Devil in a Kilt (4 page)

As
did the rigid shaft of his manhood, no longer relaxed, but boldly riding hard
against the darkness of his groin.

Linnet
squirmed to break free of him. "Release me! I dinna need this sort of
calming."

"Ho,
Duncan! Is aught amiss?" came a deep voice from the far side of the camp.

"Nay,
all is well," the MacKenzie called back. "The lass had a bad dream.
‘Tis over now."

The
heat she'd glimpsed in his eyes a moment before had vanished, but his frown
remained. "Sssshh," he warned her, placing his fingers over her lips.
"I willna have you waking my men with your cries. They need their
rest."

Releasing
her at last, he pushed to his feet. Though he gave her a look of greatly taxed
patience, a muscle jerked in his jaw and revealed the effort his stone-faced
expression cost him.

"Can
you return to sleep?" he wanted to know, seemingly unaware or uncaring
that his manhood yet gave proof of what had just transpired between them.

"Aye."
Linnet nodded and hoped the saints would forgive her the lie. Relief filled her
when he nodded back, then left her to return to his own sleeping place on the
other side of the low-burning fire.

Again
and again as she awaited the dawn, she'd cast furtive glances at her betrothed
as he slept... half-expecting him to shapeshift into a mortally wounded stag,
black with its own blood. Or that he'd roll to face her, and she'd see a gaping
hole in his chest where his heart should be.

Or
worse, that she'd drift to sleep, then awaken to find him crouched over her
again ... naked.

But
he'd not stirred, sleeping on, while she'd spent the remainder of the night
beseeching the saints to grant her the fortitude she'd need to wed the man
whose disturbing image had haunted her girlhood nightmares.

And
now, as they rode through the rain toward the MacKenzie stronghold, Linnet
huddled deeper into her cloak, seeking whatever warmth the threadbare garment
would give her.

But
it wasn't truly physical comfort she sought. Since her da had e'er spent what
meager funds he had on stocking Dundonnell's stores of ale and throwing raucous
ceilidhs
for his friends, she'd never worn aught but handed-down gowns
of thin, scratchy wool, and she'd learned long ago to ignore the blisters
caused by ill-fitting passed-along shoes.

Nay,
bodily discomfort did not bother her overmuch. And, despite the lashing wind
off the loch and the pelting rain with its bone-chilling damp, her betrothed
held her securely before him, shielding her well from the elements.

Turning
her head to the side, Linnet stared out across the storm-tossed water, but the
landscape of sea, loch, and islands was little more than a silver-gray blur as
the MacKenzie's great steed carried them at a thundering pace along the
shingle-lined edge of the loch.

From
the distant shore, a seabird trilled to its mate. The lonely sound drove home
her own forlorn state of mind. Whilst the solitary bird sought to call through
the mists to its partner,
hers
could not be nearer yet ne'er had she
felt more alone.

Mayhaps,
under other circumstances, time would have erased her grudges against the
MacKenzies. If she looked deep into her soul, she knew most of the sharp
reprisals they'd suffered upon her clan had usually been dealt after the
MacDonnells had gone raiding, not afore.

And
ne'er without cause.

Her
soon-to-be husband was stern, and sparse with words, but he did not seem the
ruthless man she'd expected.

Aye,
in time, she could have put aside her ill will toward the MacKenzies. And she
knew he could teach her about passion.

But
she didn't know if she could live with his face, dinna ken if she could e'er
look upon him and not see his chest ripped open, his heart missing.

Nor
did she know if she could ignore the peculiar physical impact he had on her
either.

Uncomfortable
with the strange and conflicting feelings he stirred within her, especially
those he'd aroused in the night, she squirmed, and immediately, he tightened
his grip on her. The feel of his mail-covered chest so close against her back
and his well-muscled thighs pressing so intimately against hers made her belly
go all soft and mushy again. As they rode on, Linnet grew acutely aware of
every place their bodies touched.

