"I am." Her gaze strayed to his bare chest, and rose to his face. Her skin was so translucent that Sebastien could see the heat in her rise in a pink blush. "Here," she said, thrusting out her arm, draped with a garment. "I want to give you this. It is the leine, the linen shirt that our men wear with the belted plaid." She held it up.
Sebastien fingered the long, generously cut buff-colored shirt, its cloth sturdy but soft. "My thanks," he said. "I confess I was wary of hunting without a shirt in cold weather," he added wryly.
She chuckled, her fingers deft as she unpinned the upper part of his plaid and freed the billow. As she swept it behind him, her hands smoothed over his bare shoulder.
Sebastien pulled on the shirt, and Alainna leaned close to tuck it in at his waist. Her hair softly brushed his chest, wafting a trace of lavender scent. Her hands were warm and he closed his eyes briefly to savor the intimacy that enveloped them.
Alainna looked up, her cheeks blushed. "You must pull the shirt down," she said, pointing to the skirt of the plaid.
"Ah." He reached underneath to tug it into place.
She adjusted the neck of the shirt and repinned the plaid.
Her hands gentled over his shoulders and flattened on his chest. Sebastien watched her, entranced, feeling a languid tingle wherever she touched him. His heart pounded and his body deepened the innocent contact into desire.
The urge to touch her, to pull her close was strong. He wanted to kiss her deep and full, and wanted far more than that to satisfy the hard drumming of his heart and the warm, heavy surge in his groin.
He leaned closer. She glanced up at him, her indigo eyes limpid, her mouth partly open, soft and lush as a rose. She swallowed slowly, and he saw the delicate line of her throat.
He lifted his hand to brush away a silken lock of hair that had slipped over her cheek, and let his fingers trace over her head before he lowered his hand. "My thanks," he murmured.
She tipped her chin. "Now you look as fine as any Highland man, sirrah."
"Although I do not match your ideal of a Celtic warrior."
"More than you think," she murmured. "You could make any heart flutter, I think. Beitris and Morag are smiling over there, I see."
"And your heart?" He looked only at her.
Her cheeks and gaze burned bright. "Mine," she said, "does not flutter easily." She looked away.
Nor does mine, he wanted to say. But his implacable, steady heart beat fast a bird's wing in his chest.
"Giric," she said, turning as her foster brother crossed the room toward them, carrying boots and shirts in his arms. Sebastien had not noticed that the young Highlander had entered the hall.
"I see the Normans are nearly ready to hunt," Giric said.
"They are, and we must thank Sebastien Ban for that."
"So I hear. Niall told me of your courage." He smiled.
Sebastien made a wry face. "Small courage."
Giric chuckled. "Where there is small courage, there is greater courage, eh?" He looked at Alainna. "Lorne and I brought some other things for the knights to wear." He handed her a pair of fur boots. "I think these might fit this one"—he indicated Sebastien—"if you do not mind giving him your father's belongings. I am sure Laren MacLaren would not mind."
She offered the boots to Sebastien. "My father wore these with pride, for they were made from a wolf he once killed. You killed two wolves the other day, and he would have been impressed by your deed. You are near my father's build, though he was heavier. It is his shirt you wear, too."
He accepted the gift. "I am honored."
She stared up at him silently, her eyes filled with something new, a flash of sudden wonder and warmth that sent a deep thrill into the core of his being. He returned her gaze and smiled a little, his heart thumping hard.
"Will you come out with us, Alainna?" Giric asked.
"I will leave this hunt to you," she replied. "The women will enjoy some peace at Kinlochan with the men gone for the day." She smiled at Giric, and he chuckled.
Sebastien's own smile faded. He had noticed the loving ease between them before. Though aware that their affection was like that of siblings or cousins, he still felt a stab of jealousy.
"We will leave soon," Giric said. "I hope you and your Normans have strong legs. We chase the deer here, in a race with the hounds, and our garrons carry the game we kill." He grinned in a good-natured challenge.
"We will keep up," Sebastien answered. He nodded to both and walked away, carrying her gift of the hide boots.
