His Magick Touch #4
Last night, she’d wanted him to stay. She wanted him to hold her like he’d done that first night on the ship. She wanted to feel his strong arms around her and know the tenderness of his touch. But she’d been a coward and said naught to draw him into her chamber.
Sorcha lay back in the cool grasses, splayed her arms out, and inhaled the floral scent that was Barra.
She must have dreamed of this place a thousand times while living under Hector’s thumb.
In her mind’s eye she saw herself standing in the open doorway of the croft-house with her and Keiran’s bairns tugging at her skirt.
The image warmed her heart. She could have been happy here in the valley, tending a family and loving Keiran. She wished her life had been different. She wished she’d been born a peasant and could have chosen her own husband. She would have chosen Keiran and given herself to him willingly.
The memory of her first coupling with Hector forced its way into her head. She’d been too fearful to fight him. She’d laid in her marriage bed like a cold fish the first time and every time thereafter. Fortunately, Hector had turned to the whores to tend his needs very early on in their marriage.
Making love to Keiran would be different, she decided.
No doubt he would be a gentle lover, one who would kiss her with passion and touch her with tenderness.
She imagined making love to him beneath a canopy of stars.
’Twas an image she wanted to burn into her memory, even if it was a fantasy.
She needed something to push Hector out of her head.
“M’lady.”
She opened her eyes to find her dream lover peering down at her. Unfortunately, his pinched expression was far different from the one he’d been wearing behind her closed eyes.
“Keiran.” She smiled up at him, excited to have him near, but her good mood didn’t smooth the harsh lines carved into his cheeks.
“Ye should be at the stronghold. Ye must remain guarded at all times.” He squatted beside her, still scowling.
“My guard is perched atop the croft-house.” She continued to grin.
He rolled his eyes and exhaled a heavy breath. “Why did ye come here?”
“I needed to fill my heart with positive energy.”
“Are ye ill?” He set the backs of his fingers over her forehead. “Ye are hot. We should seek out Magda.”
Sorcha eyed him warily. She had hoped to reunite with Grandmum, but she hadn’t been at Sorcha’s homecoming, nor had the woman shown herself at the council meeting.
Although later Keiran had sworn on his life that she’d been present at both.
Sorcha held no desire to argue with him again on the subject of her Grandmum, be she dead or alive.
“I’m not ill.” She sat up. “On the ship, when ye were casting the healing spell, ye asked me to visualize the things that are sacred to me. I had none, save for Peigi.”
Keiran gave her a sidelong glance. “And ye came here to …”
“I came here to remember.”
Keiran unsheathed his broadsword and stretched out his long lean legs beside her. He gestured towards the croft-house. “Ye wanted to remember a raw-boned woman who feared her abusive husband so much that she starved herself to death?” He snorted. “These are the things I try to forget.”
Sorcha knew Keiran struggled with his upbringing, but it shaped him into the man he was today. His desire to protect made her trust him. “Do ye still live here?”
“Nay. I guard Kisimul now.” Keiran curled her hair over her ear. “And my queen.”
“I am no queen.” Sorcha hugged her knees, her insides swirling.
“Ye are to me.”
The energy igniting between their locked eyes was a force she could no longer deny.
It made her scalp tingle and her body hum.
She wanted him to touch her again, but he lowered his eyes and tore a buttercup from its stem.
He leaned back on his elbows and studied a pink and yellow horizon.
“We are ready for him. I have ships positioned in the bay and men walking the parapet atop the keep.”
“It won’t be long now.” Hector was coming. She could feel it in her bones. Every day they awaited his arrival was one day less she had with Keiran. “Ye might think yourself prepared, but Hector is conniving.”
“I have no fear of him, nor do my kinsmen.”
A small smile touched her lips. “The warriors of Barra respect ye as their leader,” she pointed out, hoping he would tell her why. Unfortunately, he held tight to his tongue. Curiosity got the better of her. “What did ye do at Leckmelm?”
“I fought.” He watched the puffins gathered on the shore.
“Ye did more than fight. I wish to know how ye earned the respect of my clan.”
“Your clan?” He looked at her then and raised both brows. “I mean no disrespect, m’lady, but upon your return, did ye recognize all the members of your clan?”
Though she didn’t appreciate his sardonic tone, she shook her head and waited for him to explain.
