Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Selene turned to Maureen who was not far behind her.
“Where are they heading, with such purpose?”
“There’s naught behind the stables but the training yard. I’m guessing he and Callum both have some frustration around what happened they would like tae lose.”
“Frustration? I would call it fury,” Selene responded, shaking her head.
She had felt Kenneth’s rage practically vibrating through him as she swayed against him on the ride back.
He said little and she was content to let him be.
She was only beginning to understand the danger Aidan posed to all who dwelled on Kenneth’s land.
That latest incursion into Clan MacDonald territory was against all Highlander laws. It was an act of war.
“Come, dae ye want tae go see the sparring?”
Selene nodded, yet the suggestion brought a cold chill with it.
Sure enough, as they rounded the corner at the rear of the stables, they came upon a large area close to the castle wall. It was lit by oil lamps, yet even in the dim light she could clearly see the figures of the two men who were being joined by a third.
“The armorer and their trainer,” Maureen whispered. She guided Selene across to a timber bench resting against the wall where they could view the proceedings from afar.
“Having found, over time, that an audience is nae welcome, I stay at a polite distance. Any distraction tae the men in training can be dangerous.” Maureen gave a wry smile
Selene drew a sharp breath. “Surely they do not spar with real weapons?”
“The younger lads use wooden sticks or pretend swords while they are learning. But me braither and Callum will mostly spar with bayonets fixed in their flintlock muskets and their broadswords, or with their dirks.” She cast Selene a curious look.
“These are the Highlands of Scotland, Selene. The clans are forever involved in skirmishes over one thing or another and our warriors train whenever they can tae be ready fer whatever may come.”
Selene grimaced. After what she’d witnessed of the battle on the ship and the afternoon’s incident, she could well understand the need for the warriors’ constant training.
“They’ve nae long since received these new flintlock muskets from France and have been training in the use of the bayonet.”
Selene noted the sharp blades affixed to the long muskets and shuddered.
There were two filled sacks suspended from a wooden frame at the rear of the yard which Selene guessed were targets for the bayonet thrusts.
The trainer who had joined Kenneth and Callum walked across and tethered the sacks to a small pole in the ground so they would not sway out of reach.
Then he shouted instructions to the two men.
His tone made Selene shiver. He sounded like a man who was already facing the enemy.
“The throat,” he called. And two bayonets flashed in the lamplight thrusting toward the approximate place on the dummy where, if it were human, its neck would be.
They were both fast, but Kenneth was more so than Callum.
After brutal thrusts into approximate body parts – heart, kidneys, belly, the two men each took it in turns to wield a stick so that that their partner could practice parrying.
It was fast and furious, with blows being thrust into the unfortunate dummies.
Selene found herself rooted to the spot, half shocked, half thrilled.
She had never seen anything before with such focused savagery. It was clear to her that every thrust to the suspended dummy had Aidan’s name on it. And, she thought with a shiver, woe betide that man should he fall foul of Kenneth MacDonald when he was in such a murderous rage.
Kenneth fought like a man attempting to drive his demons into the dirt. Every thrust with his bayonet was sharp and wickedly powerful, driven by a barely leashed violence that was completely under his iron control.
Sweat slid down his temples. His shirt clung to him until, with an irritated growl, he yanked it off and tossed it aside.
Selene forgot to breathe.
His shoulders were broad, powerful, shaped by years of labor and combat. Muscles rippled down his back and arms, his chest rising and falling in time with his heavy breathing. She swallowed hard, heat creeping up her neck.
Maureen nudged her. “Lass, are ye all right? Ye’re gawping like he’s a Sunday feast and ye havenae eaten for a week.”
Selene snapped her gaze away, flustered. “I… I was merely observing the technique.”
Maureen snorted. “Aye. And I’m the Queen of France.”
But Selene couldn’t drag her eyes away. Every time Kenneth turned, every stretch of muscle, every flash of concentration in his eyes, his frown… tugged restlessly at something low and hot inside her.
By the time the sparring ended, Kenneth seemed a little more like himself. He was sweat-drenched, breathing hard, yet his expression was mild, his jaw no longer flexing.
Selene caught her breath as he and Callum approached, a smile curled his lips as he nodded to them.
