Highland Storm (7 page)

Stubborn lass
, he thought again.

Full of pride and too headstrong for her own good, she would rather freeze to death than join his men beside the fire. Well, she wasn’t going anywhere, he realized. And he’d made it perfectly clear to his men that they should leave her be. Once the girl was cold enough, she would seek his bed, he had no doubt. She didn’t strike him as witless or foolish, and on nights like these, both man and beast knew better than to sleep alone. Even the horses were all huddled together beneath the tarp and his men were heaped beneath another, with adjoining pallets that made good use of body heat and blankets. Crowded and a jumble of limbs, Keane would warrant that not a single one of them would complain about feet wandering beneath the blankets tonight. In fact, he was quite certain the most coveted spots to place one’s toes were beneath another mon’s arse cheeks—not that he wanted anyone near his own.

And yet that was not why he’d taken his pallet so far from the others. His reasons for that were twofold: Now that he would take his place as their leader, it was important to make certain all the men knew their places. Previously, he and Cameron had provided a strong, united front, one that bolstered them whenever they were unsettled. But the second reason, and the one that held most sway, was simply that he would be far more approachable lying separately from his men. For that reason, He’d chosen a spot half hidden from the rest of the pallets, beneath a broken eave, which should afford them a modicum of privacy. No matter that they believed themselves equals, his sisters—all three—had never been very keen on sleeping near the men. Not even Lael, who, far from considering herself Keane’s equal and thought herself above most men, would let her guard down enough to sleep comfortably amidst grown men. Only Kellen had ever merited a spot upon her pallet—mostly because Aidan had refused to share his bed with a five-year-old, and somehow, Kellen had taken more to Lael than to any of the rest of his sisters when first he’d arrived in Dubhtolargg. More oft than not, Lael would carve herself a place somewhere alone.

Turning onto his back, Keane placed one hand behind his head to stare up at the starless night, thinking about Lili’s son. He would be ten and six by now, but he hadn’t seen the boy in five years—not since the day Keane left the vale. Out of everyone, he missed his sister Cailin most of all. For most of their life the two had been inseparable.

The night was calm, but there was a sting in the air that promised colder weather yet. Snow lit upon his lashes, but he didn’t particularly care. Back in the vale, he’d spent many a night just like this… and he wondered what his sister Cailin would say if she could spy him now… sleeping in a heap of rubble merely to say he’d slept one day in the cradle of their kin.

He thought of Meara next, the lass he’d once believed he’d loved. But to little avail, he tried to picture her face. It eluded him now, after so long. She was fourteen when she’d died of fever from a contaminated well and she went so fast that Keane scarce had time to blink. One day she was giggling, spying on him at Caoineag’s Pool, and the next, she was lying upon a pyre.

“May I?” asked a soft, feminine voice, interrupting his reverie.

Keane blinked, turning to find, not Meara, but Lianae standing a few feet away. There was nothing similar about them. Meara had had dark lovely hair and bright green eyes while Lianae reminded him of a burnished idol. Arms crossed and shivering ferociously, she stared at him longingly—or rather, not at Keane, though at his blanket.

All thoughts of Meara vanished at once.

Smiling, Keane lifted the blanket in welcome.

B
y morning
, the entire world seemed blanketed in white, with a watery sun that teased through heavy, bloated clouds. The ruins were half buried beneath a layer of snow so high that it was difficult to say where the ruins ended and the landscape began.

The surrounding trees were painted with frost, evergreen boughs that sagged with heavy burdens. Every time the wind blew, great gobs of ice shook loose from the trees. The fickle weather was turning yet again, but if they should set out now, in this storm, they’d very likely freeze their bollocks off before midday—something Keane was disinclined to do, particularly now that they were so snuggly and warm. Down in the courtyard, amidst the half tumbled walls, the crew remained sheltered from the wind. Burrowed beneath the covers, with a warm body at his side, he’d slept like a warm, lazy dog, and as yet, most of his men had yet to rise, clearly reluctant to burrow out of their pallets.

Oblivious to the continuing flurries, a red squirrel sat burrowing near his pallet, its rufous tail twitching as it searched for pine nuts beneath the snow. Oddly, it reminded him of Lianae searching for her stones. The squirrel scurried away once Keane adjusted the covers—more’s the pity. With an empty stomach, he fancied the little beast roasting on a spit for their breakfast. Alas, but he was far too content to leave his bed, and much too aware of the woman slumbering along beside him…

Lianae.

It was a good name, lovely and strong, much like her.

He might never have guessed for an instant that beneath her fearless facade she’d hid the evidence of abuse.

What kind of man harmed a woman?

If Keane had the chance to face the monster, he would give him cause to rue his actions. It was impossible to know whether he’d taken her against her will, but marks like those meant only one thing… at the very least the bastard had tried.

For his part, Keane intended to reward the girl’s trust in him by proving that not all men were rutting beasts…

At the least he was trying.

His lust was difficult to deny, when his cock stood fully erect and throbbing beneath the covers. Despite his best intentions, his morning erection was not a function of his sex.

