Courage Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Father! You know the torches won't last all winter if we don't use them...” she said, countering something her father was saying. Her eyes moved from Marguerite to Sean. Go, she seemed to be saying. Leave me here.

  Marguerite swallowed. She wanted to go over and yet she felt as if her legs had turned to lead. She took a steady breath and walked across the hall toward Sean. “Sean?”

  She was behind him now, close enough to see the pattern of stitching on the yoked linen tunic he wore. She focused on it, wishing she could make him turn round. He was talking to a tall, dark-haired knight she vaguely recognized. He noticed her first.

  “Milady?”

  “Sir,” she said, curtseying. She gulped a steady inhalation as Sean turned around.

  Cold brown eyes, frosty and unseeing, moved over her. They passed across her face as if they had not seen her. Marguerite was stunned. “Sean?” she whispered.

  Nothing. His companion looked embarrassed.

  “Sir Sean,” he said with a hesitant smile. “You may recall the lady Marguerite? She was often at court.”

  Marguerite felt like everything had ceased moving. The whole hall was still; frozen around the form of the tall, red-blond man who did his best to ignore her.

  “We did meet, I recall,” he said thinly.

  Marguerite recalled the name of the brown-haired knight. “Sir Geoffrey. I am pleased to see you here. Glad you could attend the ball.”

  “As am I!” Sir Geoffrey said with a lopsided grin. “At a time like this, I say a ball is a bold action! Just what we need. What say you, eh, Sean?”

  Sean turned and gave the both a wintry look. “I say his grace the duke is wise.”

  He turned away again.

  Sir Geoffrey looked startled. He grinned at Marguerite. “You think some people find it hard to lighten up, eh?” he winked. “Well, a good chance for us to show the way. Shall we dance?”

  “I'm glad for you, that you feel easy dancing with Sir Rodham's betrothed,” Sean said tightly.

  Sir Geoffrey raised a brow and didn't miss a beat. “It's a dance, Sir Sean. I think no priest in all of Scotland would see sin in that.”

  Marguerite wanted to hug him. She smiled instead. “Agreed. Shall we dance?”

  “Indeed.”

  She let Sir Geoffrey lead her out onto the dance floor. As the music began and they whirled into a reel – all of court was infected with country-style dancing, and the style flowed over into the noble balls – she let her worries go.

  Sean is jealous!

  The moment she thought it, she dismissed the thought. How could that be? He couldn't imagine this was her idea! Besides, he was always so cold to her.

  “My lady, you do very well,” Sir Geoffrey complimented as they circled and skipped together.

  She blushed, feeling complimented. “Thank you, sir. You do as well. You have experience of such dances?”

  “I wish I had more,” he said frankly. “Though I think dancing with a lady like you is a rare experience.”

  Marguerite felt her heart lift. After Sean's unkindness, it seemed a wonder that any man would say such things to her. She smiled. “Thank you, Sir Geoffrey. You are a gallant knight.”

  “And you are a beautiful lady,” he said with a smile. “I would we were all as fortunate as Rodham.”

  At the mention of the man, her spirits fell. She had almost forgotten his existence! To be so speedily reminded of him was upsetting. “I thank you, sir,” she managed to say.

  “Well, it's a fair evening, and a young one, yet. Would you care for some refreshment?” he asked as the dance ended. He must have sensed her sorrow, for he smiled, his brown eyes kindling. “I would keep your fair company as long as I reasonably might.”

  Amidst giggles and a scattering of claps as the dancers applauded each other, and their partners, she curtseyed and he bowed. “Yes, please, sir.”

  They went to the refreshments table together.

  Marguerite accepted a goblet of claret. She also helped herself to some small jam tarts. The room seemed warmer and merrier. She saw Rubina and Camden determinedly heading to the dance floor. She raised her goblet at Rubina, who framed a curtsey, and, giggling, smiled at her.

  She smiled back. As she did so, Sean looked her way.

  She froze as his cheeks lifted in a sweet, sad grin, just before he looked away. She had been smiling breathlessly and, perhaps, he thought she smiled at him. She felt color flood her cheeks. He must think her a loose woman.

