Authors: Heartstorm
He
placed a bucket of fresh water on the chest, then straightened, crossing his
arms and leaning his shoulders against the door facing. His appraising look
traveled slowly from her disheveled hair to her naked shoulders, bringing a
flush of embarrassment to her cheeks. "Good morning, love," he said
with a lazy smile.
She
drew the blanket more tightly about her shoulders, unaccountably tongue-tied
after their passion in the night.
"You
might at least give me a smile, lass," he teased. "'Tis expected the
morning after."
She
felt her face redden again, but she smiled in answer to his broad grin.
"I'm afraid I don't yet know what's expected. But give me time and I'll
learn."
He
moved toward her, stopping to remove the hide covering from the window, sending
sunlight and fresh air to flood the room. "I covered the window to keep
the sun from waking you," he explained, dropping to his knees beside her.
"I thought it the least I could do after keeping you awake most of the
night."
"I
don't think you heard me complaining, m'lord—then or now."
Francis
leaned forward and kissed her, his warm lips moving over hers ever so gently as
his strong fingers stroked the tangle of hair back from her face. She closed
her eyes, reveling in the tenderness of his touch, his gentleness more
reassuring than all the passion of the night before.
"I
love you, Anne MacKinnon... and I want you for my wife as soon as may be,"
he murmured, cupping her face between his hands while his eyes caressed her
face.
She
returned his look silently, all her fears for him suddenly returning. Hadn't he
told her weeks before that Glenkennon might use her to hurt him? Because of his
love for her, Francis would be vulnerable, and between the two of them
Glenkennon and Campbell might yet destroy him. She tore her eyes from his,
wishing she could be light and self-assured, hoping her words would not
stumble.
"You've
no need to wed me, Francis. I don't expect it because of last night." She
raised her chin, forcing herself to look at him evenly. "I've no
regrets."
He
released her and rocked back on his heels, struggling to control his amusement.
"I'm glad of it, lass. I'd like your conscience clear tonight."
At
her startled expression, he gave up the struggle, and his rich laugh echoed
through the room. "God's foot, lass! Are you telling me you'll not have
me? I never thought I'd have to drag my wife kicking and screaming before the
Kirk."
He
rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "I've a confession to make: I lied to
you yesterday. I'll have you to wife reluctant or no'. I've spent too much time
and energy pursuing you to let you go now."
"You
know what I mean, Francis." She dropped her eyes, her fingers nervously
smoothing the blanket between them. "What will you do when Campbell talks
of me... when he flaunts that night, as you know he will?"
His
hand captured her fingers. "He'll never have the chance," he said
abruptly.
At
the sudden change in his voice, she glanced up. The laughter had fled his face,
and his blue eyes were dark and hard as a frozen mountain tarn. "Campbell
won't live out the fortnight, nor will any other who slanders you."
"But
that's just what I don't want, Francis!" she said desperately. "I
don't want you to fight him. That's why I hated to tell you." Her fingers
clutched his. "Promise me you'll not go after him, Francis. Promise
me!"
"I
can't promise you that, lass, but I promise we'll talk of it later." He
caught her face gently between his hands, forcing her to look at him.
She
was acutely aware of the feel of each separate finger against her skin, of the
way the tiny lines crinkled the brown skin at the corners of his eyes. She had
never loved him more. Lifting her hand, she traced his hard mouth with
trembling fingers. "I won't have you shamed because of me, Francis,"
she whispered. "I'll not wed you."
He
shook his head impatiently. "You bear no shame for what happened, Anne.
You were raped by a man who took you by virtue of his greater strength. God
save us, it's a common enough happening! There are many women in Scotland and
elsewhere who've been used against their will—and I fear the practice will
continue as long as law is a matter of whoever's strongest."
She
swallowed heavily, forcing herself to voice the last sickening fear that held
her back. "But what if I'm with child?" she whispered, unable to look
at him as she said the words.
"The
child will be mine," he replied without hesitation. "You've no need
to fear I'd turn you away because of that."
She
closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Francis had recognized her fear before
she had given it voice.
His
hands dropped to her shoulders and his words grew teasing again. "It's
rare for a lass to be caught with a bairn on her first try. I'm thinkin' we'd
best give you more practice."
Her
eyes flew to his, which were trained on the curve of her breast where the
blanket had slipped a few inches. He brushed a knuckle across the exposed
fullness, and she clutched the blanket tighter. "Hadn't you better see to
Leven?" she murmured.
"I
took care of him while you slept away the morning."
"What
about your snares? We'll be hungry by dinner time."
"I've
taken care of all my chores and have naught to do till evening but see to your
pleasure," he said with a lazy grin. He bent toward her, nuzzling the
delicate lobe of her ear. "Besides, I'm hungry now..."
"Francis,
it's day!" she gasped, feeling timid and uncomfortable at the thought of
making love in the glaring light.
He
slid the blanket from her shoulders. She attempted to cover herself, but he
caught her wrists, holding them firmly at her sides. The blanket dropped to her
waist, and she blushed to the roots of her hair beneath the heat of his gaze.
'"Tis
a sin to cover such beauty, lass," he whispered thickly. Leaning forward,
he bent her back onto the tangle of twisted blankets and fragrant grass and
kissed her until she forgot the daylight.
***
The
days in the secret glen passed so quickly, Anne could scarcely credit the proof
of her senses when each one ended. She and Francis swam together in the icy
waters of the sun-dappled pool, and he taught her to fish using such makeshift
implements that they both collapsed in hilarity when she actually landed a
shimmering, silver trout. He taught her to use a dirk and the secret of
slipping through the forest as quietly as a deer, though she knew she could
never hope to emulate his skills.