“Did ye enjoy the performance, milady?” His voice held a hint of defiance, as if he was anticipating her disapproval.
She returned his smile. “Indeed, Laird Kenneth. I was impressed with yer prowess. I think Aidan MacLean should be shaking in his shoes.”
“Och. And I’ve worn meself intae quite a lather.” He grinned at her, obviously pleased with her remark. “’Tis time I washed away the toil of the day.”
He bowed from the waist and with Callum beside him, walked back toward the keep.
Maureen watched the exchange with a slight dimple in her cheek and a glint in her eye.
Drawing in a hasty breath Selene caught her gaze.
“What?”
“Naething. Naething at all, just enjoying the sight of me braither in a lather,” she said, all innocence.
It was then that Selene was overtaken with a swarm of wicked and unladylike notions.
At the mention of bathing, she could not keep from imagining Kenneth disrobing for his bath. What she’d seen of his bare torso has ignited an impossible desire to see more of his magnificence.
And, as he’d so unceremoniously burst into her chamber that morning and found her thoroughly disarmed and disrobed, it seemed only fair to play a similar trick on him.
Her mouth suddenly dry, she ran her tongue over her lips as they entered the keep and headed for the staircase leading to the bedchambers.
Maureen halted by the door of her chamber, her hand on the latch. “I shall wash and change me dress and join ye fer supper.”
Selene continued along the passageway, slowing as she drew near Kenneth’s room, excitement curling in the pit of her stomach.
She would fling open the door for a second, take a swift glance into the room and retreat. All she intended was to startle him in much the same way as he’d startled her this morning.
Of course, she had no intention of catching him half-clad as he’d done with her. That would be quite wrong – and she would never dream of being so ill-mannered. No. What she wished, was simply to teach him a lesson about knocking on doors before entering.
She drew the latch, flung the door wide and stood poised in the open space.
He stood by the hearth, the fire casting a golden glow over his bare skin, a linen towel slung low around his hips – perilously low. Droplets of water slid down his chest, disappearing into the cloth.
“Hell and damnation, lass. What are ye about that ye come bursting intae me chamber without so much as a tap on me door?”
He sounded more amused than irate.
Selene froze. Her eyes roamed over him, from the great breadth of his shoulders, to the wide chest with its smattering of dark hair, to the arrow of hair disappearing beneath the towel slung over his narrow hips.
And, quite at odds with how she’d felt that morning, he did not appear even slightly embarrassed.
“Well now,” he drawled, turning toward her with a slow, feline confidence. “Seems ye’ve taken tae the notion of barging intae rooms without a knock tae gain entrance.”
Her breath caught. She forced her chin up. “I… I… wanted tae repay the favor after this morning.”
“Aye?” He took one deliberate step toward her. Then another. “And what favor would that be?”
“You saw me undressed,” she said, summoning what dignity she could. “I thought it only fair to… even out matters.”
His eyes darkened with something she could not name. “Is that so?” His voice dropped to something deep, warm, dangerous, that caused her heart to stutter alarmingly. “Ye came tae see me naked, then?”
Her cheeks flamed. “I said no such thing. Don’t twist my words. You’re utterly shameless Laird Kenneth.” She straightened her spine and, for some reason she had no understanding of, took a step further into the room, when commonsense and everything she’d ever been taught were urging her to flee.
But then, what had she ever been taught about how to behave when bursting into a gentleman’s sleeping chamber and coming across him naked as the day he was born?
She took another step. And another. Closing the distance between herself and Kenneth.
He grinned, and took two steps toward her, stopping close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his damp skin and catch the clean scent of his soap.
“Ye think I’m a brute.” He leaned in slightly, his eyes fixed on hers. “Mayhap there is more than one reason why I’m called the Brute of Sleat.”
Before she could muster a retort, he allowed the towel slung around his hips to slip slowly to the floor.
She gasped. Not only at the sight of the enormous thing… suspended between his legs – although it was certainly enough to rob her of breath forever – but at the boldness of it, the utter lack of shame, the sheer, devastating confident manliness of it.
Instinctively she turned away, her hand pressed to her burning cheek. She heard his soft, low, and decidedly wicked chuckle
“Kenneth!”
“Aye?” He wasn’t teasing now. His voice was low, intimate. “Ye wanted fairness. Seems fair tae me.”
