One #6
Alec looked up with a mischievous grin. “It seems that the great Macbain has misplaced the daughter of a wool merchant visiting our Highlands.” Rachel felt the eyes in the room turn from Alec to her.
“Seems he’s willing to give over quite a reward for her safe return to Druim.
” Phillip translated in Gaelic and soon the whole room was laughing, deep guffaws.
Rachel and Isabelle looked at one another.
Rachel watched Alec as he read the rest of the missive.
His smile turned stony. He eyed the messenger.
“Tell The Macbain and this Angus Riley that Rachel Brindle is a guest of Munro Keep and will soon be a permanent member of Clan Munro. I doona trade women for cattle.” He snorted as if offended.
Rachel’s fingers curled in her lap at the word “permanent”.
Hadn’t Alec just sworn that she could do anything that made her happy?
Happy as long as she remained with the Munros.
Isabelle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She leaned her head against Rachel’s neck.
“I will stay with you,” Isabelle whispered.
Rachel just shook her head. She rose from her bench, Isabelle next to her.
Linked arm-in-arm, they turned to the steps.
“Where are ye going?” Alec’s question boomed across the murmurs in the room.
Rachel paused but didn’t turn around. The room quieted.
“It would make me happy to retire to my pen.” She glanced back at Alec, her eyes piercing.
“It’s on Munro land so I assume it’s within my allowed territory.
” He looked confused for a moment at the cattle reference, but then his face hardened.
Rachel didn’t wait for a nod but walked out of the room with Isabelle.
Rachel curled on her side next to her soundly slumbering sister.
Sleep, sleep, she repeated, to dam the swirl of thoughts flooding her mind.
But they tumbled over. It was even difficult to close her eyes, because every time she did she felt Alec’s hard, warm chest under her cheek, his hips clenched between her thighs, his strong hands holding her face as he kissed her in that black cave.
Sleep! She shouted in her head and squeezed her eyes shut, replacing the carnal picture with one of fluffy sheep roaming the green fields before Munro Castle.
Rachel’s ears caught the thud of footsteps up the narrow stairway. The tread slowed, grew softer as it neared her door. It stopped. Rachel pushed up in the bedcovers, glaring. “He posts a guard on us,” she whispered. So she wasn’t a slave, wasn’t a prisoner anymore? Ha!
Anger, fuelled by irritation at her own rampant musings, propelled her from bed. She yanked a blanket around her shoulders and threw the door open. Her lips parted to insist to the guard there that she wasn’t going anywhere in the middle of the night. She froze.
Alec stood in the low light of the lighted sconce along the stone wall. His gaze slid from her bare toes, up her form, to her bewildered expression. “Alec?”
“Ye left before the final course. I’m also partial to sweets.” Rachel realized he held a wooden bowl.
He placed it in her hand. “Raspberries?”
“Sweetened.” His voice was soft in the dark. “I saved ye some.” He indicated the door. “I thought to leave it.”
He remembered her favourite sweet. “I … I,” she tripped over her words.
“Thank you.” Rachel tipped her head to the side and studied the tall, brawny warrior.
He’d been demanding, booming, boastful down in the great hall, but then he brought her this wonderful surprise.
“Alec Munro,” she spoke softly in the small space between them as she met his eyes.
“You are by far the most thoughtful barbarian I’ve ever met.
” She allowed the grin she felt growing to relax along her face and popped one of the delectable berries in between her lips.
Alec leaned forward, his stare intent on her mouth as if following the path of the sweet fruit.
He splayed one hand against the wall on either side of Rachel, trapping her close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.
She inhaled and was assaulted by his clean, masculine scent.
His dark eyes watched her savour the berries.
She swallowed the sweet treat. His face moved closer and Rachel felt her heart beat a rapid song.
She held her breath as the rough pad of his thumb traced her full bottom lip.
“Ye’re welcome,” he murmured. The silence stretched as if he waited for her to reply, but all the clever quips flew from her head as she memorized the pressure of his thumb that moved against her cheek.
“Good eve.” Alec pulled away and clipped down the hall, leaving Rachel breathing heavily, clutching the wooden bowl of sweetened raspberries.
“Why the hell is he riding here?” Alec grumbled in frustration. The last thing he needed was the priest’s suspicions and hell-burning sermons.
“Father Daughtry rides with Colin Macleod of Lewis,” Phillip supplied with a shrug. “I think he was visiting The Macbains for a baptism.”