  As if it isn't wicked enough for me to throw caution to the wind and dance with Geoffrey. Now here I am grinning carelessly at him, too.

  She felt her cheeks burn with shame and did her best to focus on some story Geoffrey told. Her heart flooded with hope too, however. What if he was truly pleased to see her smile at him? While she stood there, goblet in hand, heart racing, she heard someone call her name.

  “Marguerite?”

  She stared. “Sean?”

  He was standing beside her. He was smiling. Geoffrey raised a brow.

  “I think I see my commanding officer there,” he said candidly. “If you'll excuse me, milady, do? I ought to discuss with him his plans for the cavalry detachment.”

  “Oh. Of course, sir,” she curtseyed quickly. “I wish you well.”

  “Farewell.”

  She swallowed hard as he left, leaving her alone. Sean looked down at her, a softness in his eyes that made her heart melt.

  “My lady Marguerite,” he said gently. “I...it was a surprise to see you, I must say.”

  “I noticed,” she said. It was hard, now that he was here, not to feel a sudden flush of reproach in her heart.

  He cleared his throat. “Marguerite...I'm sorry. I ask you to forgive me?”

  “My forgiveness is freely given,” she said acidly.

  “I thank you,” he said quietly. “But then...you still seem vexed.”

  “Vexed?” She chuckled bitterly. “You find fine words for it, sir. No, I'm not vexed. Why would I be?”

  He swallowed hard. “Marguerite, please. I ask you...”

  That did it. She set aside her goblet and looked up into that handsome, infuriating face. “You, sir, have a lot to explain,” she interjected coldly. “You dance attendance on me, and then withdraw it. You scorn me, and then you smile. You are cold and then interested. If you wish me to go mad, you are certainly doing a fine job.”

  She turned away. To her surprise, a hand descended onto her wrist.

  “Marguerite...please.” His eyes were brown and stormy. She tensed.

  “Unhand me, sir,” she said. Her voice was very soft, but even she could hear the rage that trembled in it.

  He didn't move.

  “Sir,” she said tightly. “You will let go of me.” Her whole body was throbbing, the touch on her wrist racing from her pulse to her throat and down into her belly. It made her glow and tingle inside. At the same time, she was angry with him. Impossibly, incandescently angry.

  He must have seen the look in her eyes, because he moved his hand. His eyes dropped. He sighed. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I...I am a fool.”

  Marguerite closed her eyes. Seeing that handsome face so contrite made her heart ache. “Mayhap,” she said, her throat tight with held-in tears. “And maybe I have been a fool as well. But it's too late now.”

  When she looked up again, his eyes were kindled with a strange light.

  “What?” she said.

  “My lady?” he replied gallantly, as if none of the conversation that just occurred had happened, “if you would accompany me to the hallway? I would take fresh air.”

  Marguerite stared at him. “Sir?”

  “I know, I know,” he smiled. “But fresh air is good. See? Paracelsus would be proud of me. Shall we go?”

  Feeling her heart suffuse with light, Marguerite nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He matched his pace to hers and, together, arms close but not quite touching, they drifted from the room. Marguerite thought s
he might actually die of happiness.

  Sean was here. He understood, at least in part. Moreover, somewhere deep inside her burned a flame of love, and hope.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A DECISION AND A WARNING

  A DECISION AND A WARNING

  Sean stood back for Marguerite as she went out into the hallway. He stared at her, his heart racing. He felt almost unable to breathe. He couldn't quite believe it.

  Sean, stop being silly. You still don't know what she thinks, what her plans are...why do you trust her?

  He couldn't help feeling like suddenly the sun had come out in his heart. He bit back a grin, thinking about her frosty, angry retort. She really felt something for him!

  They walked out together into the hallway. The air flowing through the doors into the courtyard was cool and refreshing, rain-damp and wild-scented. Sean breathed it in and tried to calm his rapidly-beating heart.

  “Sean, I'm sorry,” Marguerite said.

