FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (8 page)

Glenna stared at him in confusion. "Ye must be daft!"

Before she could protest he embraced her, holding her tightly against him as his lips brushed against hers in the preliminary of a kiss.

"Unhand her!"

Ian felt the chill of cold, hard metal pressed against his neck.  Was it any wonder he was quick to obey, disentangling himself from the red-haired woman's arms and legs as hurriedly as he could.  Turning around he was seared by the eyes glaring at him. "I ought to kill ye!  I ought..."

"Gruesome punishment for naught but a kiss."  So the lovely kelpie had a keeper.  "I know not who you be, friend, but as for me I have no desire to greet God's angels prematurely."  Ian stuck out his hand in a gestur
e of peace but it was ignored.

"Who is this overbold churl, Glenna?"  Though he pulled back his dirk, the bard
still posed an obvious threat.

"I've no’ seen him before."

"Och, 'tis not becoming to tell such a lie, lassie."  Ian crossed his arms across his chest, piqued at the falsehood."

"It's not a lie.  I don't know who you are
, nor have I seen you before."

So that was the game she was playing, Ian thought.  He stared hard at the blonde man who had for a moment lusted for hi
s blood.  "She is your woman?"

"Aye.  Mine."  Alastair eyed the stranger suspiciously.  "And if ye ever come
near her again I'll...I'll..."

"Ye'll have no need."  Ian watched as the other man sheathed his daggar.  "She should have told me and I would not have been so bold.
"  His eyes were reproachful.  "Next time I come upon a maiden perched like a mermaid by the water's edge I'll keep walking."  Squaring his shoulders he stalked off.

"By the water's edge...?"   Glenna threw back her head and gave vent to bubbling laughter as the truth of the situation dawned over.  "Brianna!  'Twas my sister that he saw and not I."  Oh, but how glad she was for the mistake this day.  Never would she forget the look on Alastair's face as he came thundering up behind that bold rogue.  She thrilled at the thought that her gentle bard would have fought for her
honor.  He did care after all.

"Brianna?  Of course." Alastair joined in the merriment.  "He means naught to ye.  I'm glad
,” he said softly.  “For a moment....."

"I should hae let ye think that, my fine bard.  I should hae let ye be jealous for at least a day or two
, but I love only ye, my own brave laddie.  Now doubly so."

"And I do love ye, lassie.  Perhaps it is that I'll speak wi' yer father after all..."  Alastair's words were muffled by Glenna's lips as she welded her mouth to his.  They made a charming sight as Ian looked back.  In spite of his vow he felt disappointment and anger surge through him.  She scorned him but granted
her kisses freely to another. It was the first time in his life that he had lost a lady love to another man.  That it was a bard tweaked him.  A man who wielded a harp and not a sword. Well, let him have her. He turned his back on the lovers, granting them privacy, then following a pathway through the outer bailey, made his way to the castle courtyard.

Chapter Seven

              The castle of the MacQuarie stood on the hillside overlooking the entire valley, a roughly-hewn  stronghold of weathered stone yet impressive in its own way, Ian thought as he viewed it from afar. Standing strong and defiant amidst woods of beech and oak, the tower  looked much like  a guardian.  Two protruding stones jutted out like furled eyebrows and he could nearly imagine huge eyes staring at him as he walked. 

The motte on which
the castle stood was a steep sided, flattened cone formed by nature from hard packed earth and rock,  a perilous climb which Ian maneuvered quite well.  At the base of the mound was a trench, hacked out of the hard dirt, the stone being used to form the high wall that enclosed the entire area. Buildings below the motte and dun were also of stone with thatched roofs and lay within the safety of the wall, a guard gate limiting access. It had been easy to find his way and Ian supposed Aulay would be somewhere within the bailey awaiting him, ready to offer up chastisement for Ian’s wenching, as it was called by the English.

"Wenching, ha!" He was in a foul mood, still chafing
from the realization that his manly charm had been scorned.  He'd made a fool of himself, chasing after some red-haired woodland nymph like a stag  after a doe in season, while all the time the object of his pursuit was already spoken for. To a man who by the hue of his  long flowing breacan,  was a bard.  A singer of songs, no less.

A bard!  She prefers some golden curled, effeminite warbler of tales to a man of strength
, he thought sourly.  Well, perhaps it served him right.  He had  gone about the matter with as much finese as a bull in a potter's shed.  And yet he'd sensed a fire in her kisses, had for one moment known it to be a mutual attraction.  How then was he to explain her sudden coldness, as if summer had given way to winter frost?  She had said naught about her brightly-beclad harpist.  Would it have made any difference if she had?  Ian drew in his breath and exhaled in a long, husky sigh.  The answer was no.  It was as if for just a moment he had abandoned all reason.  He had been drawn to her as fiercely as the tide to the shore.

Frustration surged through him.   By all the saints, why should her face and form have had such an effect on him?  He'd known a hundred women who were by all measures beautiful and yet when he'd looked into those copper colored eyes he'd been lost, caught up in
a fascination more potent than a witch's spell.  It was totally unusual for him to feel such a  sudden, compelling explosive physical attraction, and yet he had.

