Knight in Highland Armor (15 page)

Standing, he pulled William aside. “Finish him.”

Kilchurn Building Site, 23
rd
October, 1455

During her time at Kilchurn, Margaret spent her mornings reading to Mevan. The guard was sitting up and getting antsy to return to his duties. She urged him to rest, however, until Alana pronounced him fit enough to return home to his wife and wee bairns.

After leaving the surgery, Margaret found Tom Elliot. With All Hallows only ten days away, she wanted to discuss plans to prepare Kilchurn for winter. “Once you’ve mudded the walls, is there anything else to do until spring?”

Though lacking organizational skills, the stonemason proved to be quite knowledgeable about building a lasting structure. “We’ll need to secure thatch over the foundation to prevent water from seeping in.”

She started calculating a timeline in her head. “How long will that take?”

“Only a couple of days. Mudding takes the longest.”

She eyed the workmen, absorbing Tom’s every word. “When will we be able to start again in spring?”

He removed his bonnet and scratched his head. “Supplies should start delivering in March. We can clear off the mud then, too.”

“How about building?”

“When the pre-work is over, we can commence as soon as weather permits.”

Margaret cast her gaze to the clouds above. “March seems so far away.”

“Aye, but it’ll come quick enough.” Tom pointed to the trough the men had built, now delivering water directly to the site. “Your idea has paid dividends already. Things will go much faster, especially if Lord Glenorchy stops the vandals.”

Clutching her hands against her chest, she’d thought Colin would have returned with news by now. She’d also sent a missive to Dunstaffnage advising of her decision to stay on at Kilchurn. Surely he’d come soon. Not that she wanted to see
him
. She rather worried about his men. She and Mevan prayed every morning for their safe return.

The sentry upon the wall-walk blew his ram’s horn and waved his arms. Margaret looked to the path through the void that would become Kilchurn’s gate. Highlanders approached, leading a wagon.

Tom chuckled. “That would be Robert MacGregor and our sand.”

“We are blessed indeed.” Margaret craned her neck, searching for Colin or his men. The entire escort was MacGregors, with red plaids draped over their heads and shoulders to keep out the drizzle. Margaret stood on her future threshold and watched the procession gradually approach. A team of oxen lumbered, heads swinging from side to side, pulling the heavy load.

Laird Robert trotted ahead. “I’m happy to report we secured the sand, m’lady.”

She clasped her gloved hands. “Did you come upon any outlaws on your journey?”

“Not with the MacGregor arms at the ready. No one in these parts would dare challenge me and my men.”

She patted his steed’s sturdy neck. “Mayhap we’ll need such an impressive contingent of men to accompany all future deliveries.”

“Could be a good idea.” He glanced to Tom. “Though most of my guardsmen also work with the mason.”

She considered Robert’s words then held up a finger. “Surely we can recruit laborers more easily than soldiers.”

“True.”

Margaret again looked down the path. “Do you have news of Lord Glenorchy?”

“Forgive me. I should have mentioned it directly.” Robert bowed his head. “The lord set out after the men who attacked your ladyship and Mevan—sent me and my men to escort the shipment.”

Her tongue went dry, her chest tight. “Have you not seen them since?”

“No, m’lady. They rode north, up into the mountains.”

Margaret covered her mouth with a gloved hand. The mountains could be treacherous in this foul weather.

“Have no fear. If anyone can track the bast…er…outlaws down, ’tis Colin Campbell and his band of fighting men. There’s a reason he’s returned home from two crusades—and a reason he’s known as Black Colin. He puts fear in the hearts of all who face him.”

Margaret studied the admiration in the chieftain’s eyes. Truly, Robert MacGregor respected her husband. If only he would return, Colin might find it in his black heart to respect her.

***

Colin pushed inside the alehouse doors and beheld his backstabbing factor, collecting rents as if all was right with the world. Walter’s eyes popped wide only for a moment, then shifted.

Guilty
.

The double-crosser reached for his quill and made a notation.

The alehouse buzzed with crofters who came to Glen Orchy to pay their rents on the first Tuesday of every month. Colin’s men filed in behind him. Walter pretended not to notice Colin, accepting payment from the next in the queue.

Colin’s hackles burned as he marched toward his conniving factor. Walter snapped his gaze up and met Colin’s stare. The stocky man floundered for his tankard. In his haste, the pewter vessel flew from the table, spewing ale across thresh-covered floorboards.

Walter watched while Colin’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of his claymore. “I think you ken why I’m here, MacCorkodale.”

The voices in the alehouse dwindled into utter silence.

