26 A LONELY PATH
IT GREW LATE. All the inhabitants of Moy Castle were abed, save for the Watch.
And for the laird.
It was the night before Bealtunn—the last day of spring. Rain battered against the thick stone walls of the tower house and pushed against the heavy sacking covering the window.
Seated before the flickering hearth, her fingers curled around a cup of wine she’d barely touched, Liza listened to the gusting wind and the hiss of the rain.
Nature was venting its spleen tonight. She hoped the locals had thought to cover the huge mound of twigs and branches they’d spent the past few days amassing—the Bealtunn fire—with sacking. Otherwise, the following night’s celebrations would be damp indeed.
Liza had been looking forward to Bealtunn—and had organized plentiful food and drink for the locals, but this evening, nervousness fluttered in her belly.
Ever since the failed robbery of the strongroom, she’d done her best to reassure Rae Maclean that she was up to the job. Nonetheless, she worried he’d go to Duart and tell Loch otherwise. Rae’s presence here was exhausting; everywhere she went, the chieftain shadowed her. Earlier that day, he’d looked on while she opened her hall to locals. She’d done her best to settle a bitter dispute between two neighbors and allegations of swine stealing—but in the end, Rankin and his men had been forced to turf the rowdy men out of the castle.
And all the while, she imagined Rae’s judgment.
Did he think she lacked the gravitas a man would have in such a situation?
A knock at the door made her spine stiffen.
It was nearing midnight. Both her sisters would be asleep, as would Craeg.
Was something wrong? Rising to her feet, she cleared her throat. “Aye?”
The door creaked open, and Alec Rankin stood there. He was wearing a dripping oilskin cloak. He’d pushed the hood down, and his hair clung to his wet cheeks. “Sorry to bother ye, Lady Maclean,” he greeted her, his expression guarded. “But I was just up on the walls and saw a glow from yer window.” He paused then, discomfort flickering across his handsome features—an expression she’d never seen him make before. “It’s late … I just wanted to check that all was well.”
“Aye,” she replied stiffly, even as heat rose to her cheeks. Rankin was the last person she wanted to see at present. Ever since the incident with Craeg, she’d continued to avoid him where she could. It was cowardly, but she was ashamed. “I’ll be retiring shortly.”
He nodded, his gaze roaming her face as if he were trying to read her thoughts. Lifting a hand, he raked it through his wet hair, pulling it back from his face.
“Very well.” He took a step back. “Good night then.”
Liza watched him move toward the door before she spoke once more. “Alec.”
He turned, his gaze widening in surprise, for it was the first time she’d ever addressed him by his given name. The informality caught her off-guard, and her breathing grew shallow. “I just wanted to apologize,” she said, her cheeks burning now. “I know ye didn’t mean any harm … with Craeg.”
And she was in earnest. She trusted that he would never raise a hand to her son. Or to her.
Rankin stared back at her before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry too, Liza … I didn’t mean to give offense … or to overstep.”
She nodded, wishing her throat didn’t feel so tight, and that the backs of her eyes weren’t prickling. Turning from him, she placed her barely touched cup of wine on the mantelpiece. She closed her eyes then and attempted to pull herself together.
“Yer husband left scars, didn’t he?” Rankin asked after a pause.
“Aye,” she whispered, still not looking his way. “I could weather his cruelty when it was directed at me. But when he turned it upon Craeg, I crumbled.” She halted there as painful memories resurfaced. “If Craeg ever made the mistake of wanting to play with his father … Leod would turn it into a real fight.” She swallowed to try and ease her tight throat. “Once, he put a hand over his mouth to frighten him. Craeg turned blue before I managed to rescue him.”
Her pulse raced now, for talking about such things made her feel sick to her stomach. But Rankin’s presence just a few feet away was steadying. Aye, she could be honest with him. “Craeg was gasping for air, and weeping … and all his father could do was curl his lip and tell him to toughen up.”
“He was a bully,” Rankin replied softly. “I know the type … for my father was the same.”
