Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  “Then when I lost Clyde…” She didn’t finish, the words snagging in her throat, her eyes burning. “I told you what happened. She turned the village against me. I fled Drumbell and have been here since. Perhaps I should have stayed and faced her, but I am yet young, and” – she lifted her chin, barely seeing his face for the shimmer of tears – “I am passionate, see you? I wanted to live.”

  “Sweet lass…” His eyes darkened then and he reached to cradle her face, lowering his head. “You are more than passionate and-”

  “No more kisses.” Mairi raised both hands, holding them before her as she backed away. “The mist will roll in again when the light starts to fade from the sky. I want to be alone when that happens. I’m asking you to leave now.”

  He frowned, but made no move to come after her. “Is that truly your wish?”

  “It is.” Never. Come with me to the broch. Lie in my arms on my bed of furs.

  Be mine forever.

  “So be it.” He nodded, his face grim. “I will fetch Troll and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I thank you.” Mairi’s heart stammered.

  But it didn’t matter. All that did was that Gare and his dog left as swiftly as possible and that they kept a good pace over the hills. She wanted them faraway by gloaming, so distant that they wouldn’t hear her weeping.

  Her cries for them to return.

  THE TAMING OF MAIRI MACKENZIE

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gare stopped outside Dunwynde, letting Mairi enter before him. The walk from the burn had opened his eyes, showing him why he’d reached for her, the reason he’d almost kissed her again. It wasn’t Mairi MacKenzie who’d spelled him. The strong emotions thrumming in his veins had nothing to do with how she’d melted into him when he’d held her. Nor was it the way she’d run her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, clutching him with such stunning female need.

  None of that had aught to do with the power of feelings raging inside him.

  It was this place.

  The Glen of Winds.

  So much savage grandeur played havoc with a man’s soul, quickening his blood. For sure, the hills around Blackrock were also grand, the great mist-drenched peaks even mightier, their mass impressive enough to stir any man’s heart. But he’d scarce ventured beyond his stronghold in recent years, a sequestering that made him appreciate the Glen of Winds’ splendor more than he would’ve otherwise.

  He wasn’t sure.

  He just knew the thunder of falls and the sun glinting on the burn affected him. On the higher ground, the mauve and purple of heather gleamed in the clear autumn light, while the ever-present wind carried the earthy-sweet scent of Mairi’s peat fire.

  What man wouldn’t reach for a bonnie lass on such a fine, luminous morn?

  His urge to kiss her had nothing to do with her great blue eyes or how the slanting sunlight limned her with gold, drawing attention to the fine womanly shape of her, or the sheen of her raven hair.

  Gare’s heart hammered. He sent another glance down the glen, his pulse quickening even now as his gaze moved over the sheer crags and rushing cataracts, the wind-tossed birches along the glen’s high rock-sided edges.

  No man could deny such glory.

  And when had he become so adept at spinning fables?

  All the splendors of Scotland paled beside the woman who’d just slipped into the shadows of the half-ruined broch.

  The glen hadn’t made him want to kiss her.

  She had.

  And she’d entranced him with much more than her sweetly turned ankles and the gloss of her hair. He wanted her in ways he’d never desired another woman. A truth that didn’t surprise him because she was, after all, unlike every other female he’d ever known.

  Gare heaved a great sigh, heard the wind picking up, whistling through the trees. He’d promised to leave by gloaming. Now he wished he was already gone, well over the hills and away.

  He’d go at once, putting distance between them before his heart overrode reason.

  At a brisk pace, he could be at Eilean Creag Castle by nightfall. He’d toss Troll over his shoulder and carry the beast if he wearied.

  He only needed to fetch Troll.

  Before he could, Mairi appeared in the broch’s doorway.

  “Troll hasn’t still eaten.” She glanced over her shoulder, looking worried.

  “That cannae be.” Gare stepped past her into the broch, scarce able to see in the dimness after the morning’s bright light.

  Even so, Troll’s great bulk was unmistakable, sprawled so listlessly beside the broch’s central fire. Only a few steps away, his large bowl of stew winked from beside the wall, the contents piled as high as ever. Cold, congealed, and wholly untouched.

