Devil in a Kilt (22 page)

An
intangible, elusive presence, but real. A cruel and relentless foe, and partly
of his own making. That much she knew. But whatever agonies possessed him, they
were too powerful for her to conquer.

Not
that he'd let her try. She'd seen his manroot shrivel while he'd looked upon
her. Shame and regret pressed down upon her until she could scarce breathe, so
heavy was the weight of her humiliation.

No
wonder he'd taken advantage of her dazed state during one of her visions to
consummate their marriage. Such was the only way to have done with the act as
swiftly as possible.

She
still found it difficult to believe he'd touched her at all, for she remembered
none of the pain her sisters had sometimes spoken about in hushed whispers.
Nor had she experienced the joy, the great passion, of which the bards e'er
sang. She'd experienced naught of such wonders, and it was difficult to believe
she ever would.

For
hadn't her liege husband stared long at her naked breasts, and with such
fierceness she'd thought his gaze would singe her bared skin, yet it was clear
he'd found her unworthy.

Untutored
as she was in intimate matters, she knew enough to understand what had happened
to his manroot.

And
the reason for it.

Yet
with him making no secret about finding her lacking, why did she still get all
aflutter and soft inside each time he turned his dark countenance her way? Why
did she ache with a need for something she couldn't discern?

Something
that seemed so close, yet out of her grasp.

Unless
she reached out and took it.

She
turned her face away as he eased himself onto the bed and stretched out beside
her. She didn't want him to see her hurt and confusion. His reaction to her
body, his rejection of her as a woman, had been embarrassment enough.

For
a very long time, Linnet lay still in the darkness. The moon had long since
sailed on, taking with it the soft glow its silver-blue light had cast over the
bedchamber. Not trusting herself to move lest the simple rise and fall of her
chest shatter the fragile peace that accompanied her husband's sleep, she
allowed herself to take only tiny, shallow breaths.

Until,
finally, Duncan's own slow and steady breathing assured her he'd fallen into a
deep slumber. Only then did she relax, carefully rolling onto her side to face
him.

He
rested a good arm's length away, but the heat from his body reached her,
warming her. His masculine scent teased her senses, unleashing the powerful
urges she was only beginning to understand. Having him so close disturbed her
greatly, but not in an unpleasant manner, merely a perplexing one.

She
wished to explore the feelings he aroused in her, relish the new discoveries he
could undoubtedly teach her. But their union wasn't congenial enough for her to
risk him knowing the power he held over her.

Nor
did she need him to tell her what was happening to her, to her heart.

She
knew.

Or
at least she had a strong suspicion.

And
if her emotions were so clear to her, how could she expect to keep them from
him?

Her
brothers had oft teased her, claiming she could ne'er hide her feelings. Would
Duncan guess the truth? Had he already done so? Could he have sensed how she'd
trembled in anticipation when she'd awakened to find him standing so unexpectedly
before her?

Could
he have known her pulse had quickened? Guessed the thought he'd come to spend
the night in her arms had sent delicious shivers rippling down her spine?

Would
he ever abandon his demons, ever seek to make their marriage work? Did he suspect
how fervently she wished they could do just that?

Did
he know she was coming to care for him?

Her
heart winced at the thought. He was a man who wanted naught to do with gentler
emotions. A man who had no place for love in his heart. And Linnet was convinced
he possessed one. He'd merely locked it away.

Staring
at him to assure herself he truly slept, she lightly traced the hard line of
his jaw with her fingertips, then smoothed her hand over his tangled mane of
black hair. She touched him with careful tenderness, for she knew instinctively
that was what he needed most.

And
if e'er she'd doubted it, she knew now. As daunting a figure he made,
stretched upon her bed in all his magnificence, his sleep-relaxed face bore a
look of vulnerability that called to her in a way she couldn't resist.

Gone
now, the fearsome and proud warrior with his booming voice and critically
narrowed eyes. Stilled, too, his frequent bouts of anger. Sleep had banished
the grimness, leaving in its place a man whose face appeared so unguarded, so
pure in its dark beauty, she couldn't resist leaning across the bed and raining
gentle kisses on his untroubled brow.

Only
a few because she didn't want to steal the rest she knew he needed nor could
she have stood it if he'd awakened and resumed the uncompromising expression he
favored in waking hours.

With
a soft sigh, Linnet shifted onto her back and closed her eyes. But not to
sleep. Too many cares drifted through her mind for her to rest this night.

Cares
she could not control nor do aught about.

Now,
though, after seeing the mighty MacKenzie of Kintail, the Black Stag, with his
guard down, she understood only too well why she found herself fearing him
less and caring more.

Casting
a furtive glance at him, at his handsome face, fair boyish in sleep, her hold
on her own emotions slipped farther out of control. The vulnerability gracing
his features was a discomfiting image paired with the raw, brute strength of
his powerful body, the sheer might and vigor she knew coursed through his
well-muscled limbs.

Closing
her eyes again, she took a deep, ragged breath. She supposed being drawn to him
was inevitable.

Her
fate, deemed by the saints long before she'd taken her first breath.

For
ne'er had she been able to resist taming wild creatures. She'd always felt a
burning need to aid injured beasts, to nurse them back to health, then set them
free.

But
Duncan MacKenzie was one beast she doubted could e'er be fully tamed.

Certainly
not by her, though she did mean to try.

And
if by some divine miracle she
could
heal her husband's heart, letting
him go would surely break her own.

On a
mist-hung morning a sennight later, Linnet let herself into the tiny herbarium
old Fergus had grudgingly relinquished to her care. She closed the gate securely
behind her, the screech of its rusty hinges overly loud and intrusive against
the rhythmic whoosh of the tide washing over the shingled beach just beyond the
garden's thick stone walls.

