Angel of Skye (41 page)

But there was no information as to the identity of the assassin.

Her gown should be of Goodliness,

Well ribboned with Renown,

Adorned with Pleasure in every place,

Trimmed in the finest Style...

—Robert Henryson

“
The Garment of Good Ladies”

Alec’s breath caught as Fiona stepped into the open doorway.

From behind her, the brilliant sunlight radiated in a thousand luminous streams, shimmering as it dispersed in the dim half-light of the church’s interior. Alec moved into the space before the chancel, gazing with pride and open admiration at the woman of his dreams.

The crowd inside, dressed in their colorful finery, had been jovial and restless, but now quieted into a hushed silence as every eye focused on the red-haired beauty crossing the threshold.

Looking past them, Alec felt all other senses fading as the enchantment of the vision before him grew stronger. Even the majestic sound of the lone musician, piping Fiona’s approach to the altar, became a vague background to the look of love that was being directed toward him. A look of love from an angel floating serenely through the crowd to him.

When Alec had ridden down from the castle an hour ago, the villagers and crofters who had lined the sun-drenched route were a festive crowd, cheering and singing along with the roving groups of bagpipers. The children, running back and forth amid the housewives who were handing out food and sweets, continually raced up to the groom and his escort of armed warriors. Alec smiled as the fierce, tartan-clad fighters, their polished armor flashing in the sun, constantly reached down and scooped up the shrieking youngsters for short rides along the way. Even his squire Robert, dressed in his new chain mail, his sword gleaming by his side, looked quite manly as he joked with the other warriors and the flower-throwing maidens that they passed.

Crossing the bridge into the village, Alec shook hands with the gleeful folk as the shouts rang out, announcing his entrance into the hamlet.

The buildings of the town itself were decked out for the celebration, sporting new coats of bright blues and yellows, reds and greens. Banners and the Macpherson plaids waved in every window, and the residents risked toppling from the upper stories onto their neighbors in the streets, in their excitement and revelry.

Everywhere there was laughter and music and exultation, and Alec’s heart overflowed to think of how this jubilant greeting would transport his beloved bride when she traced this joyous route to the church.

As the young warlord turned with a wave at the top of the short flight of steps to the church, the crowded Marketcross again erupted with tumultuous sounds of gladness and gaiety, and the pipers continued to add their melodious strains to the boisterous gaiety of the event. Suddenly a moment of regret struck Alec that his brother Ambrose couldn’t have been here for the celebration, and he thought that probably Fiona was feeling the same way about the prioress’ absence. The message had arrived though, from both, that a big event was being prepared to celebrate Fiona’s and Alec’s marriage once they returned to Skye.

But the extemporaneous parade of bagpipes and dancing folks that began to move around the village square drew a broad smile from the groom, and as he watched, many of the guests and even his brother John joined the happy revelers. Pushing back down the steps to the thunderous ovation of the crowd, Alec, as well, joined the festive marchers with a single lap of the Marketcross. Then, with a laugh and a shout to answer their clamor of approval, he vaulted the steps once more and disappeared into the church.

Now, standing spellbound by the vision of loveliness gliding toward him, Alec felt his heart thundering in his chest as he gazed in rapt admiration at his fairy bride.

Fiona, too, saw nothing but her beloved.

Her eyes traveled over the magnificent warrior before her. And he was magnificent. Alec’s long blond hair was tied back in an orderly fashion. Arrayed in his finest kilt and a shirt of gleaming white silk, a tartan of Macpherson plaid crossing his massive chest, the groom cut a bold and dashing figure as he awaited her before the altar. The light of a thousand candles flashed on the hilt of his long sword and on the clan arms inscribed on his golden broach.

But it was the look in his handsome face that captured her. His blue eyes shone with such love that Fiona felt herself melting inside. And her own love—glowing, fluid, molten—threatened to burst through her skin as her eyes locked on his.

Colin Campbell, the earl of Argyll, sitting on the same bench as the Macpherson family, put a gentle hand around his wife’s shoulder and pulled her tightly to his side. Leaning down, he kissed away the joyful tear glistening on Celia’s beautiful face.

