Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) (15 page)

Neither Fiona nor William could understand why their brother was embarrassed. He very well could have died. There was no shame in how he was wounded.

“Brodie,” Fiona said, offering a comforting smile and pat on his hand. “Ye could have died. There be no shame in that.”

“Bah!” Brodie said. “If I’m to die, I do no’ want it to be from fallin’ from me horse. ’Tis embarrassin’!” he exclaimed.

“Would ye rather go out in a hailstorm of arrows in some bloody battle?” William asked, just as perplexed as Fiona.

“Well that would be a better story to tell than I fell off me horse!”

“Ye’ve gone mad,” Fiona told him. As an afterthought, she asked, “Why were ye at the McGregors?”

“Because I believe he is the one behind the raids and responsible for Bridgett’s death.”

Brodie explained why he thought the McGregor was behind the raids and Bridgett’s death.

“He was the first to propose,” he said as began to sound quite tired. “I thought it best to start at the beginnin’. So I went to see him.”

“And?” Fiona asked, anxious to hear what he had learned.

“Well, I found it quite odd that when I arrived to speak with him, he gave me his condolences on yer
death.”

She blinked twice, sincerely confused. “Me? He thought I was dead?”

Brodie gave an affirming nod. “Aye, he did. And that is what I found so odd. I meself had only learned that mornin’ of Bridgett’s death. When I met with him late that night, he was under the assumption that ye had died in the raid.”

A chill raced down her spine.
How on earth could the McGregor have known?

“When I asked him how he knew, he became verra nervous and said that word travels fast in these parts. Sometimes it arrives with inaccurate information. I decided to leave it alone, so I hurried to get back here, to let Caelen know what I had learned. That is when I hurt me leg.”

Fiona had to agree that news and gossip traveled quickly, as if it were carried on the winds itself. Having learned her lesson the hard way about accusing someone without proof, she was not quite ready to send out a call for war.

She was about to tell Brodie just that, when Phillip popped into the room.

“Me lady,” he said with a smile. “I ken ye’ve traveled far this night. I’ve rooms prepared fer ye and yer men. I have a hot bath waitin’ down the hall fer ye as well.”

How long had it been since she’d had a hot bath and a good night’s sleep? Far too long. ’Twas rather tempting.

“I fear we canna stay,” Fiona said as she stood. “We need to return home and tell Collin what we now ken.”

William stepped forward. “Collin already knows, Fiona. Everythin’ Brodie just shared with us was in his letter.”

“Why didna ye tell me?” she asked sounding more defensive than she had intended. She was the chief of their clan. That information should have been given to her, not Collin.

“Fi, I knew ye’d need to hear it from Brodie’s own lips. I also knew ye’d need to see fer yerself that the McDunnahs are no’ preparin’ for war against us. Ye’d no’ have believed me otherwise.”

Fiona knew he was right. She hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind these past days. Overwrought with guilt and grief, she would not have believed anything they told her.

“Verra well,” she finally said. “We can rest a while. But I want to return home as soon as possible. No more than a few hours rest, William.”

He looked relieved. “Good! I’ve no’ slept well of late,” he admitted. “We can all use a good rest.”

Knowing that Caelen was not here helped in her decision. She would bathe, sleep for a few hours, and leave before he returned.

F
iona soaked
in the tub until her skin wrinkled and the water turned tepid. The hot water had done wonders for her achy muscles and tired bones.

Her room was nicely appointed, with a large bed in the center of the room, much nicer than the one she slept in at home. It sat near the fireplace, which at the moment had a roaring blaze going.

Grabbing a drying cloth from the little stool that had been placed by the tub, she stood and wrapped herself in the luxurious-feeling linen. The warmth from the fire felt almost as good as the lovely bath. She sat down in the chair next to the hearth and began to dry her hair and combed her fingers through damp locks. Had she known she would have been treated so kindly, she would have brought an extra change of clothes and something in which to sleep.

Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier the longer she sat by the fire. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. She was about to climb into the bed when someone knocked at her door.

Believing it was the maid who had helped her earlier, she gave permission to enter.

Caelen.

F
iona gasped
, stunned to see him. Her mind raced to find something intelligent to say. Then she remembered she was naked, save for the drying cloth. That didn’t help her situation at all.

What should she say? Where should she begin? What should she do?

Knots formed in her stomach, as they so often did whenever he was near. But this was different. She owed him more than just an apology.

“Caelen,” she said, her voice scratchy from jumbled nerves.

“Fiona,” he said as he took a step closer.

His expression was unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, or happy to see her, or furious to find her here in his keep after all she had said to him the last time she was here.

“Caelen,” she swallowed hard and tried again. “Caelen, I owe ye an apology.”

She was met with stone-cold silence.

Somehow, she would feel better if he would scream or shout or draw his weapon and challenge her. Though this time, she knew she’d not best him.

“I am so verra sorry, Caelen. I canna begin to express to ye how sorry I am. I ken the truth now. Brodie has told me everythin’.” Suddenly, she felt quite cold as she stood there under his intense and scrutinizing stare. She pulled the drying cloth just a bit tighter.

“I ken I do no’ deserve yer fergiveness. Ye have every right to hate me and I would no’ blame ye if I did. I behaved so poorly — nay,” she shook her head, that wasn’t the right word to describe how she had behaved. “I behaved wretchedly, horribly, and I do no’ deserve yer friendship nor yer fergiveness.”

