by Amy Jarecki
Maggie’s eyes popped wide and she gave a wee gasp, clearly enjoying the new tactile sensations. Shifting the bairn’s palm to the plush wool, Helen grinned. “But I’d wager you like sheep’s wool the best.”
Maggie squealed with delight.
Helen threw back her head and laughed. “Och aye, we two will have so much fun together. There’s no keep to run, no malignant rules to follow, no lemans shooting me hateful glares.” Helen snapped a hand over her mouth. Though Maggie did not yet understand everything she said, Helen must not speak out against the bairn’s father. She’d not err again.
Before dusk, Helen set to preparing the evening meal of boiled mutton pottage and kettle scones. Maggie entertained herself, rolling back and forth over the rug and pushing up with her arms, and, on occasion, sticking a wooden spoon in her mouth and chewing. Teeth were about to come in, no doubt.
As the kettle began a rolling boil, Helen scooped a dollop of pottage with a large ladle. She blew on the steamy liquid and sipped. A bit bland.
She’d seen some houseleek outside. Surely a few sprigs would add flavor. Stepping outside for a mere moment, she strode to the overgrown garden and broke off a handful.
A twig snapped.
An eerie silence blanketed the clearing.
Helen held her breath, but the hammering of her heart roared in her hears. Mr. Keith should be away bearing her message for Eoin and Gyllis wouldn’t approach at this hour. Had it been a deer? She wasn’t about to wander into the woods to find out. Grasping her skirts, she ran for the door.
The unmistakable sound of horse hooves grew near—not at a gallop, but in the cadence of a fast trot.
Helen dashed inside and grabbed the bow and an arrow from its peg beside the door. Her hands trembled as she loaded the arrow. Only God knew who was out there. With luck, they’ll pass by unawares. Goodness, Gyllis told me there hadn’t been any outlaws holed up in this forest in years.
She moved to the window and cracked open the shutter, sliding the arrow through. Helen’s heart flew to her throat. At the edge of the clearing, the rider, clad in a black cloak, reined his horse to a stop.
Helen pulled back the bowstring, willing her hands to steady.
The rider dismounted. When he pushed the hood from his head, he stared straight at the cottage.
Helen’s stomach flittered all the way up to her throat.
Blessed be the saints! She tossed her weapons aside and dashed to the door. “Sir Eoin! How on earth did you find me so quickly?”
His eyes sparkled with his incredibly attractive grin. “Mr. Keith delivered your missive late this morn.”
“And you came all the way from Tabert? In one day?”
“Aye.” He gave her a wink. “We had a good wind.”
“I’ll say.” She glanced at the horse behind him. “And a young steed.”
He gestured to the gelding. “Lady Gyllis offered me the best in her stable.”
Helen could have swooned where she stood. My stars ’tis good to see him. “Did she now?”
After tying his horse, Eoin stepped up to the threshold and Helen craned her neck to gaze upon his handsome face. Lord in heaven, how on earth did he grow more beautiful in the brief time since I’ve last seen him? She stood there like a young maid and stared.
The corner of his mouth ticked up while his gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he brushed the back of his knuckle along her jaw. Gooseflesh rose across her skin.
“Ah, Lady Helen,” he hoarsely whispered. “I raced here like a madman just to see you, and I have so much to tell, I’ve no idea where to start.”
Rising to her toes, she cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. Oh yes, she could gaze into those blue eyes for an eternity. “I’m ever so glad to see you.”
He covered her hand and slid it to his lips. Closing his eyes, he kissed her fingers, plying them with full and tender lips. “To see your face is like opening a window to a valley of primrose on a spring morn.”
Och, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold on for dear life. If only it were proper. Helen stepped aside and gestured toward the hearth. “You’re in luck. I’ve put on a pottage, and once the leek has time to steep, we shall be ready to sup. I trust you will not be in such a hurry you won’t stay for the evening meal.”
“I’ve no reason to haste away.” He inhaled deeply. “It smells far too good to decline your generous invitation.”
She chuckled. “’Tis a bit bland, but I’ve a batch of kettle scones baking to liven it up.”
