Highland Storm (10 page)

He heard the resentment in her tone. “Well, he is, is he not?”

“David mac Maíl Choluim
is
the rightful king of Scotia,” he told her. It was true, whether they liked it or not. “He
is
your king as well.” He waited to see if she would take offense over that.

But she said naught, nor did she return to her current resting position and Keane felt the separation acutely. It was a strange feeling, considering that he had known the lass less than a day. But now his curiosity was piqued: Who was she that she would not accept David mac Maíl Choluim as her rightful king?

She was dressed like an Englishwoman—or at least a Scot under the Scot’s king’s banner. But she’d called herself a maid of Moray… not
de Moray,
in the Norman fashion as was
de rigueur
these days. At first hearing the small distinction might not mean overmuch, for only a highborn woman would intentionally style herself
de Moray
. As a commoner, she might easily say she was a maid of Moray and yet… as a highborn, to use Norman distinction—or not—was quite telling. With the death of Óengus of Moray, William fitz Duncan had attempted to adopt the title of Mormaer, but the people revolted, despite that Fitz Duncan was a Morayman by blood. His father was the King, deposed by MacBeth. By all rights, the throne of Scotia could have been his for the taking, and yet he’d aligned him with David instead—a move that had made him wildly unpopular in the north and led to a revolt, five years past—a battle Keane had refused to enter, for he considered the men of Moray to be his kindred far more so than any of the tribes of Scotia.

Keane was a man of few words, as his men could attest, but he was also quite keenly aware that silence spoke volumes. They rode in silence now, whilst he contemplated the subtlety of words… those spoken and those unspoken as well.

I
t was not
Aidan’s way to rush straight to the
uisge
, but Lìli understood why he did so today. She had a mighty yen for it herself.

He was not pleased.

She was not pleased.

“She’s but a child,” Lìli argued.

“Her name is Constance, Lìli, and they are nearly the same age.”

Her mood soured even more. Rarely did her husband ever speak her name, not like
that
. She was most often his
sweetling
—never Lìli with that horribly impatient tone.

They had returned from Chreagach Mhor,
with a surprise en tow. Her husband and son were home in one piece—thank God—but her son Kellen had brought along with him a wife.

A wife!

To Lìli’s way of thought, this was taking charity a bit too far. They’d gone merely to carry supplies to an allied clan, and she had supported this rare show of solidarity in her husband, but
this
was not what she had anticipated when she’d agreed he should leave the vale so close to the birth of their new bairn. “That is not the point,” Lìli argued, as Aidan poured himself a dram.

Already, her son had been deprived his birthright with the enfeoffment of Keppenach to Jaime Steorling—not that she begrudged Jaime the keep. Her son would not have been old enough to accept his patrimony for many, many years, and in the meantime, the demesne would have remained unsecured or fallen to ruin. But she’d had modest hopes for Kellen’s future, and now they were all dashed. Some day, her father would die, and as yet Padruig had begot himself no heirs. It seemed that God had cursed him for his evil ways, and made him barren as a brick. Because of this, Kellen should have married well enough to put him in a position to inherit what Lìli could not. Her father might loathe her still—he might even count Lìli amongst his greatest enemies for what he had considered a betrayal—but she was still a child of his blood. She was a Caimbeul whether he liked it or not.

But of course, she was content here in Dubhtolargg. It wasn’t that. It was merely that a man without a demesne was ever destined to serve others, and even where there was no greed, or ambition, it undermined the relationship even so. Much as she loathed the truth of this fact, she saw the way it had separated Aidan and Keane—brothers who had once been inseparable. A boy could not become a man until he left his father’s house and some day Kellen must make his own way, whether Aidan agreed or not.

At any rate, Dubhtolargg was no longer the safe haven it once was. Slowly but surely the world was encroaching upon them—more surely than only a few weeks before, for here, now, was yet another mouth to feed.

But a new bride?

Did Aidan truly mean to gift them Lael’s cottage? Outside the protection of the crannóg? Already Cailin had insisted upon her own home. Next it would be Ria and then the babe, and then she and Aidan would inhabit the crannóg all alone. It was far too cavernous for just two people!

Aidan lifted his tankard to his lips, quaffing the
uisge
down, his body tense. Lìli felt the tension as well—in her belly, wherein she ought not feel it right now. They rarely ever argued. That she must needst greet her husband with harsh words, especially now when she was so grateful to see him, upset her more than he could know.

Out in the hall, her son sat cooing over his sweet new bride. She was lovely, in truth, but the thought of Kellen bearing bairns of his own—well, he was only a boy!

“Why di’ ye not say nay, Aidan?”