She
grew to welcome the coming of the velvet night when they made love beneath the
stars with the cool winds caressing their heated bodies. When the weather was
inclement, they drowsed together beside the fire, lying contentedly in each
other's arms as they listened to the rain drip from the trees outside.
With
a cheerful disregard for the discomfort of her living conditions, Anne wished
the days might go on forever. The monotony of their diet and the lack of a
change of clothing were a small price to pay for her happiness, for Francis was
hers, body and soul. She loved the open, unguarded expression on his face, the
tenderness of his hands, the way his man's body responded to her naked form.
She
learned to please him in a hundred little ways, repeatedly marveling at the
pleasure they brought each other. She no longer felt any hesitancy when he
reached for her—just an eagerness rivaling his own, which set the flames
dancing in the depths of his eyes.
In
her heart she knew he would never again be hers so completely. She longed to
keep him there, away from Camereigh, from duty, from the world which waited
outside the protective circle of the bog to destroy them. But she knew the
world would not be kept waiting forever.
***
It
was a dreary evening of wind and wet, the icy rain reminding Francis and Anne
that autumn was not far away. They had eaten a hearty dinner and made love
beside the fire, finally falling asleep to the muffled sound of rain on the
roof.
Francis
slept lightly, as he always did, but shortly after midnight the sound of a
horse whinnying in the distance set his senses on the alert. Every nerve
strained as he listened for further sounds, but nothing could be heard save the
steady drip of rain and the mournful sighing of the wind through the trees.
Anne
lay soft and warm in his arms, sleeping deeply after their play a few hours
earlier. Unable to resist the temptation, he ran his lips along the creamy expanse
of her throat, breathing in her sweet scent once more before awakening her.
"Wake
up, love," he whispered. "I fear we may have company." At his
words she was instantly awake. She clung to him a moment, then rose and began
slipping into her clothing without a sound.
Francis
dressed hurriedly in his shirt and breeks, placing his dirk in his belt and
picking up his sword. "I think I heard a horse, but I can't be sure,"
he explained, tugging on his boots. "I'd best see to it, though. You stay
here and be quiet unless you hear anything unusual. If you do, slip out the
window and hide in the thicket along the burn." He drew her into his arms
and kissed her lightly, then slipped out the door into the night.
The
sound of the rain muffled all noise of his passage as Francis moved quickly
between the trees. The cold rain fell unheeded against his face, sliding down
the rugged planes of his cheek to run wetly into the corners of his mouth. So
attuned were his instincts to raiding in the dark wet of a Highland night, that
he first felt, rather than saw, the shadowy figure crouched beside a tiny,
spitting fire.
Holding
his sword at the ready, he circled behind the man, moving cautiously between
the ghostly, skeleton-white trunks of the shivering birches. He paused within
ten feet of the intruder. "Have you a strong desire to get your throat
slit, man, or have your wits simply been addled by too much whiskey?" he
demanded.
Lowering
his sword, Francis moved boldly into the stranger's line of vision. "I've
never known you to be so careless, Donald. You should know better than to come
up on me unannounced in the dark."
Donald
gazed at him unmoved. "Frankly lad, I've some knowledge of your nature.
I'm no' such a fool as to come upon you and the lass in the middle of the night,
and me unexpected as I am. I've no wish to embarrass myself," he stated
dryly.
Francis
grinned and squatted down beside his friend. "I take it there's no trouble
at Camereigh or you'd not be sitting out here so calmly, delicate sensibilities
or no'."
"Nay,
lad, there's no trouble, but it's been close on a fortnight and we'd seen
naught of you." He studied Francis narrowly. "At the very least I
expected you to be uncommon tired of rabbit and trout and much in need of a wee
dram of spirits."
Francis
rubbed his wet cheek in amazement. "Has it been that long? I've not kept
track of the time."
"And
is that the way of it now, lad?" Donald asked with a low chuckle.
"Shall I leave you with the food and spirits and be on my way?"
Francis
reached for the flask Donald raised and took a long pull of the fiery whiskey.
It was a well-aged brew, and he savored the mellow warmth of the blend as he
shook his head.
"No.
We'd best be on our way on the morrow." He squinted into the mizzling
rain. "I can see you'd the wit to bring a spare mount. Thanks be to God
for that."
"Aye.
Conall told me the girl had no horse." Donald paused, then cleared his
throat uneasily. "How is the lass?"
"She's
fine... now," Francis said, taking another drink. "Glenkennon
attempted to force a marriage on her and Campbell was only too eager to act the
bridegroom." He stared at the flask with brooding eyes. "It's my own
fault," he said heavily. "I should never have left her with that
devil so long."
Scowling
darkly, Donald reached for the flask and took a drink. "When do we ride
for Dunbarton?"
"As
soon as I get Anne safely to Camereigh and you and Conall discover me a
minister." Francis slapped Donald on the shoulder, a boyish smile
lightening the gravity of his face. "Would you care to attend a wedding,
man?"
"God
help the poor lassie an she be forced to wed the likes of you. A lass like her
coulda done much better, I'm thinkin'."
"More
talk like that and I will send you away," Francis said with a laugh.
"Come on, man, bring your food and whiskey, and let's get out of this
damned rain!"
They
sheltered the horses as best they could before entering the hut. Inside, there
was no sign of Anne, and Francis gazed about in surprise. While Donald knelt to
blow up the dying coals, he opened the door and called her name into the
darkness.
After
a tense moment, Anne appeared, her face and hair running wet with rain, her
clothes plastered revealingly to the contours of her body. She clasped a
wicked-looking dirk tightly in one shivering hand and gazed at him questioningly.
"It's
only Donald, lass, come with food and spirits and a mind to keep me from
mistreating you. Come inside and dry off. What in heaven's name are you doing
out in the rain?"