To Love a Highlander (26 page)

Besides, he had a few plans of his own. Wasn’t it a Fenris truth, even carved into everything he was, that a man never gained aught unless he fought for it? He might be the last man who’d qualify as a suitable husband for Lady Mirabelle, but he damn well could protect her from landing in the arms of an even worse choice.

Feeling a need to use Sinclair’s belly for spear practice, Sorley sharpened his gaze, turning it again on Sir John. The noble still sat with two of the court’s most accommodating harlots, his attention blessedly once more on easier conquests than Mirabelle.

Even so, just looking at the snake sent bile rising in Sorley’s throat, made his sword hand itch.

How he’d love to spill Sinclair’s guts here and now.

He would make certain the fiend never laid a finger on Mirabelle. Not here, and not in her beloved Highlands. That, he could do for her.

He also had another task to undertake in her interest, something he knew would please her.

So he looked toward the dais end of the hall where she now sat beside her father.

He wanted to see her face, be sure she was at ease. But so much bustle and tumult filled the hall that he couldn’t clearly observe the dais tables from where he stood.

Huge fires blazed in the hall’s double-arched fireplaces, each one sending showers of sparks, smoke, and low-drifting haze into the air. Noblemen and their ladies packed every table while knights and squires, garrison men, and the ever-present visitors vied for any available perch. Many had to settle for standing in the hall’s pillared aisles. The cacophony was deafening, made worse by the scores of laughing, screeching children and romping dogs.

Sorley was lucky to have enjoyed the vision that was Mirabelle MacLaren for as long as he’d managed to keep her in sight.

He hadn’t been so fortunate in choosing the right window embrasure.

This was the third he’d tried, seeking the alcove that offered access to a hidden passage. No matter, he’d keep looking until he found the one he needed.

He just wished he’d paid more heed when, as lads, he and Roag, Caelan, and Andrew had flitted in and out of the passage and its secret turnpike stair. Determined, he once again backed against the embrasure’s window seat. He carefully reached down and lifted the cushion. Just as had happened when he’d tried a few moments before, the seat failed to rise when he slid his fingers along the cold, smooth stone of its edge.

There was no hidden lever.

He was beginning to think he and his friends had dreamt the dark, dank tunnel-like passage. A castle secret known only to a few, supposedly, the passage was said to have once given a particularly lusty prince discreet access to the ladies’ quarters. The same prince was said to have built the Rose Room. His day was long ago, in times so ancient no one could now recall the hot-blooded royal’s name.

Fortunately, the hidden passage led directly to the guest room assigned to Mirabelle.

Sorley meant to gain access to the room while she supped with her father. He wanted to deliver a sack of kitten-care goods that he’d gathered with the help of the castle cook, the kitchen lads and lasses, and even William Wyldes’s aunt Berengaria.

Now…

Frowning, he hitched the strap of the heavy leather bag over his shoulder. Bulky and unwieldy, the bag would prove awkward to carry up the passage’s tight, winding stair. Who would’ve thought a wee kitten could require so much
weight
for his comfort?

He didn’t quite agree that a wooden crate and a bagful of river sand was a necessity.

Berengaria had insisted, and as the old woman was considered an authority on cats and kittens, who was he to argue?

He stepped back out into the hall to survey his options. There were many more window embrasures lining this side of the great hall. And he was certain the alcove with the trapdoor window seat was along this particular wall.

One embrasure had been claimed by a woman in a shimmering cloak of rose.

Sorley was sure the lady sat upon the window seat he needed.

As if the woman knew and agreed, she turned her head to look his way. He couldn’t quite make out her features because of the smoke haze in the air, but he could tell she was young and beautiful.

She was also smiling.

He started toward her, ready to encourage her to leave so he could see if the window seat accessed the secret passage.

That, too, she appeared to know for, still smiling, she patted the seat cushion.

And then she disappeared.

