Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

by Catherine Kean, Anna Markland, Elizabeth Rose, Laurel ODonnell, Barbara Devlin, SueEllen Welfonder, Amy Jarecki

  “If so I must again disappoint you.” She looked at him from beneath thick, sooty lashes. “Just as I cannot restore life to the dead, nor can I change the past. I have no access to the power of the gods, no charms to aid you.”

  She stood straighter, flipped her braid behind her back. “You shouldn’t have listened to the tales.”

  “I am no fool.” Gare leaned toward her. “It was more than that, my lady.”

  “Such as?”

  “A gut feeling. The same instinct that served me well in many a battle. A wise man knows to heed it. Your fame has reached far beyond Kintail. Something compelled me to seek you. I can say no more.”

  “If you do not, you will not be here past the morrow’s dawn.” She folded her arms, her spirit intriguing him.

  Wishing that weren’t so, Gare schooled his features, not wanting her to guess that he found her attractive. More damning, that he’d just imagined her naked, adorned only by her gleaming, unbound hair.

  He was beginning to think he’d run mad to come here.

  For sure, he wasn’t about to tell her of the tiny, black-garbed woman who’d called at his castle gate, pleading weariness and begging a night’s lodging. Once she’d supped well and enjoyed her ale, she’d regaled his hall with praise of Mairi MacKenzie. She was a healer of men, a weaver of wonders, the crone had claimed, fixing her gaze so intently on him that he’d believed she’d called at Blackrock for the sole reason of telling him of Mairi.

  He half suspected the cailleach had spelled him.

  Each time she’d said Mairi Mackenzie’s name that night, he’d felt a mighty jolt to the core.

  He’d known he had to find Mairi. His surety that she could help him grew with each passing day, every hour. Now that he was here, with her standing before him, he was no longer so certain. Indeed, he had a strong inkling that seeking her had complicated his life in ways he’d never dreamed.

  He’d tossed fat onto the fire.

  And the flames lured him irresistibly.

  Furious at himself, he went to her door and drew back the leather curtain. He looked out into the now-dark night. A thin rain fell and cold mist blew past the broch, the gloom suiting his mood. He let the hanging fall shut again and then rubbed his arms, grateful for Troll, at least, that the lass was giving them a sheltered bed for the night, if only on the cold earthen floor before her hearth stone.

  “If you remain silent, you may take your leave now.” She appeared at his elbow, a thread of steel in her tone. “Your dog can stay until the rain stops. If you are too far gone by then, I will have one of Sir Marmaduke’s men bring him to you. Until then, he shall be kept dry and well-fed.

  “If you wish to remain together, you’d best speak plainly.” She stepped back then, as if she couldn’t bear to stand so close to him.

  “Lady Mairi, I lie to no woman.” Gare was affronted she’d think so. “I’ll no’ begin such a despicable trait with you, howe’er you try my patience.”

  “I am the one awaiting an answer.” She crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. “Nor am I a lady. I cannot claim the title, nor do I mind.” Her chin came up again, pride glinting in her eyes. “I am simply Mairi MacKenzie. My clan name carries all the honor I need.”

  “So it does.” Gare gave her that.

  “You shall have your answers.” He moved away from the leather-covered door, feeling as if the night’s chill had seeped into his bones, icing his innards, and freezing the words he had to say. It was so hard to push them past his lips. “I am no’ here just for myself. My quest serves the weal of every man, woman, and child, of my clan.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment as his gut clenched on the rest. “My journey was also made in the interest of the Scottish crown.”

  “The crown?” Her eyes widened.

  “Better said, the King’s Lieutenant, Robert Stewart.” Gare’s head was beginning to ache. “These are troublesome times, with King David locked away in the Tower of London all these years.” He glanced at her, could tell that even sheltered as she was in this wild and remote glen, she’d heard of the sorrowful capture and plight of David de Brus after the disastrous defeat of the Scots at Neville’s Cross in northern England, some years before. “Lady,” he started again, giving her the courtesy title whether she wished it or not, “my lands, my holding of Blackrock Castle, claim a strategic location on Scotland’s northeastern coast.”

  “Aye?” She lifted a brow.