* * *
Anxious and elated, thinking about Ruari MacWilliam's return, Alainna could not settle her mood or her thoughts. She had not yet had a chance to tell Giric about Ruari, and could not share the news with anyone else but Esa. She went to her workshop after the men departed for the hunt, hoping to lose herself in carving. Focus, effort, and simply pounding with the mallet could often dissolve her worries and ease her mind when nothing else could.
She settled on a stool beside her workbench and picked up her mallet and tools to work on the finishing stages of one of the gray limestone pieces. She smiled to herself as she imagined how joyful Esa would be when she discovered that her husband was alive.
Her heart pounded hard as she realized that Ruari was hiding dangerously close to Kinlochan fortress and the king's men who sought him. She had rowed back and forth to the island twice the previous day under cover of the fog, a risk she had hardly considered, for her concern for Ruari was paramount. She had brought him food and plaids, had dressed his wounds and started a cozy hearth fire for him.
Trained in basic healing ways by Una and Morag, and by her own grim experience with injured and dying men at Kinlochan over the past several years, she knew how to treat him. Now that he was bandaged properly, and had taken herbs in an infusion of hot water to help cleanse his blood, she was certain that he would heal well, provided he took care to rest.
Ruari had promised to stay on the island inside the old ruined broch, an ancient stone tower broken by time and weather. He had asked for something to occupy his time while he recovered, offering to carve some bowls and spoons for the extra guests at Kinlochan. Alainna had brought him pine wood and a small, sharp blade for carving. She and Ruari agreed that he need only stay on the island until he regained enough strength to travel on.
Even though Alainna was accustomed to wielding the mallet, her arms and back ached from the rowing she had done. She flexed her stiff shoulders, feeling as if the knowledge she guarded weighed heavily on her.
Her thoughts strayed again and again to Sebastien. She had helped to hide the renegade that the Breton knight intended to capture, and she had sworn upon the Stone Maiden to keep Ruari's secret. She could never reveal it to Sebastien, although she knew that torn loyalties and desperate secrets had no place in a marriage.
Even a week ago, there would have been no question of where her loyalties belonged. Now, though, whenever she was with Sebastien, she seemed to see him with new clarity. He was far more than the land-hungry Norman she had once thought. A kind, thoughtful, lonely man existed within him, well protected by a barrier of strength and will.
And the memory of deep and glorious kisses in the shadow of the Stone Maiden made her knees go weak, made her heart drum faster, made her long for more, endlessly more, from him. She wondered if she could actually love the king's choice for her husband.
She wondered, then, if she had already begun to love him.
After a while, too distracted by her thoughts to work effectively, she put away her tools, wrapped her plaid about her, and went outside, whistling to Finan as she headed first for the kitchen and then for the gate, and for Ruari. She would bring him fresh oatcakes and keep him company. Once she fetched Esa from the hills, she knew that Ruari, whatever his injuries, would be fine.
* * *
The hunters returned to Kinlochan hours later, leading garrons that carried two red stags, a hind, and a brace of hares whose fur had wintered to white. In stri
de with Robert and Giric, Sebastien walked past the great stone pillar, which cast a long shadow over the brown grasses of the meadow. Niall and Lulach followed, drawing the reins of the horses. Hugo and the rest of the knights lagged behind on foot.
Giric glanced over his shoulder. "Good hunters all, your knights, but none of them hill-climbers."
"Highland slopes are hell in places," Robert said. "We know that now." He rubbed his flank as if it ached.
"Hah," Giric said. "Try one of the black mountain steeps to the north, and then tell me it is hard to climb the hills of Kinlochan." He grinned and clapped Robert on the shoulder. Robert stumbled slightly, limping on weary legs. He looked sheepishly at Sebastien.
"Bastien, you were right to urge us to dress like these barbarians, I will give you that," Robert said. "Plaids are far more practical here."
Giric made a scoffing sound. "Barbarians, we! And what fools thought Spanish horses could climb mountains, and argued to bring them along? Highland hunters must run and climb if they want meat, and let the garrons carry it back for them."
