Page 8 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)
“Look at the stars lighting up the sky: no one of them stays in the same place.”
Seneca (Roman philosopher 4BC–65AD)
Luckily, Tierney’s charger was strong and seemed to carry them both without trouble. The saddle was large and allowed them to ride together, the lass before Kenan even though she held the reins. She sat with her back rigid as if trying to keep herself from smashing into his chest, but it was her nicely rounded arse, her curves on display in the trousers, that drove him nearly mad. No matter how hard she tried to scoot forward, the movement of the horse made her slide backward, and that sweet arse wriggled against his groin.
“Bloody hell, stop doing that,” he said.
“I can’t keep high enough on—”
“Just stop trying to scoot away. All that…movement is making this ride damn uncomfortable. Let yerself press into me. ’Tis far better than the friction.”
She stilled, and they rode while he took several breaths of the fresh mid-morning air. “Friction?” Her voice held a restrained laugh. She’d been smiling ever since leaving the dungeon-cabin together.
“Rubbing, brushing, sliding, grinding—”
She held up a hand, glancing quickly over her shoulder at him. He could see her cheeks had grown flushed. “Friction,” she repeated. “Understood. I will try to stay still.”
He grumbled. “Impossible.”
“I’d ride faster, but I’m afraid the friction will increase,” she said, keeping her face forward.
“Ride faster, then,” he said, not caring that he sounded terse. “I would get Freya back as soon as possible. And my grandfather’s sword.”
“Great.”
“Great?”
“Your great -grandfather’s sword.”
She looked over her shoulder again, her eyes looking greener under the canopy of late summer leaves. Long lashes framed them in perfect little spikes. He wondered if they ever stuck her in her eyes.
“Aye, my great-grandfather’s sword.”
She nodded as if relieved she had the correct information. Tierney gathered details like a general surveying the terrain to tweak the battle plan. “And you will say we married right after your sister’s wedding.”
“Why would we do that?” he asked, being sure not to agree. He wouldn’t lie to Tierney no matter that she’d lied to get him out on the moor. Although misleading was just another way of lying.
His head tipped back as if he stared up at a laughing God. Kenan was supposed to be marrying Grace Mackinnon. If Cyrus learned about this…whatever this was, abduction, mission of mercy, way to keep the Isle of Skye from being invaded. Kenan doubted that Cyrus would be forgiving if word got back to him about Kenan marrying someone other than his sister. After Kenan had all but signed the betrothal contract.
Tierney spoke in succinct words as if instructing a warrior before battle. “You lusted after me but knew that I would not give myself to you unless you married me.”
“So instead of finding a willing widow to relieve my uncontrollable lust, I married ye after ye tried to steal my glider and destroyed it in the sea?”
He heard her sigh heavily and grinned. The lass was finding out how difficult it was to get people to conform to a plan without input. And no matter what she said, he couldn’t say they were wed, not without jeopardizing a treaty with Clan Mackinnon.
“You can add that you were drunk on whisky,” she said without looking at him.
“How about ye? Were ye drunk on whisky and lustful and therefore agreed to wed a stranger, albeit a handsome, possibly honorable stranger?”
She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “My clan knows I don’t drink to excess. And, anyway, they knew I planned to find someone who could save us.”
He leaned in to her ear, feeling the tickle of her hair brush against him. “Do they know about plan number three?”
Her back straightened. “I don’t tell them my plans. Word could get into enemy hands.”
Which was exactly why he didn’t want word out that he’d married someone else. He could be at war with Clan Mackinnon before he even made it home.
“Hmmm…” he said, understanding her secrecy. “Although, if someone had ridden down to Dunvegan to tell me a lovely, angel-haired lass with curves as lush as the Highland slopes was coming to seduce me into helping her, I certainly wouldn’t have ridden away to Dunscaith.”
She didn’t turn toward him so he couldn’t see her expression. “You said you were leaving the next morning. I asked you twice to stay.” Had she?
“If ye told me what was going on, I might have changed my mind.”
They rode in silence for long minutes. “Ye know, lass,” he said, “saying that we are wed before witnesses pretty much makes us wed in truth. With or without a cleric.”
“Not if we haven’t consummated it.”
