Sue-Ellen Welfonder - [MacLean 02] (24 page)

“Things are not always as they seem, lass.” He covered her hand with his, gently stroked the tops of her fingers. “’Tis a lesson I have learned the hard way. I would spare you such grief if you will but trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Then put away your doubt and disbelief,” he said, still rubbing her fingers, his warmth flowing into her, comforting her.
Just as she suspected he meant it to do.
And it worked. She was melting . . . swooning beneath his gentle caress. Her cares drifted away, no match for his tender ministrations.
Golden warmth began spreading through her. She ached to reach for him, to draw him close so his warmth and strength could pour even deeper inside her, wrap itself clear around her. She looked at his face then, and saw
compassion brimming in his eyes.
Madeline sighed.
For all his supposed temper and tales of penance,
she
found her Master of the Highlands to be a greathearted man of much depth and caring.
A man capable of untold tenderness and devotion.
Just as she’d known he’d be.
He lifted his hand from hers, brushed the backs of his fingers down the side of her face, along the sloping curve of her neck. “A sky black with smoke will hide much of what lies beneath it, but that doesn’t mean the landscape is no longer there,” he told her, and the way he said it made her pulse quicken again.
He was giving her hope.
And heaven help her, but she was blossoming under it. Even if she had little reason to believe
her
world could be salvaged. She’d seen it extirpated. How could it still be there? Waiting for her beneath her pain.
Her beloved Da yet alive.
Mayhap even needing her now, this very moment.
She looked away, her eyes stinging.
“You did not see your father perish.” Iain touched her cheek, smoothed a hand down her damp hair, clearly trying to gentle the words he knew would distress her.
“Could it be he yet lives?” he coaxed. “Perhaps held prisoner in his own keep?”
“Silver Leg is too cruel to have spared my father’s life,” Madeline said, certain of it. “He enjoys inflicting pain, especially on those unable to challenge him. He loves only gold more. Riches and, mayhap, his two greyhounds.”
“I would ask you to think hard, lass. Search your mind for some reason he may have for keeping your father alive. Think, too, about why he has sent his henchmen to look for you.”
Madeline blinked. “I cannot imagine what he wants of me, nor can I believe he would relinquish the pleasure he’d take in doing what he did to my father.”
“Mayhap we ought to find out if it was truly done as you believe?” Iain suggested, seeming to warm to the idea. Sounding serious. “Aye, I think we should. Mayhap it is time Silver Leg meets a worthier opponent than goatherds and older, ailing men?”
“And how do you think to do that?”
“With my sword arm and my wits.” He leaned forward to drop a kiss on the tip of her disbelieving nose.
“You are but one man,” she said, blushing a bit from the kiss, but still doubtful. “With your friend, Gavin Mac-Fie, you are two. Two men alone cannot effect much against a well-garrisoned castle.”
“It is not good to be so beset with doubt, sweeting,” he said, stroking his fingers in her hair. “That lesson, too, I have learned. Only recently, in fact.”
But she still watched him with disbelief in her lovely eyes, though he did appear to have sparked her interest. He shifted her mind onto other things . . . away from the bad ones. And that, for the moment, was enough.
And it seemed to please him.
’Twas a fine start in the right direction.
“I have two further men with me . . . great brawny lads,” he told her, delighted that he could. For once glad-hearted that Donall had sent along the two hulking seamen.
Now Madeline’s eyes
did
begin to glitter with interest. “Two other men?”
Iain nodded. “The sort who’d enjoy naught better than having this Logie dastard for breakfast and gnawing on his bones for lunch,” he said. “You will meet them on the morrow when we join Gavin and your friend.”
“So you are four.”
“Aye, but I could raise more if my wits don’t fail me . . . and they ne’er do, as I told you.”
“D-dare I hope?” Her voice broke on the words, her eyes glistening suspiciously again.
“Aye, the hope is well-founded, but I cannot promise. Not yet,” he told her true. “Chances are good, though.”
She smiled at that.
A tremulous, watery smile that seemed to embarrass her because she lowered her head, blinking furiously the instant the smile had curved her lips.
“Oh!” she gasped then, and Iain knew immediately
where
her averted gaze had fallen.
He’d
felt
the gaze, too.
“He is at rest, lady sweet.” He sought to ease her embarrassment. “Do not let him trouble you.”
But to his great surprise, she peered closer. And the instant she did, he began to fill and lengthen beneath her keen-eyed scrutiny.