Ah well, he would keep his thoughts on more important matters from now on.  Fie on flame-haired maidens, he
preferred dark hair anyhow.  She had been too skinny, too long in the leg, he tried to tell himself.  Much too slender.  He preferred his women buxom.  Her chin had been a little too strong, clearly showing her to be a lass that would not be easily managed. Clearly a  young woman like that would be trouble.  Even the fiery  hair gave proof to that.  He would forget her.  It would be easy to push this lass out of his mind would it not?  He convinced himself that it would be, if he determined it to be so.  

Why then did her face hover in his mind's eye? How was it that he could still remember her firm breasts pressed against his chest?  The sweeping arch to her hips and waist?  Those enormous eyes haunted him.  "By Saint Michael, what did the lass do to me to so bewitch me?"  Aulay had always laughingly prophesized that one day Ian would  meet his match.  It seemed to have come to pass much sooner than he had expected.  A woman who had s
corned him.  He, Ian Campbell.

As he walked he thought of just
what he would say to Aulay to explain and  sooth his  sagging ego.  He'd changed his mind,  he'd tell the little man.  That was it.  When he'd gotten up close to the lassie he'd found an imperfection in her smile, her eyes.  He'd sensed something strange about the girl and passed her by.  Lassies were as plentiful as heather blossoms in the Spring. He'd expound on the timeliness of their mission, the need for immediate settlement of the marriage contract. There were a great many things to consider, for Duncan would expect the bond to be profitable. Hopefully, the MacQuarie lass would have a rich dowry.  It was a must to find out.   He'd make Aulay see the wisdom  in resolving the details of the betrothal as soon as possible.  So determining , he moved forward to look cautiously at the stones that loomed in his path.

The castle was of rugged grey granite, a three-storied structure with a semi-circular tower on the west side overlooking  Loch Tuath.  It obviously  had been built to withstand seaborne invading forces and looked sturdy enough to frustrate any intruder.  Square and oblong cut windows high above ground level gave proof that it could be amply protected with swords and arrows. Its size and strength made it appear  impressive, nearly impenetrable, though as Ian came closer he could see that it was much smaller than he had supposed.  Not nearly as imposing as
Duncan's castle.  Even so, as he viewed the structure he envisioned the possibilities for expansion that existed here.  With a few additions and some reconstruction, this castle would fit into the Campbell plan quite nicely.  It would give them a stronghold for raiding the MacDonalds and MacLeods. No doubt that was what Duncan had planned, why he had suggested the joining by marriage to this enemy clan.

The air whistled as an arrow flew by his ear.  From out of the shadows a large, hulking figure appeared above the guard gate.  Ian came cautiously closer.  "Dunna be coming any nearer."  The voice was gruff, as if the sentry had sensed Ian's thoughts.
  "Strangers are no' welcome."

Careful to avoid touching his weapons, Ian raised both his hands, holding them palms up.  A gesture of peace.  "I've come a long distance to see the
MacQuarie.  I've come in peace."

"Peace?  Yer armed to the teeth."  Ian could sense the guard's eyes scrutinizing him, moving from  his flat soft cap and  the wild myrtle worn there, to the sword an
d dirk hanging from his belt.

"For protection onl
y. Do you t think any man would come unarmed?"

"Ye come alone?"  This time the
voice did not sound as harsh.

"I was accompanied by a companion.  A man just half my size.  A dwarf.  You might have already seen him."  Ian hoped Aulay had been met with m
ore hospitality.

"Aye!  He's inside t
he walls. Then ye must be...."

"Ian Campbell, mon.  Come to make arrangements for a wedding.  I did not think I'd be met with arrows!"  He took a step closer to the portcullis.  "Am I to understand that Lachlan MacQuarie has changed his mind?" A rattling of chains and groan of wood was his answer as the gate was raise
d.  "Ah, that's more like it."

Beyond the wall, within the enclosure
, were storage facilities, cattle corrals, small garden plots, and a variety of stone buildings.  The smoke arising from one told him clearly that a blacksmith lived within the encircling stones.  A weapon-maker, fashioning shields, swords and other metal items used against his kin.  The thought made him bristle, for his own father had been felled by a MacQuarie sword, a fact that still rankled. It was in the fighting eight years ago that Ian had watched the man he admired above all others killed. A man, who until he had taken to drinking excessively, had been his hero. There upon the battlefield Niall Campbell had poured out his life's blood upon MacQuarie ground, bidding his son a final farewell and a plea of forgiveness for so many wasted years. 

Lachlan
MacQuarie and his clan  robbed me  of my father
, he thought. Or had his father truly died long before the battle, the day Ian’s mother died from childbed fever after giving birth to a stillborn daughter? Had he not lost both parents that day?  Now he was standing within a stone's throw of MacQuarie’s castle. Turmoil raged in his breast and only by the greatest of determination was he able to quell it.  Duncan was chieftain and if peace was what he ordered then it was up to Ian to do all he could to bring it about.