A lazy grin quirked up one side of his mouth. “’Tis a good thing ye didn’t enact plan number three, then.”
His smile broadened when he heard her snort.
She rubbed a hand dramatically down one side of her face. “The letter to Ranulf will order him to abandon his plans to take over Scorrybreac Tower and leave me alone. We will seal the letter with your signet ring.” She turned enough to reach for his hand where he wore the Macdonald chief’s ring etched with a fist holding a cross with three little crosslets.
He let her turn the ring on his finger. “Ye could have taken my ring and left me to wake on the moor,” he said.
Her gaze rose from the ring to his eyes. “That wouldn’t have been enough. I need you to say we are working on nulling the contract with Ranulf Matheson.” He saw the little speckles of gold amongst the green in her irises. “I need you, Kenan Macdonald.” The words rippled through him. His sisters needed his protection, and the same was true for his clan. But, somehow, the words coming from this self-reliant woman felt powerful as if she’d grabbed some vital organ of his and tugged. It mixed with the hollowness of guilt for misleading her, but he really didn’t have a choice.
He shook off the feeling and relaxed his mouth into an irksome grin. “And ye’ll be overcome by happiness and sing me a joyful song.”
“I will hold to my promise.”
“And then ye’ll come to Dunscaith by Hogmanay to help me clean my castle and rebuild my glider.” In truth, he wanted to see her again. The most surprising things came from her mouth. He’d never met a lass brave enough to attempt flying nor abduct a warrior almost twice her weight. What other surprises were inside Tierney MacNicol?
“Yes, I promise, by Hogmanay.”
He hoped to have Dunscaith put back together before then. The fire had burned through the three stories of floors and the furnishings, but his men had already rebuilt the roof and disposed of the burned beams and ruined interior. They were moving quickly before word spread that the Macdonalds of Sleat were weakened. And yet he was riding north instead of returning to help them.
“’Tis the least ye can do for breaking my glider, drugging me, shackling and threatening me, stealing my horse, and throwing my schedule completely off track.” Fok . Why was he doing this? He should still be fuming with lethal ire even if Tierney was the most interesting person he’d come across, a trouser-wearing, emerald-eyed devil who had curves that were still driving him to lust. Even her damn hair smelled like some flower. He ran both hands down his face.
“What the bloody hell am I doing?” he murmured.
“Asher was right,” Tierney said without turning to him. “You are remarkably kind to help me.”
He snorted, the sound startling some wood pigeons that flapped in the bushes beside them. “Ye twist the blade.”
“Hold on,” she said. “Let’s end this torture quicker.”
Before he could ask if she meant his torture or hers, she leaned over her mare’s neck, her nicely plump arse pressing into his already hard cock. And the horse shot forward into a gallop.
…
Tierney guided her courser, Fleet, rolling with his gait while she tried to ignore the powerful man and his hard jack behind her. No wonder her mother never allowed Tierney to ride with her friend, Jacob, like that.
The constant feel of Kenan’s warmth against her back and the proof of his virility rubbing against her nearly bare bottom had caused the carnal heat to rise in her again. She’d thought Wallace Macqueen, with his cruel words and bruising hands, had pushed and pumped all desire out of her forever. But Kenan Macdonald was nothing like Tierney’s dead husband.
The most obvious difference between them was that she’d angered Kenan without being struck. Asher was right. Kenan was honorable and kind under his lethal-looking bluster. And every time he stared into her eyes, he captured her breath. What did that mean?
The forest opened more, and the stream to her right was familiar. As much as she needed to reach home, Fleet needed a drink, and Tierney needed to change out of her manly clothes. Her clan would find it hard to believe she’d found a husband to wed her in trousers. She’d already sent word to Ranulf that she wouldn’t honor her father’s betrothal plans, that she’d never signed the contract, and they were void. Now she just needed Kenan to act his part for her father’s advisor, Henry, to believe it.
She’d send another letter once she reached Scorrybreac telling Ranulf she’d wed the Macdonald chief, and Kenan was allowing her to govern Scorrybreac and its tower for her brother, Gabriel. If she convinced Henry it was true, he’d support Gabriel.
Mind spinning, Tierney guided Fleet to the free-flowing water. He bowed his head to slurp, and she looped the reins around the pommel of her saddle.
