Authors: Heartstorm
For
a moment Anne struggled futilely against his rough embrace, so different from
the tenderness of the night before. Then, abruptly, the struggle ended. The
feeling of his muscular body pressed against her, his hard, unyielding mouth
claiming hers, assaulted every sense with an urgency for which she had not been
prepared. Her lips opened beneath his of their own accord, her tongue moving
experimentally against the ravages of his. Her fingers crept slowly up the hard
expanse of chest she was crushed against, one hand moving to stroke the corded
muscles at the back of his neck then lose itself in the thick mass of his
softly curling hair.
A
wild thrill surged through her as his arms held her close, his mouth and hands
touching a primitive chord she had not known existed in her until that moment.
All resistance forgotten, her lips clung to his. She leaned instinctively into
his body in passionate disavowal of the words she had uttered just moments
before.
His
crushing grip slowly eased. His angry, hurting mouth ceased its assault on
hers, and his kiss became slower and more tender. His hands slid along her
sides, brushing lightly against her breast before gently cupping each side of
her face. He pulled his lips reluctantly from hers, studying her in perplexity.
"Do you just enjoy living dangerously, lass, or are you playing some deep
game with me?"
She
felt strangely bereft once his lips no longer moved on hers. Nothing had
changed, yet she was more certain than ever that she belonged in his arms. The
harsh reality of the situation swept over her, and she closed her eyes against
a sense of overwhelming hopelessness.
"What
is it, Anne?" Francis asked gently, a note of concern sharpening the husky
timbre of his voice. His thumb caressed the delicate line of her jaw, and he
continued to hold her upturned face close to his.
She
took a deep breath, struggling to speak around the constriction in her throat.
"My... my father will never countenance anything between the two of us,
and you know as well as I my time here is growing short. It's best we end this
thing before it's begun."
"Do
you wish to leave?"
Her
eyes flew open, and she stared at him in amazement. "You must know I
don't," she choked out.
A
satisfied smile spread over his face. He leaned down, kissing her with a
thoroughness that took her breath away. "You've nothing to worry about,
lass," he said, raising his head after a long, pleasurable moment.
"Let me take care of Glenkennon; I'm already working on a plan."
"But
I'd not have you in further trouble on my account."
"I've
been in trouble since the day I was born," he returned lightly. "If
you don't believe me, ask Janet. Father used to beat me at least once a
week."
She
opened her mouth to protest, but Francis placed a silencing finger over her
lips. "I told you once I wasn't afraid of your father. It's only a matter
of outfoxing the fox, and I've had years of practice at the game." He
smiled at her in a way that melted her heart too easily. "Trust me,"
he said softly, drawing her into his arms so that she forgot everything but the
reality of his touch and the demand of his mouth upon hers.
The
sound of someone noisily clearing his throat filtered vaguely through the haze
of passion that rapidly engulfed Anne. The sound came again, followed by
Donald's amused voice. "Pardon, sir, but the Lady Janet and Ian MacDonnell
are looking for the both of ye. I told them I'd seen ye heading for the
stables."
Anne
froze in embarrassment, burying her flaming face against Francis's chest. He
lifted his head, keeping his arms casually looped around her. "Thank you,
Donald. I suppose we'll have visitors here in a few moments then."
"Aye,
that's what I was thinkin'."
Francis's
firm hand on Anne's elbow turned her around so that she faced the grinning
Donald. She raised stricken eyes to his amused ones, feeling another hot blush
sweep over her.
Francis
slid his arm down to encircle her waist familiarly. "Don't mind Donald,
lass," he said comfortingly. "He knows all my secrets and is as good
a confidant as man or woman could wish. He's saved us a far more embarrassing
confrontation with my sister and your uncle. He might have even saved me a
deadly encounter with Ian. I can see him playing the irate kinsman if he
thought I was trifling with you."
