Devil in a Kilt (23 page)

"Then
you are pleased?"

He
smoothed a stray lock of hair off her face, and let his fingers skim along the
line of her neck. A tender, gentle touch, light as a breeze but mighty enough
to curl Linnet's toes and send a wash of pleasurable sensations spilling
through her. " ‘Tis fine work you've done," he said, his fingers
toying with the hair at the nape of her neck. "The swelling around
Marmaduke's missing eye has all but receded, and I'm mightily impressed with
your talent. Still, if you must work with herbs, I'd rather you collect them
from the brothers at the abbey than grow them here."

"But
why?" Linnet glanced around the little garden. It was just beginning to
look well tended .. .
loved..
. again. " ‘Tis true the garden needs
much care, but I do not mind. The work is a pleasure to me, a joy. Your
mother—"

"Who
spoke of my mother?" Duncan cut her off, his fingers stilling their
pleasure-spending caress.

"No
one, except, that is . .." Linnet stammered, confused. "Fergus said
she'd cared for the garden and I thought, since it's gone so long untended,
you'd appreciate—"

"It
went untended on my orders."

"I'm
afraid I do not understand."

"Nay,
you do not and cannot." Stepping away from her, Duncan strode to the gate,
where he remained standing with his back to her, his hand resting on the rusty
latch.

Linnet
stiffened at the cold dismissal she read in his stance, but something about the
way he lingered, hesitating as if waiting for her to come forward, made her go
to him.

"I
would like to understand, Duncan," she said softly, unaccustomed to using
his given name. But somehow it felt right on her tongue.

He
rewarded her by resting his arm about her shoulders and drawing her near. Yet
his touch felt awkward, stiff and wooden, as if holding her close made him
uncomfortable. "You have naught to do but have a care when here. And I
shall have your word you ken each and every plant... every seed ... what grows
here."

She
pulled back to look at him, surprised by the reproach in his voice. "Why,
sir, I've been familiar with herbs since afore I could walk. I assure you there
is not a single plant here what can be used for aught but good."

"And
so I wish it shall remain."

"Do
you worry I would cause someone ill?" A chill washed over her at the
thought he could think so poorly of her. "Ne'er would I—"

"It
is not you I distrust," he said, cupping her chin in his large hand.
" ‘Tis only that unhappy memories linger here and spoil this place for
me." He paused as if weighing his words before he continued. "My
mother and sister both died of tainted food. ‘Twas believed the poison came
from this garden."

"Merciful
saints!" Linnet's hands flew to her cheeks. "‘Twas surely an
accident?"

Her
husband waited a moment before he answered. "I canna say. Naught could be
proven, for the person we suspected perished before any questions could be
raised."

"I
did not know." She paused to wet her lips. "If it pleases you, I
shall abandon my work here."

He
hesitated, then smoothed his knuckles lightly over her cheek. "Nay. ‘Tis
perhaps time the garden once more enjoys the attention of a gentle lady."

Linnet
nodded, too moved by his unexpected tenderness to speak.

Without
warning, he stepped closer and took her face between the palms of his hands. He
lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in an achingly sweet kiss, its tenderness
stealing Linnet's breath away. Then, even as she melted against him, parting
her lips to gladly accept a deeper, more urgent joining of their lips, he
released her and was gone.

Linnet
remained where she stood, her fingers pressed lightly to her still-tingling
lips, until the sound of his receding footsteps was swallowed by the morning
fog.

Shaken
and awed by the force of passionate need his kiss had unleashed deep inside
her, Linnet bent to pluck several fat snails from a newly cleared bed of mint
and thyme. Mayhap her nightly efforts to breach the barriers he held against
her were having effect?

She
couldn't deny the tenderness of his parting kiss nor the concern that had laced
his words just now.

Did
he suspect how she'd lain awake night after night, waiting for him to settle
into a deep sleep? Had he unwittingly sensed her tracing the noble lines of his
face with the backs of her fingers? Had he merely feigned sleep whilst she'd
tenderly explored his hard-planed warrior's body with her questing hands?

For
only then, in the quietude of the dark, did she dare hope to gentle him with
the tenderness of her touch.

To
win his heart when he was unwary and perhaps too weary from the day's toils to
resist her affections.

Only
then did she allow herself to dream.

Straightening,
she wiped her hands on her apron. Faith, but she'd grown bold. Each night she'd
become more daring, first stroking his hair, then moving on to the breadth of
his shoulders, and finally caressing the rock-solid muscles of his arms.

Once,
she'd even smoothed her fingertips down the hard planes of his chest and
abdomen, stopping just short of the thick black hair that sheltered his
manhood.

There,
her fingers had hovered while tingles had raced up her arm, surging through
her, alighting her senses, before pooling in the depths of her belly. The
sensations had warmed her, urged her to explore that most masculine and
mysterious part of him.

But
she'd desisted, pulling back her hand as if she'd been scorched.

Too
frightened of his possible reaction and too unsure of herself to risk
discovery.

She
winced at the very idea of his awakening to find her running her hands over
him, exploring his body as if she were the lowest sort of village bawd. She
couldn't imagine his reaction, but knew he'd not appreciate her boldness. He'd
made no secret of his desire to keep himself from her.

A
great shudder passed through her at the tremendous chance she'd taken in
daring to touch him thusly.

Yet
he'd come to the garden to bid her farewell, shown her the kind of gentleness
she wouldn't have dreamed possible, voiced his desire to know her safe.

Had
given her cause to hope.

Suddenly,
a thick sheaf of hair slipped forward and fell across her eyes. With
well-practiced ease, she tucked it in place and sighed.

If
only she had more to commend her than her supposedly bonnie tresses!

Not
that she considered her hair as lovely as some claimed.