Pushing
back her head veil, she turned her face skyward. The cooling moisture of the
early-morning fog felt good upon her skin, its gentle softness welcome.
Healing, too, the rich scent of freshly turned earth and the more pungent sea
smells carried on the light breeze.

Eager
to get on with her work, she scanned the neat rows of vegetables and herbs
she'd carefully weeded over the past seven days. She'd accomplished much and
was pleased with her progress.

If
only she could be pleased with her marriage, too.

But,
alas, whilst she could work fair magic with plants, turning a long-neglected
plot of rock-strewn earth and overgrown herbage into a wondrous physic garden
of which even the gifted monk, Brother Baldric, would be proud, her special
talent for nurturing living things seemed to have no effect whatsoever upon her
husband.

She
took a deep, cleansing breath but barely had time to expel it before she heard
a rustling movement in a dark corner of the garden.

"Who
goes there?" she called, turning toward the sound.

"
‘Tis only me." Her husband stepped out from the shadows, and Linnet's
heart leapt at the sight of him. His tall warrior's body, resplendent in his
gleaming black hauberk, seemed almost overpoweringly masculine in the morning
peace of the small garden.

"I
came to bid you farewell," he said.

"Farewell?"
Linnet took a step forward. "You said naught about going away when we
awoke this morn. What is amiss?"

He
strode toward her, his plaid slung boldly over his left shoulder and not one
but two long-bladed knives thrust beneath his low-slung belt. A telling
precaution that matched the grim set of his jaw. His deep blue eyes had
darkened to a shade very close to the steel mesh of his mail shirt and appeared
equally cold.

Very
much aware of the coiled power and strength he held so masterfully in check,
and the anger simmering below the surface of his tightly controlled demeanor,
Linnet waited until he reached her before she voiced her suspicion. "Is it
Kenneth?"

As
if unconsciously, Duncan's hand strayed to the hilt of the broadsword hanging
from his sword belt. "Aye, it would seem so. I've received word from my
friend and ally, John MacLeod, that Kenneth has been harrying the kinsmen who
dwell on the outmost fringes of MacKenzie land. The MacLeod is a good man and
would not spread false rumors. He would not have sent warning if the danger was
not earnest. I shall leave with a patrol anon."

Linnet
swallowed her ill ease at his confirmation of what she'd feared and simply
nodded. He needn't carry her worry with him when he rode through the castle
gates. Keeping her tone as unruffled-sounding as she could manage, she said,
"May God go with you, milord."

A
flare of something indefinable sparked in his eyes, and he touched her face,
letting the backs of his fingers glide down the curve of her cheek. "
‘Twould please me more if He remained here to watch over you."

A
tingling shiver of pleasure rippled through her at his unexpected gentleness,
but the gravity of his journey didn't allow her the luxury of considering the
implications of the simple but tender gesture. Instead, she lifted the hem of
her kirtle to display the sharp knife Dundonnell's smithy had given her. As she
usually preferred, she wore it tucked jauntily into the top of her boot.

She
lifted her chin and met his gaze full on. "I am not afeared of your half
brother," she declared, letting her skirt drop back into place. "Nor
will I hesitate to use my blade if need be."

He
grasped her upper arms and squeezed, his fingers like bands of iron, firm and
strong, yet incredibly comforting, his warmth easily reaching through her
sleeves and chasing away the chill that had begun to curl around her at the
mention of Kenneth.

"May
the saints hinder you'll ever come that close to the bastard again," he
vowed.

"‘Tis
a fine shot I am with a crossbow as well," she said, inwardly alarmed by
the tension thrumming through him. It sprang from his hands and entered her
blood, a living, crackling sensation as wild and furious as the heavens gripped
in the talons of a fierce summer storm.

Deliberately
keeping her voice light in the hope she could dispel, at least, his concern for
her, she boasted, "Not one of my brothers can best me."

"Truth
tell?" Her bravura was rewarded by a flash of amusement in his eyes and
the upward turn of the corner of his lips. Not quite a smile and so fleeting
she may have imagined it, but for the brief instant the almost-smile had
touched his handsome face, the power of it had flared so bright it fair blinded
her.

And
certainly set her needy heart to thumping.

"I
swear it on my mother's grave," she said, emboldened by his
not-quite-a-smile smile and hoping to assure him of the truth of her claims.

No
sooner did the words leave her lips, did his expression grow stony again.
Letting go of her, he said, "I dinna care if you can shoot the tail off
the devil, you shall remain within these walls. I'll not have you wandering
about and inviting trouble. I've ordered a guard to stand watch at your door,
and I deem it best I escort you there now."

"Surely
I am safe in the garden?"

Rather
than answer her, Duncan remained silent, his lips thinning into a tight look of
displeasure ... or disapproval.

The
same closed-face look she'd observed each time he'd caught her heading for the
little herbarium. The last whirling eddies of pleasure his presence always
seemed to set loose in her fizzled out, his dark mood vanquishing them as
swiftly as two fingers can snuff out a smoldering candlewick.

"I
like it here, sirrah," she said, straightening her back and the set of her
shoulders. "Tending the garden gives me purpose." She gestured toward
the neat rows of newly planted herbs. "I came to prepare an elixir for Sir
Marmaduke. The ragwort poultices I've been giving him have worked so well, ‘tis
my hope an elixir will benefit him even more." On impulse, she laid a hand
on his arm. "Have you not noticed the change?"

A
grudging smile slowly spread across his face, transforming it and stealing
Linnet's breath away. "Aye, I have, and if I hadn't, the vain blackguard
would have made certain I did notice."