Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  Like as not, his Blackrock Castle held such luxuries.

  And wasn’t that a good reason for her to ignore how the air around him seemed so charged with his powerful presence? The bold and potent virility and strength that drew her so irresistibly that she was sure her femininity sang just to breathe the same air.

  She shouldn’t feel such fierce longing.

  She bit her lip, willing her need to cease.

  “He paid me court, aye.” She lifted her braid, toyed with its end. “He made me smile and laugh, he wrote songs for me as he fancied himself a bit of a poet. He won my young heart, which I gave him freely.”

  “I regret nothing.” She spoke the truth in her heart. “If I could turn back the years, I’d not want to miss our brief time together.”

  “MacKenzie offered terms for you, suggesting a marriage?” Gare spoke then, his gaze locked on hers. “He arranged the betrothal and the lad left you?”

  Mairi nodded. “So it was, but Patrick didn’t leave me because he didn’t want me. He did, and we spent stolen hours indulging our youthful passion in Kyleakin’s hidden corners – trysts that made me a woman.

  “Then, just as the betrothal was to be finalized, he died.” She closed her eyes, the memory still painful. “He’d been waiting for me high in the hills above the harbor when a storm hit. My father wouldn’t allow me to leave the inn, and so Patrick waited. By the time he realized I wasn’t coming that day, the storm had turned fierce.

  “The hills are steep thereabouts, the ground strewn with rocks, some loose.” Mairi began to pace, speaking quickly before her throat could close again. “He slipped on the muddied ground and fell to his death, striking his head as he hurtled down the cliff, landing in the sea.”

  She turned at the far end of the broch, meaning to pace back to the door, but Gare was right behind her, blocking the way.

  “By the powers, lass.” He reached out and took her hands, squeezing her fingers. Nothing but sympathy stood on his face and seeing it broke her heart anew.

  Not for Patrick, but for knowing what a wonderful husband Gare would make. She hoped Lady Beatrice was worthy of him, but she also wished the woman didn’t exist.

  Guilt now joining her sorrow, she held Gare’s gaze. “It was long ago.”

  He gripped her hands tighter. “I am sorry, lass. Such a loss will have been hard for you, especially so young.”

  “It was, and I will never forget him.”

  “Nor should you.” He released her hands to slide his arms around her, drawing her close. “You do the lad honor, and that is good.”

  “There was another…” She hadn’t meant to speak of her more recent lover, but Gare’s embrace unsettled her, causing the words to spill free. “He was a traveling smithy, journeying about to ply his trade. We met and so” – she felt the heat rising in his cheeks, annoyance beating through her – “he stayed on in Drumbell, courting me and making plans for a life together, once he’d saved enough coin to start a family.

  “I should not have believed him.” She knew that to her cost. “But I was so lonely, see you? He was a fine looking man, and lusty. He drew the admiration of all women, from wee girls to crones, for he had an easy way of speaking, turning phrases that made any woman feel special, as if he saw only her, and was enchanted.

  “What he saw was opportunity.” Mairi lifted her chin, hot bile flavoring the words. “I allowed him to sleep at my cottage and he supped at my table. I washed his clothes and stitched repairs as needed. Then a fat-pursed Inverness merchant stopped at the village when his horse had thrown a shoe. As the work was done, the merchant spoke of Inverness’s need for well-skilled smithies. He also told of his beautiful daughters, the hefty bride prices they’d bring.”

  “The smith left with him?”

  “The next morn. I was a fool.”

  “Nae, you were a woman of passion. You are one, the gods be praised.” He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze fierce. “You are a treasure and will make a fine wife someday.”

  His words were the ones she’d most dreaded.

  A truth she had to face.

  Knowing now was the time, she went to the door. The light was fading, the sun low and dim behind the darkening clouds. There was also a hint of rain in the air, and mist clung to the highest peaks.

  Gloaming was nigh, and Gare was still here.

  A part of her rejoiced, the rest of her quaked with the awareness of what the night would bring.

  If it rained, she wouldn’t let him sleep outside.

