Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Chapter 20
On a mist-hung morning a sennight later, Linnet let herself into the tiny herbarium Fergus had grudgingly relinquished to her care. She closed the gate behind her, the screech of its rusty hinges loud and intrusive against the rhythmic whoosh of the tide washing over the shingled beach just beyond the garden’s thick stone walls.
Pushing back her hair, she turned her face skyward. The cool early-morning fog felt good upon her skin, its gentle softness welcome. Healing, too, the rich scent of freshly turned earth and the more pungent sea smells carried on the breeze.
Eager to get on with her work, she scanned the neat row of vegetables and herbs she’d carefully weeded over the past seven days. She’d accomplished much and was pleased with her progress.
If only she could be pleased with her marriage, too.
But, alas, while she could work magic with plants, turning a long-neglected plot of rock-strewn earth and overgrown herbage into a wondrous garden of which the gifted monk, Brother Baldric, would be proud, her talent for nurturing living things seemed to have no effect upon her husband.
She took a deep, cleansing breath but barely had time to release it before she heard a rustling movement in a dark corner of the garden.
“Who goes there?” she called, turning toward the sound.
“‘Tis only me.” Her husband stepped out from the shadows, and Linnet’s heart leapt at the sight of him. His tall warrior’s body, resplendent in his gleaming black hauberk, seemed almost overpoweringly masculine in the morning peace of the small garden. “I came to bid you farewell,” he said.
“Farewell?” Linnet took a step forward. “You said nothing about going away when we awoke this morn. What has happened?”
“Nothing to worry you.” He strode toward her, his plaid slung boldly over his shoulder and not one but two long-bladed daggers thrust beneath his low-slung belt.
“Then why are you so armed?” Linnet frowned at the extra knives, a telling precaution that matched the grim set of his jaw. She also noted that his deep blue eyes had darkened to a shade very close to the steel mesh of his mail shirt and appeared equally cold.
“An extra blade or two is ne’er a bad idea,” he said, almost upon her. “For sure, after the trouble at the Murchinsons.”
“Oh, dear.” Linnet swallowed, very much aware of the coiled power and strength he held so masterfully in check, and the anger simmering below the surface of his tightly controlled demeanor.
Feeling chilled, she waited until he reached her before she voiced her suspicion.
“Is it Kenneth?”
“Aye.” As if unconsciously, Duncan’s hand strayed to the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Leastways, it would seem so. I’ve received word from my friend and ally, John MacLeod, that Kenneth has been harassing the kinsmen who dwell on the outmost fringes of MacKenzie land. The MacLeod is a good man and doesn’t spread false rumors. He would not have sent a warning if the danger was not earnest. I shall leave with a patrol shortly.”
“I see.” Linnet tamped down her ill ease at his confirmation of what she’d feared and simply nodded. He needn’t carry her worry with him when he rode through the castle gates.
“All will be well, lass.” Duncan held her gaze. “Dinnae fash yourself.”
“I will try.” Keeping her tone as calm as she could manage, she added, “May God go with you, my lord.”
A flare of something indefinable sparked in his eyes, and he touched her face, letting the backs of his fingers glide down the curve of her cheek. “It would please me more if He remained here to watch over you.”
A tingling shiver of pleasure rippled through her at his unexpected gentleness, but the gravity of his journey didn’t allow her the luxury of considering the implications of the simple but tender gesture. Instead, she hitched up the hem of her kirtle to display the sharp knife Dundonnell’s smithy had given her. As she usually preferred, she wore it tucked into the top of her boot.
“You see, I am also prepared.” She straightened and met his gaze. “I am not afraid of your half brother,” she said, letting her skirt drop back into place. “Nor will I hesitate to use my blade if need be.”
“Lady…” He grasped her upper arms and squeezed, his fingers like bands of iron, firm and strong, yet incredibly comforting, his warmth reaching through her sleeves and chasing away the chill that curled around her since the mention of Kenneth.
“May you ne’er come close to the bastard again,” he vowed.
“I am a fine shot with a crossbow as well,” she told him, alarmed by the tension thrumming through him. It sprang from his hands and entered her blood, a living, crackling sensation as wild and furious as the heavens gripped in the talons of a fierce summer storm.
