Chapter 23
Carenza scratched Troye behind the ear as they stopped in a sunny spot of the rain-washed glen.
He had only a wee scar left on his jaw from his violent altercation with Peris, thanks to Dunlop’s new physician, Thomas.
Thomas adored animals, to her delight, and could be seen tending to them as often as his human patients.
Since Kildunan didn’t want it bandied about that they’d had a thief in their employ or that anyone had met an untimely death on their watch, the monastery thefts were mostly kept secret.
Father James was never privy to the nefarious activities that had taken place at the monastery.
The monks, for their part, kept silent. The treasures were quietly returned to their places, and the jewels were added to the monastery coffers to provide for the poor.
The physician’s death had been deemed an unfortunate accident, and the abbot declared simply that the prior had gone missing.
Of course, Hew informed her father privately about the investigation, since it centered on Dunlop and their physician. Carenza’s part in solving the crime had to go unremarked. But she supposed that was for the best. Her father would never have approved of her taking such risks to life and limb.
Now that Hew’s work for the abbot was complete, he could be released from Kildunan. And since her father was fond of the Rivenloch warrior, Hew was free to linger at Dunlop for as long as he liked.
Carenza smiled and tossed a stick for Troye. The hound galloped off across the grass toward the crumbled and rotting byre, scattering dewdrops in his wake.
It was so much more convenient having Hew stay at the castle. He was delightful company at supper. Inspiring to watch on the practice field as he battled alongside the Dunlop warriors. A joy with whom she planned to share the spring arrivals of hedgepiglets and fox cubs, squirrel kits and hares.
Best of all, now that Hew no longer had to keep up the fiction of aspiring to the church, he could begin courting her in earnest. He accompanied her to the village each week.
Helped her father distribute gifts to the crofters.
Rode with her across the countryside, making plans for the expansion of Dunlop once they were wed.
Of course, they still had to tryst in secret. The laird would have been mortified to discover his beloved daughter was not as lily-pure as he imagined.
But now that they’d made the mental commitment, it seemed ludicrous to waste weeks awaiting the king’s permission when they could be enjoying each other’s company.
Thankfully, they found ample opportunity.
And soon it would be spring. So Carenza took small expeditions like this one with Troye to discover new locations in nature where she and Hew might eventually sample the wonders of the outdoors—in the crook of a tree, behind a thicket, in a fern-draped cave.
Troye came trotting back with the stick.
“Good lad,” she said, patting his head. Then she turned and tossed it blindly in the other direction.
It didn’t fly far. Hew had stolen up on her. It sailed about five yards to hit him smack in the middle of the chest.
As if that weren’t enough of an insult, Troye lunged at the stick and nearly knocked Hew over.
“Troye!” Carenza scolded.
But she needn’t have fretted. The Viking was as strong and steady as an oak. He was already laughing and scrubbing at the hound’s face in good humor.
“Your da is looking for you,” he said when he could take a breath. “Something about a missive.”
She shrugged. A missive didn’t sound so important. Not when she was alone with the one she loved in a beautiful sun-pierced glen.
“I’m sure it can wait,” she purred.
He arched a chiding brow at her. “Do you think?”
She sidled up to him and walked her fingers slowly up the middle of his leine. “I do. And furthermore, I think I have just the thing to—”
Her words were interrupting by a sharp crack of thunder.
She gasped and clung tight to him.
In the next instant, the heavens opened. Fat drops of rain cascaded down over them.
She shrieked.
He seized her hand and pulled her along with him toward the abandoned byre. Troye dropped his stick and frolicked after them, thinking this was a new game.
By the time they ducked under the moss-covered timbers, they were already soaked. They huddled together at the open side of the byre while Troye ranged back and forth, barking at the rain.
The Laird of Rivenloch wore a Thor’s hammer pendant to show her Viking bloodright. But at the moment, for Hew, the god of thunder seemed like a nemesis.
He hadn’t had a moment alone with Carenza for days. Not since he’d made love to her in the moonlit shadows of the solar at midnight, nearly a sennight ago. And now the storm was conspiring against him, raising its wicked head to hamper his courting.
Their coupling that night had been magical. They’d soared through the heavens together, beating the air on silent wings of angels, singing a song only God could hear.
