Chapter Four
Light streamed in through the window, but Skye couldn’t tell what time it was. Sleep had eluded her. There was so little room on the small cot that she was afraid to move, even though the cold stung her feet and nose. In his sleep, Brodie had slung his arm over her and scooted closer, and she welcomed the warmth, but she couldn’t let him inch his way back to into her life.
As of yesterday, she was promised to another.
The events of the evening before kept replaying in her head. Those memories had taken her back to the wedding celebration last night as she stood on the edge of the dance floor and watched the happy couple. Recognizing the emotions swirling in the bride’s eyes as her new husband held her close and twirled her around the floor—devotion, trust, and love—she’d turned away.
Utter foolishness.
Fighting the urge to rush to the lass’s side and shake reason into the girl, she’d studied the tapestry that hung on the castle wall depicting the victory of Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn and thought of her own triumph against the demons that had held her captive for years. Sure, she would wed, but the best she could hope for in a marriage was casual indifference or maybe friendship. She’d given up on a union born of silly childish dreams and hope for the kind of love she’d seen shimmer in the depths of her parents’ gazes. Her mother had been the daughter of a laird and her father a simple Cameron farmer, but they hadn’t let those differences come between them. They had been each other’s worlds.
Now, she was resigned to a marriage built on a foundation of Royalist unity and the blood of her kin, who were massacred by Covenanter soldiers at the orders of Sir Duncan Campbell of Auchinbreck. Alliances with other Royalist clans were becoming more important as tensions rose between those who were loyal to King Charles, and the men, like the Duke of Argyll, who supported the Presbyterian Covenants as the sole religion of Scotland.
Often, she awakened, covered in sweat, when her dreams took her to the horrors she’d heard tales of—hundreds of Catholic MacDonald women of Rathlin Island begging for their lives, and the piercing screams that must have spilled from their lips as the Covenanter soldiers of Argyll’s Foot pushed them over the cliffs to the rocks and surf below.
If she could save others by forming an alliance with another clan, so be it. Despite living with the Cameron clan as a child, she owed her uncle, the MacDonald laird, and their people a debt because they had taken her in and given her a new life. At least her uncle had given her a choice of men.
Skye’s gaze caught on a colorful celebratory tapestry depicting the coronation of Mary, Queen of Scots. The crowning of the ill-fated queen had taken place in this very castle. The Catholic monarch had been imprisoned and forced to give up her throne because of her religion and then hunted down by her son’s own men. Skye understood betrayal, but, unlike the queen, she knew when something she wanted was not worth the fight.
“And here she is.” Her uncle’s voice broke into her reverie as he dipped his head to place a kiss on her cheek. “This is Collin MacPherson. Collin, ’tis my niece, the bonniest lass in all of Scotland and a mirror image of her mother.”
Turning toward Collin, she tipped her chin slightly and peeked up at his intense hazel eyes. They didn’t make her heart skip a beat and weren’t the eyes of the man she’d once given her love to.
This man was safe. Discovering he lived in his family’s castle with multiple cousins and other family members, she agreed right away to the marriage. Even if she didn’t grow to care for the man, it wouldn’t matter because she would never be alone again.
“Collin, dance with my bonny niece. She’s quite graceful.” Her uncle smacked the man, who was a good three inches shorter than him, on the back. Unprepared, the blow pushed him forward and nearly toppled him over.
Despite his reserved nature, Collin was light on his feet. “What do ye think of Stirling Castle?” she asked.
“It isnae like home. We arrived early to make preparations for the upcoming meeting in Edinburgh.”
“I heard the meeting will take place in June. Will ye be going?”
“Nae, my father and oldest brother will be. My other brother will keep watch over the clan while they are gone, and I’ll probably be left to settle disputes.” He winked lightheartedly.
“Do ye think the Royalists and Covenanters will find a way we can live in peace?”
“Nae, but there is always hope.”
They danced by the newly married couple and delighted chatter reached her ears. Nae, she would never have the bride’s infatuated look in her gaze, but she would be well cared for, safe, and content to live her life with the cordial third son of a laird who wouldn’t be required to produce heirs.
