“Fair maid,” he spoke true, for she was the most appealing female he’d ever seen, “if not for me, then for my people, I ask your aid. I was told you can weave wonders, even making stones weep and rivers change their courses.
“I ken fine such miracles were bards’ embellishments, but no myth or legend is without a seed a truth.” He saw her expression changing, becoming shuttered. “I mean no offense, lass. But in all that is said about you, there must be deeds to support your reputation.”
She held his gaze, a frown marring her brow. “There are none.”
“I dinnae believe you.” He went over to her and set his hands on her shoulders, looked down into her great blue eyes. “Mairi MacKenzie, I ask you but one more time. Can you no’ find it in your heart to help me?”
She bit her lip as a shiver rippled through her, as if his touch chilled her. “How? To find you a worthy bride? I can promise there aren’t any hiding in the rocks and mist of the Glen of Winds.”
“I ken the maid I must marry.” Gare saw no need to mention Beatrice Burnett’s name. “What I need from you is a charm to make me desire her.”
~ * ~
“Have you gone addled?”
His fury loosed, Duncan MacKenzie, the Black Stag of Kintail, glanced round the high table of Eilean Creag Castle’s great hall, expecting his men to agree. Sir Marmaduke, the flat-footed, ring-tailed recipient of his wrath, merely took another long sip of ale, wholly untroubled.
Everyone else did the same.
Or they poked at their trenchers with their eating knives, cleared throats, and shifted in their seats. Some fussed with nonexistent wrinkles in the table linen. Anything to avoid their laird’s eye.
Duncan frowned at them.
No one, not even his own beloved lady wife, Linnet, seemed bothered by the Sassenach’s lack of judgment; an error that endangered their clan’s dearest, most unfairly maligned cousin, Mairi of the Glen of Winds.
“Sakes!” Duncan turned again to Sir Marmaduke, a man who should’ve known better, given his long years in the Highlands. As Duncan’s friend and brother-in-law, he’d seen how easily treachery could sneak into the most unexpected corners. Mairi’s glen was already benighted, ripe for perfidy if not well guarded.
“Your leniency could have dire consequences, English.” Duncan set down his ale cup, slapped his hand on the table. “Mairi is alone, trusting us to protect her.”
Sir Marmaduke lowered his own cup. “Sir Gare MacTaggert will not harm her.” He met Duncan’s glare, his battle-scarred face clear and calm as a spring morn. “He carried a broken sword as just Devorgilla foretold. And he came in peace, a good and worthy man.”
Duncan harrumphed. “How can you know that?”
“I just did.” Sir Marmaduke slid a glance at Linnet. “You above all men should know that there are times when a soul simply knows something. I felt a strange kinship with MacTaggert, my gut telling me it was safe to let him enter the glen unescorted, to seek the maid on his own.”
“Say you?” Duncan snatched a flagon of uisge beatha, pouring himself a hefty measure, then quaffing the fiery Highland spirits in one throat-burning swig. “I say if any harm comes to her, I will send you back to your bluidy England, minus your addled head.”
“Duncan.” Linnet placed a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “I, too, believe Sir Gare needed to call on Mairi alone.”
“You aye side with the Sassenach!” Duncan swiveled about to scowl at his wife. “Or is there something the two of you are no’ telling me?”
He cocked a brow, waiting.
Sure enough, the two of them exchanged a look.
“I’m having none of this, be warned!” Duncan gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward, first flashing a glare at his wife, then pinning his friend with another scowl. “Now that Devorgilla’s man with a broken sword has a name, we ken he also has a dark past!” He waited, knowing they couldn’t argue. “It scarce matters if no man kens why, but he’s kept himself holed up in his stronghold these last five years, since the disaster of Neville’s Cross. No man turns his back on the world without good reason.”
“My friend,” Sir Marmaduke spoke in the unruffled tone that aye sawed on Duncan’s nerves. “Do you recall when I rode to meet my lady wife so many years ago? You and your lady sent me to her, having arranged our union. I went, and praise the gods I did. On the journey, there wasn’t a moment I didn’t question if she’d accept me.