Anne
smiled as he had meant her to, and the three were innocently discussing the
merits of Highland-bred horses over those imported from England and France when
they were joined by Janet, Ian and Eric.
The
little group walked slowly through the stables, inspecting Camereigh's fine
stock of mares and spring foals. They emerged from the cool dimness just in
time to see a heavily lathered horse being led toward them by a clansman.
Francis stopped short, eyes narrowed as he took in the significance of the worn
animal. None of his men abused their animals in such a way unless—
He
was away across the courtyard at a fast sprint.
Anne
reached out a hand to the suddenly pale Janet, the same cold fear in both their
hearts. Something must have happened to the Camerons! With a silent prayer, the
women gathered up their skirts and followed Francis and the MacDonnells across
the courtyard at an unladylike run.
Francis
reached the steps just as the worn, muddied messenger burst through the door in
search of him. He had time for one quick question, then the rest of the group
converged upon the stairs.
"Is
it Jamie?" Janet asked breathlessly, her eyes wide with fear.
"No.
There's no word on your husband."
Janet
gave a ragged sigh and closed her eyes, relief making her lean weakly against
Anne for support. "Thank God," she murmured as Anne slipped a
comforting arm around her.
"Well,
what is it, man?" Francis asked gruffly. "What brings you to my door
in such haste?"
"It's
Charles Randall," the man replied in a voice hoarse with exhaustion.
"He's close on my heels and not sparing his mount."
Anne's
eyes widened in surprise. "Charles?" she whispered. "Coming
here?"
"How
many men-at-arms?" Francis's voice cracked like a whiplash into the
stunned silence.
"Less
than a score, sir, but heavily armed, all of them."
Francis's
eyes half closed while his nimble mind leaped ahead to the possibilities.
"He doesn't come here for a fight. He's far too few men with him. Not even
that hotheaded young fool would attack Camereigh with a force of that
size." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully "Of course, it could be a
trick." His eyes snapped open and he studied the messenger. "Why do I
receive word so late?"
"Glenkennon
and his advisors are away at Edinburgh," the man replied. "Young
Charles arrived unexpectedly from the Borders. I suppose 'twas then he learned
of his sister's disappearance, for he tarried only long enough to eat and
change horses and was away again with his guard. We discovered his intentions
by the merest chance, sir. I'm ahead of him only by dint of a fast horse and no
rest."
At
that moment, Donald appeared with a tankard of ale which the man accepted
gratefully. With a nod Francis gave him leave to drink. "You've done well,
lad," he said shortly. "So the young pup acts on his own initiative
and Glenkennon knows nothing of it. Excellent! We may win a point this
game."
He
turned toward Anne. A cold smile twisted his lips but didn't reach his eyes.
"Will you be pleased to see your brother, mistress?"
Anne
felt a flicker of animosity at his tone and was reminded again of the gulf that
yawned between them. Could this hard, dangerous man have kissed her so tenderly
only a short while before? She raised her head a notch to cover her confusion.
"Why, yes, I think I shall," she said, matching his own cold tone.
He
turned to Donald. "Get a full score of men up here. Let them be armed, but
not overly so. I want them in the hall at their ease playing dice and such, but
they're to be on the ready. There's to be no fighting unless it's begun by
Randall. Let them understand I'll break the first man that picks a
quarrel."
"Janet."
He turned to his sister. "Get the women out of the hall and upstairs. Tell
them we're having unexpected company, but don't alarm them unduly. If the men
stay, be sure they're armed. We'll not invite trouble, but by God, we'll be
ready if it comes!"
They
moved forward into the hall, and Anne watched in growing dismay while Francis
ordered them all about. Men scrambled to obey his terse commands. Even her
uncle seemed loath to question his friend in this ruthless mood. She thought of
her younger brother, hurrying headlong into a trap. "And what orders do
you have for me, my lord?" she asked tensely. "Surely you've some
part planned for me in this game, as you call it."