S
akes!” Sorley’s eyes rounded. He stared at the empty window embrasure, the stone bench against its wall where, only a moment ago, a beautiful lady had sat amongst the pillows, smiling. For sure, she wasn’t there now. Sorley shook his head, disbelief sluicing him. The sack of kitten goods slid from his shoulder, dropping to the floor.

He rubbed his eyes, sure the woman would be there again when he reopened them.

She wasn’t. So he blinked several times, but that also failed to bring her back. She simply wasn’t there. Or rather, she never had been.

Deciding that possibility suited him best, Sorley picked up the cat pouch and strolled over to the now-empty embrasure, doing his damnedest to forget what he’d just seen.

Ghosts didn’t exist, after all.

Not in his world.

But Mirabelle was enjoying dinner with her father. Now was the best time to take the kitten supplies to her room. He wouldn’t disturb her. The secret passage would allow him to deliver the sack without compromising her.

No one would see him enter her bedchamber.

He just hoped the wee hissing, scratching beastie would be asleep. He didn’t fancy another tussle with the kitten, especially as he knew who would win.

Above all, he wanted to be sure Mirabelle was happy, and that meant seeing to the bugger’s needs. So he stepped into the embrasure and eased up the sumptuous cushion and a folded plaid, surely meant as a knee warmer.

He found the lever at once, pushing it with practiced ease.

The stone seat creaked open, the lid rising slowly to reveal a gaping black hole. Thanks to the torchlight from the hall, it was possible to make out rough-hewn stone steps cut into the castle’s rock. A bit of the stone-flagged floor of the passage below was also visible. He gripped the opening’s edges, then lowered himself into the passage’s entrance, pulling down the seat lid behind him.

Darkness claimed him when the seat fell into place, but there was a hand rope along the short length of stair. He knew the way and was soon down the steps and in the passage, trailing his hand along the wall to guide himself. He swiftly reached the secret turnpike stair and mounted the curving stone steps, soon gaining the top of the winding stair. Now, nothing but a concealed stone door and its opening-lever stood between him and his goal.

On the other side, a tapestry covered the passage’s secret entrance.

Or exit, depending on one’s direction.

His, of course, was the latter. So he once again adjusted the kitten sack strap on his shoulder and opened the secret door. Pushing aside the wall tapestry that hung on the other side, he stepped into the bedchamber, and froze.

Mirabelle stood in the middle of the room.

She was naked.

“Sorley!” Her eyes flew wide and she clapped one hand
to her breasts, the other to the burnished red curls at the apex of her thighs. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Sorley dropped the sack, not hiding the wicked smile that tugged at his lips. He let his gaze flick to her breasts, the sweet curve of her hips. “Last I looked you were in the hall, heading for your father’s table.”

“Clearly, I am not there now.” Her shoulders went back, the motion doing wondrous things to her breasts, making them sway despite the hand she’d clutched before them. “I am here and you shouldn’t be.”

“Say you?” Sorley felt his smile becoming a full-blown grin. He couldn’t help it. “Some might think the gods arranged this meeting. That it’s their way of evening the field. After all, you did slip into my private chamber, finding me unclothed on my bed…”

He let the words hang in the air, appreciating how agitation put a lovely flush on her cheeks and the lush top swells of her breasts.

“I entered your quarters with good reason.” She turned, showing him her back, her delightfully rounded arse fully displayed for his delectation. “I was preparing for bed. You should leave.”

“Och, sweeting, that I cannae do.” He started toward her, unable to help himself.

Not caring even.

A man could only take so much temptation and his blood ran redder, hotter than most. He hadn’t come here to seek her arms, naked or otherwise, yet…

Happening on such a serendipitous delight…

He could only let his gaze sweep over her, sure he’d never seen a more exquisite woman. After they parted on the morrow’s eve, he might never see her again. It was a prospect that tightened his innards, bringing a sharp pain as sure as if someone had thrust a white-hot poker into his chest, splitting his heart.

