The warning Kieran had issued to the clan earlier had clearly not been taken seriously by everyone, and he had a strong idea who dared defy him. “Do ye know who was behind it?” he asked.
“Hamish.”
Hamish. Young, oversure Hamish constantly overstepped his boundaries. When Brennan had been alive, he’d acted as a father figure in Hamish’s life and had been the only person able to control the lad. Brennan’s death had been difficult for the clan, but Hamish had taken it especially hard.
“Very well, I’ll deal with him in the morning. Hamish has been allowed to do as he pleases for far too long. It is time he learned a lesson.” Kieran was not certain what he would do, but such blatant disregard for his direct order would have to be publicly acknowledged and reprimanded.
“And Mariel?” Alec crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his pale blue eyes.
Kieran knew what Alec referred to. Even after teaching Hamish a lesson, others might still plot against her. His people had always been loyal to him, even in the trying time following his brother’s murder. Hatred for the English, however, could overwhelm even the most loyal of hearts, and he was not willing to risk Mariel’s life.
“Keep her company at all times. If ye are unable to do it, then leave Colin in yer stead.” Doubtless Colin would not mind that duty. “And have her placed in the room nearest mine. Keeping her close to me will dissuade attacks.”
The corner of Alec’s lip twitched upward.
“Dinna give me that. I dinna have time for a lass.” To prove his point, Kieran lifted a stack of account books and let them slam back down onto the worn wooden surface of his desk, sending dust motes frantically swirling in all directions.
“She wants ye, Kieran. She’s bonny enough, even if she is a wee thing. I dinna understand—”
“That’s enough.” It came out harsher than he’d intended.
Nonplussed, Alec rose with ease and a wide grin spread over his usually serious face. “I’ll have her placed in the room next to yers.”
Kieran turned back to the ledger in front of him without responding and waited for the door to close behind Alec.
The neat row of numbers occupied Kieran’s eyes, but his mind filled with the memory of Mariel arching her back so that her breasts stood out beneath her thin gown, and the way her fingers had caressed her own creamy flesh. He remembered how her cheeks flushed when she begged him to touch her. His cock throbbed to life.
Kieran cleared his throat loudly and focused on the parchment in front of him to no avail.
In placing her out of harm’s way, he had left himself without the defense of multiple walls of stone between them. He hoped he was strong enough, disciplined enough, to resist what lay sweet and tempting in the room beside his.
• • •
That evening, Kieran sat at the head of the table in the large, intricately carved chair that had belonged to his brother and their father before him. The scent of venison and freshly baked bread hung among the scents of home.
He refused to touch the food before him, not when Mariel had yet to arrive.
Out of concern for her discomfort among strange people in a strange place, he had offered her the opportunity to dine alone in her room. She had politely declined and insisted on eating in the main hall with his clan. Truth be told, he had been pleased with her resolve to join the others. Coming to Skye had been her decision—nay, her insistence. She would do best to deal with the repercussions of her choices rather than hide from them. He could not protect her from everything.
Within seconds of being considered late, the large wooden doors to the great hall swung open and in stepped Mariel. A blue velvet gown hugged her shape like a second skin despite the modest cut. The fabric fully displayed every sensual curve, from the generous swell of her breasts to the sensual dip of her lower back.
Women stared with spite, men gawked with open lust, and Mariel ignored every one of them as she strode to the table, her brilliant gaze fixed on him and him alone. Despite his determination to remain cold and distant, he warmed beneath her gaze and was about to stand to offer her the place beside him when Colin rose smoothly to his feet.
Kieran gritted his teeth. Damn Colin. Kieran glared at his old friend and watched Mariel sink gracefully into the seat between them.
Dinner was a long, torturous process. The warmth of her body blazed beside his, a constant reminder of her closeness. Her sweet scent hovered over the aroma of food and teased him with memories he could no more ignore than the woman beside him.
“Don’t you agree, Kieran?” She arched her eyebrow in expectation.
“Ach, he’s far too humble to agree to the like,” Colin said, saving him from having to admit he had been staring at her and not listening.
“A true gentleman if ever I did see one,” Mariel acknowledged with a flirtatious smile. Her hand rested on his forearm for the briefest of moments, but it was long enough for the heat of her touch to linger with a slow burn.
She turned her head to say something to Colin, and her long neck arched gracefully. A silky black tendril of hair trailed down the white expanse of her throat and clung to the sleeve of her dress. He ached to smooth the errant lock back into place as he’d done before. To let his fingertips caress the softness of her skin, and to slide his hand around the back of her neck and tilt that beautiful face up toward him so he had access to her full, promising lips. She would be sweet to the taste and passionate in her response.
He knew that much from experience.
Colin’s voice traveled toward him. “Mariel, ye look exhausted. Would ye like me to show ye to yer room?”
Kieran shot up abruptly before he realized what he was doing and sent the heavy wooden chair grinding into the rushes below. “That willna be necessary, Colin.” He shot a challenging look toward his friend, a silent warning to stand down. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” Mariel said with a weary smile. “I confess, I am rather tired, and the thought of a warm bed is tempting indeed.”
