The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  He kissed her until her lips felt swollen. When he pulled away, cold air chilled the heated skin beneath her clothes, leaving her with a physical longing for the body that had pressed against hers. She felt stunned, disoriented, and too aware of her body. Her breasts tingled, she felt wet and achy between her legs, and her fingertips itched for the silky feel of his hair and the rough cloth of his shirt.

  “See, ye do like my kisses,” Ian said, looking altogether too sure of himself. “And I promise ye, ye will like it still better when I take ye to bed.”

  She ran her tongue over her dry lips. “That doesn’t mean I’ll like being wed to ye.”

  “It’s a verra good start,” he said, with a gleam in his eye.

  “Ye are a vain man, Ian MacDonald,” she said, and turned her attention to straightening her gown.

  She felt Ian go still and looked up to see his gaze fixed on something behind her. Holding a finger to his lips, he nodded in the direction of the road. She turned around and saw twenty men heading up the road toward them. Judging from the blades she could see, they were prepared for trouble—or to cause it.

  At the front of the group, was none other than Hugh Dubh MacDonald.

  She felt Ian’s tension in the taut muscles of his body as he leaned against her, pressing her into the boulder.

  “They’re coming for Connor,” he said next to her ear, as the group started around the bend in the road.

  “God, no,” she whispered. “What can we do?”

  “ ’Tis quicker to Teàrlag’s along the cliff path.” He spun her around and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “I must warn Connor and Duncan. Wait here, and I’ll come back for ye as soon as I can.”

  “I’m going with ye,” she said. “Ye might need me.”

  “No, you’re staying here. I don’t have time to argue.” He started to leave, but halted. “Damn it!”

  She turned to see what had caught his attention. Four of Hugh’s men were settling themselves down at the side of the road, instead of following the others.

  “What are they doing?” she whispered.

  “Hugh has remembered we used to take the goat path,” he said in a hushed voice. “He’s left these men to cut off Connor and Duncan’s escape by this route.”

  When she looked up at him, Ian’s jaw was set and his eyes cold-blue steel.

  “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “I can’t leave ye here now.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Ian stepped onto the log as if he were going up a doorstep instead of walking off a cliff. When she told him earlier that she wanted to go with him, her only thought was that she didn’t want to be separated from him. But fear gripped her belly now.

  Ian stood sideways on the log and held his hand out to her. “Hold on, and we’ll cross together.”

  Despite the chill in the air, her palms were sweaty. She wiped them on her cloak before reaching out to take his hand. The hand that enveloped hers was dry and warm and reassuring. Gingerly, she put one foot on the log.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Just remember not to look down,” Ian said. “We’ll be on the other side before ye know it.”

  She took another step, and now both feet were on the log—and over the cliff. Although she kept her eyes fixed on Ian, she could hear the rushing water below.

  “You’re doing fine,” Ian said. “I won’t let ye fall.”

  She took another step.

  “ ’Tis easier to keep your balance if ye move quickly,” he said, urging her along.

  She took another step and another. It was getting easier. She dared to breathe again.

  When she was halfway across, her foot hit a clump of moss and slipped. Though she recovered her balance almost at once, her gaze dropped to the churning water far below. Panic shot through her limbs and sweat prickled under her arms. Her feet would not move again.

  “Look at me,” Ian said in a tone that said everything would be all right. “I have ye, Sìl. I have ye.”

  With an effort, she wrenched her gaze from the crashing waves below to Ian’s face. His expression was confident, reassuring.

  “That’s a good lass,” Ian said. “We’re nearly there.”

  Step by step, she followed him, squeezing his hand until her fingers ached. An eternity later, she reached the other side, and Ian was lifting her down. The feel of solid earth beneath her feet made her light-headed with relief.

  “Ye are going to owe me a hundred kisses for that,” he said, his voice hard and urgent. “We must hurry now.”

  Her trial was not over, for they still had to follow the cliff path the rest of the way to Teàrlag’s cottage.

  “Can ye let go?” she asked, as Ian pulled her along. “I’ve no feeling left in my fingers.”