His stark green eyes begged her to understand. “The evidence was indisputable, Lìli, particularly since Kellen admitted to the deed wi’ his own two lips. Would ye have me begin a feud with the MacKinnons?”

“Well, nay,” Lìli confessed. “Though ye should ha—”

“I should have what? What choice did I have, my love?” Once again, his gaze begged her to understand, and Lìli’s shoulders fell despondently. Tears pricked at her eyes. She moved backwards and sat on the bed, feeling weak in the knees as she tried to make sense of all she’d heard. Her son was found in the arms of a girl—both cuddled together in a loft atop the MacKinnon’s stable. Hair mussed, clothes full of bits of hay. They’d been left all alone to fondle each other, and who knew what more!

But who had been watching them all the while? No one, this much was clear! And yet… it was true… he was not a wee bairn to be coddled all the time. She must confess at least this much. “What if she is already pregnant?” Lìli worried.

Her husband tilted her a sympathetic look, appealing to Lìli’s sense of fair-mindedness. “Then we will have a new grandson afore long.” His beautiful, full lips turned up at one corner, as though to wrest a smile from hers.

Feeling cantankerous, Lìli’s hand went to her belly. “Ach, Aidan! We will have a child and a grandchild both nearly the same age.”

Aidan shrugged. “Surely we will not be the first?”

Defeated by her husband’s sense of reason—and the soft lilt of his gentle words—Lìli lay back upon the bed, with one hand splayed upon her belly, surrendering to the facts. “But he is not ready to be a father,” she whined.

Her husband’s tone was calm and reassuring. “Kellen is a fine lad. He’ll make a good husband and a verra good da.” And then he reminded her, “He is only two years older than I was when I became laird of this clan.”

Lìli considered that truth as well. On that day when her father betrayed the dún Scoti clan, Aidan took up his sword beside his father as a youth of ten and four, and then after his father was slain, he became chief. So, aye, two years younger than Kellen. It was a sad, sad story—one her husband might never have forgiven her for, and yet he had.

Unbidden, Lìli pictured her sire looming over Aidan’s father’s body, his long gray beard splattered with blood. Padruig Caimbeul had gone to Dubhtolargg under the pretense of friendship, supping at their table and partaking of their ale and then altogether, he and his warriors had risen up in the midst of the festivities and slaughtered half the dún Scoti clansmen whilst their noses were deep in their cups. It was the gravest of transgressions amongst Highlanders—to shed innocent blood under another mon’s roof when one was invited in friendship, and for that alone, her father would rot in hell.

And to imagine… all this her father had done without any knowledge about the stone hidden here in the vale. They had come simply to appease their monstrous pride—to say they had driven the heir of Black Tolargg to his knees. They’d defiled Aidan’s mother, left her with a babe in her belly. And that babe was Sorcha, although Sorcha did not realize the truth of her patrimony as yet. Lìli had been sworn to secrecy—as was the rest of the clan—until the day Aidan determined it best to reveal this news. Alas, insofar as transgressions went, Lìli was hardly in a position to hurl any stones.

Reading her so well, and sensing the turn of her thoughts, her husband came and sat beside her on the bed, caressing her thigh.

Lìli smiled, despite her quarrel with him, for she knew him so well. Whenever he touched her belly, he was content to be a father. When he avoided that round, unavoidable, lump that was her belly, he was in the mood for something else…

He continued to caress her thigh. “Will you forgive me?" he asked. "I have missed ye so, my
sweetling
.”

Lìli inhaled a breath. She was not an old woman, and despite that she had two children and another on the way, she refused to behave like an old woman. In response to his sweet words, she spread her legs a bit—an invitation, if he should like to take it. She was still too vexed to confess it, but she would welcome Aidan’s peace offering.

Her husband chuckled. “I take it you’re pleased to see me, despite our son’s indiscretions?”

Of course, she was pleased to see him—so pleased, that her nipples tightened beneath her gown, aching to be set free. Pouting still, Lìli turned her head. “I am pleased,” she said, and then spread her legs a little wider. “I suppose he is a man, after all, and men will do what they are led to do.”

The wicked gleam that returned to her husband’s bright green eyes nearly stole her breath away. “And what are men led to do?”

“Things they ought not,” she answered coyly.

“Like this?” He snuck a long finger up the hem of her gown and Lìli’s breath caught on a gasp. There he teased her inner thigh. “Should I not do this?”

As an answer, Lìli spread her legs a little wider, reaching down to pull up her gown, but slowly, teasingly, enjoying the feel of the soft wool sliding up the length of her skin.

