Authors: Heartstorm
He
caught up with Donald shortly after midday, just as his friend was sitting down
to a meal of cold mutton pie and coarse oat bread. Never at a loss, Donald took
one look at his chief and silently opened his pack to remove a whole meat pasty
and a slab of hard cheese.
Francis
tethered Leven in the sparse grass beside Donald's rangy gray, returning to sit
cross legged beside his clansman. Donald passed him a hunk of bread with the
pasty resting upon it and raised one bushy eyebrow. "Did you think I
couldna do the job without help?"
Francis
stuffed the food hungrily into his mouth. "No," he mumbled, licking
his dripping fingers. "We've company at Camereigh."
"Well,
now that explains it. Have you changed the rules of hospitality that the laird
must leave when he's guests in his gates?"
Francis
ignored Donald's wit. "It's Elizabeth Macintyre come to have a
'comfortable' visit with Janet."
Donald
gave a rude crack of laughter. "Janet should love that—the two of them
bein' bosom friends and all."
Francis's
eyes twinkled at his friend over half of the pasty. "I judged it time to
retreat."
"Oh,
now... a pair o' bright eyes might be just the thing for you lad," Donald
dared, gazing innocently across the hillside.
Francis
propped his arm against his knee and leaned against the stone at his back.
"The mood I've been in of late, I'm no fit company for anyone save an
uncouth scrub of a Scotsman like yourself."
"'Twas
a lass that put you into that mood. Mayhap a lass can pull you out again,"
Donald replied.
Breaking
off a lacy frond of fern, Francis shredded it abstractedly. "So you and
Colen are agreed I can find forgetfulness with—how did he put it? Another
winsome face and willing body."
"I
didn't say that. But for a time, you must just fill the days."
"But
the days are empty, Donald," Francis answered softly, allowing the fern to
slip from his fingers.
"Well,
the days will go by, empty or no, and time will bring ease, if not
forgetfulness. 'Tis an impossible situation, lad, as well you know. It'll do no
good to dwell on it."
"But
is it impossible, Donald? Couldn't there be some answer I've not thought
of?" Francis asked, still gazing down at the fern.
"There's
naught to be done, lad," Donald repeated slowly. "Much as I like the
girl, she'd be the ruin of ye. We can't have ye outlawed now. Glenkennon's
spoiling for a fight, and you're the best one ta lead the clans."
"God's
blood, Donald! Why me?" Francis picked up the mutilated fern and began
tearing at it again. "Maybe I'm not cut out to be the laird," he
added harshly.
"But
you are the laird, man, and 'tis a responsibility you wear well, though I know
'tis a heavy load at times," Donald said. "You may not believe it,
but I heard the old laird voice that same doubt on occasion."
Francis's
eyes flew to Donald in amazement. "Father?" He stared at his friend,
unable to imagine Colin MacLean feeling unequal to any task.
"Aye,
lad, your father was a man like any other. At times he felt weary and confused
like you must now. I'm sure he'd tell ye to be gettin' on with yer life though,
not pinin' over what canna be had."
Francis
chewed the remainder of his lunch in thoughtful silence, giving a harsh laugh
when the last crumbs were gone. "Wouldn't Elizabeth be disappointed if she
achieved her goal only to find herself tied to a penniless outlaw a short time
later? God, what a good jest," he snorted cynically.
"Mayhap
you wrong the girl," Donald put in. "There may be more she wants than
your gold. You've an ugly face and the manners of a knave, but for some reason
you warm the lassies' hearts."
"If
Elizabeth has a heart, it's beyond my ability to warm. But perhaps that's for
the best. She'll not be plaguing me for something I can't give." He
shrugged his shoulders. "If she bears me sons, she can take my gold and go
her way, and I'll not interfere. You're right—I do need to get on with my life.
Perhaps that's the answer for both of us."
"Don't
do anything foolish yet awhile, lad," Donald cautioned. "Give
yourself time. There's no hurry."
