by Amanda Scott
Trying to think but finding it hard now to concentrate on anything beyond the sensations surging through her body, she said, “That… that they are different, more practical and… and more helpful. Perhaps if you would listen to those voices you hear, you might learn more about them,” she added in a rush. “Perhaps you need only let yourself see and hear what stands before you.”
“I don’t want to talk about fantastical nonsense, lass. Let’s swim.” He bent to remove his netherstocks.
Instantly diverted, she said, “Are… are you going to take off everything?”
He grinned over his shoulder at her, then cast his shirt aside. “I already have,” he said, standing proudly bare on the sand. “So will you if you are wise. You won’t relish walking home in a wet shift.”
Without waiting for her to make up her mind, he bent and caught the hem of her shift in both hands, and stripped it off over her head. When she hastily covered her breasts with an arm and the private place at the fork of her legs with the other hand, he reached for the plaited coil of hair at the nape of her neck and freed it, using his hands as combs until her hair spilled down her back in a thick, loose curtain.
“By heaven, you’re beautiful,” he said, gently moving her arm aside and stroking her breast. “I like the way just touching you makes me feel.”
She wanted to say something similar to him, but she could think of nothing suitable, other than to say that his touch made her feel good, too. She could not think at all. Her body felt like a mass of flames, but he took her hand and drew her into the water. Its icy chill banished the other feelings in a trice.
“Ohh, but it’s cold!”
“Just a wee bit cooler than the air,” he said. “Wait till you’re in. You’ll see.”
She knew he was right, and realizing that in the water she would not feel so exposed to those eyes hanging from every tree limb, she pulled away from him and splashed forward, grateful to discover that the sand continued under the water for some distance. At her swimming place on Skye, one had to creep over sharp rocks, and if one were not careful, some were sharp enough to cut a foot.
Hearing him splash behind her, she sprang forward in a shallow dive. Using her hands to pull herself deeper, where she hoped he could not see her in the fast failing light, she swam away from the shore with wide, sweeping arm strokes.
She was congratulating herself on a deft maneuver when a large hand clamped around her right ankle and pulled, startling her so that she breathed in a mouthful of water. Fighting upward, she broke the surface, gasping and coughing.
Kintail surfaced right beside her. “Still cold?” There was laughter in his voice, but one large hand moved to cup her elbow, holding her steady so that she could concentrate on catching her breath again.
She was certainly no longer cold. Indeed, the flames had returned, but the water felt warmer now and caressed her body sensuously. Drawing a deep breath, she let it out again and said, “You can let go of me. You need not hold me now.”
“I want to hold you,” he murmured. “Lean back against me.”
It was as if no other people inhabited the world but the two of them, floating, and as if nothing else existed in the world but the sensations flowing through her, the water lapping gently against her, and Kintail floating with her, barely moving.
Even the birds’ twittering had ceased, leaving them in silence to savor the sensual caress of the water.
Moving slowly but with a deftness at odds with Molly’ s languorous mood, Kintail grasped her around the waist with both hands and turned her to face him.
Accusingly, she exclaimed, “You can touch the bottom!”
“Aye,” he said. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”
His shoulders—the greater part of them, at least—were out of the water, and he held her so that now the two of them looked eye-to-eye, her breasts touching his chest. He drew her closer until his lips met hers and kissed her lightly, then more firmly. His lips were warm.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, and the command sent a bolt of lightning through her body.
Without a word, she obeyed him, savoring each new sensation, amazed that she had never imagined such intense feelings could exist.
“Now, kiss me.”
Again, she obeyed, touching his lips with hers, but when she would have drawn back, his arms slipped around her, crushing her to him. His lips felt hot against hers, and demanding. She could feel the tip of his tongue then, as if he tasted her. Then it slipped between her lips and into her mouth, finding her tongue and teasing it.
She squirmed against him, and her arms slid around his neck. Every nerve reacted now as if her body had plans of its own. His hands, freed of the need to hold her, moved upward to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples, making her gasp and squirm even more. Then one hand moved to her waist and around to her bottom, shifting her a little. She heard him groan, deep in his throat.