He remained silent and still. It made her all the more nervous.

“I will no’ try to insult yer intelligence by tryin’ to justify how I treated ye. All that I can do is tell ye what is in me heart.”

“What
is
in yer heart?” he asked, his voice soft and low.

He certainly didn’t sound
angry, but mayhap he was better at masking his feelings than she realized.

Fiona cleared her throat before answering. “Me heart? ’Tis full of sadness and sorrow, as well as shame and guilt. I should never have said those things, Caelen. I should never have accused ye. Were I truly yer friend, I would have asked ye first. But I was so bloody angry that I could no’ see clearly. I accused ye, found ye guilty, and set ye to hang, all in the span of one heartbeat. Fer all of that, I am most sincerely sorry.”

“Did Brodie tell ye that I’ve already fergiven ye?” he asked as he took another step toward her.

Fiona nodded her head for she had suddenly become mute. The knots in her stomach grew and were now firmly lodged in her throat.

“I take it ye didna believe him,” he said as he took one more step.

Fiona shook her head. “I do no’ understand how ye could,” her voice was but a whisper now. The closer he drew, the more nervous she became. “I behaved so horribly.”

“Aye,” he said. “Ye did. But I understand the why of it, Fiona, and I canna blame ye.”

Her legs began to shake and for the life of her, she did not know why. That was a complete lie. She knew why they shook. They shook because he was but a step away, close enough to touch, and he looked so … so handsome and desirable that it made her mouth go horribly dry. She cursed inwardly for feeling that way about him for she had no right to. Not after everything that had happened.

“If ye hear it from me own lips, will ye believe it?”

Somehow, she managed to scratch out a very weak
aye.

“Fiona, I fergive ye.”

She might have said thank you, but she couldn’t be sure because he was now close enough that she could feel his breath against her face.

“Would ye like to ken what is in me heart?”

She might have nodded aye, but again, she couldn’t be certain, for she seemed to have lost complete control of her senses. For the life of her, she could not take her eyes from his. She could not move, couldn’t speak, nay, she could barely breath at this point.

“Fiona, I love ye.”

C
aelen reaffirmed
his declaration with a kiss.

’Twas sweet at first. Soft, tender, a whisper of a kiss.

Fiona’s knees practically knocked together.

With great care, he placed a large hand at the small of her back and with the other, he cupped her cheek, and ever so gently he pulled her closer. He’d garner no complaint from her.

Then the kiss turned from something sweet and tender to something heated and passionate. Heat, from his body or hers, or both, no matter, it felt much like adding a fresh log to the hearth — a quiet
swoosh
before bursting into flames.

’Twas a promise of things that could happen if she allowed the kiss to progress. At the moment, she did not have the wherewithal to tell him to stop. She found she rather liked the way her stomach tingled and tightened and the way her toes tickled.

His tongue traced along the gap between her lips, demanding entry. Deciding she did not want the kiss to end, she gave passage. She sucked in a deep breath when the tip of his tongue touched hers. Her skin turned to gooseflesh and that odd, tingling sensation moved from her stomach to parts of her she hadn’t been aware she owned until that moment.

James had never kissed her like this, with such wanton abandon. James had never made her feel so alive and excited.

James.

Oh, no, this would not work
!

No matter how alive and utterly female she felt at the moment, she had to stop before things went as far as she so desperately wanted them to.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her palms against Caelen’s chest and pulled away from his glorious and magnificent mouth.

“Please, stop,” she said as she gasped for air.

She could not quite describe the smile he offered her. ’Twas a combination of deviousness and pride. He gave a slow shake of his head. “I do no’ think ye truly wish fer me to stop. I ken that I do no’ wish to.”

How was she to respond to that? ’Twas only the truth he spoke. Truly, she had no desire for him to cease. If anything, she wanted to let her drying cloth fall to the floor and then have him carry her to that very warm looking and rather inviting bed that was just a step or two away.

Nay! She had to be strong, had to put her foot down and had to behave like a logical thinking woman. She could not give in.

Her eyes soaked in all of him. Those dark brown eyes of his sparkled with what could only be described as desire. And those lips … she had tasted those lips and knew all too well how they could make her feel. Her eyes fell to his chest. She had felt that hard-as-stone chest pressed against her own and wondered what he might look like sans the light blue tunic he now wore.

“Do ye truly wish me to stop, Fiona?” Caelen asked. His voice was soft, his tone sincere.

Did she? Did she
truly
want this to end here? Now?

Yer a woman full grown for heaven’s sake! Yer a widow, no’ some innocent, calf-eyed lass with delusions of grandeur or illusions of a lifetime of moments like these. There are no more moments like this one in your future. ’Tis now or never, Fiona McPherson.

She swallowed once, then again, before answering. “Nay, Caelen, I do no’ wish fer ye to stop.”

Arriving February 2015

S
uzan lives
in the Midwest with her verra handsome husband and the youngest of their four children. They are currently seeking monetary donations to help feed their 17- year-old, 6’ 3” built-like-a-linebacker son.

"There is great joy in writing, but an even greater joy in sharing what you've written." —Suzan Tisdale

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