"Your Highland garrons are surefooted," Robert admitted, "but their owners are still the savages of the north." He grinned at Giric and slapped him in turn on the back.
Sebastien smiled, watching them. After chasing the wolves the other day and taking down a stag on the hunt, Robert and Giric had become fast friends. Giric turned to murmur to Niall and Lulach in Gaelic, provoking laughter among the older men.
Robert slowed his step, and Sebastien kept pace. He glanced at the loch, calm and blue beneath the late afternoon sky, reflecting the heights of the white-capped mountains. "This is a proud and strong land, like its people. I can understand why so many Norman knights hunger to gain land grants from the king of Scots."
Robert nodded agreement. "I would not refuse a grant anywhere in Scotland."
"I will be sure to tell King William when next I see him."
Robert slid him a glance. "Thinking of leaving?"
"I cannot do that yet, but I am anxious to return to Brittany. The year draws to a close. I had hoped to be there for the Yuletide season, but 'tis not to be."
"Even if you left Kinlochan now and rode to Dunfermline to make your report to the king, no ship could sail to Brittany by Christmastide."
"There is still much that must be done here before I can think about leaving. Thankfully, we were fortunate in the hunt today. Kinlochan has many mouths to feed, and will for a while."
"Much to be done, aye," Robert said. "You will have a wedding soon, my friend." Robert grinned.
"Aye," Sebastien said. "We are to visit the priest tomorrow to discuss it, or so Una says."
"Then Christmas will bring wedding revelry with it." Robert raised a brow, and Sebastien shot him a dry look. "I suspect we may spend the winter here among the savages if the weather grows poor, as the Highlanders claim it will."
Sebastien sighed. "Christmas already, and I can only hope that my letter has reached the abbot. I have to trust that he has been able to keep watch over my son." He frowned. "Conan will look for me by Christmas Day, and I will not be there. I was not there for him when he was in danger, either."
"You will be there as quickly as you can, and the monks will care for their charges as best they can."
Sebastien nodded. "I thought it wise to install him in their care, rather than leave him with his grandparents after his mother died. I was wrong about that—mayhap wrong to come to Scotland altogether, at least where Conan is concerned."
"How were you to know what would happen at the monastery? And you could hardly leave him with his mother's family," Robert said. "Once those vultures had him in France, you would never see him again. They do not like you well, Sebastien, though you were wed to their precious daughter."
"True. I could not keep him with me, and I had no real home to offer him." He fisted his hand. "If I had only stayed there!"
"You did what was best, Bastien," Robert said quietly.
Sebastien nodded silently. He gazed at the fortress gleaming in the afternoon sun. It was a home and a haven for many, and had been for generations. But he had not intended to live there with Conan. A home in the Highlands of Scotland would not benefit his son.
Or would it? he wondered. Was he wrong to want to raise Conan in Brittany? He frowned, feeling as if his goals and his ambitions had begun to shift beneath him, as if he tread on quicksand and did not know in which direction lay sure ground.
The gates of Kinlochan swung open as the men climbed the rocky slope that led to the palisade. Donal appeared at the entrance to wave them inside.
Sebastien, with Robert and the others, gained the top of the slope and approached the gate. Alainna stood in the bailey, slim and pale in her gray gown. If not for the fiery color of her hair, Sebastien thought, she would be a small sister to the granite pillar by the loch.
Then she moved, a statue come to life. She ran toward them with slender grace, her face alight, and greeted her kinsmen. When Sebastien entered, she turned to him with the brightness still upon her like a lantern.
He felt his heart leap, but he kept his expression plain, nodding a greeting. Something in him bubbled like a spring at the sound of her laugh and the sight of her smile. The sensation was rare and precious, and he kept it close.
She turned and spoke to the others, asking questions about the day, obviously delighted by what they had gained on the hunt, and proud of their success.
Sebastien lifted the brace of hares from the garron's back. Alainna, laughing at something Giric had said, whirled suddenly and stumbled against Sebastien.