Ne'er
would it stay properly coifed, being far too weighty for the plaits Elspeth so
painstakingly arranged each morn. The hour of terce was not yet upon them, and
already Elspeth's handiwork had come undone. Aye, her tresses were e'er
difficult to tame. And its color was far too immodest a red, a shade better
suited to a woman of lesser morals. Or as her da oft accused, a sorceress.

Had
fate been kind, she would've been blessed with her sisters' quiet beauty.
Instead, she'd been born with a plain face and errant locks, lips much too
full, and skin, whilst fair enough, marred by freckles inherited from her sire.

A
drunken lout of a man who'd no doubt revel in the stinging humiliation she'd
found by coming to care for a man who didn't want her as a husband should. She
craved more than tender kisses, she burned to experience true passion, a total
abandonment to the fires her husband ignited inside her. Aye, her da would
convulse with laughter if he could see her now, yearning for Duncan MacKenzie's
favor.

For
despite his concern for her well-being, her husband's only true interest in
her was the answer to the question he posed her every morn . . . and every
night.

But
she'd remained silent, keeping her secret even as he fell into sullen silence
over her apparent failure to see the truth he sought.

Yet
with each rising sun, she awoke with new hope.

Hope
for herself, and hope for Robbie.

But
with the coming of the night, she went to bed knowing her attempts to please
had been hopelessly ineffective regardless of what she did. Her efforts to
make him want her and to acknowledge, unconditionally, his love for his son,
remained sadly futile.

With
a mumbled curse, full-bodied enough to have made her brothers proud, Linnet
kicked a stone out of her way, then strode straight for the haven of the little
stone workshop built against the garden's seaward wall.

Here,
and with the lad, Robbie, she found solace.

This
morn, as on others, the burden of the great task she'd taken upon herself felt
lighter the moment she stepped into the low-ceilinged workshop, with its
bundles of dried herbs hanging from the rafters.

The
many shelves crowded with bottles, jars, and earthenware pots, along with
several worktables holding an assortment of pestles, mortars, and wooden bowls,
the variety of which Linnet had never seen, gave her great comfort.

In a
corner cupboard, she'd even found a precious set of metal scales, a collection
of small wooden boxes ideal for storing her medicinal preparations once dried,
and even several rolls of fairly clean linen for bandaging wounds if e'er she
must.

Linnet
took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the pungent air. Her heart warmed
immediately. In the quiet of the dim workshop with its comforting scents of
herbs and peat smoke, she'd found a sense of peace she'd not expected to find
at Eilean Creag.

Even
the earthy smell of the well-trodden dirt floor and the tang of briny sea air
drifting in through the one tiny window calmed her and gave the workshop an
indefinable air of sanctuary.

Taking
an earthen jug from a high shelf, she poured a measure of ragwort elixir into a
small flagon. She'd concocted the special unguent especially for Sir Marmaduke,
taking great care with the selection of its ingredients. On impulse, she added
a few drops of other herb essences to the ragwort in the hopes of bringing even
more relief to the puckered and angry welts upon Marmaduke's face.

Satisfied,
she carefully sealed the flagon so not a drop of the precious elixir would be
lost.

Tucking
the flagon into a small purse tied to her apron, she turned and nearly stumbled
over a large hound stretched upon the floor behind her. She smiled upon recognizing
Mauger, the ancient mongrel wont to follow her stepson wherever he went.

But
she'd heard neither of them enter. Nor did she see Robbie anywhere in the
workshop. Puzzled, Linnet bent down to scratch the hound's large head, scanning
the shadows as she did so. "Robbie? Are you here, laddie? You've no need
to hide from me."

Although
he didn't answer her, a slight rustling noise in the far corner revealed his
hiding place. Robbie sat on the floor, beneath a table, his small form barely
visible in the deep shadows.

More
puzzled still, Linnet closed the short distance between them and knelt on the
earth floor. Despite the dimness, ‘twas plain to see the boy was much
distressed. He'd drawn his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly about
them. To her dismay, he kept his face averted.

But
what troubled her most was the way his shoulders shook. Robbie was crying, and
his silent tears rent her heart in two. Edging forward, she reached under the
table and tried to touch the lad's arm, but he ignored her and continued to
cower against the wall.

"Robbie,
lad, what's happened? Will you not come out and tell me what's troubling
you?"

A
muffled sniffle came in reply, but he did twist around to glance at her. Pity
seized her at the sight of him, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, his cheeks
pale and wet with tears.

Thinking
only to comfort him, Linnet snatched him to her, cradling his trembling body
against hers. As gently as possible, she smoothed her hands over his dark hair,
then used the edge of her apron to dab the moisture from his cheeks. "What
ill has befallen you, laddie? Tell me, for I promise it canna be so bad as it
seems."

He
sniffled again and didn't attempt to speak, but the way he tightened his arms
around her encouraged Linnet to keep probing. "Why aren't you with Sir
Marmaduke?" she asked gently, stroking the back of her hand down his damp
cheek. " ‘Tisn't this the hour he instructs you in handling a
sword?"

"Uncle
Marm'duke rode out with the patrol," Robbie blurted, swiping at his eyes
as he spoke.

Uncle
Marmaduke?
Linnet tucked that interesting bit of information into
the back of her mind for later clarification and concentrated on discovering
what ailed the boy. "If you dinna have a lesson this morn, what are you
doing about so early?"

Again,
silence answered her. But the anguished look in his dark blue eyes, eyes so
very like her husband's, was all the clue she needed to know something had hurt
him sorely.

Of a
sudden, Mauger nudged her from behind, almost knocking her off-balance as he came
forward to rest his great dome-shaped head upon Robbie's lap. The old dog
whined pitifully, staring up at Linnet with mournful brown eyes as if begging
her to ease his young master's pain.