Her gaze riveted on him and she watched in apparent fascination as his maleness swelled and stretched beneath her perusal. “Oh dear saints,” she gasped, her brows shooting upward.
He wasn’t even halfway hard.
Iain smiled.
A wee one, to be sure, but one of the best he’d managed in a long time, and certainly more of a bold smile than any she’d yet seen on him.
And ohhh but it felt good to give it to her.
“Och, aye,
dear
indeed, lassie, and I do not mean what
you
are gazing upon,” he said, taking hold of his length, pinching until the swelling receded.
“Forgive me,” he said, and shrugged his great shoulders. “I suppose he is not as bone-tired as I thought.”
“I did not mind,” she blurted. “See you, I have ne’er—”
“Ne’er seen a man full roused?” he finished for her, and she nodded.
The mere thought, speaking it aloud, had him filling anew. The innocently proffered attest to her virginal state swelled his heart.
Pleased by her innocent curiosity and lack of timidity, Iain carefully applied one of the moss-steeped linens across the backs of her lower calves. He pressed the warm cloth lightly around the raw skin of her ankles; her sigh of pleasure when he did so lifted his spirits even more.
He’d forgotten how good it felt to bring someone pleasure.
Even pleasure of such a simple sort.
He shifted himself on the edge of the bed, savoring her closeness but concentrating on the abraded flesh at her ankles lest a certain part of him attempt to heed its own mind again.
“The sphagnum should work quickly to relieve the pain,” he told her, adjusting the steaming linen to cover the whole of her lower legs. “You shouldn’t notice any discomfort at all upon awakening.”
He began kneading the backs of her calves through the hot cloth, and she sighed again. A soft, contented sigh. Almost a purring sound. Iain’s heart tilted upon hearing it.
Ne’er had any lass purred for him.
Not even Lileas.
And if Madeline Drummond did so simply upon having her calves massaged, the saints knew how sweetly she’d sing upon having other, more sensitive parts of her body lovingly caressed.
But for now the summary of her losses at Abercairn weighed heavier on his mind than delving into such frivolous pursuits, tempting though they might be. Aye, he craved words with her that had more to do with extirpating the blackhearted dastard who’d seized her home than the sweet nothings he hoped to whisper against her ear someday very soon.
Pushing to his feet, he fetched more of the hot linens, this time wrapping the steaming cloths about her wrists. Holding them in place with firm but gentle pressure, he silently cursed the heinous deeds that had given her such cause to weep and hoped the plan that was beginning to take shape in his mind would soon turn her tears to smiles.
A thousand of them for each tear shed.
Chapter Fourteen
L
ONG PAST GLOAMING THE NEXT DAY, Iain reined up before the massive Fortingall yew, an ancient giant of a tree, and purported to be older than time. ’Twas his designated meeting place with Gavin MacFie.
The yew stood dark and noble against the gathering clouds and a swift wind, ripe with the dampness of coming rain whistled through its gnarled, down-spreading branches.
To Iain’s relief, Gavin, the great auburn-haired lout, materialized almost immediately, stepping out of the shadows of a semi-ruinous chapel behind the yew. A sizable enough structure, if in decay, its crumbling stone walls were almost completely hidden by the yew’s incredible girth.
Nella of the Marsh came a pace or two behind him, a curiously anxious look marring her comely brow, but MacFie strode forward and slapped Iain hard on the thigh before he could wonder further about the lady’s apparent distress.
“I have seen that look on a MacLean before,” Gavin declared, his narrow-eyed scrutiny as piercing as the wind.
“A fine and good eve to you, too,” Iain tossed back, dismounting. “And, aye, I suppose you have seen such a look often enough living with MacLeans as you do.”
“Where are the others?” Iain didn’t give the other a chance to spout the words he could almost see dancing on the lout’s waggling tongue.
“You’ve been stricken with the MacLean Bane,” Gavin loosed the words anyway. “I can spot the symptoms ten leagues away.”
“And if I have?” Iain eyed him from beneath down-drawn brows, the edge of his temper beginning to unfurl.
Struggling to douse his annoyance, he lifted Madeline to the ground. “Beardie? Douglas? They are here, too?”
“They are ’round the other side of the old chapel tending the horses,” Gavin said, jerking his head toward the ruined stone wall behind the yew’s red-gleaming trunk. “MacNab sent along mounts for the ladies. Two fine garrons. I promised we’d return them on our journey back to Doon.”
On your journey back to Doon.
“Well met of him,” Iain said aloud. “Did he provide the raiment I requested as well?”