“Whatever do you mean, m’lord?” The swindler’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You’re a pathetic liar for a thief.”

Walter held up two trembling palms. “I…I think you must be mistaken.”

“There’s no mistaking anything. The Lady Glenorchy overheard you talking about intercepting a load of my sand.” Colin leaned down and placed his lips beside Walter’s ear. “Worse, you sent a mob of incompetent thugs to silence her. That you have the ballocks to sit here and handle my coin as if nothing had happened proves your arrogance surpasses your cleverness by a league.”

A bead of sweat trickled from Walter’s temple. He stank of fear. The man’s lips trembled, but he uttered not a word.

Colin tapped the tip of his sword against the floorboards. “I’ll give you two options. You can fight me and die like a man, or hang from the gallows come dawn.”

Walter shook in his pool of sweat and stared at his hands.

“I am not a patient man, MacCorkodale. What will it be?”

Sneering, the stocky man shoved his chair back and drew his sword.

Barmaids screamed and wooden benches scraped the floorboards.

Colin had his mammoth claymore raised before Water assumed his stance. He blocked the factor’s feeble attack with a downward thrust. The flabby bastard reeled backward and tangled with his chair. Colin waited until Walter regained his footing. He hated fighting a weak opponent. Walter could give him no sport. But quarter could not be given. This leech had cut him in every way. He was not fit to take another breath on this earth. Rage burned a fire in Colin’s breast. He wanted MacCorkodale to suffer. He lunged in with a cutting strike. Walter blocked.

Colin spun, eyed his target. In one swift downward hack, he sliced off the bastard’s fighting arm.

Shrieking like a woman, Walter fell to his knees. Blood spewed from the wound. Colin snatched his dirk with his left hand and slashed it across the factor’s exposed neck.

Eyes stunned, Walter dropped face first.

Colin watched the blackguard’s lifeblood pool on the floor then turned to the astonished faces. “Let this be a lesson to the lot of you. If anyone crosses me, they will pay in blood.” A hum of mumbles filled the room. Colin held up his hand. “All honest men will receive fair treatment by my hand. I wish this on no man.”

He turned to William and Fionn. “Take his body to his clan chieftain and tell him of Walter’s treachery. I’ll not start a feud with a neighboring clan over blatant thievery.”

***

Margaret clapped her hands, thrilled with the progress on the kitchen hearth. The bread oven was complete, and Tom Elliot had installed an entry shoot for water and an exit for slops. “Brilliant,” she said, smiling broadly. “This will be the finest tower house in the Highlands.”

The carpenters stopped hammering only for a moment to listen to her praise. After his arrival, Tormond had gladly set up a blacksmith station in the courtyard near the site where his shop would be built. It rang with the clang of a hammer on anvil as he pounded out iron nails.

Even Margaret could not believe their headway, and only in a sennight. Mevan had returned to the care of his wife. The Campbells and the MacGregors worked side by side and proved to be skilled laborers, with drive that matched her own.

She picked up a shovel to help mix the mortar.

“M’lady, your hands will be full of calluses if you keep working like that,” Tom said.

“Rough hands are proof of a day well spent.”

She’d been working beside the men for days, mostly directing their efforts, but when all were set to task, she reached for the nearest tool and pitched in.

She’d ruined her apron and borrowed another from Alana, but she didn’t care. It was important to her to show the men she wasn’t afraid of hard labor. The water trough fed a continual stream. Mixing at a steady tempo for a good deal of time, Margaret’s arms began to burn. She pushed the shovel harder.

A man cleared his throat behind her. Margaret turned, but the bright sun kept her from seeing the face of the tall, broad figure.

“I told you to take an escort back to Dunstaffnage.”

Margaret’s heart jolted. She skirted aside to see his face. “Colin, you’re back! I cannot wait to show you all we’ve—”

His eyes were dark, like a man bent on murder. “You should not be here.”

Why on earth had she garnered hope he’d see her as useful? “I beg to differ, m’lord. Someone needed to see to Kilchurn.”

He fisted his hips. “That would not be you. Duncan…”

“Is being well cared for by Effie.” To hell with his arrogant, pigheaded balderdash. “Besides, the work will cease in a fortnight when we mud up for winter.”

“I gave you an order and—”

She mirrored his stance, and fisted her hips with infuriated gusto. “I will attend Duncan throughout the duration of the winter, my lord.”

“Ah, Lord Campbell.” Tom Elliot walked around the corner of the kitchen walls. “You’ve married yourself a fine woman, if I may be so bold to say.”