Deliberately keeping her voice light in the hope she could ease, at least, his concern for her, she boasted, “Not one of my brothers can best me.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye.” She stood straighter. “They tried often enough.”
Her bravura was rewarded by a flash of amusement in his eyes and the upward turn of the corner of his lips. Not quite a smile and so fleeting she may have imagined it, but for the brief instant the almost-smile touched his handsome face, the power of it had flared so bright it fair blinded her.
And certainly set her needy heart to thumping.
“Can it be you jest me, lass?”
“Not at all,” she said, emboldened by his not-quite-a-smile smile and hoping to assure him of the truth of her claims.
No sooner did the words leave her lips, did his expression grow stony again. Letting go of her, he said, “I dinnae care if you can shoot the tail off the devil. You shall remain within these walls. I’ll no’ have you wandering about and inviting trouble. I’ve ordered a guard to stand watch at your door, and I deem it best I escort you there now.”
“Surely I am safe in the garden?”
Rather than answer her, Duncan remained silent, his lips thinning into a tight look of displeasure – or disapproval.
The same closed-face look she’d observed each time he’d caught her heading for the little herbarium. The last whirling eddies of pleasure his presence always seemed to set loose in her fizzled out, his dark mood vanquishing them as swiftly as two fingers can snuff out a smoldering candlewick.
“I like it here. Tending the garden gives me purpose.” She gestured toward the neat rows of newly planted herbs. “I came to prepare an elixir for Sir Marmaduke. The ragwort poultices I’ve been giving him have worked so well, it is my hope an elixir will benefit him even more.” On impulse, she laid a hand on his arm. “Have you not noticed the change?”
“Aye, I have.” A grudging smile slowly spread across his face, transforming it and stealing her breath. “If I hadn’t, the vain blackguard would have made certain I notice.”
“Then you are pleased?”
“You have done fine work here.” He smoothed a lock of hair off her face, and let his fingers skim along the line of her neck. A tender, gentle touch, light as a breeze but mighty enough to curl her toes and send a wash of pleasurable sensations spilling through her. “As for Marmaduke, the swelling around his missing eye has all but receded, and I am mightily impressed with your talent. Still, if you must work with herbs, I’d rather you collect them from the brothers at the abbey than grow them here.”
“But why?” Linnet glanced around the little garden. It was just beginning to look well tended – loved – again. “I’ll admit the garden needs much care, but I do not mind. The work is a pleasure to me, a joy. Your mother-”
“Who spoke of my mother?” Duncan cut her off, his fingers stilling their pleasure-spending caress.
“No one, except, that is…” Linnet stammered, confused. “Fergus said she’d cared for the garden and I thought, since it’s gone so long untended, you’d appreciate-”
“It went untended on my orders.”
Linnet blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“Nae, you do not and cannot.” Stepping away from her, Duncan strode to the gate, where he remained standing with his back to her, his hand resting on the rusty latch.
Linnet stiffened at the cold dismissal she read in his stance. But something about the way he lingered, hesitating as if waiting for her to come forward, made her go to him.
“I would like to understand, Duncan,” she said softly, unaccustomed to using his given name. But somehow it felt right on her tongue.
“Och, lass.” He rested his arm about her shoulders and drew her near. Yet his touch felt awkward, stiff and wooden, as if holding her close made him uncomfortable. “You have naught to do but have a care when here. And I shall have your word you ken each and every plant, every seed, that grows here.”
“But, of course.” She pulled back to look at him, surprised. “I’ve been familiar with herbs since before I could walk, or nearly so. I assure you there is not a single plant here that can be used for anything but good.”
“And so I wish it shall remain.”
“Do you worry I would cause someone ill?” A chill swept her at the possibility he could think so poorly of her. “Never would I-”
“It is not you I distrust,” he said, cupping her chin in his large hand. “’Tis only that unhappy memories linger here and spoil this place for me.” He paused as if weighing his words before he continued. “My mother and sister both died of tainted food. It was believed the poison came from this garden.”
“Merciful saints!” Linnet’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Surely it was an accident?”
Her husband waited a moment before he answered. “I cannae say. Naught could be proven, for the person we suspected perished before any questions could be raised.”
“I did not know.” She paused to wet her lips. “If it pleases you, I shall abandon my work here.”
