Highland Passage (15 page)

Mac answered by wrapping her legs around his waist.

Ciarán laughed, but not without frustration. “Och! Dinnae tempt me.”

Mac smiled mischievously. “Why not?”

Ciarán’s answering smile went as quickly as it had come as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Because…” He eased himself off her and sat at the edge of the bed.

Mac sat up, clutching the covers to her chest. “Ciarán?”

“You should go back to your room before Janet comes up and finds your bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“Let her talk.”

“No, I’ll not have servants talk.”

“I’m sorry. I sometimes forget how different your life is.”

Mac saw the full weight of Ciarán’s troubles on his face. Some she knew, but there must be more, for his brow was too creased and his eyes far too distant.

He said, “I have tried to live my life with honor for the sake of my family and, one day, my wife—whoever she may be. I’ll not give anyone cause for regret.”

For a moment, Mac felt as though there were no air in the room. “No, of course not.” She had not considered the fact that he would one day marry—with or without her. How could she expect him to remain alone after she had gone?

He turned to her but looked away just as quickly, having seen the look on her face. She had tried to conceal it, but it was too late. Some things could not be hidden. Where Ciarán was concerned, her emotions were far too close to the surface.

With scarcely a glance, he reached back and put his hand over hers. “I’ll not love another.” His voice broke as he said it.

Mac flew into his arms, and they clutched one another.

“I don’t want to go,” she said.

Ciarán put his fingers over her mouth. “I ken that you must go, for you’ve promised your sister. Our families are what our lives are built on. You cannae abandon yours any more than I could mine. But know that I’ll feel your loss.”

The mere thought of actually leaving him to walk through the stone chamber made her feel like she’d been struck in the chest. Every muscle contracted. Unable to even form words, she buried her face in his neck.

After kissing her forehead, Ciarán said, “I may have to marry one day—for the clan or my family. If I must, I’ll not have what we’ve shared whispered and snickered about in servants’ quarters.” He pulled her away and held her face in his hands, his eyes burning with passion. “But dinnae think that I’ll not long for you every day of my life with my heart and my body. For though we’re not married, you’re my one true love. I gave myself to you, and you gave yourself to me. And that cannae be undone in our souls.”

Ciarán’s words tore down every wall she had built to protect herself. But there was no help for her now. Her heart was his, and she was at his mercy.

As he stroked her hair and her back, Mac’s door across the hall scraped against the stone frame. They both stiffened and stared at the closed door to the hallway as Janet called out for Mac. Ciarán rose, pulled on his leine, and made a sloppy job of putting his plaid on and belting it around his waist. Then he opened the door a crack and closed it gently behind him. Mac heard his footsteps cross over to her room. No more than a few minutes later, he returned with a grim expression.

“Well?” Mac said, looking up as she quickly tightened the last knot in her stays.

“I dinnae think she will talk. But I hate that I had to ask it of her—threaten, really.”

“I’m sorry—except that I’m not, because I cannot help being with you, and I’d do it again. I’m sure you must think that I’m some sort of crumpet—”

His face unexpectedly lit up as he grinned. “No. Nor do I think you’re a strumpet.”

Mac could not help but laugh with him. “Whatever! I love you, okay?”

The light was now back in his eyes, and the strain was almost gone from his face. Mac studied the beauty of it. The well-formed planes and features were almost perfectly sculpted, with lines from smiling around his mouth and eyes.

Ciarán looked toward the window. “Look at the sun. ’Tis too late for you to leave today.”

She said calmly, “I know.” In truth, she was glad for each kiss and each touch, for each moment her body was formed to his, which she did her best at this moment to accomplish.

Ciarán scooped her up into his powerful arms and carried her back to his bed, where he set her down gently and climbed in beside her. “Tomorrow.”

His longing left her able to whisper, “Tomorrow.”

He rose to his knees and unbelted his plaid. With a gentle smile, Mac took her time helping him to unwrap it, enjoying each muscle and curve as she saw it and breathing in his scent and the warmth of his breath. She was desperate to memorize all of it. When the full length of his body was against hers, the touch of his skin made her feel whole. With unabashed sorrow and yearning, they made love with slow and lingering caresses in hopes of keeping tomorrow at bay.