"You'll
be upstairs with Donald, Ian, and me," he said without glancing in her
direction. "I want you beside me."
Turning
away from her, Francis slipped his sword from its sheath, testing the weight of
the steel before slipping it back into place. Anne licked her lips nervously.
Surely he didn't mean to kill Charles!
"What
do you plan to do with my brother once you have him trapped?" she asked.
"He's hopelessly outnumbered; you said so yourself." She stared as
though mesmerized by his sword. "It would be cold-blooded murder, and you
know it, Francis MacLean!"
The
angry accusation in her voice caught Francis's attention. He frowned, eyebrows
lowering in displeasure. "I don't plan to do anything to the lad save
offer him a drink and some hospitality. But a man doesn't ride through the
countryside armed to the teeth without something important on his mind."
His cold stare held hers unwaveringly. "Life in the Highlands teaches a
man to be suspicious, sweet. I've learned to take care of my own."
With
a chill dread in her heart, Anne followed Francis up the stairs to the laird's
room. A fire blazed warmly in the great fireplace, but she didn't dare try to
reach it with her knees trembling so. Sinking gratefully into a
velvet-cushioned chair, she tried to convince herself Francis meant Charles no
harm.
A
few moments later the clatter of the arriving band sounded. A quick look passed
between Donald and Francis, and the older man slipped out to see to the
preparations below. Ian stood beside the window gazing down at the activity in
the courtyard, but Francis leaned casually against the wall beside the
fireplace... waiting.
An
uncontrollable shiver ran down Anne's back, and her hands felt so damp she
dried them on her skirt. Wringing the rich cloth between nervous fingers, she
glanced toward Francis. He was watching her impassively. Immediately she
released her skirt and sat up straighter.
The
hard lines of his face softened. "I've no desire to harm the lad,
Anne..."
The
tramp of boots upon stone wrenched her gaze from his. She stared anxiously at
the door. The clatter of spurs rang just outside.
The
door flew open abruptly. Charles strode angrily into the room, Donald hard on
his heels. The boy was a handsome young giant, tall and straight, looking far
older than his seventeen years. At the sight, Anne's heart swelled with pride.
Charles had grown up in the years since she had seen him. There was now little
trace of the boy she remembered save the dark auburn hair and shrewd gray eyes
of their father.
"Charles,"
she whispered, scarcely believing her eyes.
He
turned, crossing the room to her in a few long-legged strides. Catching her
hand, he drew her into his arms for a quick embrace. "So you are
here!" he said, his voice harsh with relief. "I scarcely credited the
rumor." His eyes searched her face anxiously. "Are you well? Have you
been harmed?"
"No,
Charles. I'm well, truly I am," she said quickly. "It's good to see
you, though."
His
fingers tightened convulsively on hers, and he turned toward the two men across
the room. "What infamy is this, MacLean? Do you stoop to kidnapping
innocent women for sport now in the North? I've heard many disreputable tales
of you, but to now I'd not believed them."
Francis
leaned his broad shoulders against the lintel, calmly surveying the seething
young man. "I'd be careful how I spoke of infamy were my name
Randall," he drawled softly. "The imprisonment and beating of two
innocent men and a couple of lads would go well under that name."
"They
attacked and murdered a half-dozen men," Charles returned, still angry but
obviously less sure of his ground.
Francis
snorted derisively. "Not even you can believe that tale, my lad. Those
were trumped-up charges, as well you know."
Anne
saw her brother's hand slide toward his sword. She caught his arm in both
hands. "Please Charles, there's no need for trouble. I swear I've not been
harmed, but have been treated with the greatest courtesy here. We've even two
of our kinsmen here to see to my honor."
"Well,
I'm here now to take you home," he declared. He glared at Francis, daring
the man to contradict him.
"I
don't think the lass has finished her visit," Francis stated softly.
"We're enjoying her company, so we'll not suffer her to leave us just
yet."