Breaking into her thoughts, Collin pulled her closer and said, “Dinnae sacrifice yerself if ’tis no’ what ye wish. If this match is no’ right for ye, we will find another way to a truce.”
She swallowed, afraid that her indifference had ruined her uncle’s chance for peace with Collin’s clan. “Nae, ’tis fine. I would be happy to be yer wife.”
“Aye, that may be so, but ye dinnae look at me with fire in yer eyes.” And, she realized, he seemed quite immune to her as well.
Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.
“We dinnae even ken each other.”
Was he looking for a way out? Nae, she had to stop him. The MacPherson and her uncle would never find a peaceful solution to their feud if she jilted his son.
“Nae, I’m pleased with ye, with us.”
“I’m just saying to think about it. We should at least get to ken each other a little better. I’ll ask for time to come court ye on yer uncle’s island.”
Only a short while later, Ross and Neil MacLean were stuffing her in the back of a wagon and destroying her hopes of a peaceful future. What would her uncle and Collin do when they discovered her missing? Would her chance to broker peace between the clans be destroyed?
As she considered her options, she burrowed under the covers.
…
Waking on her back with Brodie’s gaze meeting hers, her heart skipped a beat.
“Were ye watching me sleep?”
“Aye, I was.” A lazy smile coupled with his husky voice followed. “I never got to wake to find ye next to me.”
Sitting up quickly, she threw the blankets at him and scooted off the end of the bed while changing the subject. “I’m hungry.”
“I am, as well,” he burred with a suggestive tone.
She ignored him, and he must have received the message, because the bed shifted as he rose to pull on his own shoes. Making the mistake of turning around, she froze at the image before her.
Brodie’s bare ass, lean and sculpted, looked hard as oak, but smooth and velvety at the same time, and her hand itched to close the short distance and caress the rounded globes to test the contradiction. He stretched and her eyes were drawn up the slight incline to his tapered waist, then farther to the wide expanse of his sinewy shoulders. Blood heating, she struggled with the desire that woke from some forbidden place inside her.
He had changed over the years, and now, in the morning’s light, he was even more bonny than he had been as a youth. When he turned, she gasped at the unmistakable evidence that his thoughts had strayed in the same direction as hers. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and down to her still-clothed body.
She blinked and remembered she was newly betrothed and shouldn’t be looking at a man other than her husband. Snapping her eyes closed, she tried to visualize Collin MacPherson’s face and turn her thoughts to him, but the only features she could recall were those of the man she wanted to forget. Her lids flew open.
Giving her a wolfish grin, he tilted his head sideways in a flirtatious expression that made her want to forget the hell he’d put her through. She couldn’t help it—her mouth went dry. Or was it watering? Either way, she gulped and tried to control her racing heart. She turned her head, but it was too late. The image of his well-sculpted form was burned into her memory. His massive shoulders, taut stomach, and fully erect penis would haunt her the rest of the day. Clearing her throat, she stood and walked for the door.
“Ye are the devil,” she muttered without turning back toward him and reached for the door.
“Hold on. Ye cannae go without me. What if Ross and Neil are here?”
She kept her fingers curved around the handle, but did not look; the whoosh of his plaid as he threw it over his shoulders brought some relief from the torment. The bed squeaked, and she was certain that he was pulling on his boots and would be decent, but she decided not to risk a glance.
Another whine sounded from the bed as it protested the loss of his fine form, and gooseflesh rose on her skin as she felt the air part for him when he came up behind her. Lifting the latch and moving to open the door, she tried to flee the room, but he put his hand on her arm. She caught her breath at the light touch and looked around.
Shaking his head, he motioned for her to step back into the small chamber, and she did. He cracked the door silently and stuck his head out, peering in both directions. After pulling the door in, he said, “’Tis clear.”
He led the way down the stairs, but as they neared the bottom he held out a hand to stop her advance. Realizing he really was concerned the men who had abducted her would follow them, she stilled and prayed he was wrong. His head turned to scan the room for threats, then he motioned for her to continue.
As they took a table in the empty room for a meal, a relative calm washed over her at the prospect of quenching the pain in her empty belly. Either the guests in those filled rooms had left earlier in the morning, which was likely, considering it was time for the midday meal, or there had been no others.
