by Jarecki, Amy
She blessed him with a delightfully dimpled grin. “How so very kind of you.”
Brother Wesley cleared his throat. “I was planning to make you a pair myself.” He eyed her and held up his finger. “When you are ready, Miss Gyllis.”
Sean arched an eyebrow at the errant monk. “I believe the lass is ready now.”
“I think not.” Wesley shook his head, black curls jostling. “’Tis still too soon.”
“And what makes you an expert on the matter?” Sean tapped his foot.
The little monk managed to draw upon enough cods to puff out his chest. “I’ll tell you, Miss Gyllis is the second patient with paralysis I’ve tended, and—”
“Enough.” Gyllis reached out for the crutches. “I want to try them.”
Sean shouldered past the monk and held the pegs out to her.
The sext bell rang.
“You’d best go pray,” Sean said over his shoulder.
Brother Wesley pressed his palms together. “If she falls, it will be on your conscience.”
“That it will.” Sean returned his attention to Gyllis and grinned. “Are you ready?”
“Aye.” She batted her eyelashes. “But you weren’t very nice to Brother Wesley.”
“Nay? Well, how would you like it if a nun had her hands all over me day and night?”
“Oh, please. ’Tis not like that.”
“You think not? I ken a lustful man when I see one.”
Gyllis glanced back toward the church. “Honestly?”
“Aye.” Sean balanced the crutches. “Come, grasp the posts and see if you can pull yourself up.”
She bit her bottom lip and looked at the crutches like she was about to mount an untrained horse. Wrapping her fingers around them, she launched her body forward and up. Sean’s arms quivered a tad while he held the pegs steady.
Once Gyllis had gained her balance, he nodded to the armrests. “Now slide them under your arms.”
When they were properly in place, she blew out a breath.
“How do they feel?” he asked.
“Good.”
He gestured forward. “Well then, give it a try.”
The look on her face reminded him of a young lad concentrating on firing a bow and arrow for the first time, but she moved the crutches forward and shuffled up to them. Then she chuckled, a rapt grin spreading across her face. Sean stepped back to encourage her to do more.
In no time, she had moved a quarter of the way across the courtyard.
He hastened beside her. “You’re doing well.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to use these to gain a modicum of freedom?”
“Aye.” She took in a deep breath. “But I’ve grown tired so quickly.”
Sean pointed to the bench. “Can you make it back?”
She nodded and awkwardly crisscrossed the crutches until she had herself turned around. Sean resisted his urge to help, but he followed her with his hands out, ready to catch her at any moment. When Gyllis arrived at the bench, he placed his arm around her waist to give support and helped her sit. He leaned in and inhaled the scent of heaven and heather. He squeezed his arm a little tighter, savoring her supple hip as it molded against his.
“Goodness,” she chuckled.
Pushing away his lustful urges, he sat beside her and crossed his legs. “I think you did quite well for your first try.”
She rubbed under her arms. “It might take me a while to get used to them.”
“Did they cause you pain?”
“A wee bit under my arms.”
He held up a crutch and examined the wooden armrest. “I’d bet we could sew some sheep’s wool around these and make them a mite more comfortable.”
She ran her hand over the hickory. “No need to bother. The carpenter has done a fine job of sanding them smooth.”
“I like to bother—and nothing gives me more pleasure than watching you battle to overcome your illness. I’ll take these with me and they’ll have a cushion of wool when I next return.”
A blush blossomed across her cheeks. “My thanks. You are ever so kind.”
Sean ran his finger over her skin. “Rose petals.” He used the crook of his finger to turn her head to face him. “The problem with the priory is there is no privacy.”
She inhaled a stuttered breath. “I think ’tis designed that way.”
After placing his hands on her shoulders, he glanced left, right and then focused on her lips. “Presently they’re all praying.” His voice trailed off.
Her pink tongue snuck out and moistened her lips. “How fortuitous.” As she pronounced the words, her lips reminded him of rosebuds, better yet, she smelled more heavenly than a basin filled with petals.
