Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (17 page)

Flanna forced herself not to rattle some sense into her daughter. Why was it that Roderic's children would never consider
not
following a malevolent shadow? "And then?"

Shona cleared her throat. "I went up the ladder to the barracks. But..." She paused.

"But what?"

Shona looked baffled, as if she couldn't remember the night's events, but in a moment she shrugged. "Did ye know Kinnaird is sleeping above the stable?''

"Nay, I didna," Flame said, then waited to the count of fifteen for her daughter to continue.

"Might I ask how ye ended up on the floor with him?"

Shona scowled. "He was most rude. Asked me what I was doing there."

"Shocking!"

"I thought so. I told him the truth, but he didna believe me."

"Humph. And so?"

"So I decided to leave, but he grabbed my arm. He said he only wanted to escort me, but I dunna trust him."

"Indeed?"

Shona leaned forward, warming to her story. "Where was he when I arrived, that's what I wish to know. And what about during the footraces? I have my suspicions about him."

"Such as?"

"I believe tis he who tried to assassinate the king."

Flanna sat in dumbfounded disbelief. She knew Shona as well as anyone in the world, and yet even
she
could not guess how her daughter had taken such a giant leap of fancy.

"Tis quite a serious accusation, Shona."

"I know, but—"

"And I thought ye had defended him to your father. In fact, he said ye took the blame for the entire incident."

Shona's face scrunched up, reminding Flanna nostalgically of her daughter's sorry excuses during her childhood. "I had no wish to see the man killed."

"Truly?"

"Of course not. That is to say, not until his treasonous plans are revealed."

“Then ye have no feelings for him. No hopes of marrying him."

"Certainly not!"

Flanna sighed. "I am quite relieved to hear that. For tis time to give some serious thought to marriage. Your father and I still believe the laird of Atberry might be a fine choice."

"William?"

"Ye have no objections to him, do ye? He seems a good man. And surely ye canna complain about his appearance. He's quite attractive, don't ye think?"

"Aye." She said the word slowly.

"And of course..." Flanna leaned closer. "He is the King's cousin. If, God forbid, something should happen to His Majesty, tis possible that some day William himself might become King of all Scotland."

"Nothing will happen to the King," Shona said, her face utterly serious.

"I pray ye are right," Flanna said. "Still, twould surely be advantageous to be married to his cousin. I shall let ye sleep now. And worry not, daughter, I will speak to Roderic on your behalf."

She rose to her feet and turned away.

"Mother?"

"Aye?" Flanna glanced over her shoulder, her hand on the door latch.

“Would ye be happier if ye had married a cousin to the King?"

Flanna laughed. "I married the Rogue, Daughter. The Rogue, who makes jokes at the most inopportune of times, who drives me to distraction, who weaves tales so outlandish that only an imbecile would believe them. Whose smile lights the heaven." She sighed. "Aye, I could have married a more noble man, a wealthier man, but Roderic's very voice thrills me, and when he touches me..." She let her voice trail off then started as if just now remembering her daughter's presence. "But we are not speaking of me, Shona. We are talking of ye. And surely ye are far too fine a lady to be married off to some foreign lad who has nothing more than devilish good looks and more boldness than is good for him.

"Indeed, Daughter, if the truth be known, the Dragon reminds me a bit of the Rogue, and goodness knows ye are too much like your father to marry someone of the same ilk. Nay, lass. Tis a solid man of position ye need, Shona, and ye are wise to know it," Flanna said, and lifting the door latch, stepped into the hall with a smile.

Despite her attempts, Shona couldn't get back to sleep, for worry tormented her. Finally, nervous and confused, she dressed in the simple gown she had worn on the previous day and slipped out of her room.

One glance told her that Kelvin and the other boys were still fast asleep, as was most of the castle. Finding the spiral stone stairs that led to the parapet, she lifted her skirts and hurried up them, her feet still bare and her hair loose.

From the top of the tower, the world seemed brand new and rosy pink. The day was dawning clear and cool with a fresh breeze that trickled through her hair and caressed her cheeks.

Below her the earth rolled away in gray-green hills and dales that were as familiar to her as her own hands. The view should have soothed her, but it did not, for uncertainty tormented her.