  Gare pulled a hand down over his beard, drew a tight, uncomfortable breath. “I’ve been served the crown’s wish to see me wed. Robert Stewart wants my region secured through an alliance with a neighboring family. The joined might of such a union will strengthen the realm, while the sons born of the marriage will guarantee stability in years to come. If I dinnae comply-”

  “Your lands and castle are at risk,” she finished for him, sparing him the bile that would’ve accompanied the words had he said them himself.

  “That is the way of it, aye.” The admission tasted like cold ash all the same.

  He didn’t want a wife.

  Leastways not Lady Katherine Sinclair, the heiress Robert Stewart’s writ suggested he consider. He’d met her but once, at Beltane revels near Aberdeen, finding her shrewish, with a sharp, peppered tongue, and small dark eyes that glinted with malice whenever a fairer, more fetching, maid happened to walk past her, drawing eyes and attention.

  Such a woman as a wife would turn a man’s life into a misery.

  Nae, the Sinclair woman wasn’t for him.

  But for the sake of his people, he had to find someone suitable. Beatrice Burnett hovered in his mind, being a quiet, unassuming daughter of good house. She’d make any man a biddable bride. Sadly, she’d also bore him into an early grave. There were a few others, though he had no great wish to tie himself to any of them.

  By the gods, his inclination was to run from the lot of them.

  But that he couldn’t do.

  So he took another long, deep breath and exhaled slowly, wishing he could rid himself of his woes as easily. That wasn’t possible, so he hooked his thumbs in his sword belt and prepared to make his request.

  “Fair maid,” he spoke true, for she was the most appealing female he’d ever seen, “if not for me, then for my people, I ask your aid. I was told you can weave wonders, even making stones weep and rivers change their courses.

  “I ken fine such miracles were bards’ embellishments, but no myth or legend is without a seed a truth.” He saw her expression changing, becoming shuttered. “I mean no offense, lass. But in all that is said about you, there must be deeds to support your reputation.”

  She held his gaze, a frown marring her brow. “There are none.”

  “I dinnae believe you.” He went over to her and set his hands on her shoulders, looked down into her great blue eyes. “Mairi MacKenzie, I ask you but one more time. Can you no’ find it in your heart to help me?”

  She bit her lip as a shiver rippled through her, as if his touch chilled her. “How? To find you a worthy bride? I can promise there aren’t any hiding in the rocks and mist of the Glen of Winds.”

  “I ken the maid I must marry.” Gare saw no need to mention Beatrice Burnett’s name. “What I need from you is a charm to make me desire her.”

  ***

  “Have you gone addled?”

  His fury loosed, Duncan MacKenzie, the Black Stag of Kintail, glanced round the high table of Eilean Creag Castle’s great hall, expecting his men to agree. Sir Marmaduke, the flat-footed, ring-tailed recipient of his wrath, merely took another long sip of ale, wholly untroubled.

  Everyone else did the same.

  Or they poked at their trenchers with their eating knives, cleared throats, and shifted in their seats. Some fussed with nonexistent wrinkles in the table linen. Anything to avoid their laird’s eye.

  Duncan frowned at them.

  No one, not even his own beloved lady wife, Linnet, seemed bothered by the Sassenach’s lack of judgment; an error that endange
red their clan’s dearest, most unfairly maligned cousin, Mairi of the Glen of Winds.

  “Sakes!” Duncan turned again to Sir Marmaduke, a man who should’ve known better, given his long years in the Highlands. As Duncan’s friend and brother-in-law, he’d seen how easily treachery could sneak into the most unexpected corners. Mairi’s glen was already benighted, ripe for perfidy if not well guarded.

  “Your leniency could have dire consequences, English.” Duncan set down his ale cup, slapped his hand on the table. “Mairi is alone, trusting us to protect her.”

  Sir Marmaduke lowered his own cup. “Sir Gare MacTaggert will not harm her.” He met Duncan’s glare, his battle-scarred face clear and calm as a spring morn. “He carried a broken sword as just Devorgilla foretold. And he came in peace, a good and worthy man.”

  Duncan harrumphed. “How can you know that?”