Liza nodded, squeezing her eyes tightly as a hot tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “I wanted to be strong enough to defend Craeg against him … but I wasn’t.”
“Neither was my mother.” His voice was closer now, and she realized he’d crossed the solar and was standing before the hearth. His scent—the smell of wet leather, and the freshness of rain—enveloped her. “But I never blamed her. Da was stronger than all of us … and he wielded his strength as a weapon.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Liza opened her eyes and turned to him.
Rankin was staring down at her. Concern shadowed his eyes, and something else—an emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Understanding settled between them.
“I don’t like to see ye weep,” he murmured.
Liza sniffed and knuckled away the tears from her cheeks. “Pay me no mind. I’m a foolish woman who … in an attempt to rescue her son from imagined danger … only upset him. Not only that, but Rae Maclean now believes I’m a foolish hysteric.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Rankin’s mouth quirked. “And Craeg will forgive ye.” He reached up, his fingertips brushing a tear that had reached her chin. “The important thing … is that ye forgive yerself.” He stepped closer then, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. “Aye, ye’ve made mistakes … and in the years to come, ye shall make plenty more. Some ye’ll learn from, and some ye won’t … but that’s just life.”
“But some mistakes have dire consequences,” she answered, her voice catching. “Today was another example. What will I do, if Loch decides I can’t stay on as laird?”
“Ye shall rally … just as ye always have, for ye are strong.”
His words wrapped themselves around her, drawing her in.
“I wanted to give Craeg the perfect childhood,” she whispered. “To make up for everything he’s suffered so far … but since my return to Moy, I’ve only hurt him.”
Rankin made a sound in the back of his throat, even as his fingers slid along her jawline, and he cupped her cheek. “Nothing in this world is meant to be perfect.”
Liza’s breathing grew shallow. Suddenly, the air between them shivered, as if the storm that raged outdoors had blown aside the sacking and now swirled around them.
But it hadn’t.
They stared at each other for a few moments before he leaned in, his lips brushing across hers. Liza froze, all thoughts escaping her, like leaves scattered by a gust of wind.
And when he repeated the move, allowing the softness of his lips to caress hers, another sigh escaped her.
“Liza,” he whispered against her mouth, cupping her face with both hands now. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and before she knew what she was doing, she opened for him. He kissed her gently, thoroughly, his tongue exploring her mouth, his teeth grazing her lips.
And when he sucked her tongue, she groaned.
Heavens, he tasted good, and a thrill shivered through her.
She kissed him back, their tongues entwining now. Their embrace became more urgent then, fevered. The wetness and heat of his mouth made hunger twist in her belly. Her already muddled mind grew hazier still, and she leaned in, craving more.
Answering her, Rankin drew her into his arms. His hands slid down to her shoulders—as his mouth devoured hers now—and then traveled down the curve of her back. And when his hands cupped her backside, squeezing tight, she gasped, heat igniting between her thighs.
Rankin’s lips left hers then, and he worked his way along her jaw to her throat.
Trembling now, Liza let her head fall back.
The Virgin forgive her, his mouth felt so good, as did his hands on her. She wanted nothing more than to let him take her, here, for him to strip her naked before the fire and plow her on the sheepskins. She’d welcome every hard thrust.
But amongst the haze of desire, common sense pricked at her.
What are ye doing? If ye are to remain the laird of this castle … protector and ruler of the folk of Moy and Lochbuie … ye can’t let yerself fall prey to base lust.
That did it.
The fog drew back, cold reality rushing in like an icy slap of wind to the face.
Heart racing, her breathing ragged now, Liza put her hand on Rankin’s chest. His gambeson was damp, and through it, she could feel the pounding of his heart. The intimacy of the gesture made her knees tremble, yet she held fast.
“Alec,” she breathed. “We can’t do this.”
He drew back instantly, leaving the brand of his lips on her neck.
Liza started to tremble. His mouth had been moments from dipping to the neckline of her kirtle—a dangerous progression indeed. If things went any further, she’d lose her wits completely; she’d be beyond rational thought.
