Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Chapter 3
All through the night, fragments from Linnet’s most unsettling girlhood dream plagued her, robbing her of sleep and alarming her more than if she’d been visited by a thousand nightmares.
Images of a mortally wounded stag, black with its own blood, its heart torn from its body, rose in her mind, and she relived the shocking scene she’d endured on the day of her last unmarried sister’s wedding.
She’d fled the drunken merrymakers at the ceilidh celebrating Caterine’s nuptials, escaping to Dundonnell’s bailey where the vision overtook her at the courtyard well. Ne’er had she suspected she was seeing her own betrothed.
As vividly as then, Linnet saw herself nearing the stag, hoping to ease its pain. But before she could help, the animal had transformed itself into a man. A fierce-looking but handsome warrior, and like the stag, he was covered with blood, his heart missing. The man had stared at her with pain-filled eyes, beseeching her to help him. He’d reached out to her, but terror had consumed her, and she’d run away.
As she must run now, for the frightful creature was nigh upon her. She could almost feel his bloodied hands on her flesh. With a scream, she came awake. The image that greeted her was almost more upsetting than her long-ago vision.
Duncan MacKenzie straddled her, his iron-hard thighs pressed tight against her hips. His broad shoulders loomed above her, and light from the moon glinted off his dark hair. And he was unclothed – fully naked!
Linnet’s pulse quickened, and an unexpected thrill of excitement shot through her at the feel of his warm, well-muscled body so intimately close to hers.
“Saints, Maria, and Joseph, lass,” he swore then, his breath coming hard and fast, his rough words breaking the spell, reminding her who he was. “I thought you’d ne’er stop fighting me,” he panted. “’Tis trying to calm you I was, no’ harm you.”
Calm her? Linnet blinked. How could she be calm with that partof him mere inches from her belly?
Slowly, her wits cleared, and the remaining dread from reliving the vision eased out of her. But these strange new sensations increased. A pleasurable ache began deep inside her, its center low in her abdomen near where the MacKenzie’s male parts almost touched her. Then that part of her started pulsing, and she knew.
’Twas desire she felt.
Her first stirrings of passion – and ignited by a MacKenzie!
Indignation ripped through her, followed by an alarming thought. Did he feel the same things he’d awakened in her? Her gaze flew to his face, and she saw that he did. He still scowled, but the look in his eyes revealed his lust.
As did the rigid shaft of his manhood, no longer relaxed, but boldly riding hard against the darkness of his groin.
Linnet squirmed to break free of him. “Release me! I dinnae need this kind of calming.”
“Ho, Duncan! Is aught amiss?” came a deep voice from the far side of the camp.
“Nae, all is well,” the MacKenzie called back. “The lass had a bad dream. ’Tis over now.”
And Linnet had to agree…
The heat she’d glimpsed in his eyes a moment before had vanished, but his frown remained. “Sssshh,” he warned her, placing his fingers over her lips. “I willnae have you waking my men with your cries. They need their rest.”
Releasing her at last, he pushed to his feet. Though he gave her a look of greatly taxed patience, a muscle jerked in his jaw and revealed the effort his stone-faced expression cost him.
“Can you return to sleep?” he wanted to know, seemingly unaware or uncaring that his manhood yet gave proof of what had just transpired between them.
“Aye.” Linnet nodded and hoped the saints would forgive her the lie. Relief filled her when he nodded back, then left her to return to his own sleeping place on the other side of the low-burning fire.
Again and again as she awaited the dawn, she’d cast furtive glances at her betrothed as he slept – half expecting him to shapeshift into a mortally wounded stag, black with its own blood. Or that he’d roll to face her, and she’d see a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be.
Or worse, that she’d drift to sleep, then awaken to find him crouched over her again – naked.
But he’d not stirred, sleeping on, while she’d spent the remainder of the night beseeching the saints to grant her the fortitude she’d need to wed the man whose disturbing image had haunted her girlhood nightmares.
