by Amy Jarecki
He considered strapping on his weapons and leaving, but he’d promised to help the lass find her grandmother. Bittersweet as his plan was, the idea of traveling with Alice and keeping her close tempted him beyond reason. On one hand, it might be nice to come to know her better—find out more about her—her likes, her loves, her plans for her future. But such musings were akin to the betrayal of his clan and kin. There could be no plausible future for them. A wee tryst would not be acceptable, either. Alice was too precious. She deserved better than to be ravished and cast aside. Worse, every time Quinn looked into her blaeberry eyes he yearned to kiss the lass. Hell, he wanted to do a great deal more than kiss.
If only she were a simple maid, a tryst might assuage his inexplicable lust. But no, the woman had to be a clan leader in her own right—the only living heir of the Lamont line. Of all the clans who feuded with the Campbells, Lamont was the most hated. Before the massacre, Alice’s grandfather had led his kin on raids putting Campbell women and children under the knife. They’d reived Campbell cattle, burned out their crofts and attacked their castles, yet Quinn’s grandfather had repaid their deeds tenfold.
By the time Quinn returned to the cottage, he was bone-weary, but a good fatigue, the kind that made a man feel as if he is on the mend after a bout of sickness. The sun shone like an immense yellow ball on the horizon of the western sky and, after a polite knock, he strode inside—a home far more meager than the lass deserved.
Alice set her mending aside and stood from the rocking chair, blushing scarlet. “I-I wasn’t certain you’d return.”
Was she embarrassed about catching him bathing? He hadn’t given his nakedness a second thought, other than wishing they’d been naked together, other than wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.
He rubbed the back of his neck and let the door swing closed behind him. “I needed to regain my strength.” And clear my addled head.
She’d brushed out her hair and the waves shimmered in the candlelight as she gestured with an upturned palm. “I made roast chicken.”
“Is that what smells delicious?”
“Mm hmm.” Feminine hips swayed while she moved to the hearth and tugged on the hob’s cast iron handle. “If you’ll open the bottle of wine, I’ll set to serving.”
Quinn found the squat flagon on the table and used his dirk to cut away the wax sealing the cork. “You look bonny this eve.”
“Oh?” Placing the chicken on the table, she didn’t seem to appreciate the compliment. “Not any different than usual, I suppose.”
“Och, you’d look bonny dressed in sackcloth. The first time I laid eyes on you I thought ye were the loveliest creature I’d seen in all my days.” He raked his fingers through his hair. What am I about? Why must I become a lovelorn fool whenever I’m in her presence?
A wee smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “A selkie.”
“Nay, that’s what my brother said. But I thought…”
She smoothed her hands down her apron. “Yes?”
“I thought you were as beautiful as a goddess.”
His words produced not a smile or blush, but a coy expression with wide, teasing eyes. “You’ve seen many goddesses, have you?”
“Dreamed of them quite a bit.” Giving up on hiding his emotions, he grinned lopsidedly. “As it turns out I was dreaming of you.”
Alice sat and nodded to the bench opposite. “Och, Lord Quinn, your banter is enchanting. If I’d not been born a Lamont, I might think you wanted to court me.”
“Why should I not?” he said, barely believing such a question had slipped through his lips. “I enjoyed kissing you.” Mercy, can I not keep my mouth closed?
The purse to her lips transformed into a grimace as she turned redder than a blood rose. Not meeting his gaze, she picked up a carving knife and pointed it across the table. “We must pretend that never happened.” She set to chopping up the chicken as if it were tougher than leather.
Quinn leaned in. “Allow me, if you will.”
Alice presented him with the knife’s handle. “I never should have brought out your clothes.”
Ah, so the incident out back was what had her bothered.
Quinn carefully sliced a juicy breast and set it on her plate. “It was very kind of you to do so.”
“But weren’t you…”
Ignoring the fluttering low in his gut, he focused on the task as he served himself. “Hmm?”