  She looked so contrite that Sean felt his heart melt. She chewed her lip and he had to grit his teeth not to cover it with kisses. “Sorry?” he said gently. “Marguerite! Why are you sorry?”

  She really was very close here, so close that he could smell her and see the highlights in her hair. He swallowed hard, struggling to control himself.

  She shook her head. “I shouted at you. I shouldn't have.”

  He laughed. “Marguerite! I'm glad you shouted at me!” He shook his head, unable to contain his delight. “If you hadn't, I wouldn't know...” He shook his head.

  She frowned. “You wouldn't know?”

  “I wouldn't know you cared,” he said.

  She stared at him. “Oh, Sean,” she murmured.

  Then, to his utter astonishment, she reached up and, very gently, rested a hand on his arm. It was only there for an instant, but he gasped in surprise, his whole body tensing so that he wouldn't make a move, wouldn't scare her away. “Marguerite,” he breathed.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered. Then, to his horror, she covered her face in her hands and started crying.

  “No,” Sean said gently. “Marguerite. Why are you crying? Please don't cry...” He didn't think about it, but he reached out and enfolded her in his arms. She tensed, then leaned against his chest and sobbed.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “I just can't believe you thought that. Of course I care.”

  Sean held her close, and felt as if his heart melted as he stroked her hair. She was sobbing and he could feel the tears soaking his shoulder, wetting his shirt. He held her and rocked back and forth, feeling her sweet softness against his lean, hard chest.

  After a moment, her sobs slowed. She stopped and looked up at his face. Then she reached up and rested a hand on his cheek. Sean looked into her eyes. He felt like time had stopped.

  Gently, he turned and lifted her hand – it was pale and smooth and he could feel the pulsing of her blood just under the skin. He lifted her soft, fragrant hand to his lips and kissed it. The skin was like petals. He felt his heart thump wildly.

  When he opened his eyes, her hand in his, she was looking up at him. Her brown eyes were like pools of endless depth. He felt as if he could fall into them and drown. His body tensed and he felt like if the world ended just then, with her eyes locked on his, he would not notice.

  “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I just didn't think anyone would care. After her...”

  “Her?” She frowned, her pale eyebrows wrinkling.

  Sean shook his head. “I shouldn't tell you. It doesn't really matter. Not anymore.”

  “It does,” she whispered.

  “No, it doesn't.”

  “Yes, it does,” she smiled, teasingly. “Tell me.”

  “Maybe one day,” he said softly. “Now, all that matters is that I am here with you. And we know that we care.”

  She let out a small, soft sigh. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes.”

  He leaned in and his lips met hers again, soft and moist and clinging. He gently inserted his tongue between them. He shivered and she moaned and pressed her soft body to his. Their kiss was filled with tenderness and discovery. He felt as if the boundaries of his world had melted and reformed in that kiss. When he leaned back, he was sighing.

  Her eyes were half-open, lips parted.

  “I shouldn't,” she said. Her voice was small and tight. She looked away. Fresh tears trembled on her lids.

  Sean felt his heart tie in knots. “I know,” he said softly. “You're betrothed.” He couldn't help it that his voice was tight in his throat, thready with bitterness. She stared at him.

  “You think I wish to be?” she whispered. The look on her face was one of rank horror. He frowned.

  “You mean...” He couldn't believe he hadn't even considered it might not be her choice. Now that the thought occurred to him, he couldn't fail to see it. Of course it was not!

  She nodded. “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I found out two days ago.”

  “Two days ago?” Sean stared at her. “How could they do that?”

  “My father,” Marguerite said in that small, bitter tone. “I suppose I should be grateful he remembered I exist. I suspect he remembered it only when the king suggested soldiers will be richly rewarded with promotions. Sir Rodham is well-known in the guard.”

  “I'm sure,” Sean said in a thin voice. He felt a stab of jealousy. He knew it was foolish, but hearing Marguerite give such praise to him – even if it was grudging, even if it was slight – still hurt.

  “Sean!” Marguerite looked up at him wonderingly.

