The Mackintosh Bride

by Debra Lee Brown

  He loved her.

  Saint Sebastian be damned! He loved her.

  Her smile faded. She lowered her eyes and drew her hand from his arm. Mayhap she’d read his mind and did not return his feelings. He stood and offered her a hand up, but she turned away from him and scrambled to her feet. He could see now how shaky she was. She stumbled, and he instinctively reached out for her.

  “No need,” she said, and steadied herself.

  Duncan grinned at her, nodding his approval. “Ye did a fine job, lass.”

  “’Tis a fine mare. She did all the work. And ’tis a bonny son she’s born.”

  Jamie catapulted through the door of the shed and stared, wide-eyed, at the foal. “Why, he’s the image o’ the black!”

  “Aye, lad, that he is,” Iain said. “Now, go wake young Conall and tell him he’s got two horses to care for.”

  Jamie backed toward the door, his eyes fixed on the foal. He laughed, then turned and sprinted into the night.

  Iain watched as Alena drew an arm across her brow, pushing the damp locks of hair from off her forehead. Would that she would let him comfort her. She closed her eyes and leaned against the post.

  He knew she was exhausted. Small beads of perspiration shone on her face and neck. Her clothes were ruined, soaked with sweat and the bloody fluids from the birth.

  Duncan watched her, as well. “Go on, lass. Ye’ve done a good night’s work. Jamie and I will finish up here.”

  “Aye, ’twill be dawn soon.” Her voice was weak, thin. She opened her eyes and inspected her hands and clothes. “I’m a mess. I’d best clean up outside.”

  She brushed past Iain without so much as a glance. He knew she was not as composed as she pretended. Determined, he followed her out into the cold night.

  The moon was nearly set and cast an eerie light on the stable yard. Alena walked unsteadily toward the water trough, fighting her exhaustion. She was conscious of Iain’s footsteps behind her.

  Jesu, that was close. She stopped for a moment and closed her eyes. Visions of the mare, the foal, Iain’s grave expression and Duncan’s calm, weathered face spun in her head.

  Only a few more steps.

  She opened her eyes and reached one hand toward the edge of the water trough. Too late. She stumbled.

  And then he was there.

  Iain gathered her in his arms and held her close against his body. She didn’t want to give in to his aid, but could not help herself. She drew a breath and collapsed against him, surrendering her weight to his strength.

  “It’s all right, lass,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got you.”

  She felt her strength returning as he rocked her in his arms, as if he’d restored it with his own energy. She placed her hands against his chest to steady herself, but he continued to hold her close.

  “Ye were brave and braw this night. Duncan was proud.”

  He ran a gentle hand up her back, through the web of her tangled hair, and drew a finger across her jawline. She trembled at his touch.

  His eyes shone black in the moonlight and seemed different somehow. Gone was the wild, animal desire that had consumed him the afternoon at the ruins. She sensed warmth, concern, and something else. ’Twas in his touch, as well. A gentle strength that buoyed her, renewed her spirit.

  “I was proud,” he whispered, and covered her mouth with his.

  ’Twas the gentlest of kisses, a dove’s wings lighting softly against her lips. Oh, ’twas surely possible to die from the sweet pleasure of it. She opened her mouth in invitation and he ran his tongue, warm and slick, across her lips. She moaned softly, and he deepened the kiss, clutching her tightly to him. A low groan escaped his throat as his hands moved over the rise of her buttocks.

  Nay, wait. This wasn’t what she wanted.

  She pushed against his chest, tearing her mouth free of the kiss. Her heart pounded wildly as she wrenched herself away from him. He reached for her, and she batted his hands away.

  ’Twas lust he felt for her, not love. Aye, he was naught but a rogue, hell-bent on ruining her. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to rid herself of the taste of him.

  Again he reached for her, and this time she slapped him hard across the face. The blow stunned him. And her. Jesu, she was in for it now!

  A slow anger brewed in his expression. His features turned cold and hard. She pursed her lips and took another step back, her eyes riveted to his. She bumped into the water trough and nearly jumped out of her skin.

