Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  Her heart…

  He doubted the world’s great seas could contain her goodness, the deep compassion that beat inside her.

  “It isnae much farther,” he said, pulling her to him, rubbing her back, hoping to soothe her weariness as best he could. “My regrets that we left so early, and in such miserable conditions.” He dropped a kiss on her brow, glanced again at the mist that had thickened since they’d reached the higher ground. “At least the rains have ceased.”

  “How can you know we’re close?” She rested her head on his shoulder. “We can see nothing.”

  “I know as any Highlander does.” He cupped her chin, leaning down to give her a soft, light kiss.

  And he did know.

  To the bone, he was aware of the great stony peaks soaring around them. He knew they were there because his love for the land let him feel their mighty presence. They just couldn’t be seen. Thick, impenetrable mist cloaked them completely, parting only now and then to allow glimpses of rock-clogged corries, steep gorges, patches of brown-and-red bracken, dead heather, and rushing burns.

  This was the heart of the Highlands, Kintail the lifeblood of the region.

  Then, before they could see more, the day turned dark and bleak again, the world vanishing beneath the rolling blanket of dense, gray fog.

  Mairi rubbed her arms, drew her cloak tighter against the icy air. “I do not want to spend the night up here. Troll will catch a chill.”

  “Troll will sleep before your laird’s hearth fire this night, his belly full, and his snores annoying everyone. Dinnae fash yourself, lassie.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “You needn’t. I can smell the sea wind.” He turned her in his arms, set his hands on her shoulders. “I spent too many years sailing to the gods knows where on the tourney circuit. Once you’ve steeped your lungs in salt air, you have a nose for it, always.”

  “Troll isn’t so certain.” Mairi glanced at the dog. He’d dropped onto his haunches, looking miserable.

  “He wasn’t with me in those days.” He stepped away from her to pull a small pouch from beneath his cloak, retrieving a twist of dried meat that he gave to Troll, clearly a bribe.

  “He will be fine, as will you. Soon.” He tucked the treat pouch back inside his cloak. “Eilean Creag Castle is less than an hour’s walk, I promise.”

  She nudged a clump of autumn-browned heather with her toe, clearly not convinced.

  “You dinnae believe me.” Gare touched her cheek. “Look between thon drifts of mist, and then down the slope to the west. You will see the glimmer of torchlight and hearth fires.”

  He turned her in the right direction. “The firelight is also shining on the water, turning it orange. Thon is your laird’s stronghold, with Loch Duich surrounding its walls.”

  “Aye, I see the castle now. It is Eilean Creag.” She whipped around, strong emotion in her face. “Will you be leaving this day? For Burnett Tower in Inverness?”

  Before he could answer, Troll leapt to his feet, barking.

  At once, the air filled with the shouts of men. Someone blew a horn, once and then twice more. The sound echoed off the high crags as the misty wood came alive, the noise of approaching horsemen all around them. Iron-shod hooves rang on stone, joined by the crunch of gravel and the creak of saddle leather, the clink of mail and armor.

  “Mercy!” Mairi gripped Gare’s arm. “Can Sorcha be returning so soon? With an army?”

  “No’ if she doesnae want her gizzards pickled.” Gare pulled her behind him and drew Brude’s borrowed sword. Ever a champion, Troll positioned himself beside Mairi, ready to guard her. “Whoe’er comes is no’ from that hag. Even so, you take this ax and use it if you can.” He pulled Brude’s war ax from the strap across his shoulder, and thrust it into her hands. “The sight of it should deter a man – leastways long enough for Troll to tear out his throat, should anyone come at you.”

  “If you are gone.” She spoke so softly he scarce heard her.

  “Should that happen, aye.” He wouldn’t lie. “I’m hoping it willnae come to that. Like as no’ they are headed elsewhere and havenae seen us.”

  Mairi didn’t look so sure.

  In truth, he wasn’t either.

  He drew her into his arms, holding her close. “Perhaps it is your Sir Marmaduke and his men?”

  “Nae, it wouldn’t be.” She shook her head. “This is the fastest, most direct way into the Glen of Winds, but also the roughest. Traveling these passes would be too hard on my chief’s horses. He wouldn’t want the beasts so stressed or endangered.

