Maiden of Inverness (10 page)

She whirled around and came nose to chin with him. “You'll run afoul of reason should you think that, Revas.”

His mouth was but a whisper away from hers. “Did they tame you, Meridene? Or have they left that pleasure to me?”

She swallowed a lump of apprehension. “Pleasure?”

His gaze roamed her face, inspecting and admiring what he saw. “Aye. Pleasure of the most rewarding kind.”

Twenty women had fallen victim to his masculine charm, and Meridene understood why. Her own heart thumped loudly, and she couldn't help wondering how his mouth would feel on hers. Twenty women knew. Did he also imprison them with his alluring eyes?

He gazed past Meridene, and with the smallest movement of his head, he indicated the door. She heard the girls leave, but her mind whirled with inappropriate questions about Revas Macduff. She couldn't turn away from him.

He rested his arms on her shoulders, but she didn't notice the weight. “Close your eyes, Meridene, and give me a kiss.”

He had called her a coward on the field of romance. Proving him wrong while satisfying her own curiosity posed a challenge. The daring look in his eye sparkled with a friendly invitation she would not refuse. Her eyes drifted shut, and in the next instant his mouth touched hers, softly, then melting closer and moving in slow, deliberate circles.

Did all women feel this dizzying, floating yearning? If so, she certainly understood why the fishwife in Scarborough always wore a smile the morning after her husband came home from the sea. Meridene intended to explore the practice and come away from it with the knowledge she had been denied.

His lips parted and enlightenment followed, for his mouth tasted as sweet and as welcome as a warm drink on a cold winter night. Relief relaxed her to her toes, and when she swayed, his hands gripped her, steadying her, drawing her into the cradle of his chest and arms. Against her breast, his heart beat loud and constant, and his breath wafted against her cheek. Pleasurable visions began to dance in her head—a joyous spring morn and a breakneck ride on a swift mount through a meadow of wildflowers. She imagined the wind whipping her hair and heard the drumming of hooves in her ears. Her idle fingers touched the velvet of his jerkin and felt the rippling of muscles beneath.

He groaned deep in his chest, and the demeanor of the kiss changed. He grew insistent, his tongue nudging her lips apart, his hands playing across her buttocks, kneading gently.

The intimacy alarmed her. Did he have ravishment on his mind? She pulled back and asked him.

His eyes were glassy, and he shook his head as if he'd been awakened from a sound sleep.

“Were you trying to ravish me?” she repeated.

He blew out his breath and stared at the bed. “Not today.” His gaze slid back to her. “You
are
a virgin, Meridene Macgillivray. On the ship you claimed otherwise just to spite me. That was your first kiss.”

Indignation made her bristle. “ 'Twas my first kiss from one of your kind.”

Pride held him still. “My kind?”

“Yes.” He liked his own words so much, she threw a few in his face. “A man who smells of leather and horse.”

She might have told him he was the finest lord in Christendom, so complete was his relief. Breaking into a grin, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Enjoy your bath, Meridene. I'll come back for you at eight o'clock.”

“I will not answer your knock.”

Strolling toward the door, Revas tamped back the desire that clawed at his loins. “Then I'll use my key.”

But as he ducked beneath the dainty portal, he saw Kenneth Brodie standing in the hall, a bundle of rolled parchments in his hand, an anxious look in his eyes.

“There's trouble, Revas,” he said.

More than you know
, Revas thought, and made his way to his own chamber with Brodie close behind.

“Give me the last of the messages, Brodie, and I pray you have not saved the worst till the end.” Revas took the remaining bite of his apple, pitched the core out the window, and reached for an orange.

His friend and mentor pushed back from the small trestle table. “Angus has called his young Munro home.”

The Munro youth was one of dozens of lads who fostered with Revas. While teaching them to wield a sword and mace, and govern fairly, Revas enjoyed alliances with their fathers. Angus Munro's land lay due west of Inverness and shared a border with Cutberth Macgillivray. If Munro now wanted his heir back under his wing, it could mean only one thing: Cutberth was brewing trouble in the Highlands. No wonder Brodie looked so haggard. But they'd been through hell once and purgatory a dozen times with Meridene's father.

Meridene. Here. In the flesh. At home. At last. For years, Revas had imagined precisely that. In his randy youth, he'd envisioned himself getting a strapping son on her even before the wedding feast was done. His gallant days had inspired poetry to her goodly heart and enchanting eyes. Yet now when he considered a life with Meridene, he thought of the binding ties of children and cozy evenings before a fire. He'd have them and his helpmate, but only after she fell in love with him and lost her heart to Scotland. A challenge that rivaled uniting the Highland clans. A challenge he accepted without hesitation.

“Revas, are you not concerned that Munro has called his son home?”

Yanking himself from his favorite pastime, Revas plunged into the exhausting and dangerous realm of politics. “Is that why you sent young Munro after the luggage cart?”

“He needed time alone to think about the summons before seeing you.”

Spoken plainly, the simple words conveyed a wealth of honesty. Revas replied in kind. “I will not influence his decision.”

“Not apurpose.”

Brodie looked weary, and Revas couldn't hold a bad thought. Meridene had come home. His goal was within reach, and he wanted to dance atop the curtain wall and shout his glee like a half-wit on May Day. Brodie ought to smile, too, and since achieving goals had become the order of the day, Revas took up the challenge of improving his friend's somber mood.

“I suppose 'tis too much to hope that Munro's sister is getting married and our young friend must return home to stand as witness to her unexpected nuptials.”

The weariness faded from Brodie's august expression. “Aye, 'tis too much to suppose.”

Revas tossed the orange from one hand to the other. “Then perhaps his priestly uncle is being canonized.”