The scent of Lianae’s hair was like a philter—a love potion that spoke to his body in a language that clearly it understood. It had been a long time since he’d craved so desperately to put his old chap to better use…

Oblivious to his struggle for control, Lianae squirmed beneath the covers, moving a little closer to the heat of his body. Keane resisted the urge to reach out and draw her close. She had no inkling what she was doing, he realized, and waking her was the last thing he wished to do. But if she should happen any closer, she would quickly discover that not all his swords were safely sheathed…

He inched backward yet again—for the half dozenth time—reconsidering the wisdom in rising sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than to speak privately with Cameron.

As yet, only Cameron was up and tending the fire—or rather, more accurately, preparing it for their departure. He was pushing snow up and over the dying embers, his shoulders peppered with flakes he didn’t bother to shake off. He worked quietly, brooding all the while.

They had yet to speak about what had happened, but Keane wasn’t all that concerned. They had been friends too long and if Cameron ever meant to win Cailin’s hand, he would never dare challenge Keane—particularly since everything Cameron ever wanted, he wanted solely for one reason: to win Cailin’s favor. And he could have her still, if only the man would realize that he already had all he needed to win her favor. His sister didn’t care about riches. Nor did she care whether a man was titled. She, like all of his sisters, were simpler in their requirements. They wanted strong, loyal men who would care for them, and not much else. Until Cameron realized as much, Cailin would never have him—never mind Aidan. It was never his laird brother who would make this decision for Cailin. But this was not something Keane could easily explain to a man who was unaccustomed to putting women before him, particularly so long as Cailin remained undecided, because, to a man, Aidan’s reluctance to accept Cameron was the one thing that seemed to be saving his pride. Cameron was convinced that was the only reason Cailin had not yet fallen into his arms. But he was wrong. No one told his sisters what to do—whom to marry—and if that were so, Lael and Cat would never have wed outside the vale.

Nay, Cameron still had much to learn.

In truth, Keane was far more reluctant to buck Aidan’s authority than any of his sisters had ever been, for he had once been his brother’s heir.

Not anymore.

Now, he had…
what
? Not even a sense of purpose, if the truth be known. Aside from listening to Cameron’s aspirations and visions of grandeur—the home he’d like to build for Cailin, the children they might raise together—he was jaded and bored with life. Back in the vale, he’d withered in the role he’d been provided, and even this mission had proven mind-numbing, for despite David’s fears—that with Henry of England preoccupied in France, the sons of Óengus were scheming to restore the Mormaerdom—all was quiet in the northern territories.

Trying not to think about the woman snuggled beneath his furs, he examined their surroundings. In the cold morning light, Lilidbrugh was a desolate place. No wonder his men were so eager to leave. They should much prefer to be home with their families, where the hearth fires blazed and the auld reekie soup was bubbling in a pot. Like Keane, their hearts were not in this task, no matter what David’s promises. Those promises could not fill their bellies at the instant. Nor did they warm the bones, and for his part, Keane wondered what he was doing serving a king he did not trust. The girl lying beside him had given him the only frisson of excitement he’d encountered since beginning his service to the crown.

Ten years ago, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim had stolen his sister Catrìona from her bed in the middle of the night. He took her south, intending to award her to the English as a ward of their court. This was not a man who engendered trust, and yet, these few years past, he had not known the man to be intentionally cruel. He made his decisions, so he claimed, for the good of the realm. This was something Keane might well believe, despite that he disagreed with the methods. Like a game of chess, he moved pieces about his board. But for every decision he made, there were good folk who paid—like his brother.

Aidan’s marriage to Lìleas MacLaren could so easy have gone wrong. On pain of losing her firstborn son, Lìli had been sent to murder Aidan in his bed. Had she not fallen in love with Aidan, and had the integrity and fortitude to come forward, all might have gone so differently… Keane would have been laird of their clan.

Thankfully, he was not.

But there was another side to Scotia’s king, for when David might have exacted justice over the taking of Keppenach, he had shown Lael and Broc Ceannfhionn infinite mercy—and more. Instead of hanging them as he might have—as they had attempted to do before Jamie Steorling cut them free—he gave Broc a seat at Dunloppe and Lael was commanded to wed the
Butcher
, King David’s most trusted commander. These days his sister Lael seemed to have traded her knives for wee bairns, chasing them about, whilst her laird husband continued counseling his king. But Keane had no place in this arrangement. He was a border guard, nothing more. Only now, he feared he craved else…

Lianae stirred beside him and Keane tried not to think of her arse, the shape of which, he now knew intimately, despite the barrier of her gown—and despite the fact that he kept edging backward, for she kept nestling it sweetly against him, and he had no need to touch her to picture the outline of it printed so neatly against his thighs. She wiggled backward, yet again, and Keane swore softly beneath his breath. By the sins of Sluag, he was but a man.

He scooted backwards, away from her, the very instant he felt his cock stir, and he’d kept scooting back again every time she sleepily sought the crook of his thighs.