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “Embarrassed?”
“Nay.” He looked her in the eye but doing so peeled away a bit of the cool exterior he was trying to project. God Almighty, she was bonny—merely having her eyes upon him sent his heart aflutter. “I hope I didn’t make you feel that way.”
Alice suddenly became very interested in her food, pushing her chicken about the plate with her knife. “You’re making me nervous now.”
“Forgive me. ’Tis difficult not to look at you.”
“Well, you must stop.”
“Why? Because my grandfather was a backstabbing tyrant?”
Her eating knife stilled. “He killed my father and destroyed my clan—after my grandfather had surrendered.”
“Aye, he did. Then he paid the price for his tyranny on the Grassmarket gallows.”
The lass speared a morsel of chicken. “You have his blood coursing inside you.”
Quinn slid his hand across the table and stopped right before he touched her fingers. “I am not my grandfather. Nor am I a tyrant. Furthermore, I do not and shall never condone his actions at Dunoon.”
Alice said nothing as she ignored his hand and busied herself with pouring the wine.
Her silence may as well have been a dagger stabbing Quinn in the heart. “I wish I could go back in time and convince him of his follies.”
“But you cannot.” She picked up her glass and sipped, those beguiling blues watching him. Aye, Miss Lamont was quite good at hiding her emotions, though her eyes betrayed the pain lurking in her heart.
Quinn shoved his plate aside. “I thought all the Lamonts were…”
“Dead?” Her whisper came like a breath of frost.
“Aye.” He took a long drink, wishing he had something more potent. Perhaps she was right. After his shave, he should have taken his gear and left. Without his mount he mightn’t have made it all the way to Inveraray, but he would have had a good start. If only Alice’s grandmother had returned, he would be free to go on his way.
Was that what he wanted? Hell, it certainly was what he needed. He’d never see Alice again—leave her to return to her duties and he to his.
Then why did the thought of turning his back make the pain in his shoulder ache all the more? Did he not have a contented life before he’d met Alice?
“Most were killed,” She continued, “some escaped to the Lowlands.”
“But not you?”
“Gran hid me. She says I am the clan’s last hope.”
“And you have every reason to hate me.”
“But I do not.” Alice dabbed her lips with a linen cloth. “Why did you kiss me?”
Because you have bewitched me mind, body and soul.
“I couldn’t help myself.” Unable to sit without touching her, Quinn moved around the table and grasped her hand. “I want to kiss you again.”
But this time he must exercise utter control. Out by the well he’d acted roguishly, taking her in his arms and plundering her mouth as if she was an alehouse wench. He didn’t want to ever disrespect her. Alice deserved to be worshipped, loved, respected. Her entire clan had been wronged by his kin. If only he could find a way to help her—to make up for the sins committed four and twenty years ago.
Quinn moistened his lips and bowed over her hand, hovering for a moment. The soft fragrance of roast and rosemary mixed with the same delicious scent of woman he’d breathed in when he’d kissed her. Closing his eyes, his entire body ached to have her, to come to know ever inch of her flesh. To learn her deepest desi
res, her greatest fears. But if he never performed another chivalrous act in his life, he would control himself in this moment. The warmth of her hand caressed his lips as he gently kissed.
Alice’s sharp inhale made Quinn’s heartbeat stutter. On the outside he didn’t show the intensity of his desire. Rather, he drew her knuckles to his cheek and brushed them along his face. “I am and shall always be at your service, m’lady.”
“H-how do you manage it?”
His eyebrow quirked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Every time you look at me or touch me, you make my insides turn molten.” She tugged her hand from his grasp and wiped the back of it on her skirts. “You have no right to seduce me.”
“I didn’t mean to…” Quinn groaned and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I meant to show you respect.”
“By kissing my hand?”
“Aye, that’s what courters are expected to do.”
“Courters?”