Colin glared at the master mason, who spread his arms and grinned. “You see, the kitchen would not have been started without Lady Margaret.” He beckoned them. “Come and allow me to show you what I mean.”

Thank the good Lord Master Elliot appeared when he did. Margaret could have again slapped Colin across the face, he maddened her so. God forbid she ever try that again. He’d lock her in the iron branks for certain. Elliot showed Colin the water trough and the blacksmith’s station, while Margaret followed at a safe distance and kept her mouth closed. The mason did a fine job of extolling her virtues—far better than if she’d attempted to convince Colin of her own worth.

Elliot held forth as if he were giving the tour to King James himself. “Your wife knows her way around a building site, for certain.”

Colin’s beard had grown in while he was away, and he ran his fingers down it and pulled. “God’s teeth. This is most unexpected.”

Margaret smiled and stepped beside him. “And from the bills of lading, I’ve figured out how Walter MacCorkodale was cheating you.”

“You have?”

“He was overpaying. That gave Walter the opportunity to skim a percentage before making payment. He’s a slithering snake, that one.”

“Was.”

Margaret pressed a hand to her lips. “Did you?”

Colin’s jaw twitched. “He’s in hell with the devil.”

“Oh my.” She grimaced. “You should also know Robert arrived unscathed with the sand shipment, and Mevan is back at Dunstaffnage in the care of his wife until he can become my personal guard.”

“
Your
guard?”

“I request him. He risked his life, nearly lost it so I might escape.”

“I suppose he did.” Colin’s lips twisted. He wasn’t half as overbearing as he’d appeared when he first arrived.

Margaret didn’t give him a chance to rebut. “I say this calls for a celebration. I shall speak to Alana about it straight away. We’ll kill a steer and tap a barrel of wine.” Margaret started away and stopped. “You will be dining with us this eve?”

“Och.” He pulled off his helm and shook his head. “Aye.” How his hair could look so ravishing after wearing a helmet throughout the day, she had no idea.

Margaret dashed away before Colin could say another word. She’d listened to the MacGregor’s music every night since Robert returned with his men. Oh, how she longed to take part in their country dances and sing.

Her insides fluttered. Best of all, somehow she’d managed to make Colin agree with her, as well as avoid his tirade. She’d have to remember to have Tom Elliot on hand should ever again Colin approach her looking like he could slam his fist into a stone wall without feeling pain.

Kilchurn building site, 30
th
October, 1455

Margaret dashed up the hill to Alana’s cottage. Her friend would be thrilled at the prospect of feasting with Lord Glenorchy. Finally, the MacGregors and the Campbells would shed unease and become fast allies, just as both clans desired.

Out of breath, Margaret knocked on the rickety wooden door.

When Alana opened, her round face stretched with concern. “M’lady? Whatever is wrong?”

“Good…news.” Margaret placed her hand on her chest and caught her breath. “The traitor has been brought to justice.”

“They caught Walter?”

“With his hands filled with Campbell coin.” Margaret couldn’t allow herself to show untoward exuberance for the death of another, even an enemy. She crossed herself. “He’s no longer of this world.”

Alana mirrored Margaret’s action. “’Tis for the best, m’lady.”

Margaret smiled and grasped Alana’s hands. “Agreed, and we shall celebrate with a gathering this eve.”

Alana’s eyes lit up. “And Lord Glenorchy has approved?”

“Aye.” Margaret laughed. “Ask the men to kill a steer before he has a change of mind.”

Alana clasped her hands over her heart. “Oh thank heavens. Our prayers are answered.”

“It appears we’re making progress, though there’ll be much to accomplish once winter is over.” Margaret rested a hand on her new friend’s shoulder. “Besides, we need a great hall for our gatherings. We’ll be lucky if the clouds stay at bay this eve after such a beautiful day.”

“I shall pray they do. This could well be our last opportunity for a feast before the frosts move in.”

“Can you spread the word?”

Alana pulled her cloak from a peg and draped it over her shoulders. “My oath, I will straight away.”

“Excellent. I must bathe and find a way to soften these ugly calluses on my hands. If Lord Colin sees them, I’m afraid he’ll tie me to a mare, send me back to Dunstaffnage and lock me away.”

Alana studied Margaret’s palms. “Blisters? My word, m’lady, what on earth have you been doing?”

Margaret bit her bottom lip. “A bit of labor to encourage the men.”

“You’re right, Lord Glenorchy won’t like this a bit.” She held up a finger. “I’ve just the thing.” She pulled Margaret into her little cottage and lifted a small stoppered pot from the shelf. “This salve will fix you up in no time.”

Margaret accepted the pot. “Aye? What’s in it?”