Real humor twinkled in the sheriff's eyes. “Not unless the church is ready to face a revolt by our priestly Thomas.”

Revas plunged onward. “Has a pretty maid offered for the hand of our young Munro?”

Brodie did laugh, but he shook his head, as if fighting it all the way. “Nay.”

“Has our pretty maid presented young Munro with a son?”

Yielding, the sheriff slapped his thigh. “You're a devil, Revas Macduff. And although I'm like as not to regret saying it, 'tis good to have you home.” He surveyed the tray of fruit and cheese and hacked off a chunk of the latter. “Alas,
your
pretty maid doesn't share your enthusiasm.”

An understatement, thought Revas, and his mood turned melancholy. If missteps were victories in battle, his skill rivaled that of the Holy Roman Emperor, the greatest swordsman of the day. “Aye, my friend. She is hesitant.”

“The sword of Chapling holds no interest for her?”

Revas's mood darkened. He surveyed his private chamber and paused at the sight of his empty bed. If he closed his eyes, he could see her there, languishing naked on the coverlet, her glorious black hair fanning the red velvet, her enchanting eyes beckoning him to celebrate their love.

“Revas!”

He jumped like a caught thief.

“You're smitten with her.”

Battling a grin, he murmured, “She
is
appealing.”

Brodie chuckled. “But will she demand the sword of Chapling from her father and bestow the Highland crown on you?”

“If I'm remembered of it correctly,” Revas admitted, “she said the sword would crumble with rust before she touched it.”

Brodie angled the blunt cheese knife toward the window until the light caught the blade and reflected a splash of sunshine on the ceiling. “Perhaps she's peevish because she's been away from us for so long?”

Revas wished it were so. “She claims Scotland is a land of monsters.”

“You exaggerate. Surely she favors you a wee bit.”

Sinking low in his chair, Revas recalled her words. “Were I her only choice of mates, she pledged to go to her grave a virgin.”

Brodie shrugged. “I suppose you told her you were saving yourself for the marriage bed?”

Revas saw through Brodie's ploy; he was now trying to make Revas smile. He did, and with ease. “She is bonny, isn't she?”

“Bonny enough for a butcher's son who'll one day wear the crown of the Highlands.”

Feeling rash, Revas wiggled his eyebrows. “She has a temper, too.”

Brodie grew serious. “She's no longer a frightened and maligned child.”

On this point, Revas was well versed. “There you are wrong. She's scared to her soul, and make no mistake.”

“She has the ill humors of the Macgillivrays,” Brodie grumbled.

“She took nothing from Cutberth, but 'tis wrong to ignore the man who sired her.”

“As if anyone could ignore that war-loving bastard.” Brodie put down the knife and crossed his arms over his chest. He'd removed his battered war bracelets, but still wore his chain of office. “What angers her most?”

Regretting every word of the tale, Revas explained his abduction of Meridene.

“Sweet Saint Columba, Revas! What made you act so boldly?”

Revas felt like a green lad having his first go at the quintain. Deservedly so, for he had erred. But after wanting her for so many years, he'd lost his good judgment. Never had it crossed his mind that Meridene would reject him.

“Well?” Brodie prompted.

Revas resigned himself. “To my dismay, Ana did not color up her stories of Meridene's hatred for all things Scottish. I had no choice but to take her by force.”

In exasperation, Brodie rolled his eyes. “Very Scottish of you.”

“I could not linger in merry old England.” Recklessly he added, “The food would've killed me.”

Although his mouth puckered with humor, Brodie did not smile. “What will you do now?”

“I'll teach her to love us, one day at a time, and I have made progress,” Revas couldn't help boasting. “She favors her new lodgings.”

Brodie waved him off. “A blind Cornishman would favor that palace you built for her.”

Revas felt a burst of pride at what he'd accomplished. The Maiden deserved luxury. As her husband, he was duty-bound to provide it. “I always knew she would come home to me, Brodie.”

Fondness glowed in his weathered face. “So you've said since the day old King Edward gave her to you.”

Through a flood of sentimental visions, Revas thought about how she'd looked when he left her hours ago. “You should have seen her with her new handmaidens. I tell you, Brodie, she gives orders like a marcher lord on campaign. She was born to rule.”

“Came from her grandmother, most likely. 'Tis for certain the Macgillivrays bequeathed her little, save a penchant for war.”

A familiar weight pressed in on Revas, but he was becoming accustomed to the up-and-down changes in his moods. Now his fosterlings were in jeopardy. “If I do not stop Cutberth now, he'll spread his poison to every clan in the Western Highlands, not just the Munros.”

“Aye. You've worked too hard to gain the trust of those chieftains. Should you sit idle while Cutberth tries to regain the power, others will follow Munro's lead. Fraser may send for his lad next. Then Macpherson could call his son home. Your dream of unity will die.”

Years of negotiations would go for naught. The clans would disperse, and little wars would again plague the Highlands. But the damage wouldn't stop there. Flanders and the Nordic states would cancel the trade agreements Revas had worked so hard to gain.

Unless he took action. But he must move cautiously. “ 'Twill go worse when Cutberth learns that I've brought his daughter home.”

With a callused hand, Brodie worried his chin. “He's not heartless enough to send another assassin after her, is he?”

That possibility angered Revas to his soul. Harm would not befall Meridene; he'd watch her like a hawk, accompany her on the smallest of errands. “Pray he does not; if so, the Bishop of Inverness will pass along Cutberth's plans to our Father Thomas.”

“Can the bishop be trusted?”

“He'll take the side of the Scottish church, as he did last year when the pope excommunicated King Robert. The Vatican will not like it, but 'tis a risk he'll gladly take in the name of self-rule. All of our clergy will.”