Bloody hell, the more he said, the deeper he dug his grave. Quinn couldn’t propose marriage to a Lamont. His father would crucify him.
Alice thrust her finger toward the pallet. “You have had a long day and quite obviously need rest else your shoulder will never heal. And do not expect me to stay up for nights on end spooning a tincture into your mouth. I simply will not do it.”
Bowing, he nearly chuckled at her bravado. Was she fighting the same internal battle as he? Most likely. “I’m feeling much stronger now than I did this morn.”
Shifting her gaze away, she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “T-t-that’s quite good because as I recall, your knees were rather wobbly.”
“Alice.”
“Aye?”
“I want to kiss you again.”
She raised her palms in front of her face. “Absolutely not. We cannot ever do that again. As you just so aptly demonstrated, merely kissing my hand is dangerous.”
“You’re right.” A heavy weight settled upon his shoulders while Quinn strode toward his pallet, putting the table between them—not much of a barrier, but it would have to serve to remind him of his place. “’Tis a good thing we are setting out on the morrow.”
“I ought to go alone.”
He chopped his hand through the air. “Absolutely not.”
“I beg your pardon, next you’ll be telling me you forbid it.”
“I doubt you’d listen if I did.” Quinn started back around the table but clenched his fists and forced himself to stop. “It is not safe for a woman to venture out alone. What if you fell victim to outlaws?”
“Aye, as if you’d be much good to me with your injured shoulder.”
Quinn rolled the offending wing, willing himself not to wince at the pain. “’Tis coming good. By the morrow I’ll be swinging my sword with either hand.”
“I doubt that. Not even a Campbell heals so quickly.” She stood taller. “I can care for myself—have been all my days.”
He shifted his fists to his hips. “Can you now?”
With an indignant spark in her eye, the saucy lass raised her chin. “Aye.”
“You sound quite self-assured.”
“I keep a dagger up my sleeve.”
“A dagger?” Unable to resist, Quinn sauntered around the table. “What else?”
“I-I’m a fast runner. You saw it for yourself in the wood.”
“Hmm.” He eyed her from head to toe, approaching like a wildcat. Damn the bloody table. Quinn needed no weapons to make his point. As soon as he was near enough, he snatched her wrist and spun her around, putting her back against his chest.
He grunted. Stars shot through his vision. Jesu, his shoulder burned like a bastard.
“No!” she shouted, trying to stomp on his instep, but even through the pain, he was faster.
Quinn used his good arm to restrain her while he fished inside her sleeve and found the knife. “Is this your defense against vile miscreants like me?”
Her body tensed. “I told you where I hid it. The outcome would have been different had I surprised you.”
“Many a woman conceals such a weapon in her sleeve or her garters.” He tossed the dagger onto the table. “But a wee knife is no match for a dirk, musket, sword, or any manner of weapons.”
She raised her chin, twisting enough to meet his gaze. “So, what would you have me do, strap a pistol to my waist?”
Good God, she personified temptation. Pert lips, the soft curves of her bottom flush against his loins. “I would have you allow me to accompany you on your quest to find your grandmother,” he growled, his voice rasping. “Let me prove to you that I am not my grandfather.”
She studied him, her gaze sliding to his mouth. Did she want to kiss him as much as he craved to taste her, just once more? Quinn dipped his chin a fraction. As if pulled by a magnetic force, she stretched nearer.
“How can I trust you?” she whispered.
If he kissed her now, he might lose what little trust he’d earned. “I give you my word.”
“That’s what your grandfather said to mine—afore he ordered the executions.”
Jesu.
Quinn released his grasp and snatched the dagger from the table. “Then I give you leave to drive this blade into my heart.”
Taking it, Alice turned the weapon over in her hand as if considering. “Nay, I believe what you said. You are not your grandfather.”
“I am not, nor will I ever be.”
“Then you shall carry out my bidding when we set out on the morrow. And we will not hide our identities. You are a Campbell aiding a Lamont in her search for her grandmother.”