“My own concoction—made from simple houseleek.”

“Honestly? The weed that grows upon the thatch?”

“Aye—’twill take the sting away and your skin will be smooth as new. Just use it twice a day for a week.”

Margaret offered a polite curtsey. “Thank you ever so much.”

Alana walked her outside. “Leave the heavy work to the men. A highborn woman shouldn’t be up to her elbows in mortar.”

Chuckling, Margaret made her way back to the cottage almost as quickly as she’d ascended the hill to Alana’s home. After working in the mud for days, she needed a bath and a clean gown. She couldn’t help but skip. Oh to dance again. She could hardly contain her excitement.

***

Colin had walked the grounds with Tom Elliot, amazed at how much had been achieved during his absence. By the way the stonemason repeated her name, there was no doubt Margaret was the driving force behind the progress.

She’d attacked his sensibilities, trying to avert his anger. And he’d fallen into her ploy without a second thought.

When he arrived at Dunstaffnage and found she hadn’t returned, he’d actually had annulment papers drawn. He’d made it eminently clear her main concern was Duncan, and she’d defied him.

But now, he second-guessed his actions. Had she been right to stay? Not that he agreed with her about Duncan. Perhaps he could let the issue rest for a fortnight or two. Regardless, he would have a serious conversation about her future priorities before the day ended, but quite obviously, Margaret possessed the ability to pull together and organize the men where others had failed. Still, he’d keep the annulment papers locked away. If she continued to defy him, her liability would outweigh her worth.

Colin looked the stonemason in the eye. “You’ve done well, Tom. I expect to see this level of progress come spring.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Elliot bowed his head. “If the shipments arrive on time, I reckon there’ll be no further delays.”

“I believe we’ve buried that problem for good.” Colin glanced toward the cottage. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve something I must see to straight away.”

He was quickly learning things were anything but dull when Margaret Robinson was around. She seemed giddy about the feast, which Colin honestly welcomed. However, he desperately needed a bath and a shave.

In the entry, Colin removed his cloak and armor, except his breastplate and hauberk underneath. Maxwell would be along shortly to provide assistance. Always a relief to shrug out of a cumbersome coat of arms, he sighed. He headed back to his rooms and hesitated. There was movement within. Drawing his sword, he pushed inside.

Colin’s heart flew to his throat. His groin ignited into an almighty flame. Margaret stood in a washbasin without a stitch of clothing. Her arms quickly flew across her breasts and she sat in a rush, with water slopping over the barrel’s sides.

Colin blinked and rested his sword beside the door. He should have averted his eyes, but he’d already seen her. Rounded breasts, full and ripe as sin, tipped with rosy buds, they defined succulent perfection. His fingers twitched. His palms could almost feel her soft flesh when his gaze had traveled to a slender waist. Then the shapely curve of her hips didn’t disappoint. Before she splashed into the water, the dark chestnut brown triangle hiding her sex teased him, aroused his most base desires.

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. “A-are you planning to stare at me through my entire bath, m’lord?”

Colin licked his lips, and an unholy erection shot to rigid and jutted against his braies. Thank heavens the quilted codpiece beneath his hauberk covered it—barely. “Excuse me. I was not expecting to see you in my chamber.”

She slipped her arms around her knees and pulled them tight to her body. “Where else would you have me stay?”

Of course she wouldn’t sleep in the surgery, and she’d slept in this very chamber when they were traveling from Stirling. He crossed to the hearth and sat in an upholstered chair. “Apologies. I wasn’t thinking.”

“So…are…are you going to stay here?”

He turned his seat to face the fire. “I’ll keep my back averted, if that makes you more comfortable.” Why should he leave? This was
his
cottage and Margaret was
his
wife—at least until he signed the annulment papers.

“I’d be far more comfortable if you were not here at all.” Her gaze seared into his back. “But if you must stay, I do appreciate your chivalry.”

“A man should be able to gaze upon his wife without shame or embarrassment from either party.”

“Is that so? I’m afraid I have little understanding of what you speak.”

The water trickled. Colin’s erection refused to ease. What was she doing? Could he catch a glimpse of her breasts if he turned his head slightly? He tried it. Blast. She’d shifted so she had her back to him—but silken, naked shoulders were delectable. His tongue shot out and tapped his top lip. If only he could taste her.

Colin clenched his fists. What was he doing, ogling Margaret? She must have known he’d come sooner or later. Was she trying to tempt him to her bed under the guise of innocence?

The smell of her soap wafted through the air. “What’s that scent?”

“’Tis a lavender concoction from Loch Rannoch—my favorite.”

