Sue-Ellen Welfonder - MacKenzie 07 (24 page)

"What difference would it have made?" He wished there weren't tears netting her eyelashes. The sight of them made it hard to speak. "You were here and needed our help. That is all that mattered."

"If that is so, it wouldn't have changed aught if you'd been honest."

Darroc's eyes widened. "Honest?"

She nodded.

The room was silent except for the wind and the sound of rain pelting the tower.

Darroc closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to the moment he'd become aware of her. This wasn't going how he would have wished.

"Sweet lass, honesty had nothing to do with it." He stepped back so he could see her better, but took care to keep a light grip on her elbows.

Damn him for a double-dyed fool, but he couldn't bear to let go of her.

"Truth is" - he caught a flicker of movement and wasn't surprised to find Frang had opened one eye to stare at him, piercingly - "MacConachers have never vented their grievances on women. I had no desire to be the first to start such a depraved tradition."

It was all she was getting out of him.

And it was the truth.

He just didn't add that he'd also dreaded discussing the Slaughter with her. Being a MacKenzie, she surely knew that as a staunch Balliol supporter, his grandfather had infiltrated an enemy camp for the sole purpose of gleaning information for his liege. Many MacKenzies were in that camp and it was with them that his grandfather rode when he learned of a planned surprise attack on the keep of a strong Balliol ally.

Slipping away from the MacKenzies, Darroc's grandfather had made haste to warn his friends, allowing the keep garrison to sally out and ambush the unsuspecting MacKenzies. The carnage was great, but as history showed, the MacKenzies'

revenge was greater.

As though he was following his thoughts, Frang groaned as only shaggy old dogs can do and did something to express his canine opinion of the matter.

Darroc winced when the fumes hit him.

To her credit, Arabella didn't bat an eye. "It never crossed my mind that you would ill treat a woman," she said, proving her persistence. "I only wish I'd been spared the shock of remembering as I did."

"And do you know the whole story?" The words leapt from his tongue before he could stop them.

"You mean how your grandfather befriended my kinsmen, giving out that he was Bruce's man? And what happened thereafter?"

"So you do know."

"I do." She still had her arms looped around his neck, her hands deep in his hair, fingers twined. "And I do not condone the actions of either side. It does grieve me. Especially now that I've met" - she glanced aside, blinking rapidly - "Moraig, Conall, and the others. They make the tragedy more real than listening to it recounted at my father's hearthside of a cold winter night."

"And that, my lady, is why I kept silent." He looked at her, hoping she'd believe him.

There were so many other reasons.

"I didn't want you to feel awkward or unwelcome beneath my roof." That was absolutely true.

She looked skeptical. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"Nae, I - " Heat swept up the back of his neck. "I've been holding counsel with my men. And - "

"Making your notches?" She pulled out of his arms then and bent to lift his chisel off the floor. She turned it over in her hand, her face still much too pale for his liking. "Conall said - "

"He told you of my notches?" Darroc stared at her, horrified. His head began to pound. Not surprising, the strange tinkling laughter came again, this time from somewhere very close by. But he paid scarce heed.

He only wanted a piece of Conall's hide.

And to know how the chisel landed by the door. He'd kicked it in the opposite direction.

He took her by the elbows again, his need to touch her still strong. "What did he tell you?"

"Only that you were here, making them." She looked up at him, all innocence. "I told him I must speak with you. He did say" - her hands tightened on the chisel -

"that you mark the days by notching the window."

"That's all he said?"

She nodded.

Darroc released the breath he'd been holding. Relief swept him. It would seem he wouldn't have to smash his cousin's nose. Even so, he burned to challenge someone - anyone - to a good round of fighting, not stopping until chests heaved and fists dripped with blood.

Lots of blood.

Darroc smiled. He couldn't help it.

Desire for Arabella still surged inside him, hot and urgent. When she'd bent to retrieve his chisel, the neck opening of her borrowed shirt gaped wide. He'd had a fine view of her lush breasts and those pert, tightly furled nipples.