  “No.”

  The path narrowed until it was a ledge barely as wide as her foot. They sidestepped over loose stones with the rock face at their backs. Beyond the toes of her shoes was nothing but air—and the gray swells and white foam far below.

  Sìleas’s heart pounded in her ears as she scanned the sheer cliff below for shrubs growing out of the rock that she could grab hold of if she fell.

  And then her heel slipped on the loose rock, and her foot shot out from under her. She screamed Ian’s name as she fell to her death.

  She continued screaming as her feet dangled in the air.

  “I’ve got ye,” Ian said, his voice strained.

  She stopped screaming and looked up. Ian’s knees were bent, and he had one arm spread across the rock wall for balance; his other hand still held her wrist. His jaw was clenched, and the muscles of his neck were taut with the effort of holding her.

  With a grunt, he hoisted her back up onto the path. Her knees were shaking so violently she would have fallen again if Ian was not holding her up.

  “We can’t stop here,” Ian said, looking hard into her eyes. “I told ye I would not let ye fall. Ye need to trust me.”

  She nodded. Ian had a firm hold on her arm; he would not let her go.

  “Just a wee bit farther, love,” Ian said, coaxing her along. “I can almost see Teàrlag’s cottage now.”

  Sìleas’s heart was in her mouth, but she moved with him.

  “That’s a good lass. Three or four more steps is all.”

  When the footpath finally opened onto the clearing behind Teàrlag’s cottage, Sìleas wanted to sink to her knees and kiss the grass.

  “For that, ye owe me a good deal more than kisses,” Ian said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “Now we must find Connor and Duncan.”

  They ran into Teàrlag’s cottage and found the two men sitting at her table eating stew from large wooden bowls.

  “Time to run, lads,” Ian said in a dead calm voice. “Hugh and twenty armed men are coming up the road.”

  Connor and Duncan were on their feet before Ian finished speaking.

  “We’ll be in the cave,” Connor said, as he strapped on his claymore. “Make some noise to warn us if they start down to the beach.”

  “I will,” Ian said. “Just go.”

  “Sorry, Teàrlag,” Connor said over his shoulder, as he went out the door.

  “Save my stew,” Duncan said, as he grabbed an oatcake. He waved it at them as he followed Connor out.

  Sìleas sank into the chair that was still warm from Connor sitting in it.

  “Where’s your whiskey, Teàrlag?” Ian asked.

  “I’ll get it,” the old woman said.

  Sìleas’s limbs felt melded to the chair as she watched the other two go about their tasks with quick, controlled movements. In a blink, Ian dumped the stew from the bowls into the pot hanging over the hearth, wiped the bowls clean with a cloth, and set them on the shelf above the table.

  While Ian did that, Teàrlag unearthed a jug from beneath her mending in the basket in the corner and poured a healthy measure of it into two cups on the table.

  “Drink it down,” Ian ordered Sìleas and tossed his own back.

&
nbsp; Sìleas choked as the fiery liquid burned down her throat.

  Ian wiped the cups clean, set them back on the shelf, and took the chair beside her. “Now, we are here having a nice, relaxing chat with Teàrlag.”

  A moment later the door burst open and several foul-smelling men crowded into the small room. The first was Hugh Dubh.

  Sìleas had not seen him this close since she was a bairn. As Hugh surveyed the tiny cottage, she was struck by how much he looked like his brother, the former chieftain, and Ragnall. He had the same square face, impressive frame, and commanding presence, but there was something dark and sinister in Hugh’s sea-mist eyes. The chieftain and Ragnall had been hard men, but they didn’t have this evil in them.

  “Where are they?” Hugh demanded.

  The cow on the other side of the half wall mooed in complaint as one of Hugh’s men pushed her aside and slashed at the straw with his claymore.

  “If ye throw my cow off her milk, ye’ll answer to me,” Teàrlag said.

  “The other three can’t be far off, if you’re here,” Hugh said to Ian. “Why don’t ye save us both a lot of trouble and tell me where my nephew is? Connor and I need to have a talk.”

