by Amy Jarecki
She leaned into him. “I hope this squall doesn’t last long.”
He helped her step over a fallen tree. “The clouds are thick, but I’ve never seen a torrent like this last for more than an hour or so.”
When he led her inside, Helen shivered. “Brr, I’m soaked clean through already.” Her wimple had been pushed from her hair and her mantle draped flush against her shoulders like wet bed linens.
Eoin removed his cloak. Though it had been oiled, it was too wet to be of any use in warming her. He hung it on a nail. “Take off your mantle and I’ll hang it beside mine.”
“I doubt they’ll dry.” She handed him the garment.
“But you’ll catch a chill if you remain wrapped in wet garments.”
She smoothed her hands across her face and over her exposed tresses. “I’m afraid that cannot be helped.”
Eoin’s gaze dipped to her chest. Though wearing a high collared neckline, her wet gown clung to her breasts like a second skin. A twinge of yearning hit him deep in the gut. His gaze dipping lower, her nipples stood erect through the woolen fabric.
Devil’s bones, his cock came alive like a waking dragon.
Helen pulled her arms across her body, her teeth chattering. “Unfortunate we’ve no hearth and flint.”
Eoin placed his hands on her shoulders. “Allow me to warm you, m’lady.”
Her lips parted and she drew in a sharp breath as if she were going to issue a rebuttal. But she offered a shy nod.
Cautiously, he slid his palms around her back. , wet woman molded to his chest, her breasts plying him. The points of her nipples teased as if begging him to untie her kirtle and suckle them. Eoin stiffened when her mons brushed his cock. Not a maid, she would be aware of his arousal.
Helen suddenly stood very still. She did not pull away, nor did she push into his erection. When she slid her hands around his waist, Eoin gasped. Damnation, the lass felt better than any woman he’d ever held in his arms before. His heart thrummed, his cock ached to push into her and rub. But this was Lady Helen. He couldn’t force himself upon her and take advantage of his best friend’s sister, a woman he’d known since he was four and ten—a woman who was…married.
Jesus strike me dead now.
She rested her head against his chest, yet still said nothing.
Eoin inhaled and tightened his embrace, settling his cheek atop Helen’s head. She smelled purer than a newborn lamb. God, he’d do anything to turn back time and offer for her hand.
When her fingers pressed into his back, Eoin almost moaned for the soothing caress of her touch. But he controlled his longings and held absolutely still. He even kept his breathing shallow.
Ever so gently, she plied his lower back with deft fingers. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s gentle touch. Too long. And Helen’s fingers were caressing him so lightly—like a timid kitten.
Eoin pressed his lips into her silken hair and closed his eyes. Drinking her in, he wanted to savor this moment. Fate had led them into this rickety shelter and, by the grace of God, the only woman he’d ever loved was wrapped in his embrace.
Ever so slightly, Helen relaxed into him.
Had he imagined it?
Her hands slid up his spine, fingers massaging as they slid back down.
He shivered.
Good God.
Insatiable hunger stirred in Eoin’s lower belly, his heart swelled in his chest. The tip of his tongue snuck out from between his lips. Taking his time, he trailed kisses from Helen’s temple to her ear, then down the side of her long, feminine neck.
Helen sighed—a high pitched, breathy sound that told Eoin she wanted him. Needing no more encouragement, his heart took over. His hand slid up and cupped her face as he gently plied her lips with a lingering kiss.
Her heartbeat drummed an intoxicating rhythm that carried to the tip of that bow-shaped mouth.
Sliding his fingers under her wimple and through her tresses, he brushed his tongue across her lips and coaxed them open. Once inside her mouth, she ensnared him, and all the gold in Scotland would not be payment enough to entice Eoin to pull away. She tasted fresh as the rain dripping from the eaves, but warm and soothing like a blast from a brazier. Opposed to the cold air surrounding them, her silken mouth welcomed him. Eoin’s legs weakened with the stirring of desire in his groin. He tightened his thigh muscles to regain a modicum of control.