With
a weary hand, she brushed aside the rivulets of rain coursing down her
forehead. Secretly, she welcomed the cooling wetness, for her cheeks had
become very hot. Squinting, she tried to peer through the drifting sheets of
fog, and at the same moment, the mists parted, revealing a massive keep on an
island in the middle of the loch and still some leagues away.

The
imposing castle could only be Eilean Creag, her new home.

Forbidding
walls of gray stone rose straight up from the dark waters of Loch Duich and she
caught a brief glimpse of a stone causeway leading to the heavily fortified
stronghold before the mists engulfed the bridge once more, making the castle
appear as if it were floating above the loch.

Aptly
named for the island of rock it stood upon, Eilean Creag presented itself as a
gray and solemn mass of stone isolated from the rest of the world.

A
dead place, void of life and love.

Even
at a distance, Linnet's gift let her sense the cold hanging over the austere
castle Duncan MacKenzie called home. Its chill enveloped her like a shroud.

An
empty chill that had naught to do with the foul weather, an impression so
intense it lifted the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Indeed, she feared
none but the most barren of souls could survive in such a place.

Abruptly
and without warning, Duncan reined in his horse as a single rider bore down on
them from the direction of the castle. Linnet resisted the urge to cross
herself as the rider neared and she recognized him.

St.
Margaret stay her by ... ‘Twas the one called Marmaduke.

Despite
the unease she felt toward the MacKenzie, she pressed herself back against his
chest. Although she knew her fear of the disfigured knight was unfounded, his
fearsome visage filled her with trepidation.

A
sidelong glance at Elspeth did naught to ease her mind. ‘Twas obvious she could
not expect help from
that
quarter. Seemingly impervious to her soaked
garments, the old woman beamed at the young squire, Lachlan, and several other
MacKenzie guardsmen, listening eagerly to their tales of Sir Duncan's heroic
adventures with the good King Robert Bruce.

Linnet
caught boasts of how the Black Stag had rallied the contingent of Highlanders
prior to the king's great victory at Bannockburn. According to his men, her
betrothed had persuaded the chiefs to abandon their feuds in the face of their
common enemy, then helped the Bruce to train the men who would form the king's
own battle division.

‘Twas
highly doubtful the well-loved king had required her betrothed's assistance in
dealing with the Highlanders, but that wasn't near as far-fetched as his mens'
claims he'd used naught but a battle-ax to best twenty English knights who'd
seized Scotland's most sacred relics from the Abbot of Inchaffray! And, of
course, the Black Stag had fought his way back to the Bruce's side, returning
the king's precious reliquary box, unharmed.

Linnet's
brows drew together in a frown. Her beloved childhood nurse appeared totally
unaware of her distress. Elspeth had let the bonnie faces and glib tongues of
the MacKenzie men bewitch her.

"Were
you successful?" Her betrothed's deep voice sounded behind her, tearing
her attention away from Elspeth. The one-eyed knight had drawn up before them.
"I expected you sooner."

"The
chest was locked, and Fergus took his bloody time fetching the key."
Marmaduke fixed Linnet with a sharp look from his good eye, then patted a
leather satchel fastened to the back of his saddle. "I regret the delay,
milord. I meant to make haste because of the rain, but I've brought all you
desired."

"‘Tis
good of you and well you intercepted us before we reached the gates."
Duncan's hands suddenly grasped Linnet's waist. "Will you help the lady
dismount?"

"‘Twould
be an honor." The battle-scarred knight swung down from his horse and
strode forward.

Then,
before Linnet could utter a word of protest, Duncan lifted her in midair,
passing her into Marmaduke's upraised hands. The fearsome warrior knight did
not toss her over his shoulder and abduct her as she'd half feared, but
deposited her most gently on her feet. He even made her a low bow.

"Sir
Marmaduke Strongbow, milady," he said in a voice too chivalrous to match his
frightening appearance. "I am pleased to be of service to you."

Linnet
gasped upon hearing his voice clearly for the first time.

Sir
Marmaduke was a Sassunach!