  If he stayed with her…

  “I am sorry, lass.” He came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I meant to leave earlier. I can still go now. I’ll carry Troll if need be. He-”

  “Nae.” Mairi shook her head, preparing herself to do the only thing she could: Claim what little bit of him that she could, so she’d have something to cherish once he’d gone.

  “It is too late.” You cannot cross the hills in darkness and my heart cares too much to let you. “I will make us a warm supper and you can depart on the morrow.” She looked out into the glen, its steep, rockbound edges hazed now by soft shades of blue and gray.

  The smell of rain was stronger, coming on the raw, wet wind.

  “If it rains, you can sleep in the broch,” she said, aware she was sealing her fate. “There is room before the fire.” My bed of furs will keep you warmer.

  “You are sure?” He slid his hands down her arms, resting them at her hips. “I’ve no’ wish to trouble you.”

  “You won’t.” She leaned back into him, inhaling his scent. “I want you to stay.”

  Before he could answer, the sun slipped behind the hills, the glen darkened, and the winds picked up, bringing the first splatters of rain.

  THE TAMING OF MAIRI MACKENZIE

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A full sennight later, Gare eased back Dunwynde’s door flap and frowned into the cold, wet night. He also struck his fist against the saturated stone of the door’s thick-cut edge. Mist and sideways rain blew everywhere, and the howling wind could indeed pass for the wails of the doomed – or the cries of a banshee. Rarely had he seen such downpours, surely not lasting a full seven days. Not since his tourney years, so long ago, in so many strange lands with equally odd weather.

  Yet when a cloud sailed from the moon, revealing the glen’s tall, rain-slicked walls and dark, wet birches, he knew exactly where he was.

  Mairi’s Glen of Winds.

  Still.

  His mood worsening, he dashed the water from his face, half ready to believe Mairi held the ear of the weather gods. Or that his besotted dog had taken her side in Gare’s quandary. He could see the beast championing his favorite with his best interference and stalling skills.

  Troll knew his mind.

  He was also greatly adept at cajoling others into his corner.

  He’d always preferred the lasses. Not that Gare could fault him for that.

  He did frown at the meddlesome beast as he slinked back from the nearest outcrop, so drenched that he looked like a dripping denizen of the sea. For sure, he didn’t resemble the once-ferocious battle dog of a long-forgotten warrior.

  He was simply Troll the Terrible.

  Gare knew his tricks.

  He’d heard the dog creep from his plaid beside the fire, had watched his slow, hinky-hipped gait as Troll nudged aside the door’s leather curtain. Then he’d surprised Gare by loping easily to the nearby tumble of stones. He’d run without any sign of pain, as if he had nary a care in the world.

  He’d faked his limp these past seven days.

  Gare had a good notion why.

  Troll wasn’t pleased that he hadn’t joined Mairi on her bed of furs.

  Gare wasn’t happy about that either, but he preferred the pain of restraint now to a lifetime of regret later. The price of touching her was too high, the cost, too crushing to Mairi. His feelings scarce mattered, but he wouldn’t break her heart.

  He was acting nobly.
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  Doing what was best from them both.

  He just never would’ve believed that keeping an oath would make him feel more like an arse than a valiant.

  So he drew a tight breath, narrowing his eyes on Troll as he trotted closer. If his dog thought he was a fool for not touching Mairi, he could be excused because he knew nothing of the importance of honor, a man’s sworn word, and the duty that comes with privilege. A King’s writ is binding, irrevocably blessing or damning a man, however the crown’s wishes happened to fall.

  Never had he broken a pledge.

  He wouldn’t now.

  Even if walking away from Mairi would snuff out every last glimmer of the light she’d restored to his life.

  “So you knew?” came her soft voice at his elbow.

  “That his limp vanishes when he goes out?” Gare glanced at Mairi, stroked the hair back from her face, unable not to touch her. “I ken as of this night, aye. I suspect his miracle happens only when he believes no one is watching him.”

  “There’s more you don’t know.” She sent him a quick smile, stepping back so Troll could shuffle inside, once again assuming his achy-hipped gait.