Alec’s father traded a happy glance with his wife as they both recalled the time when they had stood in this same chapel to exchange their vows.

The earl of Huntly felt the tightness in his throat as once again he mourned the only woman that he’d ever loved. Looking up, he watched Margaret’s beautiful child step to the altar and offer her hand to the young laird.

The sound of harps that replaced the piper as the two lovers joined together at the altar, the Latin chants of the priests and the acolytes, and the quiet exchange of vows all gave way to the joyous acclaim of the congregation when Alec and Fiona turned to greet their friends and family as husband and wife.

Fiona, too caught up in her own excitement, didn’t wait for Alec’s signal. She tumbled down the hill in a rush despite his threatening grumble from behind. She ran, stumbling, past the two barking and excited hounds, down the slope of the steep hill. Leaves, brushes, and crawling ferns brushed against her legs. Lifting her skirt above her bare knees, her hair flying in the breeze of the hillside loch, she ran with the speed of a doe, as if windborne.

This had been their first day away from the castle, all on their own, since they’d wed. The day was hot and the sun high when Alec had lured her out to the stables with the promise of showing her the Macpherson crofters and their efforts. She’d been welcomed and delighted by the folk of the region around Benmore Castle, but as they turned for home, Alec had snatched her from her horse and planted her on his own, leaving the mare and his two hounds loping behind.

And then he had brought her here. Heaven could not be more perfect, she thought, than what she was seeing, standing on the ledge, looking down at the peaceful loch nestled below. High hills, covered with heather in bloom, surrounded the water on three sides, while a white beach of sand and stone beckoned to them at the bottom of the slope. All Alec had to do was suggest a race to the beach. Fiona, not even waiting for him to complete his challenge, kicked her shoes away and bolted for the sparkling blue lake below.

She slowed as she reached the water and, with a look back at Alec, pulled her skirts up above her knees and waded into the cold, spring-fed waters. The chill of the small waves licking at her legs made Fiona shiver slightly. The sun was still high, and its rays were warm and gentle on her face.

“The bottom drops off quickly not far from where you’re standing,” Alec called from the shore. Fiona turned to see her husband dropping his tartan and a satchel on a smooth spot on the beach. Looking out at her, he quickly stripped his shirt over his head.

“Thanks, but I’m known to be a good swimmer,” she responded, flushing slightly at the sight of his muscles, taut and glistening with the heat of the run.

Fiona realized how silly it was to feel even the slightest embarrassment seeing Alec’s body. After all, the time they’d been spending since the wedding had given them both ample opportunities to experience the pleasures of each other’s body. Fiona had never known four days and nights could be so sensually full, so physically exhilarating, so sexually satisfying.

But that had all occurred in the privacy of their own chamber—the door barred, the deep down mattress of the huge bed rising up like the Western Sea around them. Fiona shivered again, but this time it wasn’t the chill of the loch that was causing it.

Alec smiled, kicking off his boots. “If you don’t take that dress off, my lovely wife, you’ll be wet for the entire ride back to Benmore.”

Fiona waded back toward the shore as Alec unfastened his belt. Unwrapping his kilt, he stood naked in the sunlight, like some visiting Apollo, ready to take flight like a golden eagle into the sun-drenched sky. Her heart was drumming loudly in her chest as she faltered, then neared him.

“Do you think you’ll be able to save me?” Alec whispered as Fiona moved within a step.

“Save you from what, my love?” She stared at his chest, feeling too self-conscious to let her eyes waver any lower.

“From drowning.” Alec reached for the laces in front of her dress and ever so slowly started to undo them. His knuckles gently caressed the soft skin coming into view at his continuing effort. “I’m not the best swimmer.”

“Celia told me you used to get seasick,” Fiona said as her fingers achingly reached up to touch the golden curls on his chest, “but that you’re cured now.”

“I still might need help.” He pushed the dress off her shoulder and down past the flare of her hips.