“And you are a Lamont accepting the assistance of a Campbell.” He held out the palm of his uninjured arm. “Agreed?”
Her eyes narrowed as she stood proudly as if assuming the role of clan leader. And then she did something completely unexpected. The bold lass slit open her palm without so much as a flinch. “Hold your hand steady.”
Quinn did as asked and she cut him as minimally as she’d cut herself. Seizing his palm, she pressed the two wounds together. “We seal this pact with our blood. Should either of us faulter, the other will put him—”
Quinn clenched his fingers tightly to prove his commitment. “Or her.”
“Under the knife.”
“You have my oath.”
“We leave at dawn.”
With a nod, she turned on her heel and dashed into the rear chamber, closing the door behind.
10
Alice watched Quinn drop a crown in the ferryman’s palm in payment for their passage to the Isle of Bute. She had misgivings about traveling with a wounded man and suspected he’d opted to take the ferry because rowing the skiff would hurt his shoulder and he was too proud to accept her help.
Ferry or skiff, Alice didn’t care. It was neigh time to find Gran. And the longer the dear woman was away, the more Alice feared something calamitous had happened.
I never should have left her.
“You oughtn’t be taking a lass to the isle,” said the ferryman, slipping the coin into his sporran.
Three men had already boarded. They were MacGregors by the look of them and armed to the teeth.
“What’s afoot?” asked Quinn.
“I reckon everyone in the Highlands except you knows. The Lamonts have staged a bloody siege.”
Alice clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. “No.”
Quinn grasped her shoulder. “He’s right. You should stay at the cottage.”
“Did you not hear him? The Lamonts are responsible for the rising.” Gran is with them. I should have known!
“All the more reason for you to remain safely beside home’s hearth,” Quinn persisted.
“Is she sailing or nay?” asked the ferryman. “The others are waiting, m’lord. I must weigh anchor.”
Without assistance, Alice boarded the boat. “I answer for myself and I sail.”
The ferryman released the rope. “Have it as you like, miss, but H
is Lordship is right. Bute is no place for a lassie at the moment. Especially one as young and bonny as you.”
Quinn pulled her aside. “Are you certain?”
Alice nodded. “The last time I saw Gran, she was embroiled in the midst of the skirmish. And now I ken my clan is at the heart of it, I must find her.”
A grim smile twisted the corners of his lips. “Your granny seems like the type of woman who’d be leading the siege.”
“Mayhap she is, though I’ll not assume anything until I see it for myself.”
Alice strode past the Highlanders and stood at the bow while the boat got underway. Was Gran at the center of the siege? Had she been responsible for Quinn’s wound? What about the daft rose and what significance had it played? And who were the Lamonts holding the fortress? Over the course of her life, she’d met but a handful of her clansmen.
Before the boat arrived at the pier, a commotion stirred on the shore with men running and shouting.
Quinn stepped in beside her. “Those are my men. Stay close to me.”
“I aim to put an end to this madness.”
“And how do you expect to do that? Don a suit of armor and reenact Joan of Arc?”
“If I must.”
“No doubt you’d do so without a flinch.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “I hope it doesn’t come to something so rash. But remember no one on the pier kens who you are. I’ll be able to ensure your protection if it remains as such.”
Alice pursed her lips. She had no intention of concealing her identity any longer than necessary. Gran had hidden her in the cottage for too many years. What was to become of the Lamonts who remained? She looked out over the sea of Campbells and their supporters. With such small numbers, her clansmen behind the curtain walls had little chance of holding the fortress for long.
A kilted man rode an enormous horse onto the pier—Glenn MacGregor—one of Quinn’s companions. “Damnation, ye are alive, m’lord. I see you’ve brought along some reinforcements as well.”
Quinn gave the man a snort. “Thought you’d take a holiday, in my absence, did you? With your girth I would have expected you to have the situation in hand by now.”