Eoin stepped inside and closed the door. “You never cease to amaze me, Lady Helen. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Mother made sure we learned the basics, and then Peter at Mingary taught me the rest. I may not have been the one to stir the pot, but I most certainly oversaw the ingredients and their measurement.”
Maggie chortled from her place on the sheepskin rug.
Eoin smiled in the babe’s direction. “How is the bairn settling in?”
Helen’s breast swelled with her smile. “She’s unscathed by the whole ordeal. We’ve been playing a game of touching different textures. She’s quite enjoyed it.”
Eoin sauntered over and picked up the square of silk. “Would this be her favorite?”
“Oh no, she prefers the plush wool beneath her—let out a right royal laugh when she sunk her wee fingers into it.”
He scooped Maggie into his arms. “And what say you, little one? Do you like sheepskin?”
Maggie reached up with both hands and clapped his face.
He chuckled. “Or is it a man’s stubbled chin?”
The bairn threw her head back with a gummy grin, then bobbled upright, squealing with delight.
Helen tapped her fingers to her chest. “I think she’s taken a liking to you.”
“That’s a good thing.” Eoin rubbed his nose against Maggie’s cheek. “She’s the bonniest bairn I’ve ever seen.”
Helen couldn’t disagree. Standing completely still, she watched how Eoin handled the babe, his large hands cradling her securely, but ever so gently. And Maggie stared up at him with wide eyes, as if she adored the man.
Helen broke the houseleek into bits and tossed it in the pottage. Then she held a twig in the coals and lit the tallow candle on the table. Her hands tremored a bit, anticipating he’d say something about her plight. She then picked up the spoon and stirred. Eoin hadn’t yet uttered a word about his visit to Iona either. Waiting made her fidgety and she clanged the spoon on the side of the pot. Just ask him. “Were you able to meet with my brother, John?”
When he didn’t respond right away, Helen regarded him over her shoulder.
“Forgive me. I was so enamored with Maggie, I neglected to tell you.” His expression was far kinder than a brawny man’s should be. “And that is the main reason for my visit.”
Eoin took a seat on one of the benches at the table and propped Maggie on his knee. “The bishop has already left for Rome.”
“John is carrying the missive himself?” Helen turned from the hearth and faced him, covering her mouth with her palm. “Truly?” Her eyes stung with tears. Would she finally be freed from Aleck’s oppressive yoke?
“He left for a meeting in Rome the day after I delivered your letter. I must say, the timing was ideal.”
Her throat closed. Could she finally hope? “To think at last I’ll be free.”
“Aye, lass.” Eoin bounced the bairn on his knee. “But you must remain hidden. John warned the Pope rarely approves an annulment when petitioned by the wife.”
Helen didn’t care for the sound of that. “Dear Lord. I will stay tucked away in this cottage for the rest of my life if His Holiness doesn’t grant it.” She clutched her hand around her throat. “After you left, Aleck interned me into the dungeon.”
“’Tis criminal.” He stopped rocking and his expression grew dark. “Mr. Keith mentioned as much when he met me at Tabert. I still cannot understand MacIain’s bru
tality toward you.”
She nodded and swiped a tear away. “For days I sat locked in the cold dark cavern. My crime? Asking Mary to tend the pigs and the chickens whilst Aleck charged to Sunart with the clansmen.”
Maggie whimpered and Eoin resumed bouncing. “First he abandons you with a handful of aging guards, and then he punishes you for taking charge?”
“I’m afraid so.” Helen nodded. “Worse, Glenda said she overheard him tell Mary that I would perish right there in the dungeon whilst birthing a bairn.”
“God’s teeth.” Eoin looked toward the window, a tic twitching in his jaw. “A-are you with child?” he whispered with cutting tension in his voice.
Her stomach twisted. How poorly I must appraise in his eyes. “That is what I cannot understand. Aleck hasn’t visited my bedchamber since I conceived Maggie.”
“Christ.” Eoin lowered his gaze and stared at Maggie for a moment. “What in God’s name was he scheming?”