“Your da decided we needed to offer our support to our neighbouring clans so we sailed to the mainland to fight for the Kingdom of Ross. Battle after battle, we remained unconquered for we were a unit of five clans in all. After we defeated Clan Gunn at Leckmelm, we followed a group of MacLeod warriors into a village to reap the rewards of our victory. We were told to lay claim to anything we wanted and given orders to kill anyone who attempted to stop us.”
“And someone did?” Sorcha’s pulse kicked up a notch.
Keiran nodded, his eyes became distant. “Our enemy’s womenfolk.
We murdered their husbands and brothers and sons on the battlefield, and they had naught more to lose.
Your da was eager to prove his prowess in front of the MacLeod chieftain and drove the kinsfolk out of their cot-houses with fire.
” He paused, his head shook slightly. “Their screams wake me at night even still.”
Sorcha wanted to console him, but he held himself aloof.
“The bairns huddled in clusters and watched the curs beat their mams into submission. Then they separated the women into two groups: the ones they would kill and the ones comely enough to take with them.”
Sorcha’s breathing escalated. War was an ugly thing, and her heart wept for these women and their bairns.
But her pity was not nearly as intense as the anger pushing her fingernails into her palms. She expected nothing less from her father, but Keiran must have done something to prevent it. “What did ye do?”
“I wanted no part in it, but your da ordered me and the other MacNeil warriors to take the women to the docks. We were expected to distribute the comely women equally on our allies’ ships, and the older, less appealing women – whom your da conveniently deemed Pagans – were to be tied to the oars of the ships. ”
“Oh Christ! Stop. I dinnae wish to hear more.” Sorcha felt ill. Shame washed through her. How could she possibly share blood with such a heinous man? She regretted pushing Keiran. There was nothing noble about what had happened in Leckmelm, nothing honourable, nothing worthy of respect.
“Ye wanted to know and will allow me to finish.” Keiran grabbed her wrist when she tried to stand and continued without her consent. “We loaded the women aboard the Cerridwen – all of them, then Sileas and I went back for their bairns.”
Tears rolled down Sorcha’s cheeks. Her heart swelled into her throat. Partly because Keiran had proven himself a champion and partly because she feared the words he’d not yet spoken. “Did they all survive?”
Keiran nodded and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Sileas brought home sixty-seven women and one hundred and twenty-four bairns. Some of their men – the ones that survived – have since joined the clan.”
“What happened to ye?”
Keiran only stared at her for long moments, a mixture of panic and resolve lined his worried face.
His chest heaved. A muscle tightened in his jaw.
The upset in his eyes sent spirals of icy fear coiling around her spine.
She held his hand in both of hers and asked again, “Ye said Sileas brought them back to Barra. What happened to ye?”
“Your da and six of his loyal kinsmen caught us on the docks. I held them off until Sileas could escape out the inlet. I cut down my own kinsmen – your kinsmen – to protect my enemy.” The tendons in his neck bulged. “Your da called me a traitor and ran me through with his sword.”
Sorcha swallowed a gasp. Her unblinking eyes burned as unexpected fury roiled through her stomach.
“I should have died. I was choking on my own blood, when he spit on me, and proclaimed himself the victor. But he didn’t defeat me, Sorcha.”
She heard Keiran’s next words in her head before he ever spoke them. “I killed him.”
The world stopped for a moment. Her pulse pounded like a drum between her ears. She was stunned, but felt no anger towards Keiran. Had Da loved her or treated her with the slightest amount of dignity, she might have given over to rage. Instead, she felt vindicated.
A flash of unexpected lightning startled her and the boom of thunder that immediately followed sent her into Keiran’s arms.
“Come quickly.” He pulled Sorcha to her feet, and they raced to the croft-house in front of a sheet of rain.
This storm was Magda’s doing, Keiran decided as he watched the steady downpour out of a small window of the croft-house. His auld friend had done her best to force him and Sorcha into seclusion since their arrival, but her conjured rainfall couldn’t have been more ill-timed.
He’d been patient with Sorcha, resisted the urge to kiss her every night, resisted the need to touch her, but most of all, he’d resisted the desire to tell her he loved her.
And now, she had even more reason to think he only wanted her title.
What could he possibly say that would convince her otherwise?
“Keiran.” He felt the heat of her body before she touched his arm.
“I did not kill your father for his title,” he blurted out. “Ye have to believe me.”
“I believe ye.”
Surprised by her quick response, he spun around to face her. “Ye do?”