She returned his kiss with another intoxicating sigh. Deeper his tongue probed while she ignited a bone-melting fire that thrummed through his blood. Though Eoin wanted to rush, to unlace her kirtle and fill his palms with Helen’s breasts, he was lucid enough to realize that attacking Lady Helen with such wild abandon would be folly. Taking his time, he controlled the pace with languid strokes of his tongue.
Helen swooned in Eoin’s arms. Overwhelmed by the tenderness of his touch, she was so lightheaded she couldn’t breathe…or stop.
Mm.
Aleck had never kissed her with his tongue—never turned her body to molten honey. And that’s how Eoin tasted—warmed, raw, delicious honey.
She’d been aware of Eoin’s manhood pressing into her nether parts since he first wrapped her in his embrace. She had stood very still for a moment, not wanting to encourage him, but not wanting to pull away either. His body felt so exquisitely warm, so powerful. For the first time in five years she knew sanctuary. A man with a caring heart like Eoin’s would protect his own. He was trained to be a knight by Helen’s father. Deeply-seated within his soul was the sense of right and honor.
Honor.
Helen’s entire body tensed. She forced herself to ease away from his kiss. It didn’t matter how much she wanted this man. He was not hers to covet. “We cannot.”
He tightened his grip and pressed his lips against her temple. “Forgive me.”
She chuckled. “I should thank you.”
“Why?” he whispered, his voice strained.
It was difficult to admit she’d never been kissed like that before. How could she put it? Her cheeks prickled with heat and she lowered her gaze.
The rough pads of his fingertips brushed along her jaw. “Are you all right?”
“Aye,” Helen said hoarsely. She looked directly at the lips that had just plied hers so reverently. They were slightly pursed, full and, by the stars, she wanted to kiss them again. “I’ve never…” She released her grasp and turned away. It was too humiliating to tell him.
She heard his quick inhale as he stepped behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Eoin’s simple touch filled her with warmth. How could anyone sap her resolve with a mere touch? I should step away.
But Eoin’s breath caressed her cheek. “My guess is he is not tender with you.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Eoin looked at her with such deep care reflected in his eyes, she could not deny the truth. “You can read me too well.”
For a moment she thought—hoped he would kiss her neck, but instead, he nudged her tresses and wimple aside with his chin, his warm breath making gooseflesh rise along her shoulders. “It doesn’t take a seer to realize you’re being mistreated.”
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Helen closed her eyes and ground her teeth against her urge to cry. What a mess she’d made of her life. But she would not again break down in front of Eoin MacGregor. She needed no man’s sympathy. She must be strong.
“I cannot bear…” Eoin removed his hands from her shoulders.
Cold chills coursed across her skin. If only she hadn’t turned away, his arms would still be surrounding her. She faced him. “You cannot bear?”
“I-I’ve always held the sanctity of marriage in high esteem, yet I cannot bear to watch you suffer under the hands of that tyrant.”
Helen should admonish such a slander against her husband. But Eoin was not a servant. He was the only person in Ardnamurchan who knew about her past—about who she was at her core. “Duncan considered it a good alliance for the Campbell Clan. Mingary gives him a base fro
m which to spy on the MacDonalds.” She didn’t need to tell Eoin about the centuries-long feud between their clans.
“I suspect the alliance had something to do with Sir Aleck’s separation from Clan Donald.”
She huffed. “Sir Aleck will be loyal to whomever offers him the greatest prize.”
A shadow passed over Eoin’s face. “I feared as much. He cannot be trusted.”
“You shouldn’t say that.” Helen clapped a hand over her mouth. Though Eoin was right, she’d trained herself to stand up for her husband.
“You, more than anyone, should realize the truth.”
She crossed her arms and rubbed the outside of her shoulders with a subtle nod.
“Come here,” he beckoned her. “I promise I will not try to kiss you again.”
To her surprise, a twinge of disappointment squeezed her heart. “You’re as damp as I, yet so warm.”
He chuckled and Helen again relaxed into his embrace. Thunder cracked overhead as the downpour continued.