That his arrival was greeted with suspicion and hostility did not make it any easier.  It was obvious to see that the guard had quickly spread the word that a
Campbell was within the walls of the bailey. Unfriendly glances challenged Ian, though not one threat was spoken.  Did these damn MacQuaries  then adhere to the laws of hospitality?  Just in case they did not he touched his dirk, reassuringly.  He'd heard nasty tales about them in Edinburgh, of what uncouth heathens they were, of how they refused to obey the feudal laws like civilized men.  They called themselves "free", the king called them disobedient.  Ian would judge for himself.

Broodingly he surveyed the interior of the upper bailey
, searching for Aulay. If any harm had come to his small friend he'd see to severe retribution, that he vowed. He wandered in agitation until he found him near the castle buttery, surrounded by a group of chattering, twittering women.  "They think I'm one of the fairy folk, the wee people."

"It seems they've  never seen a dwarf before,"  Ian said, trying to smile.  Aulay was clearly enjoying the attention
. He wouldn't spoil the little man's fun with his own ill-humor.

"Och, no.  'Tis just that they've ne'er seen a mon so handsome, isn't that so, lassie?"  Aulay took off his cap in a gesture fitting of the finest courtly English gentleman and was awarded by a
joyous lilt of cooing laughter.  The women made no secret of the fact that they found him enchanting. "But tell me, just how did yer tryst come about?"

Ian's jaw tensed.  "Let me just say that I remembered my duty to
Duncan in time."

"Ah..........?"   Aulay raised his brow qui
zzically  "Then ye didn't...?"

"Nae.  A few kisses, that is all."  Not wanting to talk about the matter
, Ian pretended interest in a tall, blushing beauty.

"Are ye wantin' to sup?"  The tall, slim woman was quick to ask , displaying far more
courtesy than any of the men.  "It must hae been a long, hard journey."

"Or a dram of liquid refreshment....." suggested another, hovering over Aulay like a mother tending her child.  Both men were led to the tiny kitchen, a small room adjoining the castle's hall. Ian accepted a small glass of whiskey, for by custom that was the first thing offered on crossing the threshhold of another's dwelling.  To refuse would have been
tantamount to spurring  MacQuarie's hospitality.  Aulay's mind, however, was on his stomach.  He'd sniffed a pot of stew bubbling in a cauldron over the hearth and was determined to have a taste. The kitchen rang with sound--pots clanking, spoons rattling, as the dwarf's bowl was filled.  Ian viewed the scene stoically, troubled by how very much this scene reminded him of similar moments spent in the Campbell kitchen.  Women at least did not differ greatly from clan to clan. 

"These lassies  know how to make a mon feel welcome, even if their menfolk don't," Aulay said behind his hand.  "It makes me sorry to bring about peace.  I've half a mind to abduct the lot of them and take them back to our own
stronghold.  What do ye say?"

Ian started to answer when an indignant sniff alerted him to another
presence in the small room.   "What's going on here?" a woman's voice asked the question.  As he turned around he was totally surprised to see the red-haired "kelpie" standing in the entranceway, dressed this time in the same garments she'd worn by the lake.  "You!"  Her eyes widened in  total surprise.

"Aye, me," he answered, still smarting from his disappointment.  You saw me outside the bailey's walls.  It should be no' surprise just wher
e I was headed, or is it that you were too intent on  "other things" that you did not even notice?" He lifted an eyebrow at her, remembering well the sight of her in the golden-haired bard's arms.

"Outside the walls?  I did of a certainty
not
see ye there." She held her chin high, her eyes flashing as she remembered his boldness at the lake. "Had I done so I would hae given strict instructions to the guards to send ye away."  She scowled at him, hoping he would not notice the tremor in her voice.  Seeing him again had shaken her to the core.  Inside she was a mixture of emotions.  He'd come into her life with the violence of a lightning bolt and now here he was again.   "Just what are ye doing here anyway?"

Her hostility made her eyes glow like amber and he was startled again by her loveliness, still  he hid behind a veil of anger. "I'm here to arrange a wedding, if it's any of your concern."  Ian matched her tone with one of like
gruffness. 

"A wedding?"  Was he imagining it or had she gone quite pale?  "It canna be!  Ye canna be....be....." She'd heard the tongues wagging about a
Campbell being within the bailey's walls and had hoped to get a look at the man for herself, but she hadn't expected to come face to face with this one. 

"A
Campbell? Ah, but I am. "

A
Campbell, that explained his brashness.  An English-loving Campbell!  It gave her yet one more reason to espouse her defiance of him. "I shouldna be surprised. Ye do act like one." Brianna's back stiffened.

"I"ll take that as a compliment.  Now, if ye'll on
ly see to it that Lachlan MacQuarie knows that I'm here.  I've come from the Campbell stronghold to  him seek out.  I've no time to talk with lassies, pretty though they be.  There's a marriage to be planned."