“We’ll reach Scorrybreac within the hour,” she said, pointing in the easterly direction. “I must change back into petticoats.” Pulling a leg around over Fleet’s bent neck, she pushed off, landing in a crouch in the soft moss flanking the stream.
When she turned, Kenan already had the reins off the pommel and clasped in his hands even as Fleet drank. He smiled down at her, his eyes hooded slightly as he shook his head. “Ye should never leave a person on yer horse or they might steal it,” he said. The same warning she’d given him upon the dark moor.
Tierney’s heart leaped in her chest. She grabbed the reins closer to Fleet’s harness as if that might give her some control. Her horse raised his head, water dripping from his lips. “I still have your horse, Macdonald,” she said. “And your great-grandfather’s sword at Scorrybreac.”
“Perhaps I’ll take yer horse in exchange.”
She shook her head, panic flashing through her like lightning. “Freya means too much to you.” The words came out with desperate force.
“Since I have the upper hand now,” he tipped his head, “I would say ye’re my prisoner instead of me being yers, Tierney MacNicol. And since I am an honorable man, I release ye.” He flicked his hand as if shooing her away.
She grabbed onto Fleet’s neck with both her arms. The horse nickered as if questioning her sanity, something Tierney did herself. She felt the cold water from the horse’s lips drip down her back.
“Bloody hell, Kenan. All I need you to do is say we’re married before witnesses.”
He lifted his gaze to the trees, staring there. She watched the masculine bulge in his throat move up and down on a swallow before he looked back at her. “I’m already betrothed. I cannot say I am wed to ye. If that gets back to Grace Mackinnon, it could ruin the union between Clans Macdonald and Mackinnon.”
“Bbbb…betrothed? You never said—”
“It happened at the wedding celebration.”
She moved around to his side and swatted his calf above his boot planted in the stirrup. “And you bloody hell went on a moonlit picnic with me.” Daingead! “You’re a dishonorable rogue, Kenan Macdonald.”
His gaze narrowed. “I was taking ye back to yer cousin who doesn’t exist.”
“But you stopped to lie beneath the stars when I asked.”
“When ye badgered me to eat. I didn’t lie down until ye poisoned me.”
She slapped at the air momentarily like she was shooing away stinging bees. Her plan was crumbling. “Holy bloody Joan!” The words came out loud and unladylike. “You could have said something about this betrothal problem at the cottage.”
He shrugged. “I already knew I had to come to retrieve my horse and sword.” He guided Fleet to turn away from the stream.
“Don’t go. I have to change,” she said.
“I’ll give ye a few minutes,” he said, taking on the tone of a stern jailor. “Ye may change behind that rock or right here if ye wish.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and caught the satchel that he’d pulled from the back of Fleet and thrown to her. “Your betrothed would not be happy with me stripping down here before you.”
“Grace is most certainly unhappy with my sudden disappearance. She and her brother, with whom I’m supposed to be making an alliance.”
Tierney pulled her wrinkled petticoats out of the bag, shaking them. Sweet Holy Joan. She could be making more enemies. “Which clan?”
“Mackinnon,” he said.
Another clan her father used to complain about, saying the old chief was bent on seeing every MacNicol in his grave. It was a powerful clan, with a vast territory on Skye, a monster that fed children’s nightmares. “Mackinnons are vicious,” she said and shimmied her petticoat up over her trousers.
“The chief is, especially after his oldest son died. But his second son, Cyrus Mackinnon, understands the need for alliances to strengthen Skye and Scotland.” Kenan watched her as she reached under her petticoat to untie the trousers. Tierney shimmied until they dropped, and she stepped out of them. Without help, she wouldn’t be able to tie her stays behind her back, but her bodice had lacing in the front. “Grace agrees with him,” Kenan said.
“I grew up with a girl named Grace,” Tierney said, looking askance at him. “She picked her nose.”
“I’m sure she was a different lass.”
She crossed her arms. “You trust Cyrus Mackinnon enough to make an alliance? I’ve heard he’s a rogue only interested in bedding lasses.”