  “Sir Marmaduke and his men use a safer, more circuitous route.” She looked up, turning her blue gaze on him. “They’d never come this way.”

  “Then Troll and I will keep you safe.” His voice roughened. “You know that now.” He rested his chin atop her head, tightened his arms around her. “You’ll spend this night in a fine chamber in your liege’s castle, a room with sumptuous accoutrements and all comfort, as befits you.

  “That I promise.” He kissed her rose-scented hair, slid his knuckles down her cheek.

  She shivered and pressed her face against his plaid, but she didn’t speak.

  There wasn’t time.

  The sounds were closer. Already, flashes of silver shone through the trees. Steel blades and mail, sure signs of a war party – then they were there, a group of horsemen emerging from the trees. Big, bearded men in gleaming hauberks and draped in plaid, they were hung with weapons and rode under a stag’s head banner.

  MacKenzies.

  And from their hard, grim-set faces, the reason for their journey wasn’t good.

  Indeed, they looked murderous.

  ***

  “My chief!” Mairi glanced at Gare, saw an indefinable emotion flash across his face. “He’s the big, dark-haired man in front, the one with two swords at his waist. Next to him is his captain of the guards, Sir Marmaduke Strongbow. He’s Duncan’s good-brother by marriage and a Sassenach. You can’t miss him – his face is scarred.”

  “Then they’ll have reason to travel so heavily armed.” Gare rammed his borrowed blade into the ground, waiting. “I dinnae think they expected to meet us here.”

  “Maybe they heard of Sorcha’s attack?” Mairi could think of nothing else.

  Still in his prime, Duncan’s handsome face was fierce, his gaze piercing. He’d donned his famed black mail and looked more fearsome than she’d ever seen him, while the heavy gold torque at his neck and his many gold-and-silver arm rings gave him the appearance of a Celtic lord of warriors.

  His good-brother, the more mild-mannered Sir Marmaduke, also wore a grim expression.

  Whatever their purpose, they weren’t on their way to bring victuals or peat to Dunwynde.

  Both men swung down from their saddles and strode forward. Their companions stayed mounted, their faces also unreadable.

  Ill ease spread inside Mairi. She pressed a hand to her breast, her heart knocking against her ribs.

  She slid a glance at Gare, lowering her voice. “Something is wrong.”

  “So it seems.” He reached for her hand, squeezing. “I have heard MacKenzie is a man of reason – if you speak plainly with him. I shall do so.”

  Mairi bit her lip, struggling to control her emotions.

  She knew what that truth would be.

  And hearing him voice his plans would break her.

  “Laird MacKenzie! Strongbow! I greet you!” Gare called as they drew up before them. “I am Sir Gare MacTaggert of Blackrock Castle. I came to your lands in peace and leave them now as a friend,” he went on, proving her right.

  He flashed a glance at her and she hoped he didn’t see the wetness burning her eyes. “Your kinswoman, Mairi, is in need of safekeeping. We were on our way to Eilean Creag Castle, where my horse, Rune is stabled. I would ask a night’s lodging, and-”

  “You carry a sword, Blackrock.” Duncan didn’t let him finish, his gaze snapping to the blade Gare had thrust into the g
round. “All men know your sword is broken – or is it now bloodied?”

  “The sword you see was reddened, aye. Yestere’en.” Gare didn’t flinch, meeting the older man’s gaze easily. “My rent blade rests beneath a cairn in the Glen of Winds for I’ve no longer any use for it. This brand” – he indicated Brude’s weapon – “is borrowed until I return to my home and can have a new sword made.

  “Borrowed or nae, it served me well last night,” he added, then reached again for Mairi’s hand, lacing their fingers as he told her chief of Sorcha’s attack and how he slew their assailant. He left out no detail except what happened later, in the shadowy confines of Mairi’s broch, on her fine bed of furs.

  “Sir…” Mairi wished Duncan’s scowl would ease. He looked so fierce when he frowned. “If Gare hadn’t been with me in the glen, I would be dead now. He was taking me to you, trusting it is best for me to leave Dunwynde and stay at Eilean Creag, under your protection.”