“Deep in my heart, I know he was planning my death.” She drew in a stuttered breath. “He told me he’d been in love with Mary even before our wedding. She was his leman the entire time I lived at Mingary.”
He simply shook his head. “How awful for you.”
Helen’s problems came flooding back tenfold as silence cut through the cottage with the weight of five hundred stone.
Her whole sordid marriage looked like a farce performed by players at the king’s court. But still, now the ugliness was in the open, Helen desperately needed to confess her deepest secret—the one no one knew.
Licking her lips, she wrung her hands. “He didn’t visit my bedchamber often and when he did it was insufferable.”
Eoin again looked away, his face unreadable. Helen was well aware that a lady shouldn’t speak of such matters to anyone. But Aleck’s behavior had always confused her. She’d seen couples in love before. Invariably, they acted as if they were mad for one another.
I’ll wager Sir Eoin now thinks me frigid just as Aleck did.
Helen cringed and returned her attention to the hearth. I shouldn’t have told him. Her palms moist with perspiration, she reached for a cloth and folded it over. Then she used it to lift the lid from the kettle scones. “These are ready,” she said softly.
Food was a nice diversion from their present conversation.
“Smells delicious.”
Helen kept her gaze lowered as she set the table and scooped the scones onto a trencher.
“Is Maggie eating with us?” he asked, running his palm over the sleepy bairn’s crown.
“Nay. She’s already supped.” Helen held out her arms. “I’ll put her down, she missed her afternoon nap.”
Eoin strolled in behind Helen and looked at the makeshift crate. “Now that’s clever.”
With a chuckle, she placed Maggie inside and covered her with a soft blanket. “’Tis the only thing I could find to suffice for a cradle.”
“It appears as if she hasn’t noticed the difference.”
“I daresay she hasn’t.” Helen gazed upon her daughter. The babe sighed and closed her eyes. Indeed, she was ready for sleep.
Eoin pointed to a jug on the table. “Is that wine?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll pour us some.”
Helen served up the pottage as Eoin collected two wooden cups from the shelf beside the hearth. There weren’t many dishes, but enough to make do. “What news of the rebellion?” Helen asked.
He filled her cup and then his. “We’ll be sailing into battle soon, I’ve no doubt.”
She hated the idea of Eoin being embroiled in more fighting. “Why is the king waiting?”
“They are outfitting all the galleys with cannons, but the work’s nearly done.”
She pressed her hand to her abdomen. “You’ll be expected back soon, then?”
“Aye.” He gave her a sheepish grimace. “Actually, no one kens I’ve left aside from my men, and they are awaiting me at Dunollie.”
“Oh heavens.” Her gaze shot to the door. “Do they ken I’m here?”
“Nay.” He patted her shoulder with a gentle hand. “Mr. Keith stressed how important it is to keep your location a secret and I most certainly agree.”
Helen sat on the bench across from where he stood. As proper, he followed suit and took his seat, then raised his cup. “To you, Lady Helen. The bravest woman I know.”
Goodness, he had an endearing way of making her feel important—respected. “You are very kind to say so, sir knight.” She sipped her wine. The fruity, oaken flavor enlivened her palette. “Thank you for coming. I am ever so happy to see you,” she added in a whisper.
“Lady Helen.” Eoin reached across the table and touched his fingers to her cheek. Though his pads were rough, his touch was feather light. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his hand. Kindness from a man was something she knew little of.
His gaze grew dark and intense. “I would have sailed around the world just to see you if only for a moment.”
A bit of her heart melted.
They’d never talked about what might happen after the annulment was granted—if it was granted. And if it was not, Helen could find herself at Aleck MacIain’s mercy. Perhaps that’s why she avoided thinking about her future.
She picked up her spoon and took a bite.
Eoin did the same. Through the entire meal, he held her gaze, staring at her with those intense blue eyes while the candlelight flickered amber across his sun-weathered skin.
Helen couldn’t remember ever gazing upon a man more ruggedly handsome. Moreover, merely with a look he expressed his love—his strength. With Eoin near, she needn’t fear. If only this eve would last forever.
