Page 4 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

William Shakespeare – English playwright, 1564–1616

Tierney stood at the tower room window, letting the breeze ruffle the curls that refused to be captured by the braid she’d tied down her back. Margaret had brought her a dry smock, stays, socks, petticoat, bodice, and jacket, all in a light blue that reminded Tierney of a summer sky.

’Twas a whole new ensemble. She looked down at it, shaking her head. It would be yet another sin since she’d be stealing it. “I’m not a good lass, never will be.” Her father had said as much. But stealing an ensemble wasn’t too terrible compared to her second plan.

She cringed, shutting her eyes as she exhaled. “But I need him. I can’t let him leave for Dunscaith.” People depended on her. Cora, Gabriel, Jacob, even ornery old Henry needed her plan to work. And Maggie.

Tierney fished the chain out from her new smock and pried her fingernail between the two halves of the locket. The tight-fitting seal had kept the picture inside safe from saltwater. Maggie’s small face smiled out from the tiny portrait, surrounded by haphazard blond curls.

Tierney slid her thumb over the picture, thankful it wasn’t washed away and whispered, “We need him, Maggie.” Just saying her name soothed the guilt about what she must do.

The celebratory noise of the wedding festival had calmed as the sun descended, although an occasional shout of merriment carried to her on the breeze coming through the open windows. She turned away, and her gaze fell on the two tarts sitting on a square of cloth on the table. Two tarts, both with sweet blackberries in them but one with the addition of Doris MacNicol’s potent tincture.

The frowning cook named Fiona gave Tierney the tarts after her bath in the kitchen. No lass deserves to fall from the clouds into a briny, icy, tumbling sea . And she’d handed her the two tarts with a third for good measure, which Tierney had eaten right away.

After Tierney implemented her brash plan, Fiona would change her mind. It happened every time she was forced to employ one of her plans. ’Tis a wonder Wallace even wants ye , her father had said. And now that her father was dead, there’d be no changing his mind about her. She would always be a devilish woman who took brash risks, but she had a plan to prove to her clan that she was clever and brave. And it would save them from annihilation. Something she wouldn’t let happen without a fight. If she was going to succeed in this fight, she needed a weapon. That weapon was Kenan Macdonald.

Tierney had soaked one tart in the tincture Cora had handed to her. The powerful sleeping concoction was made with henbane, hashish from a trader from the Far East, valerian root, and vinegar. She even removed some of the berry filling, mixing it with the potion and scooping it back inside, careful not to lick her fingers.

Now, she had to get Kenan Macdonald to eat the tainted tart. She glanced at the door. “And carry him down five flights of stairs and row him over to shore,” she murmured. “Without anyone seeing us.” She rubbed her face. “Bloody impossible.”

Footsteps stopped outside her door. Rap. Rap.

Tierney hurried to the table, wrapping the tarts but making sure there was cloth between them to prevent them from touching. She’d cut a corner off her own to know which one was safe. Her hands trembled as she worked.

“I have yer supper, lass.” Kenan Macdonald’s voice rumbled, making her heart jump.

Could she really do this? ’Twas the most audacious plan she’d ever had. “Maggie. For Maggie,” she whispered.

Tierney opened the door and smiled despite her charging pulse. “Good eve,” she said, and her gaze dropped to the wooden basket held with his two hands. Another plan coalesced inside her. “Why, yes,” she said, with a jubilant smile, “a picnic would be a lovely way to eat my supper.”

He frowned. “Picnic?”

“The basket,” she said and then lifted the cloth in her other hand. “I even have tarts to contribute.” She set them inside.

“I didn’t come to take ye on—”

“And then you can take me back to my cousin’s cottage.”

His lips clamped shut, and his gaze bored into her, so she turned, grabbing the square of blanket she’d folded. Hugging it to her chest, she walked toward the door. “What a gallant surprise.”

“No one knows of ye in the village, Tierney Bruce,” Kenan said, but she kept walking down the turning steps. Kenan followed. “Nor yer cousin.”

“My cousin is private, and her cottage is up in the forest behind the village.” She kept amusement in her voice. “No wonder they don’t know of us yet. I arrived two days ago and Eleanor a month ago.” She glanced over her shoulder to give him another smile. Keep the details brief. Too many and he’ll pick up on the lies . “I’ll show you where her cottage is, but I’ll return here in the morn to help you fix your glider.”

“I’m heading back to Dunscaith at dawn,” Kenan said.

She stopped and offered what she hoped was a playfully seductive smile. “Are you sure you must go so soon? I’d like to get to know you better.” Holy Joan! What did she know about being seductive? Nothing.