Surprise
made it impossible for her to do more than nod in answer. An Englishman! Ne'er
had she seen one, and she couldn't imagine why the MacKenzie would have a
Sassunach in his guard.

Shivering
with cold, she watched Sir Marmaduke lift Elspeth from the gray mare. He held
the stout woman as if she weighed no more than a sack of goose feathers and
carried her to where Linnet stood, setting her down with great gentleness.
After bowing to Elspeth, too, he returned to his steed and retrieved the large
leather satchel.

The
MacKenzie also dismounted and joined him. While Sir Marmaduke held the pouch open,
her betrothed glanced inside and nodded in apparent approval. Linnet watched
him pull a length of fine dark blue wool and a pair of half boots out of the
satchel. He laid the wool over his arm and made straight for her.

"This
cloak belonged to my sister," he said. "Remove the sodden one you
wear, and I shall fasten this one about your shoulders. ‘Tis better made than
yours and should keep you warm and dry for the remainder of the journey."

Beyond
where they stood, she saw the Sassunach help Elspeth out of her own drenched
mantle and assist her in donning a dry one almost as fine as the one her betrothed
held ready for her.

Shame
and guilt flooded Linnet. The one-eyed knight had departed so hurriedly
yestereve to fetch raiments for her and Elspeth.

And
on the MacKenzie's orders.

Despite
the chill rain and the soggy
arisaid
she'd insisted on draping over the
new cloak, heat spread up her neck. She hadn't imagined her husband-to-be
capable of thoughtfulness. She'd only noted the emptiness he carried inside
and had cringed in terror upon recognizing his face.

She'd
been unjust to the scar-faced Sassunach, too.

Regardless
of the reason he found himself in the Highlands, far from his native land,
he'd proved himself a gallant and she'd thank him for his good deed.

As
for the MacKenzie, she'd thank him, too, but reserve further judgment until
she understood his motive. Mayhap he simply didn't want his people to see her
own lowly garments when she entered his hall?

"These
are newly crafted," he said, handing her the footgear. "If they do
not fit, I'll order another pair made for you."

Linnet
glanced at her scuffed brogans, embarrassed to see her big toe poking through
the worn and cracked leather. "Thank you," she said stiffly,
exchanging the butter-soft boots for her old ones.

"
‘Tis not necessary to thank me." His voice sounded flat, void of emotion.
He nodded toward Elspeth. "If you're both prepared to continue, we will
ride on. We are nigh upon Eilean Creag."

Although
the fine cloak shielded her well from the rain and wind as they rode along the
shore, it did naught to protect her from her growing sense of unease.

While
the forbidding stone castle loomed larger with every mile they covered, Duncan
MacKenzie seemed to grow more distant the closer they came to his home. The
barrier of ice Linnet sensed he'd built around himself intensified, becoming
colder, more impenetrable, now that they had almost reached his formidable
domain.

Despite
the heavy woolen mantle, Linnet shivered as if it were the dead of winter and
not midsummer.

She
prayed silently as the heavily burdened horses clattered under the raised
portcullis of a fortified gatehouse and continued across a long stone causeway
to the island fortress.

The
atmosphere was bleak, dismal, and pressed in on her from all sides. Again, she
suppressed the urge to flee. Yet, even if she could spring from the MacKenzie's
mighty horse, where would she go? On either side of the low bridge, the dark
waters of Loch Duich churned angrily, while strong gusts of chill wind sent
low, rain-leaden clouds scuttling across the loch's wind-whipped surface.

Undoubtedly
Eilean Creag would appear more majestic than gloomy on a fairer day, but to
Linnet, the somber gray of its massive walls and the evening's murkiness seemed
a most appropriate home for the solemn-faced man she must wed.

At
the end of the causeway, they paused before the final gatehouse, a massive
twin-towered structure, while yet another portcullis rattled upward. Linnet's
spirits sank lower as they rode beneath the steel-tipped spikes and into the
yawning darkness of a tunnel-like passage.