“I saw you swim at the pond by the tower.” Fiona stepped out of the mount of her skirts. “You didn’t look like one lacking any skills.”

“I knew it. You were peeking.”

“I—I was,” she stammered as Alec’s fingers undid the top two ties of her thin chemise, partially exposing her chest.

“Good. Because I was watching you, too. While you were swimming.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over the full round perfection of one of her breasts. “And since that day, I have been dreaming of doing just this.”

Fiona felt her breath shorten, just hearing his words.

“Come!” Alec pushed the strap of the chemise up onto her shoulder and took her hand. The two stepped into the crystal-clear loch until the bottom fell away and the water rose around them.

They swam side by side, splashing and floating, laughing and diving into the darkness and chill. Fiona loved the feel of Alec’s hands as he circled about her, caressing her, holding her tightly at one moment and pulling her beneath the surface in the next moment.

Taking a deep breath, Fiona dove deep into the darkness of the tarn, opening her eyes and looking up as her love followed her down. Propelling herself a few yards closer to the shore, she surfaced, bursting into the warm sunlight with her hair hanging like a thick rope behind her.

She turned and stood, her feet just touching the sand where the bottom dropped off, waiting for Alec to surface. The water around her was smooth and silent as the lengthening moments passed. A flash of anxiety raced through her as her eyes quickly scanned the beach and the unbroken surface of the loch.

“Alec!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the heather-covered hills.

Fiona took a deep breath, preparing to dive, when suddenly from beneath her she felt his strong hands gripping her waist and lifting her high out of the water. Holding her in his arms, he pushed smilingly into the waist-high shallows, and Fiona punched him playfully in the chest for his prank.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that!”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he said, eyeing the wet linen clinging provocatively to her breasts. “The view under there was just too incredible to give up.”

“What view?” she said shyly, knowing full well his meaning.

“I’ll just have to show you.”

As Alec’s mouth descended on hers, his hands pulled her hard against his chest. Suddenly Fiona wanted to bury herself in him, lose herself, drown in him. Her fingers locked themselves in the strands of his wet hair as she pulled him closer. Just a brief second of loss, of not knowing where he was, had driven her mad beyond measure. And now that madness had turned to a desire, a need for his touch, for the feel of his body against hers. She arched her back as she pressed against him, her breasts aching inside the wet fabric, aching for his touch.

As their mouths caressed searchingly, Alec’s hands traveled across her breasts, finding the strap of her chemise and pulling it down over one shoulder.

“Just hold me,” he said huskily, drawing back from her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

As he held her close and she ran her fingers along the muscles of his chest and neck, Alec’s eyes wandered lingeringly down over the transparent slip clinging provocatively to his love’s perfect form. Pulling her higher, he lightly kissed her chin, and as he ran the tip of his tongue down the hollow of her throat, over the glistening ivory wetness of her chest and into the valley between her breasts, he heard her gasp and felt her body go rigid.

Fiona felt his breath on her breasts as his mouth reached the top of her partially untied chemise. Opening her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the sky above, deep and blue with ragged wisps of white streaks that disappeared behind the green of the surrounding hills. She closed her eyes again as one of his hands moved down, drawing up the hem of the garment billowing around her body. The colors of blue Fiona held in her mind’s eye flashed into swirls of yellows and reds as his fingers gently reached between their bodies. Waves of heat broke through her body, lifting her until she was no longer aware of the water around them. She was weightless, enraptured, afloat on a golden cloud. With him.

She clung to him, her mouth ravenously seeking his and finding it.

“It’s my turn,” she whispered seductively, smiling coyly into his handsome face. Alec let her push him backward toward the beach. A few feet from the edge of the water, he drew her down beside him. Fiona lay his head back against the sand just beneath the surface. She gazed at him, his body glistened in the sun as the small waves lapped at his sides.

Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she knelt down beside him, her hand wandering lovingly over the muscles of his belly. Trailing kisses onto his chest, she moved her mouth lower.

“Hold there, my love,” Alec rasped, raising himself and pulling her up on top of him. “If you keep on like that I may just go mad.”