Now, as they rode through the rain toward the MacKenzie stronghold, she huddled deeper into her cloak, seeking whatever warmth the threadbare garment would give her.
But it wasn’t truly physical comfort she sought. Since her da had e’er spent what meager funds he had on stocking Dundonnell’s stores of ale and throwing raucous ceilidhs for his friends, she’d never worn anything but handed-down gowns of thin, scratchy linen or wool. She’d learned long ago to ignore the blisters caused by ill-fitting passed-along shoes.
Nae, bodily discomfort did not bother her overmuch. And, despite the lashing wind off the loch and the pelting rain with its bone-chilling damp, her betrothed held her securely before him, shielding her well from the elements.
Turning her head to the side, she stared out across the storm-tossed water, but the landscape of sea, loch, and islands was little more than a silver-gray blur as the MacKenzie’s great steed carried them at a thundering pace along the shingle-lined edge of the loch.
From the distant shore, a seabird trilled to its mate. The lonely sound drove home her own forlorn state of mind. While the solitary bird sought to call through the mists to its partner, hers could not be nearer yet ne’er had she felt more alone.
Perhaps, under other circumstances, time would have erased her grudges against the MacKenzies. If she looked deep into her soul, she knew most of the sharp reprisals they’d suffered upon her clan had usually been dealt after the MacDonnells had gone raiding, and not before.
And ne’er without cause.
Her soon-to-be husband was stern, and sparse with words, but he did not seem the ruthless man she’d expected.
In time, she knew he could teach her about passion.
But she didn’t know if she could live with his face. If she could ever look upon him and not see his chest ripped open, his heart missing.
Uncomfortable with the strange and conflicting feelings he stirred within her, especially those he’d aroused in the night, she squirmed, and immediately, he tightened his grip on her. The feel of his mail-covered chest so close against her back and his hard-muscled thighs pressing so intimately against hers made her belly go all soft and mushy again. As they rode on, she grew acutely aware of every place their bodies touched.
With a weary hand, she brushed aside the rivulets of rain coursing down her forehead. Secretly, she welcomed the cooling wetness, for her cheeks had grown hot. Squinting, she tried to peer through the drifting sheets of fog, and at the same moment, the mists parted, revealing a massive keep on an island in the middle of the loch and still some miles away.
The imposing castle could only be Eilean Creag, her new home.
Forbidding walls of gray stone rose straight up from the dark waters of Loch Duich and she caught a brief glimpse of a stone causeway leading to the heavily fortified stronghold before the mists engulfed the bridge once more, making the castle appear as if it were floating above the loch.
Aptly named for the island of rock it stood upon, Eilean Creag presented itself as a gray and solemn mass of stone isolated from the rest of the world.
A dead place, void of life and love.
Even at a distance, Linnet’s gift let her sense the cold hanging over the austere castle Duncan MacKenzie called home. Its chill enveloped her like a shroud.
An empty chill that had nothing to do with the foul weather, an impression so intense it lifted the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Indeed, she feared none but the most barren of souls could survive in such a place.
Abruptly and without warning, Duncan reined in his horse as a single rider bore down on them from the direction of the castle. Linnet resisted the urge to cross herself as the rider neared and she recognized him.
St. Margaret stay her by – ’twas the one called Marmaduke.
Despite the unease she felt toward the MacKenzie, she pressed herself back against his chest. Although she knew her fear of the disfigured knight was unfounded, his fearsome visage filled her with trepidation.
A sidelong glance at Elspeth did nothing to ease her mind. She could not expect help from that quarter. Seemingly impervious to her soaked garments, the old woman beamed at the squire, Lachlan, and several MacKenzie guardsmen, listening eagerly to their tales of Sir Duncan’s heroic adventures with the good King Robert Bruce.
Linnet caught boasts of how the Black Stag had rallied the contingent of Highlanders prior to the king’s great victory at Bannockburn. According to his men, her betrothed had persuaded the chiefs to abandon their feuds in the face of their common enemy, then helped the Bruce to train the men who would form the king’s own battle division.