  “Is that what you want?” Sir Marmaduke stepped closer and looked down at her, his gaze probing. “To remain at Eilean Creag?”

  “It is surely best.” She glanced aside, not wanting him to see into her heart.

  Stinging heat pricked her eyes and a hot, thick lump was rising in her throat. Worse, she felt so cold inside, empty and hollowed. She feared she’d never be whole again.

  She loved Duncan and his family. But she wanted her own. Unfortunately, she desired a life with the one man she couldn’t have. And arriving at the Black Stag’s lair only meant impending doom.

  Sanctuary for her or nae, Eilean Creag Castle represented the hour of reckoning. The agonizing moment when she’d have to watch Gare ride off into the mist.

  It was not for the best.

  But her pride wouldn’t let her say so.

  She did see Duncan and Sir Marmaduke exchange a glance. It was the kind she’d seen before, usually when Lady Linnet had been after the two of them about something.

  Just now, she suspected that something was her.

  “And you, laddie?” Duncan strode up to Gare, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Are you for agreeing that Mairi would be best served in my care?”

  Gare didn’t hesitate. “She would be safe with you, I know.”

  “But that’s no’ what you’re wanting, is it?” Duncan’s gaze flicked to where Gare clutched Mairi’s hand. When he looked back at Gare, his scowl was gone, replaced by an almost smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “My lady wife, Linnet, has the sight, see you?” He stepped closer still, placed his other hand on Mairi’s shoulder, forming a connection to them both. “My lady is why we were riding so hard for the glen, armed for war. She had one of her spells last night, claimed she saw your broken sword run whole and then turn red with blood.

  “She had other tales as well, though I’ll no’ be sharing those!” He threw a glance at Sir Marmaduke, who had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  “So-o-o!” He stepped back, hooking his thumbs in his sword belt. “I’ll ask again, laddie. Are you really for leaving the lass at my castle?”

  “Nae, I’m taking her with me – whether it pleases you or no’.” Gare drew her close, wrapping an arm around her. “I haven’t asked her yet if she’ll have me, though I’m thinking she will. There are problems I intended to speak with you about before I asked you for her hand.”

  “Oh, Gare!” Mairi searched his face for any hint that she’d misheard him. She saw none, only love and determination. “You know how happy this makes me. I love you, I do!”

  She lifted on her toes, threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. “But Lady Beatrice…” She knew it would be awful, especially if they called at Burnett Tower together. “Her family will be outraged, insulted-”

  “Nae, they willnae.” He leaned down, kissed her brow. “I ne’er paid a formal call to the Burnett. His daughter was only the most suitable of the young gentlewomen suggested to me as a bride. I didn’t want to claim any woman until I’d seen you, knew that I could rid myself of my penance and make a good husband.”

  “So she never knew?” Mairi’s heart thundered, her eyes filling, hot tears making it hard to see. “You weren’t betrothed to her?”

  “Nae.” Gare smiled, shaking his head. “I meant to call at Burnett Tower on my journey home. Now there is no need.”

  “Then what is the problem?” Sir Marmaduke still looked concerned.

  Duncan glared at him. “Must you aye spoil happy endings?”

  Unperturbed, the scar-faced Sassenach turned again to Gare. “Tell us what else troubles you, lad. Here in Kintail, there is little thon blowhard cannot fix.”

  “Aye, right…” Gare stepped away from the little group, rubbing his neck as he started pacing. “That is the crux of it, see you?” He glanced at the two older men, not looking at Mairi. “The matter is delicate and I’d no’ hurt Mairi for all the world’s gold.”

  “So?” Duncan and Sir Marmaduke spoke in unison, both men folding their arms.

  “‘Twas an order from the King’s Lieutenant, Robert Stewart, commanding me to wed,” Gare explained, going on to tell them the same tale he’d already shared with Mairi. How the crown wished Scotland’s oft-times unruly northeastern corner better secured through strong alliances. For Gare, that meant marriage to a daughter of good house, a well-seen family of noble blood and one that commanded respect.

  Mairi struggled to keep standing where she was. She felt a powerful urge to flee, to run all the way back to Dunwynde. It was even harder not to thrust her fingers in her ears. Gare might love her, and she was sure he did. But she was still the daughter of a nameless father, a simple village lass raised by her aunt and uncle, the onion farmers.