She was helpless to protest when the innkeeper’s attractive, rosy cheeked daughter started ogling and openly flirting with Brodie. He seemed not to notice or care, but it burned her inside that women threw themselves at him all the time.
When the buxom wench served him a handsome portion of eggs, the harlot bent low enough to reveal the milky expanse of her nearly exposed chest. Skye glanced down to lament that her own breasts were quite small in comparison, then ground her teeth and clenched her fists under the table. If the girl dipped any farther, she might fall out of her gown. To add to the insult, when the girl straightened, the cheeky lass didn’t even offer her any food, just plopping the rest in the middle of the table for her to fill her own trencher.
To be fair, Brodie didn’t encourage the woman, but she could only assume his reputation preceded him, so she blamed him anyway. Tapping her foot a few times, she tried to fight the jealousy, but it irked her. What made it worse was, she shouldn’t care. She no longer had a claim to him; even more, she did not want one. But some irrational part of her said if she could not have him, no one should.
“How long will it take us to get back to Stirling?” She drummed her fingers on the table and turned her eyes from the full-figured lass lurking in the corner, waiting to service any need Brodie had.
“Nae, I am taking ye to Kentillie.”
Her fingers froze. “Surely, ye can have any lass ye want. Why saddle yerself with one who doesnae want ye?”
Something she didn’t recognize flashed in his eyes. “Ye are the only lass I ever wanted,” he countered.
“From what I hear, ye want every lass in Scotland.” She could hear the bitterness in her tone.
“Were ye keeping tabs on me then, sweet?” His body leaned in closer to hers. Finding it hard to breathe, she slid her chair back from the table.
One side of his lip curled up in a wicked grin. He could see she was jealous, damn him. The dimple on that side appeared, and her heart skipped a beat. No man had the right to be so appealing, and it galled her that she still fell for his charms.
“Dinnae call me that, rogue,” she snapped.
He leaned back lazily. “How is it ye ken so much about me, but I havenae heard what ye have been about these last few years?”
“I am a private person. I dinnae wish for my dalliances to be on display for all of Scotland.” Balling her fists, she remembered the string of events that had changed her life. She had sought out Brodie to tell him her father’s illness had worsened, and that she didn’t want to be alone. She was sure he would come sit with her while she nursed her father back to health. Not finding him at his house, she darted toward his stables and saw more than she wished to see.
He was there. So was Nora Stewart. Brodie moved in like he was going to kiss her, but then pulled back, laughing. Her heart, already devastated by the declining health of her only family on Cameron lands, split beyond repair. Then, Brodie went down on his knee in front of Nora, and her carefully crafted world fell into ruins.
Anger burned in the pit of her stomach. Her repeated requests for him to tell her where he’d vanished had only been met with half-truths and evasion. But now she knew why—he’d been with some harlot.
She had been days away from her eighteenth birthday and had given Brodie Cameron her heart and soul. Only two weeks before, she had given him her body. He had told her everything she’d always wanted to hear, that they would marry, have a large family, and live happily ever after.
Returning home and pushing aside her misgivings to focus on tending to her only parent, she vowed to confront Brodie once her father was better. But Brodie didn’t show up that night for the late meal like he usually did, or the next day when her world had fallen apart.
She’d been all alone with her father when he’d died. She had needed Brodie to wrap his strong arms around her and let her know she would survive and she shouldn’t be afraid of being on her own because he’d always be there. But he hadn’t been. Not able to go for help, she’d spent the whole night with her father growing colder.
She vowed she would never be alone and helpless again.
Brodie had not even attended the funeral. Although she hadn’t planned to leave, she’d not argued when her uncle had come and taken her to his home on the Isle of Skye before Brodie even bothered to return.
Dropping the fork, she wiped at her eyes with the sleeves of the same olive-colored gown she’d been wearing since the wedding. After jumping up, she headed for the outside before he could see how affected she still was by his betrayal and indifference. She ran for the door, but he was right behind her, catching her and spinning her to face his dark gaze before she made it through the door.
Anger blazed in his eyes. “Until we find out why the MacLeans tried to kidnap ye, ye best keep yer head about ye, Skye, and no’ be running off. ’Tis no’ safe.”