His brows knitted as he studied her, and then the corner of his mouth turned upward. “I wish I could, because ye’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a long time, Tierney Bruce.”

But not interesting enough to keep him there so she could persuade him to help her cause. If she couldn’t get him to stay an extra day, there was no way merely asking him would make Kenan agree to coming back to Scorrybreac with her. Plan number two must be executed.

“Is your castle terrible? The burning?” she said and reached the corridor at the bottom. Her head turning left, then right, Tierney exhaled in relief at the emptiness. For her plan to work, she must get Kenan alone and preferably without anyone seeing her with him.

“Ye heard about Dunscaith burning?”

She stood before him on the third-floor level. In the shadows, Kenan seemed even larger. It didn’t bother Tierney, who had stopped growing early when she’d started her women’s courses. Every adult she met was taller than her. The flame of a sconce flickered, showing golden brown strands in the darker brown fullness of his hair. It looked thick and soft. Would it tickle if she rubbed her cheek against it?

Tierney blinked. Why would she want that? She stayed far away from virile men. “Uh…yes,” she said, recalling his question. “I heard about it from a bard who came…to my clan’s castle on the Isle of Lewis a fortnight ago. He said there was a fire, but I didn’t know it was extensive.” She needed to give just the right number of details, and these were true.

Kenan’s lips hovered open for a second before he spoke. “Was the bard’s name Reid Hodges?”

“Yes, Reid Hodges. He wasn’t a good singer, but he brought all the news from the southern part of Skye. This was why I visited my cousin, hoping to see your flying machine.” She gave a dramatic shiver and then hoped it wasn’t too false. “I had no idea how dangerous the whole encounter would prove.”

She spun to keep descending the stairs before he could ask her anything else. The lower they climbed, the quicker she walked.

Good Lord, please don’t let anyone stop us. Would God help her in her deceit? Doubtful. Please, Holy Joan, help my plan work . She prayed instead to the fifteenth-century French peasant woman who’d become a military leader under God’s guidance. She’d been martyred and deserved to be made a saint in Tierney’s opinion. And Tierney had decided that Joan D’Arc wouldn’t mind if she occasionally swore upon her name.

Her hand moved to the hard locket under her bodice. Holy Joan, bless me with your courage to fight for my people.

…

After the boisterous, whisky-flowing wedding celebration, which had started before noon, the town seemed to have retired early. Kenan had spent time dancing with Grace and avoiding Cyrus, who kept waving the betrothal contract at him. Kenan’s mind was too full of the mystery of Tierney Bruce to concentrate on crowns and heads of cattle and how he could possibly keep Grace Mackinnon happy.

He’d asked Rory MacLeod about Tierney and her MacLeod cousin. Rory was the chief and had grown up at Dunvegan, but he’d never heard of her, although he did have clan members living in cottages beyond the forest line.

Now Tierney assumed they would picnic before he took her to her cousin’s cottage somewhere in the MacLeod woods. “What’s yer cousin’s name?” Kenan asked as he led his large Percheron horse, Freya, through the dark village. He’d asked before but wanted to see if her answer would change.

“She is so large,” Tierney said, sliding her hand down Freya’s neck. “I can’t even reach her head unless she lowers it.”

“Freya is a Percheron. ’Tis a large breed and very effective in battle and able to haul heavy weights.”

“I can imagine,” she said, seemingly unafraid of the black giant walking next to her. Freya’s wide eye kept track of the woman as if trying to avoid stepping on her.

“What is yer cousin’s name?”

“I told you already, Eleanor MacLeod. She married a MacLeod from another isle, and they journeyed here a couple months ago.” The words rolled out of Tierney’s mouth easily, and yet something in Kenan warned him the name was false.

“And she lives at the edge of the forest?”

“Just inside, but let’s have our picnic out under the stars first. Eleanor won’t be happy I have caused such a spectacle today, and probably won’t let me go back out after I walk over her threshold.”

Kenan had delayed his departure for Dunscaith until the morning because of Tierney, the mystery about her and that mischievous smile that made him want to keep questioning her until he managed to dig out all her secrets. He doubted Cyrus would be happy with him riding out with the lass after Kenan had basically agreed to wed his sister. Nothing had been signed yet, and he was merely taking Tierney back to her cousin’s house. Time was short with her, and his curiosity huge.

The stars were out, with stray clouds cutting across the black sky. A sliver of curved moon sat low above the tree line. Perhaps if the lass relaxed, he’d get more answers from her. For someone who seemed to talk easily, she gave no information.

“I’ll help ye mount.” Mo creach . Just the word “mount” sent a sizzle through Kenan as his mind turned to another picture of him mounting this warm, curvy woman. Lord, ’twas like he was a randy lad again. Daingead!