“I wasn’t just a scarred and ugly brute, but an Englishman, a former knight in service to this realm’s greatest foes.” He leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin with steepled fingers. “For some reason, Sir Gare struck me as a man suffering a similar plight.
“I cannot say why, but I just knew he needed to meet Mairi, unobserved and on his own.” He paused, looking round the table. “As well, I was sure that if danger befell her, he was well able to defend her.”
Duncan didn’t trust his ears. He felt his face coloring, the flush of anger heating his neck. “Gare MacTaggert left the field at Neville’s Cross in disgrace,” he reminded his friend. “All Scotsmen there that day, the ones who survived the slaughter, rode away in shame. To his credit, he is said to have stayed when his fellow nobles spurred away, fighting on with the lower ranks, but he’s also known to have ne’er raised a sword again, no’ since that ill-fated day.
“Why do you think he’d do so for Mairi?” Duncan looked along the table again, not surprised when none of his men took MacTaggert’s side.
In the Scottish Highlands, a man who refused to wield a blade was no longer a man.
“I pray he’ll have no cause to defend Mairi.” Sir Marmaduke took another annoyingly slow sip of ale. “If so, I put my faith in him.”
“What you’ll do is keep a greater watch on that glen.” Duncan stood, needing to pace to cool his temper. “Double your men, hie yourselves out there twice as often, and dinnae hesitate to sweep in if aught appears amiss.”
His orders given, Duncan strode from the table. Without a further word or a greeting to anyone else in the hall, he made for an unshuttered window, the one that offered his favorite view, a vista that always soothed him. But this evening, he glared at the shining waters of Loch Duich, the rugged, mist-drenched hills of his beloved Kintail. The gloaming had an eerie cast, causing a strange purplish light to glint off the rocks and water, while the cliffs and headlands on the far side of the loch seemed to stare at him, almost reproachfully.
Duncan rested his hands on the broad window ledge, splaying his fingers across the cold, damp stone. His hills ought to scold the Sassenach, not him.
He only wanted Mairi safe.
He’d sworn to protect her.
“She needs a good man,” came a soft voice behind him.
Duncan kept his gaze on the loch. “She needs to live without fear,” he answered his wife. Wind wailed past the window then, reminding him of Mairi’s glen, and he turned to face Linnet, wishing he hadn’t when he saw how the gloaming’s odd light made her hair shine and her skin glow, almost as if she were a faery queen.
She was still that alluring, even after so many years.
He desired her fiercely, as a stirring at his groin proved.
Worse, he felt his frown fading, knew a look of total capitulation was stealing across his features. She did that to him, held him aye in thrall. He was helpless to resist her, especially when, as now, she leaned into him, her soft, womanly warmth pressing against him, fuzzing his wits, beguiling him.
“Have done, woman.” He heard the roughness in his voice, knew he was lost to her spell. “I only want what’s best for the maid.”
“That I know, my love.” Linnet rose on her toes, kissed his cheek. “I also know that Mairi is not an innocent. You know it, too. Perhaps-”
“Dinnae say you’ve had another vision?” Duncan hoped not.
“Would that I had.” Linnet shook her head, her denial relieving him. “I sense with a woman’s kenning” – she stepped back and plac
ed her hand on her heart – “that Mairi is lonely.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she lowered her voice. “Her heart has been broken not once, but twice. From what we can guess, Sir Gare has an equally troubled past. I am thinking that mayhap the two-”
“He might lie with her, aye.” Duncan could imagine it. Mairi MacKenzie was a beauty, and a passionate woman. “But he’ll leave her in sorrow if he does,” he added, knowing better than his wife how often landed men bed village women. How easily they walk away.
“I am sure he will not hurt her.” Linnet stepped close again, wrapping her arms around him. “Tell Sir Marmaduke to watch the glen, for sure. But make certain the guardsmen stay on the cliffs and do not go down into the glen. No one should disturb Dunwynde.”
“You have seen something!” Duncan caught her chin, lifting her face to peer down at her.
