Heaven and the Heather (17 page)

She gazed up at the rafters, at the shadows that leapt amongst the rough-hewn timbers. This was the highest garret of this castle. The farthest chamber away from Her Majesty.

“My queen must know about Campbell,” she whispered. “But without proof, I might as well be speaking into the rain. However, I must do something to warn her.”

Sabine thought for only an instant, the answer too obvious. On the morrow’s hunt she would warn Her Majesty that Campbell is a villain, not to be trusted. She prayed Mary would consider her accusation as truth. She prayed such news to Mary’s ears would also stop her betrothal as well as save Her Majesty’s life.

Wind pushed the curtains deeper into the chamber. Sabine looked to the window. She was locked in without hope. Niall, who was free out there in the darkness, could never come to her. This castle was as impenetrable as Campbell’s heart. Why would anyone want to try and get inside?

“There’s enough freshened air in this chamber to last a lifetime,” she mumbled bitterly. “Time to close out the night. Then, perchance, I may sleep.”

Barefoot and clad only in an ankle-length linen tunic, she padded over the plank floor covered in a frayed rush mat. The wind rippled the garment against her legs. She clutched it to her body against the chill. Once she closed the windows, she might sleep in silence and warmth. Sleep was what she needed to clear her mind, to prepare her for a full tomorrow.

She released her tunic and reached for the curtains. She managed to grasp the edges and step into the billowing, musty wool. The wind made the curtains dance, as if they held life. She shook her head. This chamber was full of too many shadows.

She grabbed the latch on the window and drew it in, the rain pelting her face. With a bit of effort, she closed the window, then paused gazing far down through the glass and rain, to the edge of the moat, at a small parade of torches. The flames flickered wildly in the wind and the rain shining weak, broken light on those who carried them. Guards, out in the rain, doing Campbell’s bidding on some stupid errand, no doubt.

“
Imbéciles
,” she said stepping back out of the curtains, backing into something very hard and unyielding.

She whirled around, biting off a surprised shriek.

Niall stood before her, dripping on the rushes, a grin frozen on his lips, his sapphire eyes sparkling as did the raindrops that clung to his hair, his plaid, and his face. The shadows and candlelight played off the strong furrows and ridges of his face. His hair, darkened by the damp, hung in shimmering strands framing his face. One lock adhered to his forehead in a dampened curl. Temptation rose in Sabine to glide her fingertips over his dampened brow, wrap the lock about finger as Niall stared down at her, as his breath left his lips in brief bursts. What exertion had he performed to find his way here? She was as tempted to touch him tenderly as she was tempted to strike him for foolishly placing himself in danger. Yet, she stood captured by his stare and was paralyzed by the mere sight of him in her chamber, her gaol.

“Better those guards get an eyeful of yer fine figure in yon window than mine,” he said.

Then she blinked, allowing frustration, anger, and relief to cause her to react on her first impulse. She slapped him hard. His grin did not disappear.

Then, on the next breath, she flung herself into his strong embrace.

“You must leave,” she said into his sodden wool, hear heart breaking to speak so.

Niall held her firm.

“That, Mademoiselle,” he replied, “I cannae do.”

Damn her traitorous heart, she was very happy to hear him say that very thing.

chapter 9

Artist’s Eyes

“Y
ou frightened me!” she exclaimed.

A wave of emotions crashed down on her, almost knocking her her out of his arms. She wanted Niall gone, back into the rainy night. And she wanted him to stay, here, with her. Why was it that he brought confusion to her with just one glance? One grin?

She managed to pull from his embrace and take a few steps back.

“I had not meant to scare ye.” Niall paused and looked about the chamber. “So, Campbell does keep France’s fairest flower in the highest garret of his castle. Lucky for me.”

“How did you get to the window from the outside?” she asked clasping her arms across her breasts convincing herself it was to fight the chill. “Did you climb up the wall like a lizard or did you come down from the roof like a bat?”

“The second one,” he replied.

She winced. “How did you get that far?”

He would not tell her the truth. “A trick I learned from yer friend, Le Canard. Only this time I didnae have to recite some daft poem.”

“
Monsieur
le Canard? How? A disguise?” she asked.

“Aye.” Niall removed his cloak, the great sodden mass of it, and surveyed her, all of her. She shuddered. “Nice tunic, keep ye warm?”

“You are not here to inquire to my comfort…” She narrowed her eyes. He should leave quickly for both of their sakes. That was what common sense told her. Her heart on the other hand made her ask, “Are you?”

Niall continued to hold his cloak. The leather-wrapped handle of his great sword thrust over his left shoulder. The part of the blade Sabine could see glistened in the firelight. The steel as brilliantly polished as the queen’s jewels. “Perchance aye, perchance no,” he replied.

“A well-used sword would not shine so,” Sabine said into his curt response.

“Aye,” Niall sighed turning his back to her, as if purposely affording her a full view of the long weapon in the leather sheath strapped to his back. She was impressed, but for all the wrong reasons.

He laid his cloak before the fire, spreading the swath of dark wool inches from the coals.

Shivering slightly from the rain damp on her tunic, Sabine took a step to the bed and gathered up a blanket. She then offered it to Niall.

He raked his dripping hair away from his eyes and took the blanket with his other hand. He swiped a corner of it across his face. His blue eyes bore into her, to the depths of her soul.

“Is there a way out of this chamber, or are guards just beyond that door?”

“There’s only the way you arrived, unless you wish to use that sword to break the lock on the door.”

He regarded the lock. “Cannae do it with any blade. The keyhole is too wee. A battering ram may get us out, but I’ve not got one of those under my kilt.”

He looked at Sabine, one brow raised. She held her breath and braced herself for another bawdy remark. “Did Campbell lock ye in because ye ran away today?” he asked.