His other hand moved gently between her legs, touching her where no one had touched her since her infancy, and then it seemed as if his hands were everywhere, moving with more urgency. His whole body seemed to be moving. Disoriented, realizing that she had shut her eyes, she opened them and saw that they were much nearer shore than she had thought. The shadows had blackened. It was dark. She no longer cared if eyes dotted the trees, not even when she realized that he was carrying her out of the water.
He strode to the mantle he had spread on the sand and, kneeling, laid her gently upon it. Then he straightened and reached for her mantle but did not attempt to dry her or himself with it. He just pulled it over them. It was enough.
Her moved slowly, taking his time. His kisses warmed her, for he kissed her everywhere and stroked her with his hands, moving one between her legs again, caressing her there, and using his fingers to stimulate and prepare her, until she ached and moaned for him to claim her. When he moved over her at last, she gasped again but this time in anticipation, and as he slowly entered her, she felt an ache, then more pain, but she nearly cried aloud when he stopped.
He grew still, his senses clearly on alert, and she remembered the eyes in the trees—and what had happened the previous night.
Speaking low, she said, “Not voices again!”
“Not voices, lass, a ship—a galley or birlinn.” He eased himself out of her.
Turning her head, she saw the dense shadow on the water. It was perhaps as large as the boats Mackinnon had transported her baggage in. A thrill of fear shot through her, but she said with forced calm, “Did you ask someone to fetch us?”
“I did not.” His voice was grim, and she felt him reach for his sword and drag his mail shirt toward them. “Now, hush and be still,” he said. “I do not think they can see us. The sand is light, but with the mantle covering us, we should look like just another shadow. It is too dark for them to see what color anything is.”
In the stillness, she could hear water lapping gently on the sand and, distantly, the creak of oars in their rowlocks.
Then another sound came across the water—a low-pitched, warbling whistle.
She felt Kintail relax and let out a breath. “It’s Patrick with the birlinn,” he murmured. Then, in a low but carrying voice, he called, “Here, on the sand.”
To Molly, he said, “Move quickly, lass. He cannot have come merely to speak to me. Something’s amiss. Can you dress yourself if I do up your laces?”
“Aye,” she said, taking the shift he handed her and slipping it quickly over her head. Realizing then that, besides Sir Patrick, there had to be other men in the boat, she added anxiously, “Where are the rest of my clothes?”
“Here.” He shoved her things toward her.
Scrambling into her skirt, she said, “How did he know where to find us?”
“He knows my ways as well as I know his, lass, but he would not disturb us without good cause.”
He spent more time helping her than dressing himself, with the result that the boat beached nearby before he had
donned more than his shirt and netherstocks. She was still trying to twist her wet hair into a braid when Sir Patrick’s tall, broad-shouldered figure leaped from the boat and strode toward them.
“I hope you can forgive this interruption, my lady,” he said as soon as he was close enough to speak in hushed tones. “Fin, there’s trouble to the east. Some of our lads found three bodies half buried near the wee glen this side of the head of Loch Duich. If you’d turned a few yards off the track today, you’d have stumbled onto them yourself. We think Donald must be responsible. Ian Dubh, Malcolm, and the others lost sight of him, and we’ve had no trouble brewing hereabouts but his.” He paused, and then added, “One of the dead men carried a letter from Jamie to you.”
“Did you bring it?”
“Aye, but there is no light for reading, and I’d as lief not burn torches when we don’t know who might be slithering through the shrubbery. The message will keep until we return to the castle. There’s worse, though,” he added. “One of the Murchisons from Glen Shiel came to tell us that someone killed Dougal Maclennan and his entire family. The folks there fear more attacks will come.”
Shocked, Molly said, “Dougal Maclennan? Our priest?”
“Aye,” Patrick said. “And his murderers must be the same men who killed Jamie’s messenger. They evaded our watchers, Fin.”
“Our men were not watching Glen Shiel,” Fin reminded him. “Nor could they watch all the MacLeod land south of Kintail to Kylerhea.”