“I have not,” she denied, the truth in her eyes. “It is only a feeling.”
Duncan frowned, certain feelings of his own pushing his lovely, ill-starred cousin from his mind.
“I will think on it,” he agreed, pulling Linnet close, lowering his head to crush his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply before she could argue.
When she lifted her hands to grip his face, returning his kiss with equal fervor, he scooped her up against his chest and made for a little-used stairwell to the upper floors and their bedchamber.
He’d worry about Mairi and Sir Gare MacTaggert on the morrow.
This night he’d show his lady how much he still desired her. Indeed, he might even take her on one of the landings, so great was his need.
Chapter Three
“A love charm?” Mairi was sure she’d misheard Gare. She also wished his nearness didn’t make her feel so startlingly overheated, much warmer than should be possible on such a chill, damp night.
Needing distance, she went to the door curtain, pretending to adjust its ties against the cold, gusting wind. When she turned back to him, she clasped her hands before her. “Is she so onerous then? This woman you will marry?”
“She is no’ the problem.” He joined her, his long strides easy and commanding, as if he owned the peat-hazed broch. “I have no wish to wed any woman. I haven’t for some years.”
Mairi blinked.
She needed a moment to grasp the portent of his words. His voice had a deep, richness that made her belly flutter. Her skin tingled beneath his gaze, so she had to struggle to think clearly. When she did, her surprise was great.
“All men wed, especially landed ones of rank.” This she knew well.
It was a truth every woman of lesser birth could never forget.
“That may be.” He didn’t deny it. “Still, a man who is aye away warring can lose interest in hearth and home. His heart hardens.”
“You are such a man?”
He nodded. “I am.”
Mairi knew color must be blooming on her cheeks. They were so close they might as well be touching. “I am not skilled at healing men’s hearts.” I have not been able to protect my own.
And you have already begun siege.
“Yet I was drawn to your door.” He leaned in, his big powerful body stirring her blood, his gaze locking on hers as if he knew. “That cannae be without reason. A man well traveled sees much. He knows there is much in this world that cannae be explained.”
“I prefer to try.” Mairi glanced at the broken sword he’d propped against the wall. “Seeking answers that satisfy, I mean.”
“That’s why I am here.” His intensity unsettled her, his dark good looks causing a flurry of turmoil inside her. “I seek a way to resolve a problem I can no longer allow, now that the king has cast his eye on me.”
“Perhaps you should speak with your wife-to-be?” Mairi tried not to notice how he dominated the broch, his broad shoulders and plaid-draped, mail-covered chest blocking the rest of the small, smoke-hazed room. “She, more than anyone, can give you the succor one needs to ease a heart gone cold. You should have ridden to her.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes, a glint she caught because of the torchlight.
He said nothing, his silence hinting that she’d breached a sensitive matter.
“You must be thirsty.” She went to her table and poured two measures of ale. His hand brushed hers as he took the cup, the brief touch rippling up her arm, igniting her senses. “I can offer you stew as well.” She glanced at the cook pot where her dinner still simmered, delicious steam rising to join the room’s peat haze. “Fresh baked bannocks and cheese, a fine herring if that suits you better?”
She gestured to her low, three-legged stool, the only place to sit in the broch. “You can eat there, rest yourself.”
He didn’t move.
Instead, he took a long, slow sip of ale. “Perhaps later.”
He said no more and within moments, excepting his dog’s snores, the night wind and the hiss of the fire were the only sounds in the room. It was an uncomfortable quiet, rising to fill the dimness, even as his face shuttered. Mairi knew dark secrets swirled beneath his calm exterior. She sensed it so strongly her heart lurched. Whatever grieved him was a great sorrow.
He was also too attractive, dangerously so.
Especially for her, as she’d been alone so long.
She wasn’t the witch the good folk of Drumbell had accused her of being. But perhaps they were right in scolding her as a whore, a fallen woman unable to resist a man’s touch. The gods pity her, for she already desired this one’s hands on her. She didn’t dare look at his mouth too often. As things stood, such hot, potent need crackled between them that she was surprised it wasn’t visible.