*

Tomorrow did not come the next day or the day after. Mac could not summon the courage, and Ciarán did not press her. After the first few days, he stopped asking. They fell into a tacit agreement to spend what time they had together with no questions asked.

The castle grew busy with a different energy among its inhabitants. Mac had sensed similar tension when working with children. There was not always a cause one could pinpoint, but it was there. And it was here in the castle as supplies were carried about and men trained with swords and flintlock rifles. Mac would round a corner, and hushed conversations would stop. Ciarán had said nothing. Although she trusted him to tell her about anything that might affect her, she was not as sure that he would tell her about things that might affect him.

In the late afternoon, Ciarán finished training with his men and met her at a spot by the loch where they had taken to meeting secretly. Mac had been for a run around the castle grounds while Ciarán trained. She was kneeling by the water drinking from her cupped hands when Ciarán walked up behind her and said, “Hello.”

Mac jumped and cried out, which brought a hearty laugh from Ciarán before he took pity and pulled her into his arms. “What is it, lass?”

“What do you mean, ‘What is it?’ How could I not be on edge? Something’s obviously going on, but no one will tell me about it. But I see the guards doubled up, and the amount of training you guys do is insane. There are men forging weapons twenty-four, seven. Do you think I don’t get it?”

“Get it?” Ciarán repeated, although he had grown used to not quite understanding all that Mac said.

She explained, “You’re going to war—or to some sort of battle. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better history student, but I don’t know what it is, and I wish you would tell me.”

Ciarán opened his mouth to reply, but Mac went on. “Because if it involves you, I should know. Do you think I wouldn’t care if your life was in danger? Because, just to make things clear, I do care.”

Ciarán patiently watched her until she had had her say.

Evidently, she was not quite finished. “Because, if you hadn’t noticed, I’ve stayed here way longer than I should have because—dammit—” She started to cry and was furious at herself for it. “I love you, okay? And I have to go home, and I don’t want to.” A sort of frustrated growl came from her throat. “I was not going to do this.”

Ciarán cradled her head as she laid her cheek on his chest. Kissing her hair and her forehead, he said reassuring words that would never come true, for it would not go well. Things would not sort themselves out, and they would lose each other in a matter of days. So they abandoned words and held onto each other until their sorrows and fears had grown quiet.

Thick, gray clouds rolled in with no warning and darkened the island. Mac shivered, and Ciarán wrapped his plaid around her.

Mac sighed and asked, “What’s going to happen?”

“There’s to be another Jacobite rising. We’ve got word that Spanish ships are nearing. They’ll arrive in the next few days and garrison here while we gather enough men to make sure that Prince James reclaims the throne.”

“You’ll go with them, of course.”

“I will go, but my part will be in the Highlands, so I willnae be far.”

“I can’t let you go.” Mac stared at her hands as she said it.

Ciarán lifted her chin. “What are you saying, lass?”

She met his gaze squarely. “You could be hurt,” she whispered, “or worse.”

“My lovely lass, you’re just frightened. All will work out as it must. I go into each battle without hesitation, and you must do the same. Dinnae wish me farewell with fear in your heart. ’Tis bad luck, and it serves neither of us.”

“I’m not fearless like you.”

“I never said I was fearless. But I willnae let it rule me.”

Mac nodded. “You’re right. I know it. The thing is, my fear has a life of its own. And so does my love. It seems to have taken control. I’ve been wrestling against it with logic, but it pretty much laughs in my face.” She glanced up with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I’m now officially nuts.” But even as she smiled, tears filled her eyes.

Ciarán shook his head. “Dinnae fash yersel.”

“Too late. I’ve been fashing myself for the past several days.”

“Has it helped?”

“No.”

“Come, let us walk for a while.” He held out his hand with a smile that disarmed her. Without telling her where they were going, he turned and began walking. Mac followed along, content not to think about anything but the feel of his hand, the mist that was settling around them, and the rhythmical sound of the water as it came to the shore.