  “What?” he said tightly.

  “You're...Sean! You don't actually think I like the fellow, do you?”

  He felt his eyebrows rise. “Why?”

  “Sean!” She was laughing now. Her hand was still in his and he could feel the gentle shiver of her shoulders. It was exciting and lovely. “You should know I can't think of anyone else that way.”

  “Oh?” He stared. His whole body went tense. “You mean...”

  Her eyes rose to his. In them, for the first time, he saw the depth of feeling. In addition, he knew its meaning for what it was.

  “Of course I can't,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Sean Invermarch – I'm in love with you.”

  Sean closed his eyes. “I'm in love with you, too, Lady Marguerite. I think I always have been, from the moment I knew you.”

  He leaned forward, his lips touching her hair. She sighed and her arms held him close. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her against him and then, without thinking about it, he kissed her. His lips traced over hers gently and, so gently, his tongue slid in between her lips. He closed his eyes. She lipped at his tongue slowly, hesitantly and it occurred to him that she had never been kissed this way before. He let his tongue gently explore her mouth, tasting and sensing.

  She shivered and he drew her tight against him, feeling her breasts press against his chest. He was in heaven.

  She tensed again and he stiffened. His loins ached. He moved back and looked down at her. She wasn't looking at him, though, but looking past him. He turned around.

  A man was standing in the shadows. In that moment, Sean saw that he was looking straight at them. He shivered. Watchful and piercing, that gaze was clearly focused on them. He took a step forward. The man turned.

  When he looked back at Marguerite, she had gone white. Sean felt a sudden flame of anger flare through him. How dare anyone make her afraid? He turned to advance on the guardsman who had watched them, but the man had gone.

  “How dare he?” Sean exploded. “He had no right to spy that way. He's a guard and we are invited guests!”

  Marguerite nodded. “He's a guard,” she said quietly.

  Sean understood, then, what her fear was. “They're loyal to Sir Rodham?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I fear so.”

  His heart sank. Suddenly, he realized how foolish he had been. He had kissed the intended wife of the chief guardsman, in a house g
uarded by his loyal men. He might as well write his own death warrant and stick it up on the town-hall door. “I don't care,” he said lightly. “I would die a thousand times for another such kiss.”

  Marguerite smiled at him, a gentle smile, almost maternal. “Oh, Sean,” she said sadly. She reached up and touched his face. “You shouldn't say that.”

  “I am not just saying it,” he said rashly. “I mean it.”

  Then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to hers. This time, though she tensed at first, she leaned against him and her lips gently admitted his probing tongue. His whole body shivered and he pressed her against him, fevered and fervent as if he could make her body one with his. When he leaned back, he drew in a gasping breath.

  “Marguerite,” he whispered. His hand took hers and held it, steadying himself. His whole body was pulsing with longing and need, and he felt that if he did not do something, didn't carry her into the castle and throw her on the bed, give all of himself, he would die. “I should go,” he whispered shakily.

  Marguerite nodded. Her lips were parted. She smiled. “I should go, too,” she said. Her eyes shone and he realized with some surprise that she guessed his thoughts. He flushed red.

  “Marguerite,” he whispered, “we cannot leave things as they are.”

  She stared at him. “How can we do aught to change it?”

  “I don't know,” he said rashly. “All I know is that we must.”

  She nodded slowly. “I know. I cannot live without it.”

  He nodded. “Nor can I,” he said shakily. He took her hand and squeezed it. “Promise me,” he said raggedly. “Promise you'll keep yourself safe?”

  Marguerite nodded slowly. “I promise. You too?”

  He smiled a sweet, sad smile. “Of course I will.”

  They squeezed hands.

  “Well, then,” she said.

  He drew in a hard, tight breath, through a throat tense with emotion. “Well, then.” It was all he could manage to say.

  He felt her fingers loosen on his. Very gently, he unclasped his own. She stepped away and he stepped back too. Walking back from her was the hardest thing he had done. He stepped away, his eyes locked on hers. Then she looked down at her hands, breaking the contact.