W
ith the wind whistling overhead
, Lianae was afeared to come out from the blankets, so she snuggled deeper. Warm and comfy as she was, it was easy to pretend she was still at home with her mother and father, and that her elder brothers had never gone to war. Her dreams this morning were of Lulach—at ten, when Lianae was nine. They were laughing together near the silos, watching kittens chase the hens from their feed, but it was so long ago now that such innocence had been a part of their lives.

Oh, Lulach…

Her heart ached.

Why?

Rather than make the Earl pay for what he’d done to Elspeth, he’d doomed Lianae to the same fate!
Her father would be so ashamed, and her minny—couldn’t he remember what they’d done to her? Aye, she had died of grief, forsooth, but
they
had driven her to it, taunting her with images of her bonny sons’ heads rotting on a field of dead. They’d claimed her sons’ heads were put upon pikes, and left to mark the place where MacBeth’s murdering heirs had been vanquished at long last.

Didn’t Lulach remember?

Why couldn’t he remember?

Of course, Lianae had refused to believe their lies. If they’d brought home her father’s body on a slag, why wouldn’t they have returned her brothers’ as well? This, she took as proof that Graeme and Ewen must still be alive. But this was all a nightmare, in truth, and she didn’t want to wake now… because that’s where the true demons lived, in the broad light of day. Swallowing her grief, Lianae settled herself beneath the covers, and suddenly, she felt a warm hand resting on the curve of her thigh, pushing her gently but firmly forward.

“
Stop
,” a male voice said.

His breath was soft and warm as it blew across her nape.

Keane.

It took Lianae a sleepy moment to realize precisely where she lay. And to begin with, the only thing that kept her from flying out from the covers was the bitter cold. It slapped her across the face when she poked out her head. But, then, as soon she remembered who it was who lay beside her, she was quite certain this was precisely where she meant to stay.

It was cold enough out there now to turn flesh to ice. Shivering, Lianae ducked her head beneath the covers and prayed for sun. If it had been near this cold when she’d fled Kinneddar Castle, she might never have left at all—or mayhap frozen to death soon after her escape.
Propriety be damned!
His men might all be still asleep, but Lianae had no doubt they’d already spied her huddled beneath Keane’s blankets. Let them say what they would. She had come to him willingly, and the simple fact that he was pushing her away now, left her feeling confused.

Didn’t he like her?

It wasn’t unheard of that a woman should expect to pay for a man’s protection with her body, and Lianae might have been willing to do so if that’s what it came down to.
Maybe
. That’s how cold she was! The simple fact that she had never been put in such a position was more a testament to the respect her father commanded, even from the grave… but this man had
no
idea who Lianae was, and still he was pushing her away—as though the feel of her somehow repulsed him. That made little sense—not after the way he’d treated her last night.

Shifting beneath the covers, Lianae turned to face her would-be captor, remembering suddenly that he had not taken the least offense to her barb about his biting pillows. “Are ye no’ fond of women?” she asked, nonplussed.

H
earing her question
, Keane nearly choked.

Bloody hell.
The scent of her had him so hard at the instant that he daren’t allow the girl any closer. For both their sakes, he held her an arm’s length away.

Blinking innocently, she stared at him, waiting for his answer—but nay, demanding one, if the truth be known—and Keane marveled that she could ask such a question with the evidence that lay between them.

But, of course, how could she know?

Her brows furrowed prettily. There were no aspersions meant, he realized and the look in her eyes seemed quite sincere. She wished to know if he preferred men, and he had half a mind to lean forward and kiss her senseless as his answer. But there was a certain innocence in her eyes that belied the impudent question.

Swallowing with some difficulty, well aware that his camp was now rising, and that his men were all casting curious glances in their direction, Keane found himself staring helplessly into the girl’s
uisge
gold eyes.

Gold, with a ringlet of green, they were the most enchanting pair of eyes Keane had ever seen. She was lovely, and unlike Lilidbrugh, with the morning light, she was twice as beautiful as the night before, with dark golden-red brows that were perfectly arched over almond-shaped eyes. Her skin… reminded Keane of rose petals… soft and unblemished. And those sulky lips… they were the color of ripe rowan berries in fall—albeit slightly chapped for the weather. It made him yearn to soothe them with his tongue. But that bruise on her cheek… it was darker now, and the sight of it successfully cooled his ardor.

She was still waiting, confusion nestled in her lovely eyes, and although Keane realized she didn’t mean to, she leaned into the hand he had splayed between them beneath the covers, testing his uncertain barrier.

“Ach, lass, I am quite fond of women,” Keane reassured her. And then it was the most difficult thing he’d ever had to say, “Now, please, get out of my bed.”

It wasn’t simply the cold he knew he would regret.

The lass blinked in surprise, and if the confusion weren’t already evident in her eyes, he saw it now tenfold. “You want me to get out?”

Keane nodded a bit awkwardly, half shaking his head, as she continued to lean against the hand he had splayed between them. The curve of her belly teased him mercilessly and he craved naught more than to slide his hand down and explore the delicious cleft between her thighs… and deeper, the soft folds of flesh he wanted to taste as urgently as he did her lips.