  “He’s ne’er gone so long without eating.” Gare frowned at the dog, not surprised that his eyes glowed demonic red in the firelight.

  For sure, he was up to something.

  Too bad, Gare was having none of it. He wouldn’t be outfoxed by a dog.

  “I dinnae believe he’s ill.” Nae, he knew he wasn’t.

  Ailing dogs didn’t wear sly expressions.

  “I don’t know…” Mairi bit her lip. “It’s never good when an animal doesn’t eat.”

  Nae, it isnae. But no’ for the reasons you’re thinking.

  “Do you still have the roasted capon from earlier?” Gare remembered the treat she’d retrieved. “Or is it already packed with the other provender?”

  “It’s here.” She went to the table, the new birch leg gleaming silver in the dimness. She indicated the cloth-wrapped package, opened now to display the succulent breast slices within.

  “I’ve been trying to hand feed him, but he only turns his head away, refusing even a bite.” She took a small piece, went to kneel beside Troll. “Here, laddie,” she offered, holding it out to him. “Just a wee taste for me, please? Only one and I’ll leave you be.”

  Troll didn’t blink.

  Nor did he turn his big furry face away from her outstretched hand.

  He pinned a look on Gare and gave the most pitiful moan to ever cross his doggie lips. Then he rolled onto his side, showing them his back.

  “He must be ill.” Mairi left the capon tidbit on the floor beside Troll’s head and straightened, dusting her hands. “Clyde stopped eating, too, not long before-”

  “He will eat anon, I promise you.” Gare shot an annoyed look at the dog, not surprised to see an ear twitch.

  The beast knew they were talking about him.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll put him on a barley water and gruel diet when we return to Blackrock.” Gare kept his eye on the dog as he spoke. He was rewarded by another ear twitch, this time accompanied by a flickering of the dog’s closed eyelids.

  Troll didn’t care for his threat.

  “Indeed,” – Gare hooked his thumbs in his sword belt – “perhaps we’ll forget the gruel, and just give him barley water.

  “Until he’s feeling himself,” he added, waiting.

  Another pitiful moan filled the broch, a deep sorrowful sigh.

  “He has been drinking.” Mairi crossed the room to peer at Troll’s water bowl.

  “Then he’ll have enough strength to cross the hills.” Gare was sure of it.

  He glanced at the provender sack Mairi had filled for them. It still sat by the door. But for some reason, he couldn’t make himself reach down and sling it across his shoulder.

  He knew why, and the reason infuriated him.

  He should never have touched Mairi MacKenzie.

  It’d been madness to kiss her.

  It was equally daft to stand here now, with her crossing the smoke-hazed broch, coming right up to him.

  “You should eat something, too.” Her gaze slid over him, slow and assessing. “The hills between here and Eilean Creag are trackless, the going rough. You’ll journey better with sustenance.”

  Before he could argue, she took his arm and drew him to the table, set with oatcakes, cheese, and a tr
ay of smoked herring. Her touch lit his skin, sending heat straight to his groin. Worse, something in his chest unfurled, a strange and curious sensation.

  A feeling he’d never known and didn’t want to embrace now.

  He willed it away, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

  “Lady, you are kind.” He took the oatcake she offered, and a small bit of cheese. “I will partake gladly.”

  He was a doomed man, after all.

  “What are your plans?” She stepped back from the table, leaving him to help himself. “Once you’ve reached Eilean Creag.”

  “Duncan MacKenzie will surely offer me a night’s lodging, and then I’ll collect Rune, my horse, and be away.” He glanced at her, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

  Her great blue eyes were fixed on him and his heart leapt just looking at her. For a beat, he couldn’t think straight. When he could, something in her gaze hinted that she felt the same odd awareness that crackled between them, and that only made things worse. He tore his gaze away, reached for another oatcake and a herring.

  “I’ll thank your chief and his men for granting me passage across their lands, especially into this glen.” I won’t tell them I now wish I’d ne’er come here.