22
The moment Mr. Keith had arrived and told of Helen’s incarceration and escape, Eoin had set sail for Dunollie with fury pulsing through his veins. Blast it all, he hadn’t been able to protect her from Aleck’s sordid treatment.
Without considering the consequences, he rushed to her to ensure she was safe and unharmed. At least that’s what he told himself.
But chatting with Helen over simple fare and sweet wine was like being sent to heaven. She’d changed since he’d last seen her. Aye, she’d dropped a few pounds which she could ill afford, but Helen carried her shoulders with more ease. Her mouth wasn’t pulled tight at the corners. Even her neck appeared longer. The stresses at Mingary most certainly had her wound tighter than a spring, but out there in the middle of the forest, she’d already relaxed some. She again looked like the winsome lass he’d fallen in love with so long ago.
Eoin listened thoughtfully to her banter, enraptured with the sultry lilt of Helen’s voice. Had she no idea of the extent of her allure? He swirled his second helping of wine and sipped. He held the cup to his lips for a time, watching her from behind it, hiding his smile. By God, her beauty surpassed anything he’d seen in all his travels.
At the cottage, she’d left her tresses uncovered and unbound. Her hair hung past her waist in waves of honey. Eoin’s fingers twitched. He reached across the table and grasped a lock. Ah, yes. It was spun of pure silk. “You should never cover your hair.” Gruff with longing, he hardly recognized his voice.
Helen’s hands flew to her crown. “My heavens. I’ve been in the forest for two days and already I’m forgetting propriety.”
“Not at all. It pleases me that you’re comfortable without a veil.” He held the lock to his nose and inhaled. “Mm. Purer than a bar of rose-scented soap.”
A nervous chuckle slid through Helen’s lips. “’Tis just my wily mop of hair.”
He lowered his chin and deliberately stared. “I beg to differ.”
She fanned her face. “My, the wine is making me flush.”
Eoin would wager the adorable blush blossoming in her cheeks wasn’t caused by the wine. He’d been willfully staring at her since arriving.
“’Tis growing late,” she said. “Are your men expecting you?”
So enraptured was he, that he hadn’
t blinked in some time, nor did he want to close his eyes for even a fraction of a moment. “On the morrow.”
Helen’s gaze shot to the bedchamber, then her exquisite pink tongue slipped out and moistened her bottom lip. “Eoin, I—”
He couldn’t allow her to say it. Standing, he strolled around the table and grasped her hand. “Come here.”
A wee gasp caught in her throat as she dipped her gaze to their hands, her dainty palm cradled in his. Watching, Eoin didn’t hurry her. She raised her chin and met his gaze—those sky blue eyes turning the shade of midnight. Hot, raw desire thrummed through his manhood.
With a slight tug, he pulled her into his arms. Brushing a lock of hair from her face his chest swelled. “I want to gaze upon your beauty.”
Without a word she smiled and slowly slid her hands around his waist until their bodies touched.
Damnation, she molded to him like she’d always been meant to be in his arms. He was so damned hard. He’d been hard since she’d opened the door to the cottage. There were no words to express the intensity of the love bursting from his chest. He wanted so much to protect her—to cherish her—to show her just how deeply a woman could be loved.
Her eyes watched him with a combination of fear and trust.
Eoin dipped his gaze to her lips—still moist. Searing need swirled in his groin. Heaven help him, but he wanted her. He’d wanted her every day of his life. Though he’d searched, he hadn’t found another woman who could reach his soul like Helen Campbell, and now he held the object of his passion in his arms. Before she could utter another word, he claimed her mouth. Since the day he’d kissed her in the shed, he’d relived that glorious moment over and over. Greedy for more, he slipped his tongue between her lips forcing himself to be gentle, reverent.
As they joined, Helen sighed into his mouth—her response not pensive as it had been before. She yielded to him, slipping her arms up his back and pulling him closer. Her mouth was silky, hot and wet. Eoin pressed the length of his body against her, but it wasn’t enough. He skimmed his hands down to her buttocks and tugged her hips flush against his all-demanding, mind-consuming erection.