Sea-blue eyes questioning, he placed his hands on her shoulders, even as his chest rose and fell sharply. “Apologies,” he said huskily. “I got carried away.”
She swallowed. “We both did … but it can’t happen again.”
He stilled at these words, although she shook her head, resolve hardening within her. Dropping her hand from his chest, she took a step back so that he too removed his hands from her shoulders. This would be easier if they weren’t touching.
“My son has my loyalty now,” she continued, the words tumbling out of her, “as do my people … there’s no room for anyone else.”
Rankin favored her with a tight smile. “That’s a lonely path ye have chosen.”
“Aye … but it is mine to take.”
His gaze narrowed. “A man wouldn’t martyr himself like this.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “No, he wouldn’t … but I’m a lady laird and the world judges us more harshly.” Her voice hardened as she added. “I’ll not give Loch another reason to deny me.”
Rankin’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wished to argue with her, yet Liza stared him down. Aye, he knew she was right. Moments passed, and, eventually, he nodded, his gaze veiling. “As ye wish.”
Alec reached the ground level of the tower house and pulled up the hood of his oil-skin cloak, readying himself to go outside into the driving rain once more.
It was then he marked the slight tremor in his hand.
“Christ’s blood,” he growled. “What has she done to me?”
This was his doing. He’d overstepped. Again.
The incident a few days ago with Craeg had bothered him far more than he cared to admit. Liza’s response had been extreme, yet he’d known its cause, and he’d been worried about her. He’d ruminated over it ever since, and this evening—as a stormy dusk settled over Moy, and he prowled the castle walls—he’d let instinct get the better of him.
Going to see her had been unwise—as had approaching her when she’d wept.
But it had been pure idiocy to kiss her.
Ye fool . He couldn’t be surprised that she’d reacted as she had. Even so, his gut churned now.
Yanking up his hood, he hauled open the heavy oaken door and let himself out into the wild night. The wind and rain were so violent that they had extinguished most of the flaming torches that hung from chains off the walls in the barmkin. The braziers lining the castle walls smoked and guttered as well.
Alec stood in the barmkin for a few moments—as the wind howled like a banshee, ripping at his cloak and stinging his face—and let his vision adjust to the darkness. It also permitted him to gather his wits.
A short while later, he climbed the steps, perilously slick with rain, up to the walls, and made his way to the first of the sentries keeping watch. “All is well, Beathan?”
The warrior, one of the five from the original Guard who’d stayed on at Moy, blinked and turned to him, water running off his iron helmet. “Aye,” he muttered. “Only the Blue Men of Minch would be out and about on a foul night like this.”
Alec snorted, peering out into the murk. He could hear the crash of the surf against the pebbly shore over the whine of the wind. “Keep yer eye out, nonetheless.”
Beathan studied him in the weak glow of the brazier, his grizzled face wary. “Are ye expecting trouble, Captain?”
Alec flashed the man a grin, falling into a role he was comfortable with. “I always look out for trouble … that’s why I’m still alive.”
Beathan continued to watch him, his expression thoughtful now. “I didn’t think ye’d last longer than a few days, Captain.”
Alec held onto his grin, with effort this time. “Aye?”
“Me and the lads thought ye’d get fidgety.”
Alec pulled a face. “I have been at times,” he admitted. “It takes a while for a pirate to get used to living on land again.” He didn’t add that he’d begun to feel more settled at Moy of late—or he had before he overstepped with Liza.
“Still restless, are ye?” Beathan asked.
“Only for this vile weather to pass.” Alec clapped him on the shoulder and moved past the guard, making it clear the conversation was over. Beathan wasn’t a bad sort, but he could tell the warrior was in a bold mood, and he didn’t feel like indulging him.
Moving on, Alec made his way to the eastern ramparts, stopping at a spot between two merlons. There, he halted once more and stared out at the darkness. Fortunately, there wasn’t anyone posted here to question him.
However, as he stood there, alone with his thoughts and battered by the storm, a boulder settled in his gut.