  “Lady Linnet enjoys guests. Her hospitality is praised throughout the Highlands.” Mairi spoke from the door, her back to the smoky room. “She’ll try to keep you there, leastways for a few nights.”

  “Then she will be disappointed for I must return to Blackrock at haste.” If I remain in Kintail any longer, I’ll ne’er leave, or I’ll be taking you with me when I go. “I have much to do along the way home. Most importantly, I shall call at Burnett Tower near Inverness,” he added, putting the dread task in words.

  So he couldn’t ignore the deed.

  His sworn duty to his king and the realm. The good people of Blackrock, who relied on him.

  He didn’t touch his food, his stomach clenching. “I must speak with Lady Beatrice’s father, make arrangements to-”

  “Marry his daughter,” Mairi finished for him, her voice as cool and level as her back was straight.

  “That is the way of it, aye.” Something inside him broke on the admission. It was a terrible fiery twisting, a rift of jagged misery deep in his chest.

  He went to stand behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, his chin atop her head. “I am sorry,” he said, hoping she’d understand his meaning without forcing him to say words that would only hurt her. Rip his own soul into a thousand or more pieces.

  “The King’s Lieutenant has my oath.” It was true. “The very day I set off on my journey to find you, I sent his courier south with my sworn agreement to do the crown’s will, securing a strong alliance for the northeast – through marriage to a fellow chieftain’s daughter.

  “Such an oath is binding.” Gare fisted his hands on her shoulders, wished he couldn’t feel the reaction rippling through her.

  He closed his eyes, drew a long, deep breath. How ironic that he’d come to the Glen of Winds in the hope its banshee would release his heart from the hard stone casing that had built around it.

  Instead, he’d learned there wasn’t a banshee, but a beautiful, desirable woman.

  Rather than freeing his heart so he could love another, she’d claimed it for herself.

  ***

  “I will also speak to MacKenzie about you.” He turned her to face him, gripping her elbows as he looked down at her. His face was hard-set, his gaze fierce. “Your safety concerns me. I dinnae care to think of you here alone. You’d be better off at Eilean Creag. It’s a formidable holding, guarded not just by the loch surrounding its isle-girt walls, but a garrison of Scotland’s most famed fighting men, warriors led by a man who’s already a legend.”

  Mairi almost smiled, and would have if her heart weren’t breaking.

  Duncan had pressed her with those very arguments when she’d first called at his door, asking for sanctuary.

  He hadn’t claimed to be legend, but he was.

  All men knew it.

  “The Black Stag would agree, for he made me those very arguments himself.” She wouldn’t lie. “But if you knew my clan, you’d know there’s no race more thrawn. MacKenzie women are even more stubborn than our men, so you’d both have no luck dragging me from this glen.

  “I told him then that I’ll not be responsible for drawing the wrath of Sorcha Bell on Eilean Creag and my kinfolk who dwell there.” She turned back to door opening, the day outside still clear with autumn light. “She’s a formidable foe and she’d shy at nothing to harm me.” She paused, rubbing her arms as a chill raced through her. “She’d also not hesitate to attack anyone who’d help me.”

  “All the more reason you should heed your laird’s will and let him protect you within his castle walls. He is a great man, he-” He broke off, sounding frustrated.

  He braced a hand on the door’s edge, lowered his head to stare down at the threshold’s stone slab. “MacKenzie is known to protect his kin. He will keep you safe. Let him.”

  “He does.” Mairi returned to the broch’s deeper shadows. It was hard to have him so near, yet already so far removed from her. She didn’t want him to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes when he left. “The men he sends to guard the glen are his best. Sir Marmaduke is his own good-brother and a champion swordsman.”

  She stopped beside her fire, extending her hands to the glowing peat bricks. She needed the warmth for a terrible cold was spreading inside her. “There are other ways I’m protected.”

  “Aye, the spirits of the damned.” Gare sounded even more annoyed. Proving it, he threw a scowl at Troll. “Bogles didnae keep me from entering this glen. I cannae be the only man in Scotland no’ afraid of ghosts.”