Honor bound him to let her go. She deserved a good husband someday, a better man. Besides, he was also the King’s sworn servant, tied by his oath to ever perform duties that could make a wife a widow.

Still…

He had to touch her.

Strolling the rest of the way over to her, he gripped her by the waist and lowered his head to press a kiss to the smooth skin of her shoulder. She gasped, a slight tremor racing through her. But she didn’t break away from him, not even when he slid a hand down over her hip and lower, savoring her soft, warm skin. He spread his fingers across the luscious curve of her buttocks and squeezed for a moment, relishing her, stunned by how good she felt beneath his greedy, questing palm.

“Precious lass, so sweet.” He shook his head slowly, letting his gaze again glide over her lush and tempting shapeliness. “You are a prize beyond all telling, a treasure. You ken it’s no’ possible for me to walk away. No’ when you’re standing naked before me.”

She turned to face him, remarkably calm, her hands not hiding any of her. “You didn’t say what you’re doing here.”

“Losing my restraint, wouldn’t you say?” He leaned closer, only a breath away from her oh-so-kissable lips. “Every last shred of it, be warned.”

If she so much as blinked, he’d forget his damnable honor, his lifelong determination to never despoil a virgin, and give himself over to the raging in his blood. He’d kiss her long and deep, ravishing her until she melted against him, unable to stand on her own, possibly not even able to breathe.

He wanted her that fiercely.

Driven by his desire, he slid a hand down over the bottom curve of her buttock, letting his fingers glide perilously near to an even greater temptation. “I cannae resist you, Mirabelle, no’ for all the world’s gold.”

“Is this another test?” She jolted when one of his fingers touched her feminine heat, the sleek, slick wetness beneath her curls. “A new practice session, to see if you can arouse me? So that our performance in the hall looks real?” Her voice rose, tinged with anger. “If so—”

“Lady, we practiced enough in the Rose Room.” Sorley frowned, but removed his hands from her. “The truth of it is, play-acting wasnae needed. No’ then, and for sure, no’ now.” He looked at her, glad to see her chin lifting, admiring the spark in her eyes. “I am scorched by the heat of you, sharply aware of the delicious, satiny wetness…”

Again, he let the words tail off, their portent most plain on her face. In the visible quickening of her breath, how her pulse beat so seductively at her throat. She was a vixen bred and born, her boldness and spirit proving everything he’d ever heard about hot-blooded Highland lasses.

How fearless they were, how passionate.

“You see the fires you stir, lass. Such flames blaze too dangerously for a lady.” He straightened, his heart thundering, his loins uncomfortably tight.

He shouldn’t be so out of control, but everything about her played havoc with him.

She drew him to her as if by a powerful, inexorable cord that he knew would circle round and hang him.

“Indeed,”—he thrust his fingers into her hair, letting his hand glide through the glossy skeins—“you would’ve been wise to stay in the hall.”

“I couldn’t—”

“So I see.” He leaned close, so near that he knew she’d feel the warmth of his breath across her ear.

She shivered, the reaction rippling through her. “Please.”

“I aye do, lass.” He lifted his head, nipping her earlobe before stepping back, raging need for her pumping through him, the hammering of his heart warning how much he wanted her.

Nae, he loved her.

That he knew with the certainly of the stars in the heaven, the moon and the sun. All of which he’d pull down to earth, serving them to her on a silver platter if only he could. If doing so would make her love him.

But just now…

He touched her hair again, trailed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “You take my breath.”

And she did.

Her full, round breasts gleamed in the candlelight, and her nipples, so temptingly taut, peeked boldly at him as if begging a nip and lick. Her glossy red feminine curls beckoned at the apex of her thighs. And the longer he looked there, the harder he grew. In truth, his entire body tightened.

He’d never wanted a woman more.

Any moment he’d—

“Owwww!” He blinked, swatting at his neck to dislodge the hissing kitten who’d apparently sprouted wings and flown at him from the bed to sink his damnably sharp claws deep into his skin.

