Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (6 page)

“A grand sight,” a deep voice said behind her.

She spun around and found herself staring into Garik’s wintry blue eyes.

“Hello again,” he said. He was changed and yet exquisitely familiar.

“Hello, Garik,” she said.

A slow smile spread across his face, causing her breath to catch. His eyes gleamed like stars.

“Ye’re changed,” she said softly.

Five summers had passed since last she saw Garik MacKinnon. Then he had been a young man with only seventeen years to his credit. Now at two and twenty, he had lost the remnants of the boy. Before her stood a formidable man. His black leather jerkin fitted across his broad chest. His wavy black hair had grown and now gleamed beneath the sun, falling past his shoulders. She thought he never appeared more handsome. He was strong, fierce and mesmerizing.

“Where is the wee lass, I remember?” he said. “Before me stands a woman.” His eyes searched hers and then traveled the length of her tall frame. She recognized the glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. She dipped her head to conceal the blush that warmed her cheeks, but then she regretted the loss of his gaze. Her eyes found his once more. She stood straight and tall. She would not hide from him.

He took a step forward. His closeness thrilled and terrified her all at once. She stopped breathing as she watched his hand reach out and then his fingers grazed her cheek. He smelled of the sun and the sea, of faraway lands and adventure. Her chest tightened against the desire his touch inflamed. The wind picked up and whipped her hair into a frenzy. She closed her eyes and laughed as the strands covered her face.

“You have vanished,” he said, his voice deep and unhurried. The allure of his strange accent washed over her. He brushed the hair from her eyes, then withdrew a strip of leather from a satchel that hung across his chest. Circling her, he stood at her back, gathering her thick mane in his hand. While he fought the wind to contain her hair, his fingers brushed her neck and throat, sending a rush of sensation down her spine. When he set about tying the leather, he drew closer, and she could feel the heat of his body behind her. Her heart raced. She breathed in his smell. His heat and scent surrounded her. She felt as though she were under siege, but never had an assault been more welcome. And then his hand gripped her waist. The touch was fleeting. Just as suddenly, he was gone, but the pressure of his hand remained.

For a moment, she did not know herself. Her hands hung useless at her side. Her eyes fixated on the choppy water, and she listened intently to the ship rapping against the side of the dock.

“Nellore,” a voice called, breaking through the haze of her thoughts.

Her mother and father were standing arm and arm and looking at her expectantly.

“Aye, mum,” she answered.

“I do not trust ye by the docks alone,” Brenna said as she wrapped her arm around Duncan’s waist. “Ye’re liable to sail off in search of trouble.”

Logan walked over to her and took her hand in his. “Good and calloused,” he said as he examined her palm. “Ye’ve continued your training.”

“I swear if ye start encouraging the lass again, Logan, I will beat the life out of ye. Do ye ken?” Duncan said. His tone held a warning his smile could not hide.

“’Tis too late for that,” Logan said, clearly undeterred. “I’d wager these hands have gripped a sword every day since we left. And besides, look at the lass. She’s as tall as any warrior.”

“She is that,” Garik said. Her heart raced. She could feel his eyes on her body. They burned where they touched as though his hands caressed her skin. Her eyes left his, and she suddenly was very aware that everyone stared at her, except for Rose. She looked to Logan. Embarrassed, thinking they had all read her mind, she cleared her throat and joined her mum and da. Pressing a kiss to Duncan’s cheek she said, “I’ve missed ye so much, Da.” Duncan pulled Nellore and Brenna close. Then he reached past Logan and grabbed Rose, also pulling her to his chest. His black eyes gleamed. “I’ve missed all my bonny lasses,” he said.

They walked together toward the village, meeting kinfolk along the way. Joyful word of the warriors return had spread throughout the village. Anna, Bridget’s daughter, rushed past them without a word, her eyes and heart intent on her husband, Cormac, who still lingered on the docks. Nellore joined the merriment, but as they strode along, she was ever aware of Garik behind her. Despite how she longed to, she dared not look back for fear the feeling he had stirred within her might be revealed in her eyes. She blushed again as her hand touched her waist. It still burned from the pressure of his hand.