“I did not run away,” she said, chin up. “But since you’ve come here, we’re both prisoners.”

“I can leave anytime I wish,” he said tossing a glance to the curtained window. “
Can ye?
”

“With Campbell’s guards circling you must remain as well. ’Tis certain they know something is amiss if they search in the rain, do you not think so? ’Tis best you stay until the guards stop circling.” What was he asking of him? Of her heart?

“Is that a wee bit of concern for me I hear?”

Sabine straightened. “Perchance.”

“Aye, well…good,” he said with a quick nod and the trace of a smile.

Niall strolled to the hearth, removing the sheath that had held his sword from his back. He slipped the blade into the leather with such utter care, that to Sabine the act looked like some sacred, Highland ritual. And just as carefully, Niall placed the sword on the folds of his cloak.

He stood upright. His achingly blue eyes took her in again. “That tunic is a wee bit flimsy for a Highland night. Couldnae keep a weevil warm in midsummer.” He thrust the blanket out to her. “Perchance ye are the one who needs this.”

“
Oui
, my garment keeps me warm enough,” she replied suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “What other garment would one wear to slumber?”

“If a person needed one….”

The sly smile that crossed Niall’s lips sent a thin shiver up her back and vivid image to her mind. What did he look like without all of those Highland trappings?

She shook her head furiously. She did not need to know the answer to that question, not now anyway, here, locked in Campbell’s garret. Stiffly she pointed to the blanket in his fist. “Dry yourself off, then you can tell me why you’re here.”

“Aye, well,” he said, removing the silver brooch holding the plaid over his left shoulder. The soggy wool immediately slipped down to his waist. He placed the brooch in a pouch at his hip. “I’ve come here…” He reached for the buckle to the belt that cinched the plaid around his waist. Sabine drew in a sharp breath. “…Because of ye, Sabine, and because of what ye claim to know.”

He unbuckled his belt and let it drop to his feet. Sabine gasped and spun away from him.

Niall laughed. “I didnae think that ye French were oh, so, innocent. I’ve heard that there’s a lust about yer kind that’s unmatched in all the world.”

“Does rampant stupidity compel you to believe such things?” she asked.

She could hear Niall behind her, wrestling off his wet clothing. She stood tense and shivering with only her tunic and thoughts of what Niall must look like without his clothes to keep her warm.

“Does rampant curiosity compel ye to turn ’round?” he teased.

“You said you came because of me, did you not?”

“I came to see if I could find proof behind yer words against Campbell. That would be a sweet discovery.”

Sabine turned slowly around.

He stared at her. Sabine stepped closer to him. The sinew on his neck tightened up to the hard angle of his jaw. The furrows around his mouth deepened.

“What we know is worthless. Lord Campbell is a saint in Her Majesty’s eyes,” Sabine said.

“Campbell is as much a saint as is Satan himself,” Niall growled.

“You would do whatever is necessary to protect your clan?” she asked.

“Aye, I would. ’Tis why I’m here, locked in this room with ye, waiting for the guards to retire, waiting for my clothes to dry.” He drew in a deep breath.

“Are wet clothes all that deter you from pursuing Campbell now?” she asked.

“I’m better at wielding my sword when my clothes are dry, besides we are locked within and there are guards without. I have to stay…for a wee while.”

“I thought you came to rescue me,” she stammered. What had she just said? She covered her mouth with her gnarled hand. Niall glanced at it. The anger in his eyes suddenly vanished.

“Sabine,” he said, gaze, sympathetic, fixed on her hand.

She dropped her hand and hid it in a fold of her tunic. “Sympathy, I have, a king’s ransom of it. I do not need more.”

“Ye willnae get it from me,” he said. “Ye’re the strongest woman I have met. ’Twould be a waste to give ye sympathy.”

Niall, half-naked, walked toward her, his body bathed in dampness, more of a distraction than she could stand. And as if that were not enough to make her heart beat wildly, the memory of the kiss they shared burned so bright in her memory that it nearly blinded her.

He stopped before her, the hearth light warming half of his face, the other half deep in shadow. “I didnae come to save ye, but I do confess that yer well-being is rapidly becoming a concern of mine. Ye’re my greatest ally here.”

“I do not need…” Sabine began. She placed her profile to him, but she could still see his shadow on the wall before her, a worthy enticement. She clenched her eyes shut. If it did not look stupid, she would gladly slap herself a few times to rid herself of these musings, to stop this war raging inside her.

She opened her eyes. Niall stood in front of her, a breath between them. Sabine stiffened. He placed a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he said softly, “there’s no need to deny the truth. Ye need me. I felt it when ye were in my arms, when we kissed.”

Sabine stepped back from him. Warmth flowed through every part of her body. Even the chill brought through the thread-bare tapestries covering the stone walls of this chamber did not bother her.

Niall was too near. Heat radiated off of his lean, well-muscled chest. Here was a man who worked hard with his hands all of his life. He used his brawn to make a place for himself and those he cared for. He cared for his clan so much that he willingly placed himself in the path of harm for them. Oh, ’twould be bliss eternal to have such unconditional caring.

She raised her right hand and drew tentative, twisted fingertips over his shoulder, over the lean muscles under pale skin that the stingy Highland sun had not touched. With both hands, she traced his arms. The bold contours enticed her, melted her resolve. She should be exploring him with her eyes not her hands.

He reached out and enveloped her in his arms. Was he caring for her now? Unconditionally? Did he know she had begun caring for him when he came through that window, perhaps before? Did he know she was gradually sorting out her confused feelings about him? Would he care?

He touched her chin, then he bent his head down and kissed her.

She fell into the kiss, remembering the wondrous rush of heart-stopping sensation shooting through her the first time their lips had met. Her body relaxed in his arms. She placed her hands on his bare back.