  “Watch out.” Gare grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way just as Troll stopped near the fire to shake his great dripping bulk. Soot, ash, and peat smoke rose in a gray, cough-inducing cloud that drifted everywhere.

  He threw a glare at Troll, sure the bugger was laughing.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised, scoundrel that he is.” He turned back to Mairi, releasing her. “Had I no’ grabbed you, we’d be covered in soot.”

  “But we aren’t, and the mess is soon righted. My broom will sweep it away and the rain will freshen the air.” She glanced at Troll, a smile dimpling her cheek as the dog circled thrice and gingerly lowered himself onto his sleeping plaid. “Some might say Troll is mightily clever.”

  “That he is.” I’d wager my beard that he hoped to see me no’ just grab, but kiss you.

  Praise the gods, a good warrior kept his wits at all times – even men who carry broken swords.

  “So! That was no great task.” Mairi returned the heather broom to its place against the wall. His broken sword was propped nearby. The polished blade and the broom’s heather presented an unmatched pair, shouting their different stations.

  No matter.

  She had a smile that pierced his soul and warmed his heart, proving how little he cared.

  “What else did the beast do?” He didn’t really want to know.

  “We can be glad of this one.” She tilted her head and glanced at Troll, now sprawled before the fire. “The lad’s not ill and he hasn’t lost his appetite. He just hasn’t been eating from the food bowl here.”

  “Is there another?”

  “Not inside the broch.” She kept her gaze on the dog, a corner of her mouth lifting. “He’s been sneaking the food I set out for the glen’s wild creatures. There’s a wee red fox, almost tame and very smart, with remarkably knowing eyes. Then the usual squirrels, rabbits, martens, and a colony of wildcats.”

  She shrugged, her face softening. “More red deer than I can count.”

  “You feed them all?” Gare frowned, not surprised. His mind whirled. As he was beginning to know Mairi MacKenzie, she’d do just that, even setting out her own last supplies so her four-legged friends didn’t hunger.

  She laughed, a rich, velvety laugh that did terrible things to the hard knot she’d put into his chest.

  “Aye, I feed them all.” Her smile grew as she set her hands on her hips and cast another glance at Troll, who was watching her with slit-eyed stealth. “And because you are so much like my liege, I know why you’re asking.

  “The Black Stag also worried I’d not have enough for myself.” She went to a darker area of the broch and came back with a large bowl that she placed where rain dripped through the roof thatch, forming a puddle on the hard-packed earth floor. “Now whenever Sir Marmaduke and his men make their rounds, they bring sacks of leftover viands from Eilean Creag and fill the troughs. The men cut pine shoots and grasses for the deer, also bringing acorns and nuts. The troughs are in the wood behind the outcrop.

  “Troll must’ve smelled the food.” Gare paced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am glad he’s no’ ill, that he’s eating. But we should’ve been away days ago.”

  “He is a fine dog. He surely had his reasons for wanting to keep you here a bit longer.”

  Gare set his jaw, sure that was true.

  He just wished he could do more than admire Troll’s choice in ladies.

  But his hands were tied, his word given.

  And inside Dunwynde on such a cold, wet night, beside Mairi MacKenzie’s peat fire, all he could see was the luminosity of her creamy skin, the blueness of her great sapphire eyes, and her luscious lips that he knew were so soft and warm.

  Just looking at her sent need racing downward so that he had to turn away, not wanting her to see how much he desired her.

  As if she knew, she appeared before him. “I know you’ll ask why I didn’t tell you I saw what Troll was doing,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “I couldn’t because I knew what you’d do when you found out.”

  “Indeed?” He arched a brow. Her light touch affected him too much to say more. If he tried, he might blurt that all he wanted was to join her on her bed of furs and ravish her.

  “Aye.” She nodded. “I believe you have a bit of a temper. Not so bad as Duncan MacKenzie in a rage, but strong enough that you might’ve taken off with Troll. I worried you’d traipse across the hills in the teeming rain.