Her sleep had been fitful at best. Not only had it been interrupted by the shadowy no one outside her door, but her head hurt as if she had somehow struck it on something hard. She scowled, trying to recall the events of the night, but her first clear memory after leaving the hall was that of Dugald leaning over her.

What had possessed her to allow him to touch her? For indeed, it
had
seemed as if she had been possessed by a force more powerful than herself.

What strange manner of garment had Dugald been wearing? And why, beneath that garment, had his chest felt as solid as tempered steel, instead of soft and flabby, as a wastrel's chest should? She remembered touching his skin, remembered the hot flash of feeling, the sharp loss of control, the desire so intense it all but overwhelmed her. Indeed, she had remembered those things even in her dreams.

Shona scowled across the Gael Burn, barely noticing the rushing water that cascaded over itself in its flight to the sea.

She had kissed
him
—wildly, foolishly. She had nearly given up her virginity to him. But that didn't mean she liked him. She hadn't lied to her mother. Hardly that. The man irritated her no end. But something had come over her. She had been temporarily hexed, bewitched. She glanced pensively down at the amulet that lay nestled between her breasts. It felt cool this morning, and light. But last night it had seemed the opposite, heavy and hot as if it were urging her into Dugald's arms. Or had her own emotions made it seem so?

"A bonny morn."

Shona jumped nervously and spun toward the speaker.

"Magnus!" she said, spying the ancient toy maker where he sat atop the parapet some fifty feet away.

"I didna mean to startle ye, lass," he said.

But he had. Even now her heart was beating overtime. Twas not like her to be so jumpy. But lack of sleep had never agreed with her.

"Tis not your fault," she said. "I didna see ye sitting there."

The old man chuckled and nodded as his gnarled fingers worked at something she could not immediately identify.

She watched the rhythmic movement of his hands as they wove in and out, and gradually she felt herself relax.

"Ye were deep in your thoughts," he said.

Pulling her gaze from his magical fingers, Shona sighed and circled the tower wall, watching the panoramic view change as she moved.

"What would such a bonny lass as ye have to worry on so?"

A lump on her head. Her inexplicable attraction to a man she detested. Her father's wrath. A lifetime spent in an uninspired marriage.

"Tis naught," she said. "I couldna sleep."

"Tis the same with me." The old man wore a faded brown hat that drooped over his ears like wilted husks. He tilted his head in an attempt to see past its sagging brim. "But tis pain that keeps me awake."

"If your arm pains ye, my aunt Fiona might help ye."

For a moment she thought she saw his eyes glitter beneath the floppy folds of his hat, but then he waved away her concern. "Tis just old age gnawing at my bones. But tis kind of ye to concern yourself with a worthless old man." His hands never stopped while he talked.

"Hardly worthless," she said, letting her own worries drop away for a moment. "The children cherish ye, and the toys ye craft."

"Do they, now?" The old man chuckled and held up his latest creation. With nothing more than a twist of straw, he had crafted a tiny, marvelous bird. "Behold, a brown wren," he said, lifting it high.

"If ye try ye can imagine it flying, soaring over the treetops, just as your thoughts soar, aye, Shona of Dun Ard?"

"Aye," she said. It almost seemed as if the bird would fly, as if this old man had somehow imbued it with life.

"And I have not yet even added the feathers," he said, and opened a small pouch. But just then a gust of wind twirled about them.

The tiny feathers lifted like dust in the wind. They swirled momentarily about his grappling fingers. But he was too slow, and before he could fetch them back, the capricious breeze whirled them over the wall.

With a cry of dismay, Shona ran to the parapet to retrieve them. She grabbed at them, nearly reaching them. But suddenly a new gust lifted them farther out and they flitted away, dancing on the wind as if reveling in their newfound freedom and laughing at her earthbound ways.

"They are gone," Shona said, still leaning on the parapet to watch the feathers. "I am sorry."

"Not gone," Magnus said philosophically. "Only displaced."

"Beyond our reach," Shona said.