Gavin inclined his head. “Aye, and a-plenty.”
“He is a good friend,” Iain said, truly grateful. “He shall be repaid for his generosity . . . especially if he can raise men to help us retake this lady’s home.”
Gavin’s bearded jaw dropped.
A gasp of surprise issued from Nella’s lips. Her startled gaze flew to Madeline. “You told him?”
“Aye,” Iain answered for her. “Who she is and why the two of you have been traipsing across the heather.”
“So it is to Abercairn rather than St. Fillan’s Healing Pond and Dunkeld?” Gavin blurted, coloring as soon as the blunder left his lips.
Iain’s gaze snapped back to MacFie. “I am done with bathing in sacred pools, and Dunkeld can wait for its relic and gifts.” He studied the other’s reddening face. “Madeline’s father may yet be alive, and if he is, time is crucial. But how did
you
know she hails from Abercairn?”
This time Nella of the Marsh’s cheeks began to tinge. She turned to Madeline, the anxious look in her eyes more pronounced than ever. “Your pardon, lady, but I had to tell him. You ken I ne’er cared for—”
“We must speak of Abercairn,” Gavin said, and slid a warning look at Nella.
“And of MacNab,” Iain said, lifting a hand in greeting to Beardie and Douglas. The seamen were just emerging from behind the chapel ruin, questions on their faces.
“The MacNab is a longtime friend and ally,” Iain began, and all eyes turned on him.
He
aimed a sharp gaze at MacFie. “He has enough men to provide a formidable host of fighting men. Do you think he will lend us their strength?”
Gavin had the ill grace to scratch his beard.
His brows drawing together, Iain turned to the seamen. “And you? What think you?”
They looked from one to the other, uncertainly, but after a few moments of feet shuffling, Beardie cracked his knuckles, and declared, “Aye, sir, I vow he will. The MacNabs e’er relish a good fight. As do I.”
Douglas bobbed his head in agreement.
Iain gave them a curt nod, pleased. “Then I would that you ride hotfoot back to MacNab and bid his help. Tell him we will use a dual attack combined with a ruse,” he explained. “A small number of men will create a disturbance at the castle’s rear wall to distract the garrison, while a larger host simultaneously forces entry through the main gates.”
Pausing, he reached for Madeline’s hand, squeezed it. “I do not believe MacNab will fail us.” To the seamen, he added, “Off with you now, and tell MacNab his men ought arrive at the main gatehouse—and with all haste.”
“As you wish,” they chorused, already going for their mounts.
They’d no sooner swung into their saddles and spurred away, riding fast southward across the rolling terrain of wooded knolls and broken pastureland, than Gavin clapped a hand on Iain’s shoulder.
“MacNab will help,” he said, giving Iain the assurance he secretly craved. “I feel it in my bones. The only question is if they arrive on time.”
“They
must
arrive on time.” Iain wouldn’t consider otherwise. “Logie will not give up Abercairn without a fierce fight.”
“He’ll crave Abercairn’s riches,” Nella put in, stepping forward. “That will be his reason for seizing the castle. Not because its location and strength would benefit the Disinheriteds, but because of greed.”
Iain drew a long breath. He glanced at Madeline and hated how tightly she clasped her hands—so fiercely her knuckles gleamed white. “Madeline told me Logie values gold above all else.”
“It is true,” Madeline spoke up, her face pale as cream in the soft, gloaming light, her eyes mossy green, their gold flecks gone so dark that they were scarce visible.
She went to stand beside the yew, idly tracing the fluted patterns of its flaky red bark as she spoke. “Abercairn has riches beyond gold,” she began, her voice troubled. “There is a secret cache of priceless jewels hidden in my father’s bedchamber. They are sealed deep within the posts of his bed.”
Moistening her lips, she went on, “He collected them from the gem-studded armor and weapons of the fallen English chivalry after Bannockburn. He harvested them on the encouragement of Robert Bruce himself as war booty . . . the King’s appreciation for Drummond sword arms in the battle.”
“So-o-o!” Iain looked up at the darkening sky and blew out a long breath. His heart dipped at the trust she’d displayed by naming the location of such a priceless treasure.
It showed the depth of her regard for him, and that warmed him beyond measure.
“That explains why Silver Leg sent his henchmen looking for you,” he said, glancing back at her, the two men’s faces flashing before his mind’s eye. Chilling his blood. “The dastard will suspect you know the where abouts of any hiding places.”
“And as you see, I do.” She leaned back against the yew’s massive trunk, adjusted her borrowed