“It is very nice—almost too nice.”

“Why do you say that?”

Why does her voice have to make my heart thrum like a lovesick fool?
“It does things to my insides it should not.”

She emitted a nervous giggle. “You are funny. I doubt anything could affect you on the inside.”

“Not much can.” At least that was what he’d told himself over and over until he firmly believed it. “I’m pleased with your work here.” Perhaps changing the subject would relive the painful ache beneath his braies.

The water stopped trickling. Colin took a chance and glimpsed. She regarded him over her shoulder. “Thank you, but you promised not to look.”

“That I did.” He faced the fire and watched the flames dance across the wood. “Things have not been easy these past months.”

“I know.” Her voice was but a whisper.

He waited for Margaret to continue, but the water started sloshing again. “I am very concerned for the welfare of my son.”

“I assure you, m’lord”—a marked surety returned to her tone—“your son will be well cared for and educated. I give you my word I shall not abandon him during your indeterminate absence. As soon as he is able, I shall teach Duncan to pray, read and calculate sums.” The water trickled. “But first of all, I do believe I will teach him how to love. That is the first and most important lesson for all infants.”

Warmth spread through Colin’s breast. “I daresay I agree.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.”

“I think the bairn will thrive here.”

He sighed. “Glen Orchy is a magical place—so peaceful it always puts my mind at ease.”

“That is a sign you’re meant to be lord of these lands.”

Colin stood. He walked toward her and reached out his hand. “Allow me to wash your hair.”
What the bloody hell am I doing?

She crossed her arms over her breasts and snapped her gaze to him. “You promised you’d keep your eyes averted.”

He touched her tresses and ran his hand through them until his fingers met water. “I did, but I was wrong to do so.” His voice deepened with his longing. He picked up a wooden bowl and knelt beside her.

Margaret’s brows knitted when she met his gaze. Without removing her arms, she leaned forward and allowed him to ladle the water over her head. He took his time, massaging the water through her thick tresses. “May I have the soap?” he asked.

Margaret released one arm and fished through the barrel. Keeping her head down, she held up the soap. Colin wrapped his hand around her slender fingers. Tingles jittered up his hand, all the way to his shoulder. Reluctantly, he slid the cake from her grasp.

She took in a stuttering inhale. Unable to determine if his touch had affected her as it had him, or if she was merely cold, he wished he could see her face beneath her locks.

He lifted the cake to his nose and inhaled. As he closed his eyes, the fleeting picture of Margaret standing unaware and completely naked ravaged his mind. If only he were in heaven, he could gaze upon such beauty for an eternity.

Thoughts of the past would return to haunt him, but not in this moment.

Colin used circular, languid strokes to work the lather into her hair. Suds streamed down her flawless back, marked only by an adorable mole atop her shoulder blade. He squeezed the ends of her gloriously long tresses and watched the bubbles pop. His fingers trembled with his need to touch her.

“Mm.”

Christ almighty, does she ken how sensual she sounds?

His erection lengthened with her blissful moan, so soft, he wondered if she’d actually been aware she’d uttered it. The fragrance floated around him, tempting him to nuzzle into her neck, push her arms away from her breasts and knead them. As soon as he saw her naked, he should have turned and walked out the door. Now she had him in her clutches and he was powerless to flee.

“Hold your hands over your eyes so I can rinse.” His voice took on a deeper tenor, one he couldn’t remember hearing…ever.

Margaret obeyed, keeping her arms tight over her breasts, though creamy flesh peeped through the crook of her arms.

When the soap completely washed away, leaving a wall of chestnut hair hiding her face, he sighed and set the bowl down. He pulled her locks to the side and peered at her face. Margaret slid her fingers to her chin and blinked at him. “Thank you, m’lord.”

“I hope these big hands weren’t too rough.” His voice was still husky.

“You were as gentle as a chambermaid.”

He stared into her pools of green, his heart thundering in his ears, the almighty strain beneath his braies relentless. He could think of nothing else but this moment and the exquisite, wet woman whose eyes captivated his soul. Her tongue shot out and moistened her bottom lip. Rosy as a pink bloom in spring, her mouth begged him to kiss it. Before his mind could trigger a rational thought, he covered her delectable lips, unleashing the passion coiled deep in his groin.

Closing his eyes, he parted her mouth with his tongue and showed his wife how to kiss a man. He slipped his hand to the back of her neck, frustrated he could not move closer, could not press his manhood against her body and show her the extent of his desire. His tongue plied hers until a gentle moan erupted from her throat. Her posture softened and she responded, her mouth becoming more impassioned.