“Let him know we are without any bairns to bless,” Alec said as he watched the stairs. It was well past dawn and Rachel still hadn’t emerged from her chamber. Would the lass hide away from him all day? “Phillip, have Fiona check on our lady guests and encourage them to come break their fast.”
“Ask her yerself. I’ve a priest to thwart.” Phillip slapped Alec on his shoulder and trudged out the door.
“I’ll run up,” Fiona called from a corridor near the stairwell.
“Thank ye,” Alec called and drank some clear spring water as he contemplated exactly what to demand from William Brindle.
The man had seemed more eager to leave behind a daughter than to pay the shillings he owed.
Alec frowned over his tankard until the sound of slippers on the stairs pulled his gaze.
Rachel wore a pale blue dress that sculpted against her lush figure, displaying all the ripe curves just perfect for a man’s hand.
The dress stood in lovely contrast to the dark curls shrouding her slim shoulders.
She was petite but her stance was strong, making her seem taller, sturdy.
Her long lashes were as dark as her hair and lay against her moonlight pale skin. She smiled in greeting.
He stood, inhaling fully. “Good morn.” His gaze flicked to Isabelle and he bowed his head to her as well.
“And good morn to ye, old friend,” came a booming voice from the doorway.
Alec’s smile froze and tightened. He pivoted on one heel to face Colin Macleod.
Tall and considered handsome by the lasses of Lewis and beyond, the man exuded a gentle strength that he usually held in reserve.
Father Daughtry stood beside him glancing around the hall.
The ordained man was not much more than a score and ten years but had already started to develop the paunch of a well-fed clergyman.
He’d recently fled the manic climate of England.
Someone clomped in from another corridor. “Good morning, father,” Rachel called.
“And to you,” William Brindle replied as he sat down at the table and began to devour a small loaf of oat bread.
“And good morning to you, Father,” Isabelle called to the priest.
Two fathers, neither of them wanted. Alec’s forced smile soured. Phillip came in behind Colin and Daughtry, and Alec threw a stoic glare his way. Phillip shrugged and indicated the letter that Colin held.
“Which one is Rachel?” Father Daughtry asked, his gaze perusing the rolls on the table.
Rachel stepped closer, but Alec held up his hand. She actually stopped. He almost smiled. “What do ye want with Rachel Brindle?”
Colin passed him the missive with the Macbain seal. “The Macbain is looking for her.”
“I know that. He sent a man last night and I replied.” Alec unfolded the paper.
The priest frowned. “Your reply is the problem.” His gaze fastened on Rachel. “You need to give her back.”
“And why would I do that?” Alec’s scowl intensified.
“Because,” Father Daughtry reprimanded, “she’s handfasted to Angus Riley.”
“What?” Rachel exploded.
Colin looked from Isabelle to Rachel. “Ye’re married to Angus, lass, at least for a year and a day.”
Six
“But I barely spoke to the man,” Rachel fumed where she paced by the empty hearth.
“You spent the night on Macbain land,” Father Daughtry replied and took a sip of ale.
“In a cave on the mountain,” Rachel nearly yelled, but reined in her hysteria when Isabelle touched her arm. “Without Angus Riley,” Rachel added in a firm but softer tone.
“You are but a woman,” the priest continued and Rachel clamped her teeth shut. “A man must have been with you. How else did you escape Druim?”
“I escaped by using my brain,” she responded evenly to the insult.
“Rachel was with me.” Alec’s granite-edged words filled the room.
It was a simple statement but easily misinterpreted.
Phillip smiled roguishly. Colin merely glanced at her from where he sat staring at Isabelle who tried to pretend she wasn’t staring back at him.
Confirmation of Rachel’s wickedness flared in the eyes of Father Daughtry and her own father.
“Whore,” her father hissed low, condemnation in his wild eyes.
The twang of steel sliding free broke through William’s sputtering.
“Shut yer thieving, lying mouth else I cut yer tongue from it,” Alec growled, his sword a natural extension of his arm as he moved into a battle stance.
Rachel stood rooted to the stone floor. Concern for her father’s life warred with fury that he’d judged her without any evidence or defence.
“Rachel Brindle is as intact as when I found her on the mountain outside Druim,” Alec gritted out, his stare taking in the witnesses to her humiliation. “And if she says she was untouched at Druim, she was untouched. Angus Riley lies.” Alec held his sword until Father Daughtry finally nodded.
“He comes here to claim her from ye,” Colin said. “Noon, Elspet’s meadow.”