He hesitated, then smoothed his knuckles lightly over her cheek. “Nae. Perhaps it is time the garden once more enjoys the attentions of a gentle lady.”
Linnet nodded, too moved by his unexpected tenderness to speak.
Without warning, he stepped closer and took her face between the palms of his hands. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers in an achingly sweet kiss, its gentleness melting her. Then, even as she leaned into him, parting her lips to gladly accept a deeper, more urgent kiss, he released her and was gone.
She remained where she stood, her fingers pressed lightly to her still-tingling lips, until the sound of his receding footsteps was swallowed by the morning fog.
* * *
Shakenand awed by the force of passionate need Duncan’s kiss had unleashed deep inside her, Linnet bent to pluck several fat snails from a newly cleared bed of mint and thyme. Perhaps her nightly efforts to breach the barriers he held against her were having effect?
She couldn’t deny the tenderness of his parting kiss nor the concern that had laced his words only moments ago.
Did he suspect how she’d lain awake night after night, waiting for him to settle into a deep sleep? Had he sensed her tracing the noble lines of his face with the backs of her fingers? Had he feigned sleep while she tenderly explored his hard-planed warrior’s body with her questing hands?
For only then, in the quiet dark, did she dare hope to gentle him with the softness of her touch. To win his heart when he was unwary and perhaps too tired from the day’s toils to resist her affection.
Only then did she allow herself to dream.
Straightening, she wiped her hands on her apron. Faith, but she’d grown bold. Each night she’d become more daring, first stroking his hair, then moving on to the breadth of his shoulders, and finally caressing the rock-solid muscles of his arms.
Once, she’d even smoothed her fingertips down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, stopping just short of the thick black hair that sheltered his manhood.
There, her fingers had hovered while tingles raced up her arm, surging through her, alighting her senses, before pooling in the depths of her belly. The sensations had warmed her, urged her to explore that most masculine and mysterious part of him.
But she’d resisted, pulling back her hand as if she’d been scorched.
Too frightened of his possible reaction and too unsure of herself to risk discovery.
She winced at the idea of his awakening to find her running her hands over him, exploring his body. She couldn’t imagine his reaction, but knew he’d not appreciate her boldness. He’d made no secret of his intent to keep himself from her.
Yet he’d come to the garden to bid her farewell, shown her gentleness she wouldn’t have dreamed possible, voiced his desire to know her safe.
That gave her hope.
Suddenly, a thick sheaf of hair slipped forward and fell across her eyes. With well-practiced ease, she tucked it in place and sighed. If only she had more to commend her than her supposedly bonnie tresses. Not that she considered her hair as lovely as some claimed.
Ne’er would it stay properly coifed, being far too unruly for the plaits Elspeth so painstakingly arranged each morn. The day was yet so young and already Elspeth’s handiwork had come undone. Aye, her tresses were difficult to tame. And its color was far too immodest a red, a shade better suited to a woman of lesser morals. Or, as he da oft accused, a sorceress.
Had fate been kind, she would’ve been blessed with her sisters’ quiet beauty. Instead, she’d been born with a plain face and errant locks, lips much too full, and skin, while smooth enough, marred by freckles inherited from her sire.
A drunken lout of a man who’d surely revel in the stinging humiliation she’d found by coming to care for a man who didn’t want her as a husband should. She craved more than tender kisses. She burned to experience true passion, a total abandonment to the fires her husband ignited inside her. Aye, her da would roar with laughter if he could see her now, yearning for Duncan MacKenzie’s favor.
For despite his concern for her well-being, her husband’s only true interest in her was the answer to the question he posed every morning and every night.
She’d remained silent, keeping her secret even as he fell into sullenness over her apparent failure to see the truth he sought.
Then, with each rising sun, she awoke with new hope.
Hope for herself, and hope for Robbie.
Yet with the coming of the night, she went to bed knowing her attempts to please had been ineffective regardless of what she did. Her efforts to make him want her and to acknowledge, unconditionally, his love for his son, remained futile.
With a mumbled curse, full-bodied enough to have made her brothers proud, she kicked a stone out of her way, then strode straight for the haven of the little stone workshop built against the garden’s seaward wall.
Here, and with the lad, Robbie, she found solace.