  He straightened then and came to her with three long strides. He gripped her shoulders, looking fierce. So tall, strong, and magnificent that her heart almost wept. “Heed me, lass, for I’ve seen the worst of men.” His voice was rough, his dark gaze piercing. “Myth and legend will only work so long, then-”

  “I didn’t mean the spirits.” Mairi stiffened. She knew what spurred his concern. He wanted to ride to Lady Beatrice without guilt and worry plaguing him. “Lady Linnet is a taibhsear. Her gift of second sight is even greater than most seers because she is the seventh sister of a seventh sister.”

  She lifted her chin, met his gaze levelly. “I cannot recall her ever erring.”

  “I cannae see how her gift would aid you.” A muscle leapt in his jaw. “Men and a stout curtain wall-”

  “She’d sense any danger that might approach the glen. My chief trusts in her and would act to would protect me. So you see, I am well guarded on all fronts. You can leave without a care.” She kept her back straight, her voice strong. “MacKenzies look after their own.”

  “They must also sleep.” He slid another look at Troll, then turned away to shove both hands through his hair. “I’m of a mind to take you with me to Eilean Creag, leaving you there.”

  “I would not go.” She wouldn’t.

  She did fold her arms, hoped he’d be away soon. Her stomach was knotting. Dread coiled deep inside her, the knowledge that when he and his dog left the glen, disappearing up the cliff path, she’d never see either again.

  “I am not your concern.” She moved away, brushed at her skirts. “You can put me from your thoughts as soon as you’ve climbed the track out of the Glen of Winds.”

  “You are no’ a maid easily forgotten, Mairi MacKenzie.”

  “I must be for you to call me a maid.” Did I not tell you I am no such innocent?

  He flashed her a dark look before snatching a piece of roast capon off the table and striding over to his dog. He dropped to one knee beside the beast, his broad back to her as he held the treat before Troll’s slumbering nose. “Lady, if you’ve spent as much time as I have at court and on the tourney circuits, you’d know that a woman’s true innocence dwells in her heart, no’ betwixt her legs.

  “Forgive the harsh words,”
– he glanced at her over his shoulder – “but they must be said. Any man who’d turn away from you because of something you’ve done in the past, is a man no’ worthy of you.”

  Mairi blinked, not knowing what to say.

  Nor could she have spoken if she wished because a hot thickness was rising in her throat.

  “Your chief should arrange a marriage for you.” He poked Troll’s mouth with the roasted meat, scowling even more when the dog wakened and turned his great head to the side, shunning the food.

  “He did once.” Mairi found her tongue, long ago hurts, and a love she’d always cherish, helping her to speak past her sorrow. She clasped her hands before her, waiting as Gare grumbled to his dog and then pushed to his feet, leaving the treat beside Troll.

  “My mother died birthing me and I never knew my father,” she began, wanting him to understand. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle. They were village farmers, famed only for the size and tastiness of the onions that grew in their garden. My uncle did a fair trade at markets in Kintail and elsewhere in the Highlands. Duncan MacKenzie arranged for him to sell his onions to an innkeeper on the Isle of Skye.

  “The inn was on the harbor at Kyleakin, so was well-visited.” She began pacing, memories swirling from the darkest corners of her soul. “I sometimes accompanied my uncle when he delivered his onions to the inn, and so-”

  “You caught his eye?”

  “Not the innkeeper’s, but his son’s,” she explained. “His name was Patrick for his mother was Irish.”

  A peat brick on the hearthstone popped then, sending a shower of red-orange sparks into the air. Going to the fire, Mairi took her poker and nudged at the mound of peats until they again simmered quietly.

  “He was a big, strapping lad with laughing eyes and a wicked smile.” She drew a breath, long ago images pinching her heart. “I was young, had never been in love, not even kissed…”

  “Until this lad pursued you.” Gare was leaning against the table with his arms crossed, his gaze on the glowing peats. His dark hair gleamed in the firelight, his tall, warrior’s body so out of place in the small, smoky room. He was simply too magnificent, should be striking such a pose against the marbled hearth of a great noble’s finest solar.