***
Francis's
dark mood continued during dinner that night, and nothing pleased him save the
hearty red wine. It went down easily; enough of it and he might forget the
empty ache inside.
He
refilled his glass often, finally catching Janet's worried glance. No doubt she
guessed the cause of his temper. She had raised the subject of Anne only once
during the last two weeks, and he had quietly explained the end of that affair.
He had changed the subject abruptly then, his black look discouraging her from
raising the topic again.
"Francis,
would you pour me more wine?"
He
turned his attention to the woman beside him. "Certainly... my pleasure,
Elizabeth."
He
took her glass, feeling the casual brush of her fingers against his, smelling
the faint perfume of roses she always wore. He wordlessly poured wine from the
crystal decanter at his elbow, recalling his earlier conversation with Donald.
Perhaps a woman was the remedy he needed.
Returning
her glass, he studied the delectable contrast of her flawless ivory skin and
black hair. His gaze slid lower, to the ripe swell of her breasts above the
moddishly low-cut yellow brocade she wore.
How
could he look at such a woman and feel nothing but a slight stir of
appreciation? The sight of her had used to send his heart racing, yet now he
found himself comparing her unfavorably with a golden-haired wench who crept
into his memory no matter how he tried to cast her out.
Damn
Anne! She had made him into nothing more than a gelding! Tossing down the
remainder of his wine, he placed his glass on the table. "It's a lovely
evening, lass," he said abruptly. "I'm sure a walk in the garden
would do us both good."
Elizabeth
sent him a languid smile. "That sounds delightful, Francis."
Ignoring
Janet's frown, Francis linked Elizabeth's arm through his and led her from the
hall. Walking beside her in the warm darkness outdoors, he was haunted by memories
of other nights and another woman who had walked these paths at his side.
Lightheaded from the quantity of wine he had consumed, he felt an unreasonable
anger with himself, but most of all with Anne.
He
had lived the life of a priest too long. He had trembled and sighed and held
himself in like a schoolboy unsure what to do with his first woman. Had he
taken Anne as he had ached to do, perhaps he'd not have been so besotted with
her when she was gone. After all, was one woman not exactly like the next?
Elizabeth
stumbled against Francis in the darkness. Catching her instinctively, he drew
her into his arms. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her brutally, as if
he might punish Anne thereby.
Elizabeth
was warm and willing and made no move to push away. Leaning her body into his,
she followed the movement of his mouth with her own, her parted lips inviting
the intimate ravages of his tongue.
Francis
slid his hands from her shoulders, down her back—then lower, over the curve of
her hips to mold her body against his loins. He felt nothing, damn it! Nothing
but an overwhelming frustration and a rapidly building anger against himself
and Anne.
Anne...
Anne... she was beyond his reach forever! But Elizabeth was there beside him.
He drew her out of the path into a shadowy corner of the garden. He kissed her
again, slowly this time, his hands stroking her back deliberately, then moving
boldly up to caress her firm breasts.
The
low-cut gown scarcely impeded his exploration. He edged it off her shoulders,
his roaming fingers discovering her nipples already hardened with excitement.
She made no effort to stop him as his lips slid from her mouth to the hollow of
her throat and lower. Instead, her hands moved teasingly along his ribs and
down against his belly, urging him on.
His
heartbeat quickened, and his blood began to surge at last. In his mind's eye he
saw her spread naked across his bed upstairs. He would take her and be done
with this celibate life. Perhaps his restless anger would ease with the
physical release to be found in her willing body. After all, he needed a wife
and sons to give purpose to his days.
Suddenly
the image of blue eyes and honey-colored hair swam before him. Anne... Anne of
the sweet smile and innocent kisses. Anne lying half naked beneath him, tangled
in the silk of her own hair that last night on the beach. The thought drew a
low groan from deep in his throat, and he lifted his head in indecision.