  “I’m sure ye already know that Alex is staying with my family,” Ian said, leaning back in his chair as if they were discussing how the fish were biting. “But I haven’t seen Connor and Duncan.”

  “I have to ask myself why Ian MacDonald would be coming to see this old woman,” Hugh said, tilting his head in Teàrlag’s direction. “And the only answer that comes to me is that ye wouldn’t. So I’m guessing that you’re here because the others are hiding nearby.”

  Hugh waved to his men and headed for the door. “Come along lads, let’s find them.”

  “I came with my wife,” Ian said, resting his arm along the back of Sìleas’s chair. When Hugh turned around, Ian added in a low voice, “Female problems, ye know.”

  Hugh raked his eyes over Sìleas, making her feel as if he could see beneath her clothes. “The lass looks fine to me.”

  “There’s nothing’s wrong with her,” Teàrlag said, and all heads turned toward her.

  “I knew Ian was lying,” Hugh spit out and reached for his dirk.

  “ ’Tis true his wife brought him here.” Teàrlag pursed her lips and shook her head. “Sometimes a lass has a problem with her husband, though I rarely see it in a man as young as Ian.”

  Ian coughed and banged the front legs of his chair to the floor.

  “Teàrlag!” he said, glaring at the old seer.

  “Are ye saying our lad Ian here is having trouble pleasing his pretty wife?” Hugh was grinning ear to ear.

  “Nothing to fret about,” Teàrlag said, sounding as if there was plenty to worry about.

  Sìleas choked back a laugh and put her hand on Ian’s leg to prevent him from rising from his chair.

  “Sìleas is such a patient lass, waiting on her husband for five long years,” Teàrlag said, looking mournful. “I’m sure she’s willing to wait a wee bit longer for him to overcome his… battle injury.”

  “I wasn’t injured there,” Ian shouted. “There is nothing wrong with me parts.”

  Hugh and the other men roared with laughter.

  “Sometimes the injury lies here,” Teàrlag said, tapping her temple with her knobby finger. “But don’t fret, I have a potion I’ll mix for ye. It works… sometimes.”

  At the look of outrage on Ian’s face, Sìleas had to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing.

  Hugh and the other men were guffawing. The angrier Ian became, the more they believed Teàrlag’s story.

  “If ye lose patience with Ian, I can find ye a new husband,” Hugh said, giving Sìleas a broad wink. “One who will be up to the task.”

  The men burst into a new round of laughter.

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Sìleas said, dropping her gaze to her lap. “I’m sure Ian will be right as rain soon.”

  “It’s a hard rain she’s hoping for,” one of the men said, and he was rewarded with snorts and snickers.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” Ian jumped to his feet and clenched his hands in front of him. “I’m ready to fight any man who says there is.”

  “You’d best save your strength,” Hugh said, choking with laughter. He turned to Sìleas and added, “Don’t forget my offer.”

  When Ian took a step toward Hugh, Sìleas stood up in front of him.

  Ian’s breathing was harsh, and the muscles of his arms were taut beneath her fingers. It would be foolish for Ian to attack Hugh with five of his men in the room and another fifteen waiting outside.

  Hugh threw his head back, letting his laughter fill the tiny room. Sìleas was certain now that he was trying to bait Ian—and he was close to succeeding.

  “ ’Tis not wise to laugh at the misfortunes of others,” Teàrlag said, “especially when ye will be facing worse ones yourself.”

  Hugh’s smile disappeared. “What are ye saying, old woman?”

  “I see your death, Hugh Dubh MacDonald.”

  Hugh’s face drained of color, and he took a step back.

  Teàrlag reached into a small bowl on the shelf above the hearth and threw what looked like dried herbs on the fire, making it spit and smoke. Then her good eye rolled back into her head, and she began making an eerie high-pitched sound as she shifted from foot to foot.

  “I see it clear as day,” Teàrlag said in a distant voice, as if she were speaking to them from the other side. “Ye are laid out on a long table, and the women are preparing your body for the grave.”

  “Don’t say it, witch!” Hugh held his hands up as he backed up to the cottage door.