Odd, the torrent is ever so soothing.
“Lady Helen?”
She loved how her name rolled off his tongue. “Aye?”
His hand rubbed her back in a circular motion. “I think I should talk to your brother about asking the Pope for an annulment.”
Every muscle in her body tensed and she pushed away from his arms. “You cannot be serious.”
Eoin groaned and released her. “I’ve thought of nothing else since I found you in the alcove on the beach. John Campbell is the Bishop of the Isles. He has the Pope’s ear.”
A cold shiver twitched through her body. “But Aleck has sworn he’ll murder me. If I’m deceased, Maggie will have no one to protect her.”
“I will protect you. I vow it.” Eoin combed his fingers through his damp tresses. “That did not come out as genteel as I would have liked.” He inhaled deeply and gazed at her eyes intently. “I also promise I will not approach your brother unless you give your consent. Please, Lady Helen. Think about this for a moment. Remaining at Mingary is not a viable solution for you or the bairn.”
Arms folded, Helen paced in a circle, her mind abuzz with all the reasons she should not listen. “What you suggest is madness.”
“Just hear me.”
She moved to the edge of the crude shelter and stared at the driving rain. She would never do anything to compromise Maggie’s safety. “I cannot abandon my daughter.”
“Of course no one would ever expect that of you. She’s a part of you and deserves your love. Aleck has proved he has no capacity to care for the babe.”
Helen folded her arms tighter. All the tension in her body returned tenfold. Aye, things were bad with Aleck, terrible, even. But seeking an annulment could purchase more trouble than she’d ever experienced in her life—and Maggie could end up in the midst of the worst of it.
“If you scribe a letter to your brother, I will deliver the missive without Aleck ever being aware.” Eoin stepped behind her, his presence radiating like a furnace, but his words so extremely disconcerting. “If the Pope grants the annulment, Aleck doesn’t need to know about it until you and Maggie have been safely spirited away from Mingary.”
Again she tensed. “Aye? And then what? Aleck will come after me. He sees Maggie as his mark for bargaining, and if it weren’t for the feud he’d cause with the Campbell Clan, he’d sooner see me dead.”
“Your words ring true,” Eoin agreed. “But you and Miss Maggie would have the protection of Clan Gregor and Clan Campbell. On that you have my vow.”
Too many warring consequences muddled her mind. “Please. This is too terrifying to consider. What if my missive were intercepted? What if the Pope rejects my plea appeals directly to Aleck?”
Eoin clapped his hand over his heart. “I will have words with John to ensure that does not happen. Once your brother knows of your situation, I am certain your protection will be paramount to the family.”
If only she could believe him. If only she could be sure she and Maggie would be free from Aleck’s retribution. But Helen could not take such a risk. She plucked her cloak from the peg and slung it round her shoulders. “Please, take me back. This talk of annulment is too disconcerting.”
She caught the look on Eoin’s face before he turned to retrieve his mantle. His frown forlorn, he looked as if he’d just received notice of the passing of a loved one. Did he care for her that much? If he helped her and was discovered, Aleck would not only kill her, the Chieftain of Ardnamurchan would not rest until Eoin was dead too.
She could never put so much at risk.
Could she?
Chapter Thirteen
The rain had stopped, though every stitch of Eoin’s clothing was still soaked clear through.
As they approached Mingary Castle, the hair at Eoin’s nape stood on end. He had a hunch something had happened and knew better than to ignore his instincts. All was quiet. Too quiet. There wasn’t even a sentry upon the wall-walk.
He drew his sword and motioned for Lady Helen to move behind him.
“What is it?”
“Just a feeling, but there’s no guard above.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Stay behind me.”
Voices echoed from behind the man door. He recognized Fergus’s voice. Eoin pounded his pommel on the hard oak. “’Tis Lady Helen and Sir Eoin.”
The door opened straight away to Fergus’s wide-eyed stare. “Thank heavens you’ve returned, m’laird.”
Eoin ushered Helen forward. “What the blazes is going on?”