Kenan rubbed his short beard. “There’s more to him than that.” He was still watching her. She could go behind the rock, but it was bad enough that she’d let him take control of Fleet so easily. She couldn’t stand the thought of hearing him ride away.
Shrugging the bodice over her tunic, she slid a hand underneath to pull the band around her breasts loose. An ache of relief tingled in her breasts as she released them. An involuntary sigh escaped her lips, and the white cloth unspooled around her, sliding out from her tunic. Pulling the bodice closed, Tierney tugged the ties crisscrossing down the front. She pulled the locket out to settle on her breastbone.
Kenan watched her the entire time. She felt heat from his gaze. He didn’t leer nor even smile at her, merely studied her. Did he know she was missing her stays and a proper smock underneath? He may not have dressed a woman before, but there was no doubt he’d undressed some. But he didn’t say anything as she strode back over, shoving her men’s clothes into the satchel and attaching it behind the saddle.
For a moment, Tierney considered trying to push him off Fleet’s back, but having ridden up against the granite form through the morning, she was aware of how futile the attempt would be.
He never turned to look back at her, but when she returned to the stirrups, his hand was out. Without a word, she accepted his assistance to lift her onto her large horse. His hand, warm, callused, and reliable, wrapped around her own. With him by her side, she knew she wouldn’t fall. The luxury of security almost made her dizzy even if it was temporary. She couldn’t remember a time when she felt secure and happy. Before Gabriel was born.
She still sat astride, even though in the petticoats it was more scandalous than in trousers, especially without a smock under the petticoat, leaving her bare. She bunched some of the petticoat before and under her for cushion.
“All settled?”
“No, not without the reins in my hands.”
“Ye’ll get them back when I release ye at Scorrybreac.”
Tierney turned to glower at him, twisting in her seat. “Release me? You are my prisoner.”
“I have the reins.”
“And a shackle mark on your ankle,” she retorted and felt shame heat her cheeks instantly.
The teasing glint in his eyes hardened. Before she could apologize, he tapped Fleet, sending him into a run. Only Tierney’s strong thighs and quick grab of the pommel kept her from falling off the saddle. He probably wouldn’t have even stopped, just left her in the pebbles and tall grass with a cracked head.
When they broke out of the forest, Kenan urged her horse on, giving him his head as if to see how fast he could race. The wind in her face normally wiped the worry from her mind, but this was a completely knotted situation, and she was once again without a plan.
Damn Mackinnons . And damn poor timing. Kenan was betrothed? Which woman at the celebration was Kenan supposed to wed? There’d been a comely lady in bright yellow with dark hair who’d smiled and talked with him. Was that Grace Mackinnon? Bloody Hell! Her stomach flipped with an uncomfortable clench that was different from anger. Disappointment? Jealousy?
Tierney pointed east, and Kenan followed her direction without question. A few minutes later, the top of Scorrybreac Tower jutted into the sky where it sat along the sea’s edge as if growing from the rocks surrounding it. It wasn’t as defensive as a castle since it didn’t possess a moat or thick walls, at least not intact enough to keep invaders out. That project had come to a halt with the sickness. But it was still impressive, soaring four floors up with an accessible slate roof.
Kenan slowed to a walk, and his mouth came close to her ear. “I will send Macdonald warriors up here and do what I can to keep Clan Matheson out of Scorrybreac, Tierney, but do not say we are wed.”
Disappointment and dread swirled in her gut. If she wasn’t wed, then the contract was still valid, and Henry would say she still must surrender to Ranulf. Maggie’s sweet face rose up in Tierney’s mind, bringing desperation with it up her gullet like bile. She kept her face straight ahead. “I could say that you did wed me. Swear to it before a priest.” She’d risk her soul to save her people. “Send word to Grace Mackinnon if you don’t tell a small lie now.”
With a finger on her chin, he turned her face to his. For a moment, she couldn’t draw breath at the restrained fury she saw in his dark blue eyes.
“I will not be forced to do anything.” His tone sent ice along her spine. “I wouldn’t sign King Henry’s pact to support him to gain my freedom in England even when they tortured me, and I won’t be forced to say I’m wed to gain my freedom from ye. If I help the MacNicol Clan, it will be on my own terms and not yers. If ye lie, ye risk Clan Macdonald going to war against yer clan, too.”