“We know Sleat was on Skye before the wedding,” Patrick said.
“Aye,” Kintail agreed. “ ’Tis likely that, knowing most folks hereabouts would be at the wedding, he hoped his own presence there would lull suspicion that he was up to mischief.”
Molly said unhappily, “But he was up to mischief all along.”
“It seems likely,” Patrick admitted.
“It is likely,” Kintail said. He put his arm around her and gave her a firm hug as he said to Patrick, “We’ll leave at sunrise to see that Dougal Maclennan and his family are properly tended, and then we’ll track the villains to their leader before they can harm anyone else. I have had enough of Sleat’s antics. I want him and his men out of Kintail for good.”
Chapter 17
Back at Eilean Donan, Fin kissed Molly and sent her to bed, knowing he would be up most of the night with Patrick and the others, organizing supplies and men to hunt down the priest’s murderers and rid the area of Sleat. He hated to send her away, though, and he could tell she hated to go. Their time on the inlet had been magical. It seemed that he had only to touch her to make his whole body vibrate with longing. The feeling was indescribable, unlike anything he had felt before.
She paused at the doorway to the stairs and looked over her shoulder. She looked wistful and utterly desirable. “You will take care, won’t you?”
“Aye, lass,” he said. “You and I have unfinished business. I’m not likely to let anyone kill me before we’ve seen to it.”
She blushed, looking more beautiful than ever despite her still damp, salt-stiffened hair and mussed clothing. When she turned slowly away without another word, a new concern occurred to him, and he said, “One moment, madam.”
She turned back. “Aye?”
“You are not to go outside these walls,” he said, hardening his tone, wanting to be sure she understood that he meant it. “Not for any reason. I’ll leave Ian Dubh and Thomas MacMorran here with a few men; so, as long as you do not venture outside, you will be safe. As I told you before, it takes only a handful of people to defend this castle. Just keep the portcullis down and stay inside till we return.” He paused, then added firmly, “I want your word that you will obey me.”
She gazed at him for a long moment without speaking, and he let the silence lengthen until he heard some of his men shifting their feet and knew that they wondered at her daring. He said nothing even then, but he felt the muscles in his jaw tense. Surely, she would not choose this moment to defy him again.
At last, quietly, she said, “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “That will depend on how much damage Sleat has done and how long it takes us to track him down. I’m sending Patrick to Skye with a pair of galleys to see if Mackinnon has had news of Sleat’s movements. It may be that the villain intends to land more men near Kyle to launch an attack through my western lands. If so, Patrick and I may well trap them between us. Others will soon learn of the trouble here and come to help, but in the meantime, we don’t know how many men Sleat has, where they are, or how long trapping them will take.”
She nodded. “Very well, sir, I will do as you bid. However, you must know that I will use my own judgment if you are away overlong.”
“If you do that, lass,” he said grimly, “you had better hope when I do return that I agree that your judgment was sound.”
She gave him look for look, then turned and left the hall.
“It’s a good thing you are leaving Ian Dubh in command here,” Patrick said. “He’ll see to it that her ladyship does nothing foolhardy.”
“Aye, and Mauri will look after her, too,” Fin said. “Now, where is this letter of Jamie’s? Have you read it?”
“I have not. ’Tis a royal message, I’ll remind you, sealed and addressed to you, so I did not dare. Indeed, ’tis a wonder the assassins didn’t find it. Our lads said it was tucked just inside the man’s jerkin.” He extracted a folded, red-sealed sheet of parchment from beneath his mantle and handed it to Fin.
Breaking the royal wax seal, Fin smoothed the parchment. “It is indeed from Jamie and apparently in his own hand,” he told Patrick when he had read the first few words. Frowning as he read on, he added, “He writes that he is clarifying the message Lady Percy will have given me. Who the devil is Lady Percy?”
“Percy is an English name,” Patrick said thoughtfully.
