Devil in a Kilt (11 page)

Duncan
glared at his friend. "Aye, and dinna forget that is all it is ... a legend.
Naught but words."

"Then
you canna be harmed by it, can you, milord?" his lady said, displaying
another glimpse of the fire he'd admired on the journey from Dundonnell.

"I
do not fear the stone or its silly legend," Duncan snapped.

"
‘Tis glad I am to hear it," Marmaduke countered, a mischievous gleam in
his good eye, "for then you have no reason to deny us the pleasure of
watching you and your fair lady wife perform the ceremony."

Another
blare from Fergus's horn silenced those still speaking and spared Duncan from
responding to Marmaduke's cheek. "‘Twas long ago," Fergus began his
tale, his gnarled fingers deftly strumming the
cittern.
"Old gods
still ruled and their ways were yet respected. A proud Celtic king lived not
far from where we sit this night. He was a powerful man, and none dared defy
him. He feared no man or creature, and some say neither did he fear the
gods."

Fergus
paused to sip from a brimming cup of ale. "This king had four daughters,
and being as wise as they were beautiful, they, too, feared him. All save the
youngest daughter... his favorite."

As
Fergus recited the legend, Duncan leaned back and folded his arms. Folded his
arms and closed his ears. He knew the foolish prattle by heart, and the most
annoying part of the story was almost upon him.

"...
so certain was the fair maid of her father's love, she saw no reason to be
secretive about having lost her heart to a young man she knew would not meet
her father's approval. Though a braw and bonnie lad, strong of muscle and pure
of heart, he was without means or prospects. The proud king became outraged
upon learning his favorite daughter desired a man so unworthy."

The
words flowed over Duncan, seeping into his ears despite his best efforts to
ignore them. Saints, he wished the old fool would finish so they could have
done with the rest of the ceremony.

The
part he dreaded ... the hand-holding and kissing part.

"Aware
her father would never allow the marriage," Fergus went on, "but
unable to deny her heart, the lass and her true love ran away to the marriage
stone. A swearing stone, ancient even then. Its magic was strong and
true." Fergus paused and took another sip of ale. "But the father was
warned, and he caught up with them just as they thrust their hands through the
opening in the stone's middle."

Pausing
again, Fergus looked around the hall, his sharp eyes wise and knowing. Duncan
closed his own eyes before the wretched graybeard's piercing gaze could reach
him.

"...
The king's fury gave him more strength than a mortal man should have and he ran
at them, tore the stone from its base and cast it into the sea... the young man
with it." The seneschal's voice rose as he neared the legend's climax.
"Shocked, for he hadn't meant to kill the lad, the king fell to his knees and
begged his daughter's forgiveness. But her loss was too great. Without even
glancing at her father, she walked off the cliff, joining in death the love
she was denied in life.

"...
So angered were the old gods by the king's disrespect for the stone's
sanctity, they repaid him in kind, destroying his stronghold so thoroughly,
none can say where his court truly stood."

Duncan
opened his eyes as the seneschal finished the tale. "But all was not
lost," Fergus's voice rang out. "Many years later, the marriage stone
washed ashore on our fair isle and has been at Eilean Creag ever since. Its
power is stronger now, and all newly married MacKenzies who grasp hands through
the stone's opening and share a kiss afterward, are blessed by a powerful bond
no man can destroy, for the old gods themselves shall favor and watch o'er
them."

The
hushed silence seemed to deepen, broken only by a sniffle or two from the few
womenfolk present. Then deafening applause erupted, soon joined by the inevitable
chant: "Bring on the stone! Bring on the stone!"

Fergus's
chosen buffoons paraded the stone thrice around the high table, finally halting
behind Duncan's great chair. Other clansmen, grinning like dimwits, yanked
Duncan and Linnet from their seats and pushed them before the stone.

"Take
her hand!" a voice rose above the babble. Others quickly joined in.
"Aye, take her hand!"

Duncan
blew out a furious breath and thrust his hand through the hole in the stone.
‘Twas his duty, he supposed, and nary a soul present would cease to bedevil him
until he'd done his part. But then his wife placed her hand in his and Duncan
no longer heard his men's fool prattle.

Her
hand was surprisingly warm and strong, yet her touch unsettled him. Saints, but
her warmth stole into him. It sprang from where their clasped hands touched,
making its way brazenly up his arm to flow through him like warmed mead.

Before
she could bewitch him further, Duncan shouted the words he must, "See, all
here present, we are joined! Honor to the old gods, may they bless our
union!"

To
end this part of the ceremony, he laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand
a light squeeze. She gasped, a tiny breathy sound, but he heard it. Even above
the hoots and foot stomping of his men. Following his lead, she tightened her
fingers over his and Duncan's heart slammed against his ribs.

"The
kiss! The kiss!" his men roared.

Spurred
on by his wish to have done with this spectacle and an overwhelming desire to
do just what the men urged him to do, Duncan released her hand but grasped her
arm and drew her close. "We must kiss," he told her, taking hold of
both of her arms. "Afterward we shall have our peace."

Something
indefinable sparked in her eyes, but she lifted her chin to await his kiss.
With a low groan that couldn't possibly have come from him, Duncan caught her
hard against him and pressed his mouth against hers in the most possessive kiss
he'd given a woman in years.

When,
in her innocence, she parted her lips and the tip of her tongue fleetingly
touched his, a burst of raw desire flared in Duncan, and his loins tightened
with pure, heated need.

The
sort of need he did not want to be burdened with.

At
once, he broke the kiss and set her from him. "‘Tis done," he vowed.
Lifting his arms above his head, he turned in a circle and raised his voice so
all could hear him. "Let no man claim we have not asked the old ones'
blessing."