Inclining his head, he could no sooner resist those roses than he could stop breathing. She raised her chin, enticing him further—begging him to steal a wee kiss. So fierce the memory of her passion when he last kissed her, his blood thrummed with fire. Closing the distance, he first plied her mouth gently, slipping his tongue inside and tasting her sweetness. Her fingers slid around his neck and drew him ever closer. Then her gentle moan rumbled through his body. Hot and raw, he could never totally control himself when within Gyllis’s arms.
Exploring the silky smooth recesses of her mouth, his entire body craved her, could have devoured her. He cared not if they were on holy ground. The desire flooding his senses was nothing if not sacred. He clutched his arms around her, afraid to let go. God, he wanted to hold her forever—protect her from all the evils of the world.
Heaven help him, he could have lost Gyllis without even being aware of her illness. It was only by a stroke of luck when Lorn had asked him to meet at Ardchattan Priory. Never again did he want to see her sick and in pain. He would do anything to keep the lass safe for the rest of their days.
She pulled back and stared into his eyes. Oh, how Gyllis could control him with her sultry stare, especially when her lips were rouged from a passionate kiss. “What will happen…?” She looked away.
He circled his hand on her back. “Is something weighing on you, lass?”
She shook her head. “I cannot say it.”
“Please. How can I know what is troubling you until you speak your mind?”
She bit her bottom lip and exhaled. “What will happen when I return to Kilchurn Castle?” She placed her hand over his heart. “What will happen to us?”
“Nothing will change—but that day is far off.”
“I am not so certain. John thinks I’ll be able to return home soon, especially if Mother puts my bed in the first floor solar.”
Sean didn’t care for that idea. She’d be further away from Dunollie and then he would have Duncan’s ire to contend with. “I shall speak to John about insuring you’re fully capable of climbing stairs. The solar? ’Tis no place for a highborn lass to sleep. And after dark there are drunken guardsmen everywhere below stairs.”
The doors to the chapel creaked open and the resounding chant from the processing monks filled the courtyard. Sean slid his hands to Gyllis’s shoulders. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her sweet scent once more while placing a tender kiss upon her forehead.
***
Sean left the priory later than he’d intended, something which was becoming a habit. Too many things demanded his attention at Dunollie, yet he continually found excuses to visit Gyllis.
He’d ridden about halfway to the castle when prickles at the back of his neck told him he wasn’t alone. Over the years Sean had developed an uncanny sense, one respected and valued by Duncan and the Highland Enforcers. He’d tracked and eluded many men in his past. Easing off on the reins, he cocked his head and listened. Damn, they were close—riding through the trees off to the right. He palmed his dirk while glancing over his shoulder. A flicker of metal caught the sunlight.
Too close. My senses must be addled.
Sean dug in his heels, spurring his warhorse into a gallop. From the pummeling of the ear
th behind, at least four outlaws made chase. He pulled on the reins slightly—just enough to give the leader a chance to gain some ground.
Peering over his shoulder, the blackguard wore a great helm covering his entire head, as did the bastard behind him.
Too cowardly to show their faces.
Sean listened and from the corner of his eye, he watched as he allowed the leader to approach. As the man reached Sean’s shoulder, the Chieftain of Dunollie threw a backhand with his dirk. Grunting, the outlaw shirked from the blade and swung a mace. Sean jerked aside, but not far enough. The spike on the iron ball caught Sean’s upper arm, knocking him aside. He squeezed his legs around his horse’s barrel, latched his fingers under his pommel and pulled himself up. His arm throbbed, but he had no time to think of pain.
Still holding the knife, he countered with an undercut and knocked the helm from the scoundrel’s head. The man gaped, blood running down his cheek where the dirk had slashed.
Sean recognized the face and his gut squeezed.