*

As Garik walked toward the village with Logan, they were joined by their laird. Five years had gone by and he could see the passing of time etched across Ronan’s face. His stride had slowed somewhat, but Garik was pleased to note that his wits were as sharp as ever. In that moment, his mind drifted home to the Orkney Islands and he wondered after the well-being of his own grandfather, Aidan. He hoped Aidan and the rest of his family fared as well. Why he had not gone home to the Orkney Islands when the Bruce gave them leave, he could not say for sure, only that somehow he had felt compelled to Mull. And then his eyes settled once more on the tall, black-haired lass walking in front of him.

He had not been prepared for Nellore. The last time he saw her, she had been a child, but she was a child no longer. She had fulfilled every promise of womanhood and then some. She walked beside her father, her head barely below his. On her other side, walked her mother, Brenna, who was a beautiful woman with her shoulder length red curls, but Nellore soared above her in height. From behind, it gave the impression that Nellore was the mother and Brenna the daughter.

His eyes traveled from her broad shoulders to her firm waist, the waist his hand had been unable to resist touching. His eyes dropped lower, following the gentle curve of her hips, which swayed with captivating power and grace. Never, in all his travels, had he seen a woman like her. She transcended beauty. She was the embodiment of splendor. Everything about her, from her hair to her eyes to her strong hands, challenged him, enticed him. He had known she would grow into a captivating woman, but her allure defied all reason.

He half-listened to Ronan as he spoke of new trouble with the MacLeans. Apparently, their unruly neighbors to the south continued to cross their border bent on thievery and destruction, although it would seem they had grown bolder. Their typical harassment of the cottars on the outskirts of Gribun had moved inland. Last month, Ronan reported they had even broken into the stores near the Ledaig House, which Ronan had had to explain was a newly constructed, long, thatched hall near the stores they had built especially for weddings and other festivities.

“They’ve not dared tinker with our stores for decades,” Ronan said. “The MacLean is old and bedridden. I believe his sons vie for power. The eldest, Balfour, has some sense, but he is as greedy as any MacLean. The younger brothers are as dumb as fence posts and wicked in spirit. I’m sorry, lads,” Ronan said. “Ye’ve been given a short leave from war only to come home to more conflict.”

“Do not fash yourself, grandfather,” Logan said. “We wouldn’t want to return to the Bruce lazy and fat, would we?”

“We will help you set things right before we are gone,” Garik promised.

“’Tis glad I am ye’re home but there is much to be done,” Ronan said. “The summer will go swiftly by.”

Garik’s gaze once more followed the sway of Nellore’s hips. “Aye,” he murmured, “there is much to be done.”

Nellore’s hut sat in exquisite isolation, east of the village, beyond rolling moorland, at the foot of a steep hill. To the north they could see the firth of Lorn. When a storm swept through, the waves would crash against the rock-strewn shore. The east side of the land ran alongside a narrow but swift river that wound into a nearby forest. Wild flowers covered the slopes and fields. Many believed it was the finest stretch of earth on Mull. When Duncan was away at war, the land was always included in the nightly watch to safeguard Brenna, Rose and Nellore. Although Brenna was the first to say it was Nellore that truly safeguarded their lives when the men were absent.

Duncan had left before first light to meet Ronan and Logan. The men intended to make the rounds, visiting the crofters strewn across northern Mull, checking on the security of their borders and collecting the rents; whereas, the ladies had set out together at dawn to head into the village. Brenna and Rose wished to visit Anna while Nellore volunteered to purchase what they needed for supplies. She had been happy to volunteer when she had learned Garik had not joined the men on their rounds.

She ducked her head into the blacksmith’s stall with several pairs of shears, which needed repair before they could harvest the season’s wool. While she waited, she could not help but peek out every now and then to scan the village for Garik. Her mind still reeled from their last exchange. Her attraction to him had been instantaneous and powerful, and she had no wish to deny it. She remembered the feel of the fleeting squeeze of his hand at her waist. Each time her mind returned to that moment, heat rushed to her cheeks. The sound of his lilting voice echoed in her mind. He possessed a strange allure she had no intention of resisting.

