by Amy Jarecki
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 earth 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 v
isits 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.”
13
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.”
Gyllis laughed. “You mean Sir Eoin MacGregor isn’t with you?”
She unwound her hair. “Afraid not.”
“Why, how utterly heartless of him.”
Helen sighed. “Honestly, I haven’t seen Sir Eoin in some time.”
“Where has he been?”
“How should I know? No one tells us lassies anything.”
“Some things do not change.” Gyllis chuckled and placed her hand atop Helen’s. “My, ’tis good to see you.”
Helen smiled, but it wasn’t her usual sweet grin. It was guarded. “And how are you, my dearest?”
Gyllis bit her lip. Though she and Helen could always tell each other their deepest secrets, a tickle at the back of her mind told her not to talk about Sir Sean. Things were only beginning to blossom between them and, presently, she didn’t know if his attentions were because they had been dear friends and he felt sorry for her. Yes, she’d sensed his genuine fondness and delightful kisses, but things were so different now. She had an illness that very well could leave her a cripple for life. No man would ever want to marry a cripple. No. She would keep her meetings with Sir Sean to herself. She’d lock away any happiness that he imparted and, for the first time in her life, would refrain from thinking about the future.
She ventured to look at her legs, covered by a blanket. “I’ve gained a bit of use of my hands, but my legs are generally worthless.”
“That is awful.” Helen folded her hands in her lap. “Do you think the monk’s treatments are helping?”
“Gradually—but not fast enough for me.” Gyllis clapped. “I would prefer not to talk about me. How are things at home? Mother?”
“Mother is worried half to death about you, but recently she’s been busy running the keep. Duncan took Lady Meg to Edinburgh to spend midsummer at court with King James. It seems the king always requires something from our brother.”
“Aye, and his wife could no longer bear for them to be separated, I’m sure.”
“I’d agree. Being apart makes it rather difficult for them to produce…ah…more bairns.”<
br />
Gyllis burst out with laughter and cupped her hand over her mouth. “You do surprise me at times, Helen.”
“Well, ’tis the truth.” She smiled—now a warm, genuine smile. Gyllis realized all her sisters were rather pretty—funny she hadn’t thought much about it before. “Alice and Marion are the same, still at that age where they’re driving Mother mad with their silly remarks and back talking.”
“Aye, I remember when we were ten and six.” Gyllis chuckled. “We were hellions.”
“We were for certain. God bless Ma, she lived through it.” Helen glanced to the corner where John had rested the lute sennights ago. “Have you been playing?”
Gyllis held up her hands. “I’m afraid my fingers have not yet found the dexterity they once had.”
“Perhaps it would be soothing if I played for you?” Helen’s eyebrows raised, as if asking for permission.
“Please do.”
Easing into the pillows, Gyllis closed her eyes and listened to Helen’s magical fingers. Of all her sisters, Helen was definitely the most talented with the lute. She plucked the strings with such lithe grace, the music came alive. And when she sang, it was as if larks had joined together in a heavenly chorus. The music moved Gyllis, sent tingles up her spine. She had missed Helen’s company, though she wasn’t yet ready to return home. Besides being an invalid, she’d rarely see Sir Sean if she went back to Kilchurn Castle.
Mid-strum, John entered with Mevan, Kilchurn Castle’s man-at-arms. Helen rested the lute on the bed and greeted John with a warm embrace. After they’d exchanged pleasantries, John gestured to the guard. “’Tis time to away home. I’ve arranged for your transport to ferry you across Loch Etive giving Fearnoch Forest a wide berth.”
“Has something happened in the forest?” Gyllis asked.
John gave her a stern look as if she hadn’t the right to ask her question. The intensity in his eyes made her shoulders rigid. Something had happened for certain.
Helen bent down and embraced her. “Next time I’ll see if we can stay longer.”