And afterwards, as they’d lain in each other’s arms, gazing up at the jeweled firmament, one of the sparkling stars had happened to break free to streak across the sky like destiny’s messenger.
They’d held their breath. He’d made a wish. And without uttering a word, he’d known. She’d wished for the same thing.
A lifetime together.
He’d written the missives that very night.
Sent one to his cousin Feiyan and one to his aunt, Laird Deirdre.
He no longer had the patience to wait for King Malcolm.
He would obtain permission for the match from the Laird of Rivenloch instead and leave it in her capable hands to secure the king’s approval.
The king could hardly refuse her, after all. The Rivenloch clan was the king’s most powerful border ally. He would wish to keep such valuable vassals happy. And the fact that Dunlop himself was in favor of the match would surely work in everyone’s favor.
But how could Hew explain that he’d fallen truly in love once and for all? Would anyone believe him? The best he could do was describe Carenza.
That had been nigh impossible to do in the space of a missive.
Her qualities were infinite. Her beauty was inexpressible.
Her character and charm and kindness were limitless.
He could have spent a lifetime, writing tome after tome in tribute to Lady Carenza of Dunlop.
Yet he dared not waste precious time trying to capture all of her on a single page.
Instead, he settled for a few heartfelt lines. They would have to suffice to convince Laird Deirdre that Carenza was The One. That Hew intended to make her his bride. That he expected the laird to procure the king’s permission for the wedding.
She is beautiful and clever, he wrote, wise and sweet, helpful and generous. She has a gentle nature and a ready smile. A man could hope for no more perfect a wife.
Though it seemed early for a response, Hew couldn’t help but hope that the missive that had arrived for Carenza was an approval of their match. And now he’d have to wait out the storm to find out.
Carenza was not going to let a good storm go to waste. No one would venture out in such a downpour. And until the rain stopped, they were essentially trapped here. Alone. Together. In an isolated, forgotten, abandoned shelter.
“I’m cold.” She shivered and snuggled closer.
“I would build you a fire,” he said, looking askance at the crumbling beams overhead, “but I fear ’twould burn down our shelter.”
She shrugged. “There’s more than one way to get warm.”
His mouth melted then into a sultry grin. “Is that so?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Tell me more.”
She did. She whispered a few suggestions involving the removal of their clothing. Then she murmured something she’d heard about the benefits of lying together, skin to skin. Then she mentioned various practices they might try in order to get their blood pumping more efficiently.
By the time she breathed the last idea into his ear—one about warming him with her mouth—he had picked her up and carried her off to the driest corner of the byre.
He laid out his plaid for a bed and stretched out beside her.
While Troye stared out at the storm and the rain made dull patter on the mossy timbers, they warmed each other in a dozen ways. With massaging fingers. And caressing hands. With tangling limbs. And loving lips. Finally, they merged in a molten mixture of fiery passion and steaming sensuality.
Their bodies joined in sublime bliss as they ascended to a place above the storm, above the clouds, a place where angels dwelt and love conquered all.
And when they fell back to earth, shuddering from their flighty brush with heaven, they clung to each other, holding onto the rapture they’d discovered.
Carenza opened her eyes and gasped at the sight. The rain had slowed now. Drops fell through the sunlight like precious crystals dripped from the dark clouds above. And beyond the trees, a rainbow arced across the sky, shimmering in vivid hues.
“’Tis a sign,” Hew decided.
Carenza agreed. A rainbow was good luck.
It meant the storm was over.
There was smooth sailing ahead.
And hope was on the horizon.
They dressed and returned to the castle, arm in arm. The rainbow followed them all the way home.
But the instant she entered the crowded hall of Dunlop, Carenza sensed something was wrong. She could see it in her father’s face. He looked…uneasy.
Her heart took a sharp dive. She extricated her arm from Hew’s and came forward to greet him.
“Father?”
The laird gave Hew a quick glance, but just as quickly averted his eyes. Then he ushered Carenza aside.
“I need to talk to ye. Alone.”
Hew nodded. Then he clasped his hands behind him, turning his back and walking away to speak with a group of clansmen drying their plaids near the hearth.
“What is it?” she asked.
“We’ve a missive from the king.”
“The king?”
A dozen horrible thoughts ran through her head.
Had Malcolm ordered the Dunlop clan to fight for the English in Toulouse?