  “You could’ve fallen ill, both of you.” She glanced at the sleeping dog. “Troll may not be sick now.” She leaned in, her voice low. “He would’ve caught a chill had you gone.

  “So I meant to tell you after the rains.” She went to her bed of furs, turning back the top coverlet as she did each night before sleeping.

  It was a signal for Gare to retreat to the far side of the broch and his makeshift pallet.

  The hour for him to no longer look her way – he had once and so was aware that she slept naked. Damn his eternal soul for peeking! He’d also made it his habit, once settled in his own bracken-stuffed pallet, to turn his eye on the space between the doorjamb and the leather curtain.

  Old ways died hard.

  Especially for champion knights.

  And so it came that he caught a flash of silver in the rainy dark. A drawn blade carried by a great hulk of a man with a broad, hard face, and loathing in his eyes. His thick beard was hung with several small bones and he’d thrown a bear skin around his shoulders. He looked like a Viking warrior from darker ages and was surely as brutal. Gare watched as he reached the base of the cliff path, where moonlight glinted off his sword and shone on his bone-hung beard.

  Then he was in shadow again, disappearing behind the outcrop.

  It didn’t matter.

  He’d been seen.

  Gare knew from his quick glimpse at the assailant, that he was just that.

  He also knew why the brute was here.

  He was coming for Mairi.

  ***

  “Sorcha sent him.”

  Mairi lifted on her toes, leaning close to whisper into Gare’s ear. “He’s here to kill me.”

  “He’s here to die.” Gare whipped around, just as she was about to say more.

  Their lips brushed.

  A jolt raced through her and his expression turned fierce, hinting he’d felt it, too. Stepping back as if she’d scorched him, he ran both hands through his hair and glanced about the broch, his gaze searching the shadows.

  “I should’ve kept the ax in here and no’ in your byre.” He threw a furious look at his broken sword, her own weapon so dull-edged it would scarce cut peat. “No’ matter. You’ll stay here with thon blade of yours and Troll at the door. I’ll sneak round before he leaves the cover of the outcrop. I cannae fetch the ax fast enough, but if I charge him from behind, surprise will work for
me.

  “He’ll no’ expect a man with you.” His voice was harsh, his face grim-set.

  Mairi’s heart thundered. “You’ll be killed.” She glanced at the door. “Leave now, take Troll. While you can.”

  Looking more fierce than ever, he grabbed her to him, kissing her hard and swift, before releasing her as quickly. “The time for me to leave was the moment our eyes met. ‘Tis now too late.”

  “All the more reason I’ll not see you die.” Mairi touched his face, slid her fingers across his beard. She’d think later about the implication of his words. “Sorcha follows a dark path. She spells those beard-bones and mumbles incantations to make the wearer invincible.”

  “No man is that.” He crushed her to him again, squeezing tight. “There’s a greater power than her ancient evil.”

  Troll was already at the door, pacing. His hackles were raised and low growls rumbled in his chest. Mairi knew he’d defend her to the end – if Sorcha’s man killed Gare.

  “Stay at the back of the broch, tip over the cauldron if need be.” The look he gave her was fierce, commanding. “The bastard could slip on the muddied floor, giving you a chance to flee.”

  Mairi nodded, fear and dread sweeping her, making her lightheaded.

  She knew what Gare meant by ‘if need be.’ The possibility chilled her to the bone. She started to say so, but he lifted the door flap and disappeared into the cold, blowing rain.

  “By all the mercies, I never wanted this!” Ignoring his order, she ran to the door and dropped to her knees beside Troll. She wrapped an arm around the dog, pulling him close. “I’m so sorry, laddie. I know you love him.” So do I…

  Leaning forward, she pressed an eye to the slight space between the leather curtain and the door’s edge. She saw only rain and the glen’s great peaks, so dark under the roiling clouds.

  Sorcha’s man and Gare were nowhere to be seen.

  Then Troll’s hackles rose even more and his snarls deepened. In the same moment, the huge, bearskin-cloaked assailant strode from the birches into the glen, making no attempt to conceal himself.