It was doubtful the well-loved king had required her betrothed’s assistance in dealing with the Highlanders, but that wasn’t near as far-fetched as his men’s claims he’d used nothing but a battle-ax to best twenty English knights who’d seized Scotland’s most sacred relics from the Abbot of Inchaffray. And, of course, the Black Stag had fought his way back to the Bruce’s side, returning the king’s precious reliquary box, unharmed.
Linnet frowned, just listening to the tales. Worse, her beloved childhood nurse appeared totally unaware of her distress. Elspeth had let the bonnie faces and glib tongues of the MacKenzie men bewitch her.
“Were you successful?” Her betrothed’s deep voice sounded behind her, tearing her attention away from Elspeth. The one-eyed knight had drawn up before them. “I expected you sooner.”
“The chest was locked, and Fergus took his bloody time fetching the key.” Marmaduke fixed Linnet with a sharp look from his good eye, then patted a leather satchel fastened to the back of his saddle. “I regret the delay. I meant to make haste because of the rain, but I’ve brought all you desired.”
“Good so, and it is well you reached us before we neared the gates.” Duncan’s hands suddenly grasped Linnet’s waist. “Will you help the lady dismount?”
“It would be an honor.” The battle-scarred knight swung down from his horse and strode forward.
Then, before Linnet could utter a word of protest, Duncan lifted her in midair, passing her into Marmaduke’s upraised hands. The fierce warrior knight did not toss her over his shoulder and abduct her as she’d half feared, but deposited her most gently on her feet. He even made her a low bow.
“Sir Marmaduke Strongbow, my lady,” he said in a voice too chivalrous to match his frightening appearance. “I am pleased to be of service to you.”
Linnet gasped upon hearing his voice clearly for the first time.
Sir Marmaduke was a Sassunach!
Surprise made it impossible for her to do more than nod in answer. An Englishman. Ne’er had she seen one, and she couldn’t imagine why the MacKenzie would have a Sassunach in his guard.
Shivering with cold, she watched Sir Marmaduke lift Elspeth from the gray mare. He held the stout woman as if she weighed no more than a sack of bog cotton and carried her to where Linnet stood, setting her down with great gentleness. After bowing to Elspeth, too, he returned to his steed and retrieved the large leather satchel.
The MacKenzie also dismounted and joined him. While Sir Marmaduke held the pouch open, her betrothed glanced inside and nodded in apparent approval. Linnet watched him pull a length of fine dark blue wool and pair of half boots out of the satchel. He laid the wool over his arm and made straight for her.
“This cloak belonged to my sister,” he said. “Remove the sodden one you wear, and I shall fasten this one about your shoulders. It is better made than yours and should keep you warm and dry for the remainder of the journey.”
Beyond where they stood, she saw the Sassunach help Elspeth out of her own drenched mantle and assist her in donning a dry one almost as fine as the one her betrothed held ready for her.
Shame and guilt flooded Linnet. The one-eyed knight had departed so hurriedly yestereve to fetch raiments for her and Elspeth.
And on the MacKenzie’s orders.
Despite the chill rain and the soggy arisaid she’d insisted on draping over the new cloak, heat spread up her neck. She hadn’t imagined her husband-to-be capable of thoughtfulness. She’d only noted the emptiness he carried inside and had cringed in terror upon recognizing his face.
She’d been unjust to the scar-faced Sassunach, too. Regardless of the reason he found himself in the Highlands, far from his native land, he’d proven himself a gallant and she’d thank him for his good deed.
As for the MacKenzie, she’d thank him, too, but reserve further judgment until she understood his motive. Perhaps he didn’t want his people to see her own lowly garments when she entered his hall?
“These are newly crafted,” he said then, handing her the footgear. “If they do not fit, I’ll order another pair made for you.”
Linnet glanced at her scuffed shoes, embarrassed to see her big toe poking through the worn and cracked leather. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, exchanging the butter-soft boots for her old slippers.