He took her elbow quickly, then loosed it and stepped back. "Pardon, I did not mean to touch you. I am grimy from the day."
"As am I," she said, holding up her palms to show him the stone dust that covered her hands. "If you carry those to the kitchen, Morag and Beitris will take them from you." She pointed toward the building. He nodded and began to walk away.
"Sebastien," she called. He turned. "It was a good hunt."
"It was." He watched her.
"We will have food for all, for a while at least. I... I was worried about that, I confess. But now I am pleased."
"Ah. Then I am pleased, if you are." He inclined his head.
She stood with her hands clasped in front of her. "Will you change out of the breacan now that the hunt is done?"
"I am a Breton knight, not a Highland man," he said. "I should wear what suits me best."
She tilted her head, watching him. "That suits you well." She smiled and turned, then glanced over her shoulder to send him a shy flash of a smile.
He stood in the bailey with the rope of hares dangling from his hand. The day had grown chilly, and the sun went behind a cloud. Sunshine lingered in the radiance of her smile, the color of her hair, the chime of her laughter.
He watched her, thoughtfully, wondering just what Alainna MacLaren was coming to mean in his life. He had not planned to linger here when he had reluctantly accepted the king's grant. But he had not thought to find her so enchanting, and he had not expected to like her kin and her home as much as he did.
Too much, he thought, for a man who had decided to settle where his roots, such as they were, existed. Heart beating like a drum, he turned and walked toward the kitchen.
Chapter 15
"The church of Saint Brighid is just over there," Giric told Sebastien, pointing east. On the low rise of a hill, a stone building with a square tower shone pale against a snowy backdrop of high slopes.
"And that stone cross ahead on the path?" Sebastien asked. "What does it mark?" A tall cross soared up from the ridge they traveled, its stone arms stretched against the overcast sky. Pocked with age, the cross was carved in an intricate, overall pattern of interweaving vines and spirals.
"Long ago, these crosses marked meeting places for priests and their parishioners," Alainna replied. "Prayers and masses were said out in the open then, but now there are parish churches throughout the Highlands."
Sebastien walked toward the cross, drawing the reins of his horse behind him. At Kinlochan, as the Highlanders and the knights had gathered in the bailey to travel the two miles to the church, Sebastien had lifted Una onto his ivory-colored Arabian stallion, choosing to walk. Robert, Hugo, Etienne, and some of the other knights had followed his example and lent their horses to elderly clan members.
"Some still come here to pray, or to make vows of marriage." Alainna walked toward Sebastien. "Private vows of handfasting can be said at these isolated crosses, with or without witnesses."
She was lovely in the clear light, he thought, her cheeks pink with cold, her eyes a brilliant blue, her hair amber where it showed beneath the brown plaid pulled over the crown of her head. He felt a rich surge of desire, remembering the luxurious feel of her in his arms.
"Shall we do that, then?" he murmured.
She turned her cool, perfect profile to him, but the rosy stain in her cheeks deepened. "I thought the king required a marriage of you and me, with contract and witnesses."
"He does," Sebastien said. "Still, it would be good to have this done, quickly and simply, without the fuss of a wedding." He tipped a brow and sent her a wry smile, deliberately charming, hoping to coax some levity into her. She gave him a reluctant smile.
"Father Padruig will be waiting the Mass for us if we do not hurry!" Una called impatiently behind them. Alainna moved ahead, as he did.
"Look west, there," Alainna said. "That is Turroch, which belongs to Cormac MacNechtan."
He noticed a wooden fortress a mile or more away, crowning a mound surrounded by a crescent of pine forest and backed by mountains. "I mean to visit him soon with the king's message," he said.
"Wait until after the marriage," Alainna said. Her pleading tone caught his attention, and he frowned at her.
"You will see Cormac sooner than that," Giric said. He and Niall ran to join them, their breaths frosting in the cold. "Look south—there comes Black Cormac and another, on foot."
"His brother Struan," Niall added.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] Page 16