  In less than a second Iain closed the distance between them. He pushed her back against the cistern and claimed her mouth in a punishing kiss.

  She beat at him with her fists, struggling to free herself. “Nay! Nay, I say! Think you I’m one of your Inverness strumpets?” She shot him the most venomous expression she could muster.

  His grip went slack but he did not move away. He studied her for a long moment, confusion gracing his features. “What did ye say?”

  “I said I’m not one of your whores to be used and discarded on a whim.” She felt herself trembling, not from the sweet fusion of desire and fear his kisses wrought from her, but from anger.

  “In truth, lass, I dinna know what ye mean. I have never thought ye—”

  “Ha! Will you tell me now, when it suits your purpose, that your party did not go to Inverness?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He seemed truly surprised at her outburst. “Nay,” he said, “I willna. They did go, most of them.”

  She turned away and grasped the edges of the water trough. He didn’t touch her but she could hear his ragged breathing. The next words came hard for her. “You…They…went to…”

  “To find a bit o’ pleasure with the local wenches. Is that what ye mean?”

  She felt suddenly sick. “Aye.”

  “They did, those unmarried. And would ye begrudge it them?”

  She stared into the blackness of the cistern and forced herself to respond. “Nay, of course not. It does not concern me.”

  “Nay, it doesna,” he said evenly.

  She stiffened as he gripped her shoulders. “Don’t touch me! I’m not one of your whores.” She fought the tears welling in her eyes. What a little fool she was! Why should she care with whom he lay?

  Oh, but she did care.

  And then he laughed. A hearty laugh the likes of which she’d never heard from him. She whirled on him, her face blazing. He shook his head and his laughter died. “My whores? Think ye I went, as well? To Inverness to rut with that chattel?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Nay.” His smile faded.

  Her head pounded and her thoughts whirled in confusion. “But…I thought—”

  “Nay, lass.” He reached for her, and she did not resist as he pulled her into his arms.

  She looked up at him and his expression softened. Warmth radiated from his body. Her hands moved instinctively to his chest.

  “What I desire lies not in Inverness.” His voice was a whisper, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers.

  All at once she felt light-headed. “It doesn’t?”

  “Nay, love,” he murmured, and his mouth possessed hers.

  His kiss was filled with tenderness, and she surrendered to the joy she felt. Then a thought occurred to her. She broke free of his lips. “Then, if not in Inverness, where were you?”

  The question surprised him. He started to speak, then changed his mind. Finally he said, “Ye shouldna question me, lass. I am laird—it isna done.”

  “But—”

  “Hush,” he whispered, and brushed his lips across hers.

  She let it go for the moment. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the gentle caress of his mouth on her skin. “Oh, I never thought to feel so—”

  “Neither did I.” He drew her hands into his and pressed each palm, in turn, to his lips.

  “Do not—I’m filthy.” She pulled away and rubbed her palms together, still sticky from the foal’s birth.

 
“You’re beautiful.”

  Quickly she turned toward the cistern and plunged her arms into the icy water. Splashing her face, she rinsed away the perspiration. Iain offered her the end of his plaid and she dried herself with the coarse woolen cloth.

  “’Twas grim in there, but ye didna give up.” He took her hands again in his and smiled.

  “I—I couldn’t. The mare…Conall…”

  “Ye’d never done it before, had ye?” She knew what he meant. “Turning a foal like that, inside the mother’s womb.”

  “Nay.”

  He grazed his lips across hers, then smiled. “I didna think so.” Standing silent, he looked at her for what seemed a long time. She willed him with her eyes, her very soul, to possess her lips again, but he did not.

  “Iain.”

  Abruptly he stepped back and raised his hand up as if he would stop her from following. “Go to bed, lass. ’Tis nearly day.”

  She glanced skyward. Only a few stars glimmered like tiny pinpoints against heavens that had bled from inky-black to a clear, midnight-blue. When she turned her gaze back to Iain, she saw that he’d already turned and was striding toward the house.