“It is no’ necessary to thank me.” His voice sounded flat, void of emotion. He nodded toward Elspeth. “If you’re both prepared to continue, we will ride on. We are nigh upon Eilean Creag.”
Although the fine cloak shielded her well from the rain and wind as they rode along the shore, it did nothing to protect her from her growing sense of unease.
While the forbidding stone castle loomed larger with every mile they covered, Duncan MacKenzie seemed to grow more distant the closer they came to his home. The barrier of ice Linnet sensed he’d built around himself intensified, becoming colder, more impenetrable, now that they had almost reached his formidable domain.
Linnet drew her new cloak tighter, shivered as if it were the dead of winter and not midsummer.
She prayed silently as the heavily burdened horses clattered under the raised portcullis of a fortified gatehouse and continued across a long stone causeway to the island fortress.
The atmosphere was bleak, dismal, and pressed in on her from all sides. Again, she suppressed the urge to flee. Yet, even if she could spring from the MacKenzie’s mighty horse, where would she go? On the other side of the low bridge, the dark waters of Loch Duich churned angrily, while strong gusts of wind sent low, rain-leaden clouds scuttling across the loch’s wind-whipped surface.
Undoubtedly Eilean Creag would appear more majestic than gloomy on a fairer day, but to Linnet, the somber gray of its massive walls and the evening’s murkiness seemed a most appropriate home for the solemn-faced man she must wed.
At the end of the causeway, they paused before the final gatehouse, a massive twin-towered structure, while yet another portcullis rattled upward. Linnet’s spirits sank lower as they rode beneath the steel-tipped spikes and into the yawning darkness of a tunnel-like passage.
Her breath caught in her throat, near choking her, at her first glimpse of the keep itself. It stood across a cobbled bailey, grim and unwelcoming.
A stone fortress on an island of stone, ruled by a man whose heart had turned to stone – if indeed he still had one.
Linnet had her doubts for an air of unhappiness, powerful enough to crush anyone’s heart and soul pervaded Eilean Creag. The oppressive atmosphere bore heavily on her shoulders, the sheer strength of it making her almost physically ill.
Not a soul stirred within the courtyard or near the outbuildings clustered around the outer walls as they rode across the cobbled courtyard, halting at the keep’s broad steps. Duncan MacKenzie quickly dismounted, plucked her from his horse, and set her down beneath an arched entrance bearing the MacKenzie coat of arms.
As if in a hurry to be rid of her, he let go of her immediately and mounted the steps. At the top, he opened a large, iron-studded door, then turned to face her.
“Lachlan will take you to Robbie,” he said. “I would speak with you in my solar after you’ve seen him.”
Linnet opened her mouth to reply, but he’d already stepped into the gloom beyond the door. She followed him, entering a dimly lit vaulted hall of enormous proportions. Without further acknowledgment of her presence, he strode past rows of trestle tables and benches, hastened through a knot of servants busily decorating the raised dais at the far end of the hall, and then disappeared up a shadowy stairwell.
Speechless at being abandoned in a yet-strange hall, Linnet stared after him, grateful the sputtering rush torches did not provide enough light for those present to see how her cheeks flamed at his callous dismissal.
She bristled. Whether the arrangement pleased either of them or nae, she was entitled to be treated with civility. Apparently her husband-to-be considered a warm cloak and newly cobbled shoes an adequate nod to the codes of decency.
“It’s no’ personal, my lady. He hasn’t been himself for a long time,” his squire, Lachlan, said, stepping up beside her. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where you may refresh yourself. After you’ve had a light meal, I’ll take you to Robbie.”
Elspeth joined them, placing her hands gently on Linnet’s shoulders. “Dinnae look so lost, child. You’ve carried yourself so well thus far. Unless my perception is failing me, the man’s behavior just now has nothing to do with you. Simply be yourself, and all will be well.”
“I hope you’re right,” Linnet replied, more to herself than to Elspeth. “For the love of St. Margaret and all that’s holy, I hope you’re right.”