Aidan chuckled darkly, and stood, looking down on her on their bed.

Lìli had been feeling quite frisky, cleaning everything within sight. The room was cozy with a fire she’d had waiting now for days. Even after all these years, she felt little doves fly inside her breast at the sight of her husband undressing so purposefully before her. He was not a man who shied away from pleasures of the flesh.

At six and thirty, Aidan was still darkly handsome, his hair as black as raven’s wings. His green eyes boldly inspected her, ravaging her body without ever touching her. And yet she felt his gaze as surely as she would his big, strong hands.

As he looked down upon her, he took himself into his hands, teasing her. “Is this what you want, Lìli?”

He stood bare skinned now, his body tinted copper by the firelight and he began to stroke the length of his shaft, smiling wickedly as his thumb caressed the glossy tip.

Gooseflesh erupted over Lìli’s flesh, and she licked her lips gone dry, but she knew something more than she once did about pleasing her lover and she smiled back, nodding only once.

That was all it took.

Her husband fell to one knee… intending to kiss her until she became wet. He loved the taste of her, or so he’d said. But she was already wet, didn’t he realize? From the instant she’d spied that gleam in his eye and the first naughty turn of his familiar lips. Arching into his soft mouth, she reveled in the heat of his tongue…

Aye, this was a fine way to end an argument… a fine way to greet her husband… and, even if she didn’t crave him deep inside her—which she did—she would have let him take her if only for the simple fact that she wanted this babe born.

Right now.

“Make love to me, Husband,” she demanded.

Ever dutiful, and never inclined to disobey… Aidan hooked his arms beneath her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed, wasting little time in giving her his warm, thick flesh. Lìli felt him slide inside and melted into the bed.

I am his master and he is the master of me.

So it was, and so it should be.

D
unloppe was
another two day’s ride southwest, near the borderlands.

But if Cameron was angered over the destination and turn of events, he didn’t say so, nor did he give any appearance of undermining Keane’s authority. He remained steadfast, quieter than usual, but otherwise not much changed. Considering that Keane was battling the weather, he was grateful not to have to wage war with his friend, or his men.

By late afternoon, the mesnie was weary and ready to make camp. Keane recognized the signs of their exhaustion in the slumping of their shoulders. And, although like Cameron, no one spoke a word in complaint, they were forced to make quite a few unforeseen stops along the way. But this fact was ever telling: whatever proclivity these men once had toward whining, it was thoroughly quashed. Keane wasn’t sure that was entirely a good sign, though at least they no longer had the propensity to test the leadership. And yet it would behoove him to see to their needs, because if there was one thing he’d learned: unhappy men were all too eager to leave. While stopping early for the day was hardly optimal, no good would come of pressing on.

Like the men, Lianae too endured without complaint. She rode behind him companionably, her mood far less contentious than yestereve.

They found a spot near a grove of whitebeam trees. With the mild winter, they’d had a late bloom and the boughs still held their clusters of bright red fruit. Like rowan berries, whitebeam was generally harvested after the first frost, once they’d had a chance to properly blet. He suspected they would be good and soft by now, and perhaps even sweet. The bletted berries would make a soothing tea to soothe their aching bellies. But he was perplexed as to why they were all ill, when Keane was not. If the supplies had not been stolen he might not be so quick to cry foul play, though as it was, it gave him reason to suspect. Could someone have meant to poison them? Or mayhap it was simply the grouse, which he’d had none of because he’d given his share to Lianae. Now his belly was grumbling louder than Taranis. A red blur raced across the snow, darting into a nearby thicket. A red fox was after a meal, and so too was Keane. If he waited much longer, he was liable to consume his own limbs. He gave a sign to the men, and found a good spot to tether the horses. And then he helped Lianae dismount before taking Cameron aside. “I’ve a taste for something more than grouse,” he said.

Automatically, Cameron’s gaze slid to Lianae and then back, clearly mistaking his meaning.

“Food,” Keane snapped, and Cameron smirked. Little amused by the direction of his friend’s thoughts, he commanded, “Take Murdoch and Brude, see what ye can find to eat.”

Cameron peered over his shoulder at Brude. “Why them?”

“Because they are better archers than you, and because we’re better off not letting them out of our sight,” Keane explained, and then he challenged his old friend with a winning smile. “I’ll take the lass. Let’s see who comes back with the better feast.”

Cameron lifted both brows. “Three men to your one? Di’ your minny e’er teach ye modesty, my friend?”