"Nay," Magnus crooned. "Not beyond
your
reach, surely. Nothing is impossible for Shona of Dun Ard, the daughter of the Flame and the Rogue."

Shona didn't turn toward him, but continued to watch the feathers fall. They were mesmerizing somehow, entrancing. It was as if she watched her own future float before her, as if her own life were just as unfettered.

She was the daughter of the unquenchable Flame, the first child borne of the notorious Rogue.

Nothing could stop her. The thoughts were as soft as a whisper, slipping through her mind, dancing with the soaring feathers.

Aye. She was her parents' child. Surely she could soar—like the feathers, like the breeze. She filled her lungs with air and let her head fall back slightly. Wind rushed through her hair. It soared about her like cool, licking flames, making her feel as if she had wings. She was invincible, she was unconquerable. The world was hers, and if she wished to fly, surely she could. She stepped onto the parapet. Exhilaration swelled through her. Power filled her.

But Kelvin's image suddenly brought reality. She was no longer a child, able to risk her life and limb for no good reason. She had responsibilities now. What was wrong with her? Shona shook her head, trying to clear it, but the wind would not be quieted and whispered to her again.

"Ye are the keeper of dreams and the thinker of thoughts, the planner of great plans."

She did have plans, great plans, though only a few knew of them. And none other must find out.

But that had nothing to do with this moment, the breeze whispered. A fresh gust of wind caught her hair, twisting it into a cat o' nine tails, but she barely noticed, so exhilarating were her thoughts. She could fly, she could soar.

"Ye are the companion of kings," the wind murmured. "The keeper of the Dragon."

Time halted. The feathers soared. Her thoughts flew with them. The world seemed to stand still, to watch her every move.

"Fly, lass," something whispered.

She pushed off.

"Shona!"

She gasped at the sound of her name and jerked away from the edge.

"Shona!"

She turned like one in a dream.

Dugald rushed forward and grabbed her arms. “What the devil are ye doing?" he rasped.

"Lass!" scolded old Magnus, sounding breathless. "I feared ye would fall. Ye must not stand so close to the edge."

"What kind of foolishness is this?" Dugald scolded.

Shona scowled at him. "Ye act as if ye thought 1 was about to throw myself from the tower."

"Weren't you?"

"I was but trying to fetch Magnus's feathers."

"They are of little import," said the old man, his hands shaking. "And surely not worth endangering the life of one such as yourself."

"I was not about to endanger my life," Shona insisted. But it was strange. The wind had whispered secret things, and it did not usually speak to her.

"I will fetch my frills," Magnus said, and shuffled from the rooftop.

The world went silent.

"You are certain you are safe?" Dugald asked. He loosened his grip on her arms.

She tried to speak, to laugh at his concern. But instead, her gaze met his and she was frozen for a moment, lost in his thoughts. "Of course I am safe. Why would I not be?"

Quiet again. Twas not like her to be at a loss for words, but somehow now she could find neither the words, nor the ability to say them. For suddenly every instinct in her insisted that she kiss him.

"Shona," he murmured. His tone was taut and his expression absolutely sober. He leaned slightly closer. She knew his longing as well as her own and could feel his very pulse racing in her veins. Why didn't he kiss her? she wondered. But just when he leaned closer still, he stopped. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Last night..."

Aye. They had kissed. She had liked it. Let's get on with it, her mind said.

"I would ask you some questions."

"Questions?" she whispered, and leaned toward him.

His breathing was harsh, his body tense, as if he were trying his best to restrain himself. "Aye.

You said you saw someone. I need to know..." He paused and scowled. "I need to know who—" he tried again, but his words disintegrated, and suddenly he was kissing her with all the passion that soared between them.

"God's wrath!" someone growled.

"Da!" Shona gasped the word and tried to jump from Dugald's grip, but he held her arms in his protective grasp. "I can explain."

"Can ye now?" Roderic's voice was uncharacteristically low as he stepped onto the tower "Aye. Tis not what it seems."

"Truly? It seemed as if ye were kissing him."

She winced. "Very well, then. It is what it seemed. But I have a likely explanation."

Roderic raised his brows. "His lips were on fire? Ye were but attempting to put out the blaze?"