Tierney yanked up her skirt, shoving her toe into Freya’s stirrup, and bounced. Kenan’s hands wrapped around her waist, lifting her higher. Her other leg swung around, and he ducked at the last second to avoid it, but the petticoat caught his head. “Bloody hell,” he said.

She laughed lightly. “You’re under my skirts.”

“’Twas yer doing,” he called from under the light wool layers, ducking down, his hands swatting the material off his head. The lass straddled his large horse, her skirts nearly up to her knees to accommodate the mare’s girth.

Tierney looked down at him. “Are you climbing on top?”

His mouth went dry. Why did everything having to do with horses and riding suddenly sound scandalous?

Without answering, Kenan slid her foot from the stirrup and replaced it with his own to swing easily up behind her in the saddle. Unfortunately, that brought his cock right up against her arse. She wiggled in her seat, making him grit his teeth. He swallowed hard and leaned in to her ear, inhaling the warm scent of her. “Hold on,” he said, his deep voice sounding too aroused to his ears. But if she noticed, she didn’t show it as she grabbed hold of the pommel of the saddle with both hands as if she were holding onto his—

“Blast it,” he murmured and tapped Freya with his heels. The horse took off into the night. He’d ridden the meadow above Dunvegan before and knew it to be flat from the daily training Rory’s warriors practiced. So he let Freya have her head, the cold wind hitting his face and clearing his mind of the carnal images Tierney’s nearness had conjured.

He heard her laugh, and she released the pommel to open her arms wide to the sides. She held onto Freya with only her thighs as she tipped her face upward, the wind tugging even more curls out from the braid she wore. Kenan wound one arm around her middle, keeping her seated, but she seemed to have no fear of falling from his giant mare.

Freya cantered, and Tierney’s body seemed to absorb the rolling gait easily. She was an experienced horsewoman. Perhaps that’s why she’d been wearing men’s breeches when she fell into the sea.

She pointed to the right, toward the tree line. Could her cousin live along the coast? He turned Freya, and after a few more minutes of climbing, Kenan slowed her to a walk.

“That was wonderful,” Tierney said, her words warm with authentic happiness. “Like flying.”

Kenan’s jaw was still tight from holding himself against the onslaught of sensation the ride had riddled him with like arrows of lust. He didn’t answer, just stopped his mare and quickly jumped to the ground. He looked out at the shadowed landscape.

“You should never dismount and turn away when someone else is on your horse,” she said. “Your beautiful mare might get stolen.”

He reached up for her, his hands clasping around her waist to pull her toward him. “Are ye a horse thief, Tierney Bruce?”

In the thin light from the slivered moon, he saw the edge of her white teeth as she smiled. “Not usually, but I do know a thing or two about these amazing beasts.” She ran a hand down Freya’s neck. “And Freya is a beauty, strong and no doubt courageous.”

Not usually?

An owl hooted from inside the woods, and Tierney dropped her hand from Freya. “Let’s set out our picnic. I’m famished.”

Kenan studied the shadows but saw nothing. Owls hoot, he told himself, but not when hunting at night. Perhaps it was calling to its young. He stopped to listen but only heard the wind rattling the leaves in the trees.

Tierney dragged the blanket off the horse’s back and snapped it out to fall into a square on the trodden grasses. Walking to the middle of it, she sat so abruptly that her petticoat billowed out as it caught the night air beneath it. She pulled the fabric in toward herself to make room for him. “Bring the basket.” He did, and with the efficiency of a battle general, Tierney set out the contents between them.

Dunvegan’s cook, Fiona, had placed within the basket warm chicken pie, now cool, boiled vegetables with butter, and cheese with bread. “I have dessert,” Tierney said, unwrapping the tarts she’d set inside. “One for you and one for me.” She pinched her lips as if considering them. “They are small. I bet you can gobble yours in one whole bite.”

She held hers up to her wide-open mouth, and all Kenan could do was stare. He could remain at Dunvegan another day, let the wings dry out, and see what else Tierney said or did that made him mad with lust. Could she be doing it on purpose?

“Are ye married?” he asked.

Her mouth closed, and she set the tart down next to her plate of food. “Not anymore.”

“Ye’re a widow?”

She nodded. “Wallace died three years ago.”

“I am sorry for yer loss.”

“I’m not,” she said, and her brisk tone gave truth to that. “He was…not someone I loved.”

Anger built inside Kenan. “Was he cruel?”

She took a bite of her supper and chewed for long seconds. “Let’s talk of happy things.” The brief discussion had brought a heavy veil over their picnic.