  The whack of the stable yard gate intruded on the pre-dawn silence as Conall and Jamie burst into the enclosure. They darted past her, panting, into the foaling shed.

  She drew a breath, closed her eyes and wondered what in heaven she’d do now.

  Chapter Nine

  She would leave him.

  Alena stood at the window and looked out on the torrential rain that had turned the stable yard into a lake of brown mud. The sky was black with clouds, broken only by an occasional flash of lightning lending a sharp, metallic bouquet to the air.

  Iain had left Braedûn Lodge that morning whilst she was still asleep. He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. Who knew how long he’d be gone? It could be weeks—that’s what Will had told her.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain pummeled against the side of the house. She was glad Iain was out in it. He deserved to be miserable—as was she.

  She’d been at Braedûn nearly a fortnight. Midsummer’s Day was fast approaching and she could think of no viable alternative to wedding Reynold Grant.

  What possible interest could she hold for him? He was laird of a great clan. He was expected to wed some titled woman, or at least the daughter of a potential ally. She could not fathom his motivation.

  Her parents were old and would not survive outside the protection of their clan. She’d thought of bringing them here, of enlisting Iain’s help, but that could never happen.

  Should Reynold find out where she was, who knew what he might do? She would not put Iain’s clan at risk on her behalf. Grant’s army numbered near a thousand—more than triple what she could count of the Davidsons and the Mackintoshes combined.

  Nay, she must go back. ’Twas her only choice. Besides, Iain was gone. ’Twas too late, now, to share her burden with him even if she had wished to.

  The memory of his kisses blazed fresh in her mind. She ached at the thought of never seeing him again. Love, he’d called her last night. Would it were so.

  The door to her chamber whooshed open, interrupting her thoughts. Hetty marched into the room bearing a tray of food. “Lady, come away from that window,” she chirped. “Ye’ll catch yer death.”

  She smiled at the girl and let the fur window covering drop back into place. The hearth fire burned bright. The smell of fresh-baked bread and roasted meat filled the air.

  “Come, Lady, ye must eat something. Ye slept through the morning meal and didna come to table at midday. Ye have a tired look about ye. Ye must eat.”

  “Nay, Hetty, but thank you. I’ve no appetite.”

  “Och, come now. Ye dinna want to be skin and bones when next he sees ye.”

  “What do you mean? Who do you mean, he?”

  Hetty giggled and poured a cup of ale from the ewer on the tray. “Lady, the whole clan knows of his affection for ye, and yer feelings for him.” She handed her the ale cup.

  “But, ’tis not—”

  “Och, dinna fash about it. ’Tis a good match. Everyone says so, even Edwina.”

  “Edwina?” Alena was incredulous. “What would she or anyone know of—There’s naught to know!”

  Hetty moved to the hearth and stoked the fire. “’Tis plain enough to see ye’re a pair. Iain—I mean, the laird—denies it, as well. That’s what my Will says.”

  Alena’s cheeks warmed and she knew the crackling fire wasn’t to blame. She drained the ale cup and slammed it down on the table. “Oh does he? We’ll see about that.”

  She rose, strode to the chest by the bed and retrieved a heavy plaid from its depths. She whirled the garment around her shoulders and quit the room. Hetty’s objections faded as she made her way down the corridor.

  The great hall was a bustle of activity. The heavy rain had driven a number of clanfolk to work inside. Gilchrist sat at the main table conversing with Will and two Davidson warriors whom she recognized.

  As she approached them Gilchrist stood and smiled. “Lady Alena, ye are a vision and look full recovered from last night’s labor.”

  “’Twas the mare who labored, not I.”

  Gilchrist’s brows shot up.

  She hadn’t meant to sound so curt. He was only being polite. She softened her voice. “Laird, I would speak with you.”

  The warrior’s blue eyes danced. “Come, come, Lady. ’Tis my brother who’s laird, and he’s got the brooding temperament to prove it.” Will and the others chuckled. “Won’t you call me Gilchrist?”