Even as long as they’d known each other, Cameron probably didn’t realize that Keane’s mother was dead by the time he was two, his father before he was one. Aside from his brother, who’d had his hands full with the rule of the clan, and Una, who’d spoken mostly with the butt of her staff, no one ever told him aught. Keane fished his bow and his arrow out of its fittings and slid the quiver onto his back, ignoring the barb, returning yet another. “Think you can bring back something other than grouse? Judging by the number of times we stopped today, the last one nearly killed us.”

“Save for ye?”

“Aye, well, I gave mine to the lass.” He flicked a glance toward Lianae to find her petting Beithir, and he felt a warm glow in his breast.

“She looks well enough to me?”

“I dinna give her much.” Yet it made Keane wonder... He cast another glance at Murdoch, who now seemed perfectly hale. And unlike the others, he was the only one, aside from Keane and Lianae, who’d not needed to stop and seek his privacy along the way, despite the fact that he’d complained about a belly ache. Lianae, he understood, for she’d barely had enough to eat, but Murdoch was the one who’d hunted for their supper last eve. He and Alick had jointly prepared the food. Murdoch would have had first dibs at his share of the meat. And he was the one who’d been caught rifling through supplies this morning—as though he were still hungry. But if he’d stolen their provisions, he would also have known that none remained. Perhaps the two events were not connected?

“What’s the winning prize?”

Keane grinned. It wasn’t going to be the command of the men. That particular prize was already won, and now there was far too much at stake. “The loser will give up half rations to the winners. I vow I would eat a cow this night,” he said.

Cameron lifted a brow. “Does that include the girl’s share?”

“Nay,” Keane replied and his tone brooked no argument. Remembering the way Lianae had devoured her meal last eve, he was certain she needed all the sustenance she could get. If it came down to it, he’d give her his share yet again, though he had little doubt over the outcome of his wager, even with the odds stacked against him. Not a one of these men—not even Cameron—had his skill with the bow. For the most part, they were all more adept with their swords.

Cameron assessed him, his look discerning, though Keane didn’t much care what conclusions he came to. He intended to look after Lianae, come what may, for she was the entire reason he’d risen to this task in the first place.

“Vera well,” Cameron relented. “We have a bargain.” And he smiled as he turned away, marching over to Brude and then to Murdoch, rallying both men to his cause. Keane watched all three disappear into the woods, laughing as they went, and then made his way over to Teasag.

“See to the horses and start a fire. Send Wee Alick to gather firewood, then tell Donal I said to boil a bit of water.” Whitebeam could be bitter, but they would thank him profusely once the tea was brewed. At the moment, he was more than grateful for his brother’s wife’s knowledge of simples. Lìli had taught him much these ten years past.

Once he was finished ordering the men, he found Lianae seated upon a rock, her legs crossed and her feet up out of the wet snow. He could scarce blame her. Glenna’s wool was weather tight, but it was not leather, and hardly meant to be used for shoes.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

Her golden eyes were wide, her pupils dark. “Better,” she said softly.

“Well enough to walk?”

She nodded, and Keane took her by the hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To hunt for supper.”

She was lovely in this winter light. Her golden-red curls were beautifully mussed and her pale blue gown gave her face an ethereal pallor, like a milk-skinned faerie. “What shall we hunt?” she asked, hobbling along beside him.

“Hare, if we’re lucky,” he said.

“And if we’re not?”

He smiled a little crookedly. “Grouse.”

She smiled back. “Grouse is good,” she said.

He supposed that right about now, everything sounded good to the lass, but they’d probably steer clear of the grouse.

Unaccustomed to walking with women—particularly one who was injured—Keane’s steps were too long and his gait too quick, so he let go of her hand and stopped to give her a rest, making a pretense of inspecting the string of his bow. He peered down at her feet—at the unraveling cloth—and frowned. Hooking his bow over his shoulder, he swept her up into his arms. “But first we have something else to attend.”

Squawking in surprise, Lianae wrapped her hands about Keane’s neck. That too made him frown, although not because he didn’t like the feel of her warm, sweet fingers at his nape…

His sisters were all entirely self-sufficient. He wasn’t accustomed to thinking about the discomfort of others, and he wondered how much he’d already overlooked. Clearly, Lianae wasn’t spoiled, but he must make an effort to anticipate her needs—although why he should feel inclined to do so for a woman he barely knew and would likely never see again once he found her a safe haven, he didn’t particularly know. Ever since yesterday, it was a growing need, and it was a longing he was wholly unaccustomed to.

As they neared the whitebeam trees, replete with their bright red fruit all topped with tiny white hoods, she marveled aloud. “How lovely!”

Grunting his agreement, Keane put her down beneath a snow-laden branch to gain his bearings, and to search for the brook. She had yet to tell him any of the troubles she’d endured, but he suspected she’d been through quite an ordeal, and still she marveled over simple berries.