“Aye. I don’t like any of this,” Fin said. “Jamie writes that Sleat, having threatened to raise all the Highland west against him, his grace requires the aid of his loyal clans, particularly the Mackenzies and MacRaes. He writes that Sleat’s army numbers fifteen thousand and his navy boasts a hundred galleys. He will soon march south, and his fleet will accompany him down the coast, Jamie says.”
“Fifteen thousand men and a hundred galleys?” Patrick’s eyebrows shot upward. “I don’t believe it, Fin. Sleat cannot have that many.”
“ ’Tis not unusual for exaggerated accounts to reach Stirling,” Fin said, “but our own information suggests, does it not, that he has begun to move.”
“Aye,” Patrick agreed grimly. “What else does Jamie write?”
“That he suspects the fine hand of England’s Henry in all of this,” Fin said.
“Jamie always suspects the fine hand of Henry—in everything.”
“Aye, but this time he warns me not to trust Lady Percy, despite the purported motive for her visit, but at all cost to keep her at Eilean Donan until she is ready to return to Stirling. I do wish he had thought to tell me who the devil she is, but I begin to suspect that she is either dead or has fallen into Sleat’s clutches.”
“Well, at least we need not fear England’s Henry, as far north as we are.”
“Don’t count on that,” Fin said. “Evidently, Jamie suspects that Henry is supporting Sleat financially, that he intends to invade Scotland and will time that invasion to accord with Sleat’s move south in order to trap the Scottish forces between them. What with Henry’s persecution of those who do not like his new church, we know that many refugees have crossed into Scotland, fleeing his wrath. Not only does their departure anger him more but few doubt that he wants to control Scotland as punishment for our refusal to reform our own Kirk.”
“Does Jamie say what he and his other nobles will do to stop Henry?”
“Aye, he says the Border lords are raising the Borderers to block Henry’s invasion, whilst his grace gathers ships to challenge Sleat’s fleet.”
“He will find it ha
rd to raise even fifty galleys along this coast,” Patrick said.
“He knows that,” Fin said, swiftly scanning the rest of the missive. “He also knows that Sleat has no cannon. So, Jamie is arming as many large ships as he can to sail up the coast and challenge Sleat’s fleet, hoping that if they blast Sleat with cannon-fire, they will halt his advance south. That will take time, so we are to keep Sleat busy here as long as we can.”
Patrick crooked an eyebrow. “What do you say then? Does this news alter our plans for the morrow?”
“It does not,” Fin said. “We leave at dawn, but we’ll leave fewer men here, I think. Sleat has no cannon, and against anything less, Eilean Donan is impregnable. If we can find Sleat and render him unable to lead his army and fleet, we will eliminate the problem that faces us and solve Jamie’s problem for him, as well.”
From one of the bartizan towers extending from the walkway atop the northwest side of the keep, Molly glumly watched the men depart the next morning, disappointed that Fin had not sought her bed during the night but understanding that he had much to do.
Doreen had been waiting for her when she retired to her bedchamber and had helped her wash the salt from her hair, scolding her but laughing, too, at her tale of the nude swim. Molly had considered going to Fin’s room when she was ready for bed but decided against it. If he wanted her, he knew where to find her.
He had wakened her at dawn to bid her farewell, kissing her deeply and lingering long enough to remind her of why she would miss him. If he had slept, she knew it had been only a few hours.
Despite Doreen’s ministrations, her hair was still damp when he woke her, but she had gotten up after he left, brushed it briskly before the fire, and now, nearly dry, it was braided and twisted tidily into a coil beneath her coif.
By the time she had reached the battlements, Fin had already crossed the narrow channel to join the main portion of his army. That body consisted of a number of men-at-arms in mail shirts and an even larger number of ragged-looking, bare-legged, bare-chested ones. Fin wore his chain mail over a shirt and dark leggings, with his green-and-indigo mantle over all. Each bare-legged man wore a short kilt with the long end thrown over his shoulder, and each carried a naked broadsword slanted across his back from that shoulder to his waist on a broad leather strap. In the other hand, each carried a gleaming, wicked-looking dirk. Some carried axes or lances, and others carried longbows and quivers full of arrows.