It was too much.

Especially since he'd just felt her warm, womanly softness pressing so close against him. But as much as he burned for her, there were deep lines drawn between them. So he did the only thing he could do and keep his wits.

He broached a subject sure to cool his ardor.

"Why were you on the cog?" He saw her eyes widen and felt guilty at once, bringing up something that could only cause her pain.

But the thought of a betrothed and her dowry pained him also.

"Moraig told me you were on your way to see the Seal Isles." He pretended he didn't know why.

She stiffened and glanced aside. "I did want to see the Seal Isles. The Merry Dancer was bound for Man. Captain Arneborg agreed to stop at the isles on the way. My father paid him well to do so."

"Surely you have seals in Kintail?" Darroc released her and folded his arms. "I see no reason to make such an arduous journey just to see seals."

"I wanted to visit the isles." She looked back at him. Her tone was cool. "They are part of my dowry."

There, she'd said what he'd wanted to hear.

And it made him feel like hell.

"Couldn't your betrothed have taken you there after your wedding?" He truly was pathetic. "Surely - "

"I do not have a betrothed." She glanced down, brushed at her plaid skirt.

Darroc's heart soared.

Arabella flushed.

She'd seen the triumph in his eyes and knew he was laughing at her. Most women her age - especially the daughters of mighty chieftains - had more than empty dowries. They had husbands and were long married, several bouncing bairns on their knees.

"I wished to visit the Seal Isles because there is a hermit's cell on the main isle."

She wasn't about to tell him the rest. "It's a cave and belonged to one of St.

Columba's followers. His name was St. Egbert and I want to pray at his shrine."

That much was true.

She just didn't say what she wished to ask for.

"I am no' aware of such a place on the Seal Isles." Darroc's brows drew together.

"They are none too far from here, see you. I'd know if one of Columba's men had hermited close by."

She raised her chin and met his suspicion with all the dignity of her race. "He was a little known follower of Columba. Not many are aware of his connection to the Seal Isles. A traveling minstrel who once spent time there told my family of him."

"Indeed." He didn't believe her.

She didn't care.

How could she, when all she could think about was how she'd felt when he'd held her, his arms wrapped tight around her and her cheek pressed against his shoulder. She could melt again just remembering. She'd come alive in his embrace, breathing in his scent of clean male and just a hint of wood smoke and the sea. His heart had thundered wildly, its pounding seeping into her, melding with the beats of her own racing pulse until she'd been consumed with such an intense longing she'd feared it would break her.

She was sure he'd wanted her.

Even sheltered as she was, she could tell.

His eyes had told her, too. He was looking at her that way now. It was a dark, piercing stare that sizzled right through her, making her blood leap and the heat rush to her face. She lifted a hand to her cheek, felt the burning there. Warmth curled low in her belly, tantalizing. Her mouth went dry in anticipation.

She wanted him to kiss her.

He stepped closer, as if he knew. "Why are you not betrothed?" He reached for one of her braids, smoothing his thumb over the plaited strands. "I would think all the young worthies in the land would be badgering your father for your hand."

"They have, but...." The image of her father's face flashed through her mind, purple with fury, as he glared down each suitor who'd come to call. "There hasn't been - no one has yet made a serious bid. They've all withdrawn before showing any true interest."

She hoped he'd leave it at that.

It was too humiliating to admit that her father had chased them away. There wasn't a one who'd stayed at Eilean Creag long enough to make an offer.

"I find that hard to believe." Darroc's voice deepened and his gaze went a shade darker. "Were I one of them, I would not have left until I had what I wanted. I'd never turn away from such a prize."

She lifted her chin, not caring that her face must be glowing like a balefire. "You mean my riches?"

"I mean you."

Arabella blinked. She wasn't prepared for such an answer, though she'd hoped.

Hoped so much.

Prickling excitement raced through her, making her skin tingle. Her heart skittered and then slammed against her ribs, beating hard and slow.

"What do you mean, me?" Her voice hitched on the words.