Inspecting a low-lying branch, she placed her hand gingerly beneath the crimson fruit, and the look on her face was full of wonder. “I take it ye have been here before?”

“Once.”

“When?”

“On the way north.”

“Oh,” she said and plucked the frozen bunch from the branch. Afterward, she stood inspecting the berries, squishing one between her fingers and lifting a finger to her lovely mouth to taste the juice. The small gesture made his cock twitch and that simple fact annoyed him beyond measure.

Remembering the way to the burn, he lifted her up once again without a word of warning and carried her down to the burn. There, he settled her next to a large boulder then slid his bow from his shoulder and set it down beside her.

“I am
not
an invalid,” she complained.

Confused by his own actions, Keane didn’t immediately respond.

Indeed, she was not. She had come miles on her own without shoes, cutting her feet along the way. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that she hadn’t yet griped. But he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her—or anything else, aside from the taste of her lips.

She had kissed him so unexpectedly this morn, arousing his hunger, and it had taken him a long, intoxicating moment to realize what she would do, and then something snapped inside him. He wanted to taste her body with a fierceness he had never known—the same way she craved the taste of those berries. But the truth was, not all whitebeam berries were sweet, and still some part of him craved to know what he would get with Lianae.

Would she be bitter in the end?

Would he crave her only to be denied?

Keane was not the sort of man to sew his seed with abandon. He wanted to bed her, aye, but he wanted to keep her as well—and that was unreasonable. She was not a dog to be leashed and, besides, he had no home to provide her.

Which only led him to wonder what the devil he was doing taking her to Dunloppe. What was Broc supposed to do with the lass? Was he merely hoping that the further they traveled together the more time he could give himself to figure it all out? Did he think he would find a way to convince her to stay with him, even despite that he had nothing to his name? She was a woman of substance, he was certain, and he was a border guard, with naught but a bunch of men to his name. The more he thought about it all, the less clearly he could think, and so he ought not be thinking at all.

Stooping to test the water’s temperature, Keane peered up at Lianae and swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat. The look of innocence she gave him felled him more swiftly than any seduction ever could. Finding it difficult to speak, he waved a hand at the boulder where he’d lain down his bow. “Sit,” he demanded, more harshly than he’d intended.

For an instant, he thought she would protest, but she lifted a golden brow and limped to the boulder without a word. She sat down. “
Tha thu a' dèanamh cus odharmanachaidh,
” she said, without much heat and a bit of a smirk.

Keane reached out to snag her right foot, without bothering to ask, irritated with his own lack of wits. “Clearly, you speak the old tongue.”

“Of course—and ye must as well?”

“Aye.”

She sounded coy. “Well, what did I say?”

Keane continued unwrapping the wool around her foot. “You said I was officious.”

She laughed. “And ye are.”

Keane shrugged, despite that his lips maintained a hint of a smile—until he saw the bottom of her foot in the broad light of day. It wasn’t infected yet, though it was filthy, and the wounds were filled with debris. He marveled that she hadn’t complained even once, not even with the bitter cold. His own feet were drier than hers, wrapped in boot leather, and his toes were half numb.

He jerked her foot down a bit more roughly than he’d intended to, furious with himself for not asking after her comfort long before now. Splashing cold water over her foot, he washed it as best as he could, massaging it carefully to be certain the blood was flowing well. He worked quickly, plucking out the tiny rocks he encountered, and then shook out the wool and rewrapped her foot, doing the same again with her left foot, vowing to see them both wrapped more thoroughly once they returned to camp. Glenna’s wool was tightly woven, weather tight and warm, but it was still permeable and there was only so much of his breacan he could rent, without leaving her with little to warm the rest of her body. But he could dry her bindings near the fire and rewrap the foot again once the cloth was toasty and warm. Later, he would find her a pair of shoes. He didn’t give a bloody damn what his men thought as he catered to the lass. Let one of them speak out of turn.

It didn’t occur to him to wonder why he believed she would be with him long enough to supply her with shoes… he felt connected to the lass in a way he had never quite experienced before. In fact, come to think of it, this was the first time in his life he had ever taken responsibility for anyone besides himself—at least insomuch that he knew he must be the one to care for her, above all others, and even above himself.

It was a long, long moment before he realized that the copse had grown quiet, all but for the tinkling of the brook. Her hand rested upon the boulder, half holding her branch of frozen berries. If she should happen to twitch her fingers, they would drop onto the snow. Keane peered up at her, with a longing so great, he could scarce defy it.