“William’s arrived from Sunart with news. The MacDonalds are marching overland.”
“’Tis the truth.” A MacIain man stepped forward. “And they’ve already burnt out Gilles’s cottage. We saw the smoke first.”
“Are you William?” Eoin asked the man.
“Aye.”
“Did the other men from your post come with you?”
“Nay.” William inclined his head eastward. “They’ve stayed to keep an eye on the Donald’s whereabouts.”
“Good.” Eoin looked between the men. “How much time do we have before they cross into Ardnamurchan?”
“A day, mayhap two,” William surmised. “Depends on how intent they are on pillaging poor crofters.”
Damn, there was no time to wait for MacIain to return with his best fighting men. I told Sir Aleck the greater threat was Sunart, but the bastard wouldn’t listen. Forced to make a snap decision, Eoin pointed to the stables. “Ready the men for battle. We’ll ride at once.”
Helen grasped his arm. “What can I do to help?”
“Keep everyone calm.” Eoin patted her fingers. “Ensure you have enough food and water within the walls in case there is a siege.”
“A siege? I thought you said they wouldn’t march on Mingary.”
“I aim to see that they do not, but you must prepare for the worst.” Eoin grasped her hand. “We shall leave the remaining Mingary guardsmen here. With luck, Sir Aleck and his men should return soon and provide reinforcements.” He pointed to an elderly sentry sporting a bow and arrow—one who clearly had left his post atop the wall-walk, having left it unguarded. “Resume your station immediately. There must be at least three sentries on the battlements at all times. No question.”
“Yes, m’laird.” The man bowed his head and hastened off.
With her chin raised, Helen looked Eoin in the eye. “I will make certain we secure the fortress.” Though she was a small woman, her stature exuded confidence—something absolutely necessary in a leader. By God, she was Colin Campbell’s daughter.
“It is up to you to rally the Mingary forces in the absence of Sir Aleck. Your word is law. Do not forget that, m’lady.” He pulled her aside. “The attack on Sunart might be a ploy to pull us away from Mingary. When Sir Aleck returns, tell him to prepare for an attack by sea. With the MacGregors protecting your back and the MacIains covering the sea gate, all should be well.”
***
As Helen watched Eoin take charge,
she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to stay. He could be killed in the fighting—or injured. He’d sworn to protect her and now he planned to ride off and face a band of pillaging rogues. She clasped her hands together to stop herself from embracing him. I mustn’t fear. Eoin has ridden into far worse. He’s a king’s enforcer. If anyone can stop Clan Donald, it is he.
But watching him ride through the gate, clad and equipped for battle without so much as being able to give him her kerchief, tied Helen’s stomach in knots. Dear Lord, please watch over Sir Eoin and his men and bring them back to Mingary safely.
The gates closed behind the mounted warriors with a resounding boom.
Her nerves jumped across her skin.
What on earth should I do now?
Blinking, she recalled how Eoin took charge, and how her brother managed his men. Her father had been a legendary commander in The Crusades. Squaring her shoulders, Helen knew what she must do. Casting misgivings about her gender aside, she turned in a circle. She’d been left with the elder guardsmen—every man sported greying locks, if they still had hair. Presently, they all stared at her—even Peter the cook had come into the courtyard with an expectant gaze.
Snapping a hand to her hip, Helen pointed in the direction of the east paddock. “Bring a dozen head of sheep into the courtyard and three times as many hens. Have the lads fill every spare barrel with water.”
No one moved.
She clapped her hands. “Quickly. Work together. I want all this done and the gate bolted before the evening meal.”
She turned to the nearest guard—Mr. Keith. “Do you have enough men to maintain three lookouts in a scheduled rotation?”
“Aye, m’lady. ’Tis what Sir Aleck ordered afore he set sail.”
“Very good.” At least she didn’t have to worry about organizing the guard. She’d assumed as much, but presently she was in charge and needed to know exactly when and where to expect her guards. “I want a weapons report. Pikes, swords, number of arrows, and number of fighting men remaining at the castle.”