He’d completely forgotten the wee beastie.

“Little Heart!” Mirabelle rushed forward, grabbing the kitten, cuddling the lucky bugger to her breast. She also snatched her undergown from a chair, gripping it before her like a fluttering linen shield. “All is well, my darling,” she crooned to the kitten, who now purred loudly, the image of fluffy innocence.

“Nae, it isnae.” Sorley aimed a glance at the room’s shuttered windows. The wind was rising and howled past the tower, icy air seeping in through the wooden slats.

“Sinclair was in the hall earlier. I didnae care for the way he watched you. We’ll have to be more careful than we thought in the hall. He’s no’ a man to be fooled.” He didn’t want to frighten her. He also shouldn’t say what he was about to, but he wanted to reassure her. “I’ll be taking
other measures as well. Even after you leave Stirling, he’ll no’ bother you.”

She frowned, bent to place the kitten on the floor rushes. “You’re not going to kill him? I’ve heard whispers that he doesn’t fight fair. He might—”

“Sweet lass, he wouldn’t live to draw a second breath if he challenged me.” Sorley strode a few paces away, not wanting her to see the bloodlust her words surely put on his face. He’d love nothing more than use his sword to send Sir John from this world. “For the now, just be assured I’ll be watching him. And that where I cannae be, others—”

“So you are a Fenris.” She circled round to stare at him, awe on her face. “I knew it, was sure that—”

“Men dinnae speak of such matters, lass.” He could hardly talk now, for she’d slipped on her gown and stood fumbling with the bodice laces. He didn’t dare offer to help. He’d rip the clothes right off her again, caution be damned.

He drew a tight breath and clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her. “It could be there are some men worthy of Fenris legend. Dedicated warriors who fear naught and will no’ allow harm to come to innocents.”

“So you do admit it.” Her smile almost unmanned him.

“I’m owning to naught. I’d only have you know I’ll aye see you safe.” The gruffness of his voice shocked him, and he hoped she wouldn’t guess how much the wonder on her face affected him, or how powerfully it roused him to see her hands working at her bodice laces. “I didnae come here to pounce on you. I brought you something.” He reached beneath his plaid, retrieved a small leather pouch that hung from his sword-belt. Untying its strings, he dug inside the bag, finally producing a good-sized Celtic brooch.

He held it to the light of a nearby wall torch, turning the pin so its age-smoothed bronze gleamed as if alive. A fierce-looking stag’s head adorned the piece, the proud antlers and the beast’s ruby eyes leaving no doubt that the brooch had
once belonged to a man of great worth. Turning back to her, he held out his hand, the pin winking at her from his palm, an offering he hoped she’d accept.

She came closer, touching the brooch with a finger. “It is very fine, and valuable. Surely you are not giving this to me?” She looked up at him, her eyes asking more than her words. “Where did you find it?”

“Nowhere. It was offered to me in exchange for coin, many years ago, in a dockside tavern near Glasgow.” Sorley spoke true, his heart clenching on the memory. “The man was a Highland clansman, a MacKenzie who’d fallen on rough days. He claimed the brooch was once owned by his people’s greatest chieftain, Duncan MacKenzie, the Black Stag of Kintail.

“I’d heard of him. He’s a legend, after all.” Sorley took her hand, placing the brooch on her palm and closing her fingers over its beauty. “Some say the Black Stag lives still, that he guards Kintail to this day, invincible as the glory that clings to his name. Whatever the truth, it is known the pin now belongs to me. Keep it and take it with you to your Knocking Tower. If e’er you need me once we’ve parted, send the brooch back to me and I’ll come to your aid.”

“You are generous.” She was peering at the brooch, sounding oddly disappointed, as if she’d expected him to say something else. “But I cannot accept your gift.”

“Aye, you can and must.” Sorley was firm. He didn’t tell her why he also wanted her to have the piece: that, as he now knew, he had blood ties to the great Clan MacKenzie and its half-mythic chieftain.