As she waited for the smithy to finish with their tools, she leaned against a wooden post and eyed the passersby, always on the lookout for black hair and wintry blue eyes. It was then that she spied her good friend, Mary.

“Mary,” she called. With a promise to collect the tools before her return home, she raced from the stall. As she drew nearer to her friend, a little bundle with a shocking mop of red curls hurled herself into Nellore’s arms.

“Oh, my sweet lass,” Nellore squealed as she pressed kisses to the giggling girl’s cheeks. Then she leaned over and kissed Mary too. “I cannot believe our good fortune,” Nellore began. “’Tis rare that we both come to the village at the same hour.” Then she paused as she studied her friend’s face. The telltale signs of worry were visible in her drawn skin and unkempt, red hair. Typically fastidious about her appearance, Nellore was also surprised to note Mary’s wrinkled and stained tunic.

“Are ye not well?” Nellore asked.

“I am fat,” she said with a slight smile. “But otherwise I am well.”

Nellore pressed a hand to Mary’s swollen stomach. She guessed Mary did not have long to wait for her third babe to make its way into the world. She once again met Mary’s troubled gaze. “Something weighs on ye. I know it.”

Mary nodded her head and she sighed. “Aye,” she said. “’Tis my Gordon. He has been suffering from terrible stomach bouts. I’ve stuffed him full of cabbage and mint broth but to no avail.” The next instant Mary’s expression lightened somewhat as she held out her basket. She pulled the cloth from the top, revealing several small vials stopped with wax. “I’ve hope,” she said. “I have just come from the keep. Bridget has given me a syrup made with horehound and laurel. She swore to me that it would relieve his trouble.”

Nellore smiled encouragingly. “Ah, now, ye see. He should be feeling better in no time. Ye know as well as I that there is no finer healer than our lady,” she said.

“That is a truth if ever I’ve heard one. We always include Bridget in our daily prayers. What this clan would do without her I dread to imagine.”

“We are lucky, indeed,” Nellore said. The little lass in her arms continued to squeeze her neck. “Oh, I’ve missed ye too, Maggie.”

Nellore felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around and her breath hitched as she found herself staring into Garik’s ice blue eyes.

“Garik,” she said, smiling as she continued to stare up at him, but then she noticed his own smile did not quite reach his eyes, causing hers to falter. “Good morrow,” she said nervously.

His attention turned to Maggie. He tipped his knuckle playfully under Maggie’s chin. “I am glad to see you, Nellore,” he said. “Your child is beautiful.”

She could not suppress the chuckle that rose in her throat. “Nay, this is Mary’s daughter. I’ve yet to marry—I…I mean I have no children,” she stammered.

A brilliant smile suddenly lit his face. “Good,” he said quickly.

All the world seemed to slip away except for the large half Viking standing before her, but then a throat cleared, breaking the silence. She knew it was Mary’s polite way of pointing out that Nellore was standing in the midst of a busy village path staring at a man with her mouth agape like a simpleton or a woman smitten. Dear God above, she had to think of something to say. She cleared her own throat then and motioned to Mary.

“Garik, have ye had the pleasure of meeting Mary?” Nellore asked.

“Aye, some years ago during the Yule celebration and, actually, several other occasions,” he said smoothly. “What brings ye to town, Mary?”

“My husband, Gordon, is not well. I came to see Bridget about the matter.”

“Please accept my sympathy. I remember Gordon well from my youth. He was a strong lad who I’m sure has grown into a strong man. He will surely be better in no time,” he said. He drew closer and tugged lightly on Maggie’s red curls. “Now, I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this little lass,” he said.

Nellore turned so that Garik could see Maggie better. “Maggie, love, this is Garik,” she said.

Maggie turned away, nestling her face in the crook of Nellore’s neck while clinging tighter to her rag baby. Nellore laughed and smiled at Garik. “She is shy, and she never puts down Bridget.”