It was the closest thing to a complaint he had heard from her since they’d began the trip over three weeks ago. She’d endured the freezing cold, soaking rains, and even an unexpected attack without the slightest issue. Now she sat before him with dark smudges under her eyes, admitting only to the enticement of bed. If only it were his bed.
Kieran exited the great hall, not looking back to ensure she followed. He did not need to. After over an hour of sitting beside her, he was all too aware of her searing presence.
The wind howled outside and filled the comfortable silence between them as they wound through the narrow halls. They passed the plain wooden door of his room before stopping at hers. If anyone passed down the hall where she slept, he would hear them.
He leaned over her and pulled the handle on the door so it swung open with a great groan of protest as unused hinges ground against one another.
Golden light from the fireplace spilled out into the hall and pulsed around them with an aura of warmth. She looked up at him, her gaze no longer confident or flashing with the merriment she had displayed only minutes before in the great hall. Exhaustion dimmed the light in her eyes and exposed the hint of vulnerability he had glimpsed on the balcony when they’d first met.
“Thank you, Kieran.” Her voice was soft even in the tomblike silence of the stone hall.
“I’m more a gentleman than Colin would have been had he shown ye to yer room.” It was meant as a jest, but the very thought of Colin touching her made him want to punch something.
“I…” she hesitated as if searching for what to say. “I know your people are not happy with my presence here. I also know you anticipated this when you allowed me to come and still you brought me. You took a chance in welcoming me into your home.” Her brows knit together in an earnest expression. “Thank you.”
Her shy smile and obvious trepidation were disarming. He had seen her carefree attitude throughout the day and wondered how she could be so oblivious to the c
old welcome. Now he understood that she was not oblivious, yet nor did she succumb to her own ambiguity. For all her quiet strength, she was wounded by their hatred.
And she trusted him enough to let him see that.
“It isna that they dinna like ye. They dinna trust yer people. The English have caused…much pain among my clan. Dinna worry though, they will grow to like ye.” He doubted he spoke the truth, but the way her brow smoothed with relief made him glad for the lie.
Unable to resist the temptation, he ran his fingers over the velvety softness of her cheek. She turned her face toward the palm of his hand, encouraging his touch. Her skin was warm, smooth, enticing.
He brushed her full lips with the pad of his thumb, and her lashes fluttered closed. A warm sigh bathed his finger.
The moist heat of her mouth tempted him to sweep the digit against the tip of her tongue, to feel the pressure of her mouth close around him. Desire tightened low in his belly, the same way her lips might wrap around his cock, which now jutted uncomfortably beneath his plaid. The bed in her room was large enough to accommodate them both.
His breathing had grown deep as he stood like a fool staring at her, hungry for what he would not allow himself to take. He needed to go, lest he give in to a temptation he would not allow himself to sample. Not again.
Kieran let his hand drop to the side and rubbed his fingers against his thumb to obliterate the sweet sensation. Her presence at Caisteal Camus unnerved him, and it had little to do with the clan’s reaction to her arrival. There was too much at stake. His hand tightened into a fist. And then there was her confession of Jack…
“Good night, Mariel,” he said in a voice terse even to his own ears.
Confusion and hurt flickered across her face, but she did not protest. Wordlessly, she entered the bedroom and let the door close behind her, plunging him into total darkness.
• • •
Mariel finished lacing the simple bodice of her homespun gown the next day, careful to leave it loose to account for the slow healing wound. Wearing her corset the previous evening had aggravated the gash considerably and now the white-hot stab was a constant reminder of its existence.
The look on Kieran’s face when he saw her made the pain worthwhile. His obsidian gaze had fallen on her throughout the night, burning with interest. Heat warmed Mariel’s cheeks at the memory. She was not so indifferent herself.
He had been handsome and proud at the head of the table-the obvious leader to his people. His hair had hung loose to his shoulders, and his sharp jaw was clean shaven. He’d donned the garb of a Highlander and wore a fresh white leine with his plaid belted around his tapered waist. The combination had been overwhelmingly masculine and left her pulse racing at his nearness.
Shouts from outside trickled into her room, muffled by the shutters on the lower portion of her window. Though tightly locked, a chill seeped through the slats and spread cold against her waist when she looked through the warped glass to the scene below. People circled something she could not make out. Their jeers were carried away by the wind. Mariel strained to make out what they had gathered around. A flash caught her eye. A glint of sunlight as it glanced off the blade of a sword, followed by the distinct ring of metal on metal.
Something was not right. She spun away from the window and ran out her door, right into Colin’s wide chest.
She backed up and mumbled a feeble apology as a charming smile slid over his handsome face.
“Good morning to ye, Mariel. I was just coming to see if ye’d broken yer fast yet.”
“What transpires on the lawn below?” Even as she asked the question, she had a sinking suspicion he would not answer her.
“Nothing ye need to be seeing.” His lighthearted wink was obviously meant to dissuade her questions.
A savage cry drifted in through the window at the end of the hall, followed by a chorus of cheers.
“Please, Colin.”
His arm slid around her shoulder and pulled her tight against him. “I’d rather have yer company in the hall.” The smooth tone of his voice made the suggestion behind his words all the more blatant.