  “I just did.” Sir Marmaduke slid a glance at Linnet. “You above all men should know that there are times when a soul simply knows something. I felt a strange kinship with MacTaggert, my gut telling me it was safe to let him enter the glen unescorted, to seek the maid on his own.”

  “Say you?” Duncan snatched a flagon of uisge beatha, pouring himself a hefty measure, then quaffing the fiery Highland spirits in one throat-burning swig. “I say if any harm comes to her, I will send you back to your bluidy England, minus your addled head.”

  “Duncan.” Linnet placed a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “I, too, believe Sir Gare needed to call on Mairi alone.”

  “You aye side with the Sassenach!” Duncan swiveled about to scowl at his wife. “Or is there something the two of you are no’ telling me?”

  He cocked a brow, waiting.

  Sure enough, the two of them exchanged a look.

  “I’m having none of this, be warned!” Duncan gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward, first flashing a glare at his wife, then pinning his friend with another scowl. “Now that Devorgilla’s man with a broken sword has a name, we ken he also has a dark past!” He waited, knowing they couldn’t argue. “It scarce matters if no man kens why, but he’s kept himself holed up in his stronghold these last five years, since the disaster of Neville’s Cross. No man turns his back on the world without good reason.”

  “My friend,” Sir Marmaduke spoke in the unruffled tone that aye sawed on Duncan’s nerves. “Do you recall when I rode to meet my lady wife so many years ago? You and your lady sent me to her, having arranged our union. I went, and praise the gods I did. On the journey, there wasn’t a moment I didn’t question if she’d accept me.

  “I wasn’t just a scarred and ugly brute, but an Englishman, a former knight in service to this realm’s greatest foes.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin with steepled fingers. “For some reason, Sir Gare struck me as a man suffering a similar plight.

  “I cannot say why, but I just knew he needed to meet Mairi, unobserved and on his own.” He paused, looking round the table. “As well, I was sure that if danger befell her, he was well able to defend her.”

  Duncan didn’t trust his ears. He felt his face coloring, the flush of anger heating his neck. “Gare MacTaggert left the field at Neville’s Cross in disgrace,” he reminded his friend. “All Scotsmen there that day, the ones who survived the slaughter, rode away in shame. To his credit, he is said to have stayed when his fellow nobles spurred away, fighting on with the lower ranks, but he’s also known to have ne’er raised a sword again, no’ since that ill-fated day.

  “Why do you think he’d do so for Mairi?” Duncan looked along the table again, not surprised when none of his men took MacTaggert’s side.

  In the Scottish Highlands, a man who refused to wield a blade was no longer a man.

  “I pray he’ll have no cause to defend Mairi.” Sir Marmaduke took another annoyingly slow sip of ale. “If so, I put my faith in him.”

  “What you’ll do is keep a greater watch on that glen.” Duncan stood, needing to pace to cool his temper. “Double your men, hie yourselves out there twice as often, and dinnae hesitate to sweep in if aught appears amiss.”

  His orders given, Duncan strode from the table. Without a further word or a greeting to anyone else in the hall, he made for an unshuttered window, the one that offered his favorite view, a vista that always soothed him. But this evening, he glared at the shining waters of Loch Duich, the rugged, mist-drenched hills of his beloved Kintail. The gloaming had an eerie cast, causing a strange purplish light to glint off the rocks and water, while the cliffs and headlands on the far side of the loch seemed to stare at him, almost reproachfully.

  Duncan rested his hands on the broad window ledge, splaying his fingers across the cold, damp stone. His hills ought to scold the Sassenach, not him.

  He only wanted Mairi safe.

  He’d sworn to protect her.

  “She needs a good man,” came a soft voice behind him.

  Duncan kept his gaze on the loch. “She needs to live without fear,” he answered his wife. Wind wailed past the window then, reminding him of Mairi’s glen, and he turned to face Linnet, wishing he hadn’t when he saw how the gloaming’s odd light made her hair shine and her skin glow, almost as if she were a faery queen.

  She was still that alluring, even after so many years.

  He desired her fiercely, as a stirring at his groin proved.

  Worse, he felt his frown fading, knew a look of total capitulation was stealing across his features. She did that to him, held him aye in thrall. He was helpless to resist her, especially when, as now, she leaned into him, her soft, womanly warmth pressing against him, fuzzing his wits, beguiling him.