  Nothing could change that.

  So why was her chief smiling, looking almost amused?

  “That is no problem, lad,” Duncan boomed then, strolling over to Gare and putting his arm around Gare’s shoulders. “See you, I have ne’er cared much for Lowland worthies, those who strut about Stirling and Edinburgh, garbed like peacocks and shrieking as loudly. I’ve no mind to obey them. No’ when it doesnae suit me.” He paused, threw a look at his men over by the trees, the lot of them still mounted.

  “But I will rally to their cause if doing so helps strengthen a region my beloved Lady Mairi might soon call her home.”

  “Sir?” Mairi blinked. She glanced at Gare, saw he looked equally puzzled. “Gare knows I am not a lady. I didn’t lie to him.”

  Now Sir Marmaduke was also smiling. “Sweet Mairi,” he said, his dear voice gentle, “you need to listen with your heart and not your ears.”

  Mairi pushed back her hair, still confused. “I don’t understand. Sorry, I-”

  “Your chief called you Lady Mairi.” Gare was suddenly beside her, his own eyes suspiciously moist. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I believe it has something to do with his Sassenach captain saying he makes his own rules and does as he pleases here in his beloved Kintail.”

  And then she understood.

  “Oh, dear…” She blinked furiously, unable to stop the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Here, lass.” Sir Marmaduke was beside her then, pressing a small, linen cloth into her hand. “Dry your tears, for you’ve no need to cry.”

  “For sure, she doesnae!” Duncan took her hand, holding it between both of his. “Nae more, and ne’er again, something’s telling me.”

  He looked down at her and she almost laughed because his eyes were glistening, too. Then he turned again to his guards and lifted his voice, “Ho, men! We’re away for home. We’ll have guests in the hall this e’en. My lady niece and her husband-to-be will join us for a fine feasting! We’ll have warmed mead and venison, and my best musicians for dancing.”

  A great cheer rose from the men and they rode forward, circling the little group as they whooped and brandished their swords, some blowing horns.

  All beamed and shouted hoorahs, their excitement catching.

  Not a one ques
tioned that the onion farmer’s niece was now the much-loved and privileged niece to one of the greatest Highland chieftains Scotland had ever seen.

  Indeed, no one would dare raise a question or objection.

  Not if they valued their neck.

  And so it came to be that, on a cold and mist-drenched morning, the Glen of Winds banshee ceased to exist.

  Even so, it was a bit hard saying farewell to her. Without the banshee, or the wonder healer, Gare would never have journeyed to Dunwynde.

  “Then we would have met elsewhere, my love.” He stepped up behind her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her back against him.

  They needed to wait while Duncan’s men argued who would have the honor of giving up their mount so the laird’s lady niece could return to Eilean Creag in style.

  “I can’t speak – I am so overcome,” she managed, leaning into him, hoping her knees wouldn’t buckle. “What if you’d never sought the banshee, the caster of miracles?”

  “I’d have found you if I’d had to search all broad Scotland and beyond.” He dropped a kiss on her nape, his warm breath tickling her ear. “I knew you were out there, waiting for me.”

  His words made her heart flutter. “For such a great warrior, you are a romantic, Sir Gare.”

  “Only for you, Lady Mairi.” He kissed her shoulder then, nipped the soft skin beneath her ear. “I would fight any dragon, challenge the devil, if it pleased you.”

  “You please me,” she vowed, turning to face him.

  “I have only one regret.” He lifted her chin and kissed her. “That I waited so long to find you.” He would’ve said more, but Troll was pushing between them, pressing into their legs, seeking attention.

  The reason was apparent – they had an audience.

  Duncan, Sir Marmaduke, and the guardsmen, stood in a circle around them. All of the men had tellingly bright eyes and red noses. They no longer looked fierce, but rather comical. And they were still smiling. One patiently held the horse chosen for Mairi.

  It was time to go.

  Even so, she grabbed Gare’s sleeve when he started forward. “I have a regret, too.” She spoke low, not wanting anyone else to hear. “I should have liked to have kept my bed of furs.”