her to a table and Rachel had to break the connection, else trip over her own skirts.

  Dinner dragged as Rachel endeavoured to make pleasant talk in broken Gaelic. Only a few of the Munros spoke English. Rachel had expected hostility from t
hem because of the fact that she and her sister were English and that their father was imprisoned above stairs. But the Munros only smiled and patiently corrected her pronunciation.

  Alec remained on the far side of the room throughout the meal. Towards the end, he walked over. “Chief Munro,” Rachel began formally and lowered her eyes.

  “Alec,” he corrected with the hint of a grin in his voice. He waited until she looked up. “Aye?”

  “We would know what you have planned for our father,” Rachel said.

  Alec’s grin turned to a wry frown. “He’s admitted his guilt.” Alec looked only at Rachel. “He’s willing to trade one of ye for his freedom.” Rachel swallowed hard and felt Isabelle grasp at her arm, but she nodded. It didn’t surprise her. She was certain which one he’d likely give up. Alec looked away as he spoke. “I told him that I doona take slaves as payment, and a person given away without their consent is a slave.”

  Rachel wet her dry lips. Her heart beat hard, the edge of alarm making it hard to speak. “If,” she squeaked, “you have my consent, will you release my sister and father?”

  Alec’s gaze swung back. Anger muted the shock cut into his features. “Ye would surrender yerself to save that man?”

  “And my sister,” Rachel added.

  “No, Rachel,” Isabelle whispered.

  “Yer sister is not in jeopardy,” Alec said.

  “She will be if you send her back to England without a protector, a father to see her supported and married well.” Determination straightened Rachel’s spine. “And regardless of his crimes, I am loyal to my family.” Alec must understand clan loyalty. The silence was uncomfortable. “I could stay on as a servant.” Her gaze trailed one woman carrying two tankards to the far table.

  “Ye are no servant, slave, or prisoner. Ye are free to do as would make ye happy,” Alec murmured. “This I promise.” Rachel’s pulse fluttered and her stomach tightened at the kindness in his vow. Before she could respond with more than wide-eyed surprise, the door banged open and a man strode across the rushes towards Alec.