  “Have done, woman.” He heard the roughness in his voice, knew he was lost to her spell. “I only want what’s best for the maid.”

  “That I know, my love.” Linnet rose on her toes, kissed his cheek. “I also know that Mairi is not an innocent. You know it, too. Perhaps-”

  “Dinnae say you’ve had another vision?” Duncan hoped not.

  “Would that I had.” Linnet shook her head, her denial relieving him. “I sense with a woman’s kenning” – she stepped back and placed her hand on her heart – “that Mairi is lonely.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she lowered her voice. “Her heart has been broken not once, but twice. From what we can guess, Sir Gare has an equally troubled past. I am thinking that mayhap the two-”

  “He might lie with her, aye.” Duncan could imagine it. Mairi MacKenzie was a beauty, and a passionate woman. “But he’ll leave her in sorrow if he does,” he added, knowing better than his wife how often landed men bed village women. How easily they walk away.

  “I am sure he will not hurt her.” Linnet stepped close again, wrapping her arms around him. “Tell Sir Marmaduke to watch the glen, for sure. But make certain the guardsmen stay on the cliffs and do not go down into the glen. No one should disturb Dunwynde.”

  “You have seen something!” Duncan caught her chin, lifting her face to peer down at her.

  “I have not,” she denied, the truth in her eyes. “It is only a feeling.”

  Duncan frowned, certain feelings of his own pushing his lovely, ill-starred cousin from his mind.

  “I will think on it,” he agreed, pulling Linnet close, lowering his head to crush his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply before she could argue.

  When she lifted her hands to grip his face, returning his kiss with equal fervor, he scooped her up against his chest and made for a little-used stairwell to the upper floors and their bedchamber.

  He’d worry about Mairi and Sir Gare MacTaggert on the morrow.

  This night he’d show his lady how much he still desired her. Indeed, he might even take her on one of the landings, so great was his need.

  THE TAMING OF MAIRI MACKENZIE

  CHAPTER THREE

  “A love charm?” Mairi was sure she’d misheard Gare. She also wished his nearness didn’t make her feel so startlingly overheated, much warmer than should be possible on such a chi
ll, damp night.

  Needing distance, she went to the door curtain, pretending to adjust its ties against the cold, gusting wind. When she turned back to him, she clasped her hands before her. “Is she so onerous then? This woman you will marry?”

  “She is no’ the problem.” He joined her, his long strides easy and commanding, as if he owned the peat-hazed broch. “I have no wish to wed any woman. I haven’t for some years.”

  Mairi blinked.

  She needed a moment to grasp the portent of his words. His voice had a deep, richness that made her belly flutter. Her skin tingled beneath his gaze, so she had to struggle to think clearly. When she did, her surprise was great.

  “All men wed, especially landed ones of rank.” This she knew well.

  It was a truth every woman of lesser birth could never forget.

  “That may be.” He didn’t deny it. “Still, a man who is aye away warring can lose interest in hearth and home. His heart hardens.”

  “You are such a man?”

  He nodded. “I am.”

  Mairi knew color must be blooming on her cheeks. They were so close they might as well be touching. “I am not skilled at healing men’s hearts.” I have not been able to protect my own.

  And you have already begun siege.

  “Yet I was drawn to your door.” He leaned in, his big powerful body stirring her blood, his gaze locking on hers as if he knew. “That cannae be without reason. A man well traveled sees much. He knows there is much in this world that cannae be explained.”

  “I prefer to try.” Mairi glanced at the broken sword he’d propped against the wall. “Seeking answers that satisfy, I mean.”

  “That’s why I am here.” His intensity unsettled her, his dark good looks causing a flurry of turmoil inside her. “I seek a way to resolve a problem I can no longer allow, now that the king has cast his eye on me.”

  “Perhaps you should speak with your wife-to-be?” Mairi tried not to notice how he dominated the broch, his broad shoulders and plaid-draped, mail-covered chest blocking the rest of the small, smoke-hazed room. “She, more than anyone, can give you the succor one needs to ease a heart gone cold. You should have ridden to her.”