Hoof beats thundered. The others had gained ground. Sean dug in his heels with a bellow. Faster than a Highland wildcat, his stallion launched into a thundering gallop. Relentless, Sean urged his horse faster while the beast took in steady snorts of air through enormous nostrils. When they cleared the forest, Sean glanced behind. The brigands had dropped speed—smart enough to know if they chased him all the way to Dunollie, they’d be dead men for certain.
Haste, you bastards.
He slowed his horse to a canter as the castle loomed on the horizon. He’d seen the outlaw before, and by the shocked expression when he exposed the brigand’s face, Sean had no doubt the man knew who he was—perhaps even feared him. Sean rifled through his memory—yes, he’d seen that ugly face at Beltane. He was one of the bastards who’d attacked him during the footrace. The man wasn’t a MacDougall and Sean hadn’t recalled seeing him in Lorn’s retinue a few sennights past. Was the ugly boar a Campbell? He didn’t want to come to conclusions, but needed to find out what the hell was afoot. Were these petty thieves, or was something more sinister stirring?
Clomping across the wooden bridge, he raced his mount through the barbican gates and rode straight to the keep.
Angus met him with a groom on his heels. “What the devil, m’laird? You rode in here like you were being chased by Satan.”
Sean dismounted and glared at him. “Perhaps I was.”
Angus gaped at the blood dripping from Sean’s sleeve. “Lord Almighty, what happened to your arm?”
Sean handed the reins to the groom. “A sniveling maggot and his helmed accomplices thought they’d bludgeon me with a mace.”
Angus examined Sean’s arm, his shirt thick with blood. “I’ll bring Jinny up to you at once.”
“Nay. First send out the guard to track the bastards—they attacked two miles from here on the path to Ardchattan Priory.”
“Ardchattan? Is that where you’ve been off to?”
“Bloody hell, you’re worse than an old woman.” Sean dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. “Send the men after them before the trail grows cold.”
Once inside his chamber, Sean strode directly to the table and poured himself a cup of whisky. He tossed back a gulp and waited until the fire flowed down his gullet and pooled in his empty stomach. It took only a moment for the calming spirit to spread through his blood. He yanked his shirt off and examined the gash in his arm. The cut was jagged and a purple bruise swelled around it.
I’ll send every last one of them to hell.
As master of Dunollie lands, it was Sean’s responsibility to ensure the safety of his clan—a responsibility that had taken second place as of late—a folly. He’d been spending too much time doting over Gyllis. Worse, every time he went to the priory, he ended up staying far longer than he planned. He was a chieftain, damn it all.
He took another sip of whisky and winced. By God, he needed to stop acting like a lovesick fool. Aye, he’d win Gyllis’s hand in time, but he could no longer shirk his duties. He crossed to the ewer and bowl and poured in water. Splashing water over the gash, he hissed at the stinging burn.
I must limit my visits to Ardchattan to Sundays and Wednesdays. He reached for a drying cloth and clamped it over his arm. He hated the thought of waiting to see her. At least today was Friday. He need only make it through tomorrow and he could again be with the lassie. If only I could meet with her alone.
“M’laird?” A rap came at the door.
“Come.”
Jinny bustled into the chamber with Angus on her heels. “I came as soon as I received word.” She set her basket on the table and gestured to a chair. “You’d best sit and let me have a look.”
Sean frowned at Angus. “Is the guard away?”
“Yes, m’laird.”
“Why are you not with them?”
“I felt it best to bring Jinny up here to tend your wound.” He peered around for a look. “Good Lord, we must bandage that straight away.”
“Aye.” Jinny placed her fingers on either side of the cut and cringed. “’Tis a nasty gash. We’d best put some leeches on it while you’re still bleeding. Then I’ll have to sew you up.”
Sean took another draw on his whisky. “Do what you must. I’ve no time to be waylaid by a wound of the flesh.”
Angus grumbled under his breath. “Do you ken who attacked?”
“Nay. They wore bucket helms. I managed to knock one off—thought I recognized the brigand from the fete—one of the snakes who attacked me during the footrace.”