A strong breeze blew from the water. Mac tightened her arm around Ciarán’s waist and pulled the end of his plaid over her shoulder. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this Scottish weather of yours.”

Ciarán paused. He took in a breath as though he might say something, but then he stopped himself. His jaw tightened as he looked over the water.

Mac silently chided herself and then said, “I’m sorry. I keep catching myself thinking that we have a future. It’s not good to keep dreaming.”

His eyes shone with forgiveness. “I do the same thing. ’Tis torture.”

With sad longing, they indulged in a lingering gaze until Ciarán said, “I’ve grown weary of walking. I want to be with you, alone. Shall we go home?”

17

The Spanish Frigates

They were nearly at the castle gate when the sound of shouting guards drew their attention upward. The Spanish frigates had been sighted. By morning, a few dozen Spanish marines were garrisoned in the castle. Mac watched as Ciarán and Hamish played host to George Keith, the Earl Marischal of Scotland, and William Murray, Earl of Tullibardine, who brought with them forty-six Spanish soldiers.

Based on their conversations, Mac pieced together the key points of the plan. A fleet carrying seven thousand Spanish marines was on its way south to England. There, the thrust of their attack would take place, but first they needed to gather a thousand Highlanders to march on Inverness. This would draw the British away from their intended attack, thus laying the groundwork for their defeat.

Despite being caught up in hosting and military preparation, Ciarán found brief moments to whisk Mac into a corner and kiss her senseless. Then duty would call, and he would be gone just as quickly. When Ciarán stole glances at Mac, Hamish would bark for him to pay attention. “Did you hear me? I said they’ve only brought powder, but the cannons are on another ship.”

“Aye, I heard you.” Ciarán gave him an impatient look, but the truth was, he had caught Mac’s eye and smiled and lost track of what Hamish was saying. He could not fault Hamish for his anger, for this particular fact was important and potentially disastrous for them. They could only hope that the remaining ships would arrive soon.

Mac wondered how wives managed to watch husbands make plans for what could be their demise. But she was not a wife. Perhaps if she and Ciarán were married, they might be more at peace and thus better equipped to face what lay ahead. But they did not have the strength of a marriage to bond them together whatever might come. They were two people who were in love but were destined to lose one another.

Late one night, Ciarán arrived at her door, just as he now did every night. In he swept and wasted no time in drawing her to him. She rested her head on his chest, with her palm close beside, and gave in to the rhythm of his breathing and the beat of his heart.

“I must leave in the morning,” she said softly.

His arms tensed around her. “You’ll be safer in your own home.”

“So will you.” She lifted her chin and smiled softly. “I’m a distraction.”

“No, lass. Never that.”

She held up her hand to silence him. “I’ve completely annoyed Hamish.”

“Och, Hamish. Dinnae worry about him.”

“And I’ve distracted you from your duties.”

He lowered his hands to her hips and pulled her against him. “’Tis a diversion I welcome.”

He did his best to demonstrate, but their playful kissing and touching grew fervent. Mac combed her fingers into his hair and held his head still as she quietly said, “I will always love you.”

He looked at her with fiery longing. He swallowed but could not force back the emotions that gripped him.

Mac said, “Is there a chance we might ever meet again?”

“Aye, but the stone chambers have been known to fail. I dinnae ken what makes them work when they do. Perhaps it’s just the right combination of light at each end. But there’s no way of knowing.”

“We can try.”

His lips spread in a fond smile. “Aye, that we can.” His smile faded, and a clouded expression replaced it.

Now concerned, Mac said, “We will try, won’t we? Ciarán?”

He looked as though he had just had the wind knocked out of him. “We may not remember to try.”

“What do you mean? I could never forget you!”

Ciarán shook his head in dismay. “The time can shift when we travel. I cannae always remember.”

Mac nearly stopped breathing as she stared at him. “No.”

Ciarán nodded. “Do you recall when we met the last time?”

She answered in hushed tones. “When I met you, you said that we’d loved one another before.”