  “I see your death, Hugh Dubh MacDonald,” Teàrlag called out, waving her arms. “I see your death, and no one is weeping!”

  “Damn ye, woman! Ye know nothing. Ye see nothing,” Hugh shouted, then turned and left the cottage. The other men stumbled over each other in their hurry to follow him out the door.

  As soon as the men had gone, Ian turned blazing eyes on the old seer. “Why did ye find it necessary to tell them lies about my manhood, Teàrlag? All the men on the island will be having a good laugh at me by this evening.”

  “The women, too.” Teàrlag’s three good top teeth showed in a wide grin.

  “Her story did divert them from looking for Connor and Duncan,” Sìleas said in a soft voice, as she tried to hide her own smile.

  “Ah well,” Teàrlag said, waving her hand. “Ye deserve it after what ye done to Sìleas.”

  “What?” Ian said, banging his fist on the table. “I’ve done nothing to deserve being humiliated.”

  “Do ye not suppose the entire clan discussed how ye left Sìleas the morning after ye wed?” Teàrlag said, shaking a nobby finger at him.

  Ian sat down. After a long moment, he turned to Sìleas and took her hand. “Did the women tease ye, then?”

  “Oh, aye,” Sìleas said with a dry laugh. Pitching her voice high, she imitated their voices. “ ‘Can ye no keep your man at home, Sìl?’ ‘What do ye suppose is keeping Ian?’ ‘If ye had given him a child, perhaps your husband would want to come home.’ ”

  Ian brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m sorry. When I was in France, I still thought of ye as a young girl who would have no use for a husband.”

  If ye thought of me at all.

  “Ian, go get the other lads now,” Teàrlag said, taking the bowls down from the shelf. “They haven’t finished their dinner.”

  It amused Sìleas to hear Teàrlag order Ian about as if he were a boy of ten and not a man three times her size. Her amusement faded as soon as Ian had gone and Teàrlag focused her single eye on her.

  “So why have ye no taken that fine-looking husband to your bed yet?” Teàrlag said. “I know it isn’t for the reason I gave that devil Hugh Dubh.”

  Sìleas felt her cheeks go hot, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “Give him time,” Teàrlag said, covering S
ìleas’s hand with her gnarled one. “Ian has it in him to be the man ye want him to be. Do ye have that pouch I made for ye?”

  Sìleas nodded.

  “Ye sleep with it next to your heart?” Teàrlag asked.

  She nodded again.

  “Then ye know what to do, lass.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Ian feared for his health.

  Sìleas was driving him near witless with lust. It could not be good for a man to want a woman this much without satisfaction. Collecting the kisses he said she owed him only made the torture worse.

  He lay awake at night imagining her creamy skin in the moonlight. Every time he heard her voice in the next room or caught a glimpse of her across the yard, he hoped she had come to seek him out, to tell him she was ready.

  He imagined her walking toward him, slowly, with her hips swaying and a sparkle in her eyes. Then she would rest the flat of her hands on his chest and say, “I’ve made up my mind. I want ye in my bed, Ian MacDonald.”

  Ian shook his head and set down his hammer before he did damage to himself. Every time he backed her into a corner to steal a kiss, someone would come in and distract her. A few times he got his hand on her breast—ach, he was hard just thinking of that—but no further.

  He could not take much more of this.

  And he didn’t have time to waste. With Samhain just over a fortnight away, they needed to do something dramatic. He had discussed it with Connor and Duncan when he went to get them from the cave that day at Teàrlag’s. All of them agreed that the best way to sway their clansman into backing Connor was to take Knock Castle.

  To justify attacking the MacKinnons, Ian needed to remove any question as to his right to Knock Castle as Sìleas’s husband. Of course, they could take the castle without a rightful claim—it was done all the time—but that would draw the Crown into the dispute. Connor and the MacDonalds didn’t need that kind of trouble on top of what they already had.

  Which meant Ian needed to consummate his marriage. Bed his bride. ’Twas fortunate, indeed, that the needs of the clan matched his own precisely.