As
though sensing his hesitation, Elizabeth slid her arms around his neck, drawing
his head down against her naked breast. Overcome by her heady scent, Francis
closed his eyes to the warning sounding faintly in the recesses of his brain.
Her mouth sought his eagerly, and he gave in to his growing desire.
From
somewhere in the darkness a small voice called his name. "Francis, Uncle
Francis. Are you out here?"
Elizabeth
froze in his arms. "God's body, I'll strangle the boy," Francis
growled as she jerked away. She tugged the dress over her shoulders and began
straightening her mussed hair.
"Over
here, Evan," he called after a moment.
By
the time the boy reached them, Francis was outwardly composed at least.
"What is it?" he snapped.
Evan
glanced from one dark shape to the other, as though wondering why they stood in
the darkest part of the garden. "Well," he began hesitantly,
"Mother's talking of leaving in a day or two, and you still haven't taken
me fishing as you promised. I'm sorry to bother you out here, but... but
Mother's sent me to bed now, you see. I wanted to ask you if we couldn't please
go tomorrow morning?"
"A
promise is a promise lad, so I guess that means we'll go," Francis replied
shortly. "Now get yourself off to bed before you're caught out here
instead of upstairs."
The
boy gave a delighted yelp and danced off into the night, leaving Francis and
Elizabeth standing together in uncomfortable silence.
"Janet
should do something about those boys," Elizabeth said sharply.
"They're spoiled beyond measure."
"I
find them remarkably well behaved," Francis contradicted, eyeing
Elizabeth's dark shape with sudden distaste. He shifted impatiently in the
darkness, beginning to be thankful for the interruption.
"Perhaps
you're right. I haven't been around children much," she returned, quickly
realizing her mistake. She took a step toward Francis, leaning against him
enticingly. "I just didn't expect anyone to follow us."
Francis
stepped away. "Perhaps it's best someone did. I'm afraid I must beg your
pardon, Elizabeth; I'd no right to treat you so. I've no defense save that of a
man overcome by a woman's beauty." He glanced toward the castle door.
"I'd best take you inside now before someone else comes to find us."
He
parted from Elizabeth at the stairs, taking the hand she held out and holding
it briefly. She smiled at him with a look that would have melted any other man,
but he had seen her give that look to whichever of her court happened to be in
favor. He watched her graceful ascension of the stairs, feeling vaguely unclean
when he recalled the passionate scene in the dark garden outside.
Elizabeth
could bring him only the most fleeting of pleasures. She was not the woman for
him. Thank God for whatever providence had sent Evan to find him.
He
wandered down the corridor toward the kitchen buildings. He had eaten little at
dinner; perhaps that was why the wine had gone so quickly to his head. He would
have a bite to eat, then find the Camerons. He was disgusted with his own
company that night.
He
rummaged through the kitchen, finally discovering a loaf of leftover bread.
Tearing off a hunk, he washed it down with a draught of sweet spring water from
the crock.
As
he ate, a daring plan began taking shape in his head. Sweet Jesu, why hadn't he
thought of it before? Quitting the room in haste, he sprinted up the stairs to
the summer parlor where the family was wont to gather after dinner. He shoved
open the door. Jamie and Will were playing chess at a small table, while Janet
sorted threads for her embroidery.
Their
conversation ended abruptly as Francis entered the room. "Where's
Elizabeth?" Janet asked.
Francis
sat down on the settle back, absently toying with the lace at his sleeve.
"She's gone to her room," he said innocently. "By the way, Evan
and I have hatched a plan to go fishing in the morning."
"And
when did he plague you for that scheme?"
"Just
now in the garden. Did you send the boy after me, Janet?"
"No,
Francis, on my honor I did not!"
He
smiled ruefully. "Well, don't scold him, lass. I think he may have done me
a good turn the measure of which I may never fully appreciate."
Jamie
gave a crack of laughter, his eyes twinkling in unholy amusement.
"Francis, lad, that woman means business. You'd best stay out of her way
unless you're ready to give up your freedom."