Kenan felt his jaw ache and relaxed it, rubbing it through his beard. His father had been a cruel husband, possibly killing his mother. Those with power who abused people and animals in their care should be made to suffer. As chief of the Macdonalds of Sleat, he would never allow such criminal actions within his clan to go unpunished.

“If he was,” Kenan said, “I am heartily sorry, Tierney.”

She stared across at him, her head tilting, studying him in the dark. “You may call me Tier if you like,” she said. “My friends sometimes call me that, and Wallace never did.”

His chest opened. “We are friends, then?”

She nodded, giving a winsome smile.

Kenan felt a powerful need to protect Tierney from the cruelties of the world, and there were many.

Daingead . This wasn’t a leisurely picnic to look at the stars with a lover or to mentally swear to protect a mysterious woman. Cyrus was certain Kenan was going to wed his sister now after watching them dance and talk at the wedding feast. Spending any time with Tierney, especially alone under the stars, could start a war if Cyrus thought Kenan was being dishonorable to his sister. As part of the brotherhood they’d formed, they had all pledged to respect and honor each other. Tupping another lass or even thinking about it or looking like he might after he’d wooed Cyrus’s sister could break that pledge, something Kenan wouldn’t risk.

Best to get this strange meal over with quickly and get Tierney to her cousin’s. He ate some of the pie and vegetables. Even though Dunvegan’s cook had given Tierney large portions, they were still portions for one, so he didn’t eat much. He let Tierney eat all she wanted, which was a hearty amount.

“I’m happy ye haven’t lost yer appetite.” A well-fed woman’s beauty was enhanced by health and soft curves. And the lass had luscious curves. He’d felt her strength as she battled against the sea, but she was also soft and would mold perfectly to his hard body. Mo chreach. He purposely looked up at the stars.

“Meals can be intermittent sometimes,” she said, “and Fiona cooks delicious offerings.” She held up a tart. “Like these. Have one with me.”

Kenan looked toward the dark forest, but he saw no light within. There were wolves out, but during the summer months they weren’t as hungry with a healthy population of deer and hares. Even so, he was on guard. “How far is it to yer cousin’s cottage?” The sooner he delivered Tierney, the sooner he could start forgetting about those damnably soft curves of hers.

“Not far,” she said, holding out one of the tarts to him. “Let’s see if you can fit this whole thing in your mouth at once.” She held her own before her lips. “Together, but I’m sure you’ll be faster.”

He looked at her fingers holding the small confection. They were delicate but strong if they’d held onto his glider’s control bar for as long as she did. “The whole thing at once?”

She stuffed her whole tart between her lips, smiling around it as it sat stuffed in one cheek like a squirrel. Her childlike, wicked glance challenged him to do the same. He looked back at her fingers gripping the soft pastry. If he took it all, he might suck on those fingers for a moment. Any thoughts of Grace, Cyrus, and honor faded.

He opened his mouth and let her shove the whole tart inside. An herbal mix of sweet blackberries and bitterness flooded his tongue just before he swallowed it. He had been so struck by the strange taste that he hadn’t paid attention to her fingertips, and the moment was gone. Disappointment tightened his stomach.

Tierney smiled, watching him closely for a moment. “Your mouth is bigger than mine. Let’s lie on our backs and look at the stars for a few minutes before going.”

Kenan took a swig of ale from the bladder they had shared to wash away the bitter tart. Whatever the Dunvegan cook had put inside to complement the blackberries had only made the dessert foul. He listened to Tierney chatter.

“I think apple with cinnamon spice is my favorite,” she said. “Blaeberry, too. I add lemon to it. My father used to trade with a man from the East. He brought us all sorts of spices and foreign fruits.”

Kenan drank more of his ale, his tongue sliding around his mouth, which suddenly felt smaller than normal. “That was a foul…tast…ting thart,” he said, hearing the slur in his words. He cleared his throat and repeated it properly, but it was difficult with his mouth shrinking.

A sudden weight hit his shoulders. It felt a bit like when he’d been struck with influenza years ago, as if he had to lie down immediately because his body had declared war. He tilted to the side, and Tierney was suddenly before him, helping him lie down, pushing him onto his back. His open eyes stared at the tail of the Ursa Minor constellation. He blinked. Bloody hell, what was happening? He closed his eyes, listening to the dark moor around him.

Something brushed his thigh, and Tierney bent over top of him. “You rest now,” she said, her face close to his. And then he felt her lips brush against his. They were warm, and the kiss was too brief as cold replaced them when she sat up. “Soft, like I thought,” she whispered.

Her words seemed to echo in his head, growing farther away until everything faded to black.