The great hall was downstairs. Mariel knew how to leave the castle from there. Perhaps going to breakfast with Colin was not a bad idea.
She gave him a bright smile and ducked out from under his grasp. “On second thought, food sounds enticing, but I’m afraid I don’t know my way around the castle.”
“Then I’ll show ye. First we’ll start with the hall and where we’ll end…” A wide grin spread over his face.
Mariel playfully laughed off his implication and followed behind him. She committed the path they took to memory this time. There might be need of it later. If everything did not go according to plan, and she had to escape to Inverness to fight for Jack’s life, her mental map of the castle would need to be flawless.
Once downstairs, Mariel spied a door off to the side along the back of the castle. If her estimation was correct and it led outside, she would be exactly where she wanted. She slowed down and edged toward the door. Colin’s wide back continued ahead. He did not seem to notice she was no longer behind him and disappeared around a corner.
The unlocked handle opened easily in her hand, and she slipped from the quiet darkness into the blinding brilliance outside. Stars danced before her eyes as her vision adjusted. The wind slapped against her, ripping at her hair and tearing at her skirts.
Mariel pulled the shawl around her shoulders and regretted not having grabbed a heavy plaid instead. The MacDonald clan stood a stone’s throw away, still clustered together.
No one noticed her approach and for that she was grateful. She stood on her tiptoes in an effort to see over the towering clansmen and frustration pulled at her patience. Were all Highlanders so tall?
And then the crowd broke for one brief moment, long enough for her to see Kieran, his expression fierce, focused as he drew his sword over his head.
People leaned closer, inadvertently clearing a spot for her. Mariel stepped into the open space lest it fill again and observed the melee before her. A young man lay on the ground, his dirty blond hair disheveled around his flushed face. Kieran stood over him, body tense and sword held aloft in warning. Though bested, the blond man held his weapon bravely before him, ready to ward off the bite of the threatening blade.
Kieran spoke in Gaelic as he growled, “Ye dare defy me?”
The defeated man’s voice was harsh with barely contained fury. “If ye would so easily forget the crimes the English have committed against us for that whore, then aye, I do defy ye.”
The wind sucked the air from Mariel’s chest, and the bitter sting of icy air dulled against numbed flesh. This was about her?
A barbaric cry erupted from Kieran. He whipped his blade through the air toward his opponent’s neck and stopped a hair’s breadth away from the tender flesh. The young man did not even flinch. “Dinna call her a whore,” Kieran said between clenched teeth.
She froze, stunned by his words. Kieran had defended her. In front of all of his people, he had defended her honor. No man had ever done such a thing. Why would they? Her deeds did not warrant the respect of any man.
Self-disgust rolled through her stomach. Certainly she did not deserve the respect of a man as honorable as Kieran.
He held his blade over the man’s throat, and the muscles of his arm bunched under his leine. While Kieran was a solid wall of strength and authority, she remembered how gentle those powerful arms could be and how they’d cradled her when she had been wounded.
Guilt crowded her heart and breathing became difficult. She was not worthy of the affection he bestowed upon her.
Kieran looked pointedly at the crowd. “She stays at Caisteal Camus as a guest and is to be treated as such…by all of ye. Am I understood?”
The crowd murmured quietly. In the excitement of the fight, no one had yet noticed her presence among them.
Kieran clasped the man’s forearm with his own and helped
him to his feet. “Hamish, do ye understand?”
The man, Hamish, balled his hand into a fist, and then unclenched it. “Ye stake the lives of yer people on her being here. After centuries of rape, treachery, and murder from the English, I ask ye again–do ye trust her?”
Kieran’s eyes sifted through the crowd and settled on Mariel. A jolt shot through her. The world paused, held in a span of unrelenting time as she waited for his answer, daring not to breath for fear she might shatter.
She wanted to cry out that she was not worthy. She wanted to collapse on her knees before him and beg for something she did not deserve.
But she did neither. She stood perfectly still. Her palms were moist with cold sweat and her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for his answer.
Chapter Sixteen
The wind slapped Mariel’s heavy skirts against her legs and pulled her hair free from its braid. Her fingernails bit into her palms in an effort to keep her face impassive as she held Kieran’s dark gaze.
“Aye,” he said finally. “Aye, I do trust her. As should every one of ye.”
Heady elation at his acceptance warred with the self-hatred that balled like ice in the pit of her stomach.
Satisfied with their laird’s declaration, the MacDonald clan began to disperse. The few who did take notice of her quickly shifted their gaze away and widened the path between them.
Though sentiment warred within her, Mariel plastered a look of confusion on her face and stood off to the side. She had not confessed her knowledge of Gaelic to anyone, nor had they bothered to ask. People spoke without restraint when under the assumption they could not be understood. It was an advantage she could ill afford to lose.
Kieran brushed some dried grass from the man’s back, and his voice traveled with the wind toward Mariel. “It’s no that I dinna miss Brennan. I dinna let the grief rule my life. Grief willna feed our people or clothe them or protect them.”
Deception of a Highlander Page 11