"May
they e'er watch over you!" his clansmen answered the ritual chant. Still
hooting and full of themselves, those who'd crowded round made their way back
to their places, those still seated reached for jugs of ale or wine and
refilled their drinking cups. At last, the clamor died down as the celebrations
turned to the more serious amusements of supping and imbibing spirits.

Back
in his own seat, Duncan purposely turned his attention to the delicacies and
great platters of succulent meat spread upon the table. He didn't trust himself
even to glance at his bride, for beneath his braies, his body was still
uncomfortably aroused. Saints, even the soft sound of her breathing and her
sweet, feminine scent were enough to keep him stirred.

Nay,
‘twas wiser to concentrate on the feast before him. Fergus had outdone himself,
bringing forth a wealth of finer victuals than Duncan had seen in longer than
he cared to remember. The old seneschal had set a table good enough for the
Bruce himself.

Duncan
reached for the hippocras. Mayhaps if he partook of enough of the potent brew
and ate his fill, a sound sleep would help him forget he'd bound himself to
another wife this day.

A
wife whose purpose was
not
to quicken his loins.

"Make
haste and eat, will you? You've not touched a morsel," he admonished her,
nodding to the choice pieces of roasted stag he'd carefully selected for her.
"The sooner we've had done with our meal, the sooner we can be gone from
this table."

"I
am not hungry, milord."

"Then
I shall eat for you," Duncan said irritably, lifting a succulent piece of
meat off their shared trencher and popping it into his mouth.

Anything
to take his mind off the conflicting emotions whirling through him, driving
him near mad.

Anything
to steer his thoughts away from his manhood, still fully charged and pressing
hard against the confines of his hose.

He'd
wanted naught more than a docile and plain bride who would but answer the question
that burned ceaselessly in his mind. He'd gotten a maid who fired his loins
without trying and who'd defy every rule he'd laid down in his household.

A
maid whose sight was likely little more than Highland gossip ... a minstrel's
exaggeration.

And
he'd fallen for it.

A
maid whose purity his clansmen roared, at this very moment, for him to take.

And,
by St. Columba's holy bones, he burned to do so.

But
he'd learned a burning in the loins is fast quenched and forgotten whilst a
searing of one's soul lasts an eternity.

Once
more, Duncan refilled the enormous wedding chalice and downed its contents in
one long gulp.

If
his men insisted on a bedding, they could have one.

But
without him.

He
intended to sleep through it.

‘Twas
nigh onto midnight as Linnet paced the length of her chamber, naked save the
linen sheet she'd snatched off the bed and wrapped around herself like a
shroud.

In
the distance, even through the heavy oak door, she could hear the retreating
footsteps of her new clansmen as they noisily made their way back to the hall
after unceremoniously depositing both Linnet and her husband atop her bed.

Her
cheeks flamed with indignation at the way the tumultuous merrymakers had
cheerily divested them of their raiments.

To
her dismay, even Elspeth had participated, clucking like a mother hen, calmly
reminding Linnet that such was the way of things, as she'd deftly peeled off
each and every layer of Linnet's clothing—not even leaving her the modesty of
her undertunic.

Ignoring
Linnet's protests, her trusted old nurse had stripped her bare, leaving her
fully unclothed, as unprotected as she'd been on the day her mother had
birthed her.

Totally
exposed.

Elspeth
had even snatched Linnet's precious
arisaid
as she'd exited the chamber.
Someone had also locked the large chest containing Linnet's new gowns.

Not
that it mattered to aught but the walls and few scant pieces of furniture, for
her husband appeared to have fallen into a deep slumber the moment his dark
head hit the pillows.

Still,
being locked in a room, without a stitch of clothing, with an equally unclothed
man, was a bit disconcerting.

She
was cold, too.

Freezing.

"Do
you intend to stalk back and forth all night?" her husband's deep voice
boomed from the bed, startling her so much she nearly dropped the sheet she
held clutched to her breast. " ‘Tis more noise you're making than my fool
clansmen below."

"I'm
moving about to keep warm, sir," Linnet snapped, angry at the way her
heart responded to the sight of him sitting upright in the bed, his bare chest
broad and powerful-looking. Too late, she wished she'd drawn the bedcurtains,
thus hiding his masculine splendor from her view!

Faith,
but he was magnificent.

MacKenzie
or nay.

Cold-hearted
or not.

"‘Tis
a pity none among your men thought to stoke the fire," she ventured,
pulling the sheet tighter about her breasts. "‘Twould appear they were too
intent on undressing us to think about such a minor thing as our comfort."

She
regretted the sharp words the moment they passed her lips, for her husband
threw back the coverlet and sprang to his feet. "Then
I
shall do
it."

Handsome
and breath-stealing as a pagan fertility god come to life, Duncan strode across
the room, as comfortable with his nakedness as she was uncomfortable with
hers.

Light
from a brace of tallow candles burnished his skin, casting dancing shadows up
and down his well-muscled back as he knelt before the hearth.

Like
a lovestruck damsel from a French romance, she gawked helplessly at his noble
form, her heart beating faster the longer she stared.

Then,
as if the angels above wished to save her the embarrassment of having him catch
her ogling him like a brazen bawd, a chill gust of sea wind swept through a
window, extinguishing the candles and plunging the chamber in darkness.

The
sharp tang of brine and the darker scents of a damp night laid heavy in the air
as Linnet stood perfectly still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

She
fair jumped out of her skin when strong, warm fingers curled about her elbow
and something even warmer, nay,
hot,
brushed lightly against her hip.