The man-at-arms combed his fingers through his unruly grey hair. “You mustn’t keep leaving without a guard. ’Tis dangerous for any man, especially a man of property such as yourself.”
Sean didn’t care to be lectured by someone who’d been withholding secrets. “And whom do you think attacked me?”
“I’ve no idea, m’laird.”
“Nay? For all I know you had a hand in it.”
Jinny stopped with a leech held in her fingers. “Angus would never do anything—”
“What are you saying?” Angus held up his hand to stifle Jinny’s rebuttal. “Are you accusing me?”
“I heard you talking to Murdach in my solar. I ken there was no error when my coin went missing.” Sean batted Jinny’s hand away. “I ken an ugly deception has taken root under my own roof.”
Angus stammered and spread his palms.
Sean stood. “Tell me I am wrong.”
The older man hung his head. “I made a promise to your father I would never reveal his secret.”
Sean smashed the cup of whisky and sent it flying into the hearth. “Bloody secrets!” he bellowed. “Are they what nearly got me killed?”
“N-no, m’laird.”
Sean drew his dirk. “My father had secrets that he could not relay to me, his only son?”
Angus pulled down his collar and offered his throat. “I made a promise to a dying man.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “His son has my fealty and I will gladly lay down my life for him, but I will not renege upon his father’s wishes.”
“Merciful Lord.” Jinny crossed herself while her voice trembled. “Please, m’laird.”
Sean watched the blue vein in Angus’s neck pulse. If he sliced his blade across it, the henchman would bleed out before his face hit the floor. “I will tolerate no backstabbing in my clan.”
“Nor will I, m’laird.”
Jinny tugged on Sean’s arm. “Please sit. You’ve had a terrible ordeal.”
“Quiet, woman.” Sean narrowed his eyes at Angus. “Because my father requested your silence upon his death bed, I shall make this one allowance. But moving forward, there must be no secrets between us. If I discover one more deception, you will be hanged, make no bones about it.”
Angus released his collar and bowed his head. “Yes, m’laird.”
Glancing between the two, Sean frowned and took his seat.
Without a word, Jinny applied the leeches while Angus stood at attention
. Sean studied the man he’d known all his life. As before, he didn’t believe him a traitor, but something wasn’t right. By God, he would tolerate no deception within the clan. Sooner or later, someone would make a mistake. That’s when Sean would attack and heaven help anyone caught. They would not be long for this world.
Unrest twisted in his gut. He would not sit idle while the Dunollie guard chased his attackers. “Make haste, woman. Angus and I shall follow the guard at once.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gyllis was a tad disappointed when Sean didn’t pay a visit the next day. Brother Wesley had kindly propped her up on the pillows for the afternoon, where she leafed through John’s Bible. After having read her storybook a dozen times, she relented and gave in to her brother’s urging to read something to enrich her soul.
She looked up when her door opened, her stomach fluttering in hopes that it would be Sean, but Helen’s radiant smile brightened the cell. Gyllis put down her book and opened her arms. “Praise the heavens. I’d thought you’d forgotten me.”
Helen wrapped her in a warm embrace. “Not at all. Have you not received the missives we wrote?”
“Aye, I have, but ’tis not like seeing you.”
“I ken.” Helen sat on the stool beside the bed. “Unfortunately there aren’t any inns nearby, or I’d spend an entire sennight with you.”
Gyllis adjusted her shoulders so she wouldn’t have to twist her neck. “How long will you be able to stay?”
“Just the afternoon and Mother sent an entire army to escort me across Loch Etive and home again.”
Gyllis laughed. “At least you are in the company of a retinue of brawny knights.”
Helen twisted a lock of her dun hair around her finger—the color always reminded Gyllis of honey. “I suppose so.” She lowered her gaze along with her frown.
“Whatever is wrong?” Gyllis hadn’t seen that woeful visage on her sister’s face often.
“Nothing, really.” Helen smiled. “’Tis just Ma didn’t send any noble knights along—just the same old dreary guards from Kilchurn Castle.”