  He was all charm. A true rogue. But she liked him and smiled in return. “Gilchrist, then, I would speak with you.”

  “Please,” he said, offering his chair to her. “Won’t you sit?”

  She had wanted to see him alone. Scanning the roomful of people, she knew this wasn’t a likely prospect given the weather. She accepted the seat Gilchrist offered.

  “Now, then,” he began. “What service might I offer ye?”

  The four men fixed their eyes on her and waited politely for her response.

  “I—I wish to leave and would ask that you loan me a mount.”

  They stared at her in silence. Will’s eyes darted to Gilchrist, gauging his response, then back to her.

  Perhaps they did not understand her. She was about to rephrase her question when a slow smile broke across Gilchrist’s handsome face.

  “Ye wish to leave?” he said.

  “Aye, I do.”

  Gilchrist turned to Will and the others. “She wishes to leave.”

  They were all smiling now.

  “So…might I borrow a mount?”

  Silence.

  “I’d return it straightaway—as soon as I reach my destination.”

  “Lady,” Gilchrist said, “after the precious gifts ye’ve given us—not least of all my brother Conall’s life and that of the mare and her bonny colt—any mount ye desire, be it Mackintosh or Davidson, ’tis yours.”

  She smiled. “Then, I—”

  “But I canna let ye leave this place.” Gilchrist’s expression turned to stone, and her smile abruptly faded.

  “Why not?”

  All four of them grinned again. Will exchanged mischievous looks with the two Davidsons, but Gilchrist’s eyes never left hers. “Because my brother would have my head should I no’ keep ye safe until his return.”

  “Your brother? Iain asked you to—”

  “He didna ask, Lady. ’Twas a direct order and not one I’d likely challenge.”

  “But…” She was panicking now. It might be weeks until Iain returned. ’Twould be too late! She must leave within a sennight, or…A dull ache throbbed at her temple.

  Gilchrist covered her hand with his. “Dinna worry, lass. He’ll be back in a day or two.”

  She looked to Will. “But you said—”

  “I know him,” Gilchrist said, “and I’ve ne’er seen him so…Mark me, he’ll be back ere the mo
on is full.”

  ’Twas but two days hence!

  “Besides, Lady,” Will said, “we plan a celebration, with music and a bit o’ dancing on the night o’ the full moon. To honor the birth of the colt. Ye must be there.”

  “Will is right,” Gilchrist said. “Duncan—and others—would be mightily disappointed should ye no’ attend.”

  They were all grinning again. She felt like slapping each one of them. “Hmph,” was all she could manage.

  Two more days, and then she would go home.”

  Aye, well, I would not disappoint Duncan,” she said, and rose to leave. And if there was a chance of seeing Iain one last time…

  Gilchrist rose with her. “About the mount…which would ye choose?”

  “The black.”

  “Are ye daft? Iain will—”

  “The black.” She quit the room and did not look back. The argument that erupted in her wake made her smile. Iain would have a fit.

  She pulled her plaid up over her head, pushed open the great door of the house and stepped out into the storm. The rain had eased. The air was fresh, and she longed to be outdoors.

  Will appeared out of nowhere on the doorstep behind her.

  “’Tis your turn to watch me, then?”

  “Aye,” he said, and blushed.

  This practice of assigning a warrior to dog her every step was becoming annoying. She pulled the plaid tightly around her and marched down the stone steps and out across the muddy courtyard. “Well, watch me, then.”

  She headed for the stable, Will right behind her.

  “But—this weather is foul. Ye dinna want to be out in it.”

  “’Tis a fine Scottish day,” she called over her shoulder, not breaking her stride.

  The stable yard was a bog unfit for man or beast. She lifted her skirts and slogged through the mud to the stable entrance. She was glad she’d worn her riding boots under the gown and not those ridiculous slippers.

  Will caught her up and held the door. “Ye canna be thinkin’ of ridin’?”

  The look of misery on his face was enough to melt her heart. “Nay, not today. But there’s work to be done here and I’ll not sit idle in the house while others labor.”