"Och, lass." The look he gave her watered her knees. "You must know. I - ever since - "

He broke off and shoved a hand through his hair. Heat flared in his eyes, blazing as if he were the devil's own henchman.

Then, before she could blink, he reached for her, pulling her hard against him.

She caught one quick glimpse of his eyes, saw the passion burning there. Then his mouth slanted over hers in a rough, devouring kiss that set her senses reeling and left her breathless.

She slid her arms around him and leaned close, pressing into him as he tightened his hold on her. He groaned and deepened the kiss. She let him, savoring the intimacy, the thrill of pleasure that shot through her when his tongue thrust into her mouth, seeking and curling around her own. It was bliss untold. The glory of his lips moving so masterfully over hers undid her. She was splintering inside, aching, hungering for more.

"Ooooh...." She gasped in wonder, then shivered deliciously when he caught her sigh, drinking her breath as if it were the sweetest nectar.

She opened her mouth wider, welcoming his essence into her lungs, wanting to sate herself on the heady taste and scent of him. He moaned, his tongue sliding over and around hers in a sensual silken dance she never wanted to end. She closed her eyes, sure that life as she'd known it had ended, plunging her into a shining, spinning sea of carnal delight.

She didn't care if it was wrong.

His name mattered even less.

She only knew she needed him. This blinding, dazzling passion only he could give her. She'd yearned for this moment since she'd first seen him. Perhaps even since glimpsing him in the tower window at Dunakin, so long ago in Kyleakin. She was sure now that she'd seen him there.

Just as she knew someone was watching them.

And it wasn't Frang and Mina.

A chill raced down her spine and she opened her eyes to slits, almost afraid to look. And with good reason, for she saw at once that a woman stood staring at them from the other side of the room.

Better said, the woman hovered.

Beautiful and smiling, she shimmered brilliantly near one of the window arches, the hem of her sparkling luminously white gown at least two hand breadths above the floor.

Arabella screamed.

Darroc released her at once, panting. "Sakes!" He stared at her, his chest heaving.

"I ken well I shouldn't have done that, but - "

"A ghost!" Arabella pointed. "It wasn't you. I saw a see-through blond woman in a glittering white gown. There, by that window!"

"If you did, she isn't there now." His tone was angry, his annoyed gaze on the window arch.

Something had changed.

The warmth that had been cascading through her like a golden river in spate turned cold, icing her blood and leaving her empty inside.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to appear calm, untouched by his wild kisses and how little they must have meant to him.

"There was someone here." She went across to the window and rested her hands on the cold stone of its broad, angled splay. The air felt different there, tingly, warm, and somehow charged. "I am sure of it. She had pale hair, braided like mine, and - "

She felt foolish as soon as the words left her tongue.

Then she saw the notches.

Not his. These were faint, barely there scratches that filled the entire window.

"Dear saints!" She clapped a hand to her cheek, horror sluicing her. "This was Asa Long-Legs's chamber," she cried, sure of it. "She made these marks. One for each day she was trapped here, just as you told me."

"She may have done, aye." Darroc joined her at the window. She didn't miss that he took care to stand at least an arm's length away from her. "I do believe this was her room. It follows that she'd favor this window, seeing as it looks to the north."

"The north?" Arabella blinked. She couldn't think with him standing so near.

"Shetland lies due north." Darroc was looking out into the morning, his gaze on the horizon. "Perhaps she stood here, thinking of her home at Scalloway and wishing she'd never left there."

"Then it was she I saw." Arabella touched one of the scratch marks, her heart twisting. "She was very beautiful. But she didn't look sad. She looked happy."

Darroc harrumphed. "I doubt you saw her. If she is about - which I cannot imagine - she will surely be in her beloved Shetland. She will have left here many years ago. This was no easy place for her."

"I saw something." Arabella wouldn't back down.

"You saw a beam of morning sunlight." Darroc took her gently by the shoulders, turning her to face the east window where a band of pale light slanted through that window's tall arched opening.

"This window is in shadow." Arabella broke away from him and rubbed her arms.