She was truly her mother’s daughter. Born as she was to a too-young, too lusty, village lass who’d given her heart to the wrong man, losing not just her honor, but her life when she’d died birthing Mairi nine months later.
“I’ll no’ burden my chosen bride with my cares.” Gare broke the silence, crossing to the table to help himself to a second cup of ale. “It would no’ be fair to her, or any woman, to be tied to a man who’d rather spend his nights before the fire with his dog than entertain a lady wife.”
“You do not enjoy women?” Mairi couldn’t believe it.
No, she was shocked.
Rarely had she seen a more virile man. Just the way he moved spoke of caged passion, his dark, smoldering gaze marking him as a dangerously alluring man. Leastways for females who appreciated such men.
Women like her, she knew, her quickening pulse proving her folly.
“I cannot believe you have such troubles.” She spoke true, her gaze flicking over him from head to toe. “You do not look like the sort of man who-”
“Nor am I.” He set down his empty ale cup, started pacing. “I am no’ plagued by the problem you mean. No’ at all, my lady.” He shot a look at her, his own gaze raking her, the heat in his eyes proving his words. “I’ve simply pushed such matters from my mind these past years, in penance. For the same reason I carry a broken sword.”
He stopped beside the rent blade, his great physical presence and his proud warrior’s bearing so at odds with the sundered weapon.
“There are some deeds that can ne’er be put to right, my lady.” He closed his eyes for a moment, pulled a hand down over his face. “When such a burden is heavy enough, all a man can do is quit his debt in other ways. I chose to hermit myself at my home, Blackrock Castle, cutting myself off from pleasures and indulges I’d once enjoyed too greatly.”
“Including women, see you?” He started pacing again, a slight flush at his cheekbones showing how difficult it was for him to admit his plight. “My problem is no’ an inability to relish a woman, but the almighty guilt that I carry. I am no’ sure I can set it aside.”
“I see only that you’ve suffered.” Mairi went after him, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Surely nothing can be so bad to merit such a severe denial?”
He turned, his dark gaze studying her, every slant of his face grim. “And
I see why your fame as a miracle healer has spread across the land. You look beyond words and deeds, using your heart to peer into a man’s soul. Even so, you err with me, my lady.”
His mouth tightened to a hard line as something fierce and terrible flashed across his face. Then he glanced at Troll, his sleeping dog, and his expression cleared. Again, he pulled a hand down over his beard, drew a long, deep breath. When he turned back to her, Mairi knew she was about to hear what truly plagued him.
“I dinnae deserve thon beast’s companionship either,” he said, the pain in his voice making her heart wince. “But he belonged to someone I loved dearly and so I couldn’t abandon him when she died.”
“The dead woman is the reason you’ve monked yourself?” Mairi hadn’t meant to speak so plainly.
The words had simply leapt from her tongue, his nearness again disturbing her, his troubles bothering her in ways that weren’t wise.
She had her own sorrows.
Caring for a man would only worsen them.
“I am sorry.” She stepped back, brushed at her skirts, embarrassed. “I should not pry.”
He didn’t look offended. “How else can you help me?”
I am not sure that I can. Mairi didn’t answer aloud, feeling too badly for him to take his last vestiges of hope. She did go to the narrow wooden shelf on her wall, fetching two plain earthen bowls that she carefully began to fill with stew from her cook pot. She wasn’t hungry, but needed to occupy herself, to do anything to keep from standing so closely before him, wanting to take his hand and lead him to her bed, soothing and welcoming him the only way she knew.
Making love to him was exactly what she shouldn’t do.
For sure, not when he’d just told her how deeply he mourned a former lover.
“I can help you, sir, by seeing you do not sleep on an empty stomach.” She said the only thing she could, placing the bowls on her small somewhat rickety table. “You will eat and then I will make a pallet for you.”
She went back over to him and gripped his elbow, leading him to the table where she picked up a spoon and pressed it into his hand. “The stew is not much, but my bannocks are good.” She set a basket of them beside his bowl, nodding when he reached for one and took a bite.
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