She dared a sidelong glance at him – only confirming that he stood tall, gloriously unconcerned by his nakedness.
Something like molten heat coursed through her, scorching a place between her thighs, lighting a deep pleasure and desire for something she had no words for and had never experienced before that moment.
“I should go.” She sensed there was danger mixed with the delight.
“Aye,” he murmured, snatching up the towel and slinging it around his hips again. He stepped closer still, so close she could feel his breath fan her cheek and a distinct weakening in her legs. “Ye really should.”
Neither of them moved.
His fingers brushed her cheek – feather-light, but with pure intention. Slowly, he leaned in and planted a series of tiny kisses starting with her earlobe, moving slowly over her cheek, hesitating at the corner of her mouth.
Mindlessly she opened her lips, her heart beating a wild rhythm, her palms falling damp to her sides. His breath was hot on her cheek and she could scarcely draw breath as the flames ignited by his touch rose higher.
Her knees were crumbling as she waited for him to take her mouth.
Then—
A loud crash followed by shouting voices erupted in the passageway outside their door.
Selene jolted away from him as though a bucket of ice had suddenly been thrown over her. She uttered a strangled sound, turned in a flash and fled the room. The door slammed shut behind her.
After Kenneth had finally located a pair of trousers, and some measure of composure, he headed to his study. He had barely sat down when one of his men entered.
“Me laird… a letter arrived just as ye left fer the village.”
Kenneth broke the seal at once.
Laird Halvard’s handwriting sprawled across the page – curt, authoritative, lacking altogether in the niceties of a polite exchange between lairds, but coming straight to the point.
The message confirmed every word Selene had told him.
As she’d insisted, the birlinn she was travelling with under her brother-in-law’s guardianship, was enroute to Duntulm to deliver his message.
Just as she’d said, Halvard wished to discuss with Kenneth the ongoing conflicts between fishermen from both clans in the Sound of Sleat.
It all seemed innocent enough. There was no reason for him to doubt Halvard’s word and nothing to suggest that Lady Selene was anything other than a lass travelling to reunite with her sister.
The letter continued in the same clipped manner. He was sending men to collect Selene and take her to Raasay. He expected her to be safe and well. His men would escort her.
Kenneth’s jaw clenched. He should have welcomed this message. After all, it meant he could be rid of the burden of keeping the lass out of harm’s way.
Yet his spirits fell. He had no wish to send Selene to Raasay.
It was then that the truth washed over him like a wave in a stormy sea. remained perfectly still, catching his breath. The room went suddenly too quiet, too still, as realization bounced on his skull like a hammer blow.
God help me.
I care fer her.
I want her.
More than I should.
More than makes sense.
More than is safe.
He sat with that new discovery for several long moments, his heart pounding in his chest. Then he rose to his feet and went in search of Selene.
He found her in the solar, quietly playing the harpsichord and singing a sweet old-fashioned song about thwarted lovers and red and white roses in bloom.
He watched her silently from the doorway for a few moments, his heart melting at the soft, dreamy expression on her lovely face.
He tapped on the open door before entering and she turned to him with a wry smile and an approving nod.
“See, I knocked. I am learning yer English ways,” he muttered as he pushed the door fully open and entered.
She laughed, her eyes sparkling as their gazes met.
Dammit, he had no wish for her to leave him.
He passed her Halvard’s letter and took a seat by the fire, waiting, as she read it in silence. Folding the letter and placing it in her lap she looked up at him, a mix of fear, longing, and confusion flickering in her blue eyes.
Something that mirror-matched the swirling emotion in his own chest.
“This has caught me a little by surprise.” She turned to the window and gazed out at the distant sea. “I thought we had more time… I had more time…”
Her words hung in the air between them. He had also thought there would be more time with her.
And time was running out.
“Aye lass. Yet we’ve nae way tae ken when Halvard’s men will be here. But I’m wagering they’ll nae be more than a day or so behind his missive.”
She sighed. “So, they may be here as soon as tomorrow.”
“Aye. That is so. Ye’d best prepare fer yer departure as soon as ye’re able.”
She nodded. Her fingers plucking at the necklace at her throat told him more than any words could, that she found the news troubling.
And, it seemed neither of them knew what to do with the truth of that.