Maiden of Inverness (30 page)

It wasn't that Meridene wanted to wear the crown of rowans. She had disdained the office for too long. But for the first time, she wondered if her rejection was of her own doing. Never had her mother spoken proudly of the legacy; such had been Meridene's schooling and preparation of her destiny.

Revas's hand tightened on her arm. Meridene cast off the disturbing doubts and saw the badger retrace her path. The animal moved toward the spot where their mounts were hobbled.

Leaning up, Meridene whispered behind her hand, “Will the horses frighten her?”

Revas drew her back into the shelter of the ruin. “ 'Tis only man who threatens her.”

“We could rescue the little ones.”

“If necessary, but 'tis best to leave mothering to mothers.”

Hurt clogged Meridene's throat. She looked away.

“Except where you are concerned,” he said softly, and drew her against him. “Do you remember the last words I spoke to you before the old king took you away?”

She felt like a charitable cause, a waif in need of comfort. She'd have none of it. “Repeating a lad's vow changes nothing.”

“I swore I would come for you. Upon the souls of all my kinsmen, I pledged to help you fulfill your destiny.”

In a matter of weeks he'd changed her opinion of the day that had altered her life. With gentle words and unflagging determination, he'd turned a time of bitterness into a fond memory.

Then he kissed her in the fashion she favored, unrestrained, intense, yet heartachingly tender. She was drawn to his warmth and to the contentment that awaited her.

A soft breeze wafted across her skin, cooling the heat that blazed between them. The forest grew quiet, and if yearning were a sound, it thrived in the beating of her heart and the singing of hot blood through her veins.

Unleashed, his need spoke to her in the language of intimacy, urging her to take the last step and put her soul into his keeping. Caught up in the lure of his persuasion, she ignored the voice of her conscience and yielded her heart.

On an agonized sound, he said, “We should not.”

Rather than dash her ambitions, his denial spurred her to change his mind. With hands now familiar with his form, she caressed his trim waist, then moved to the hard ridge of his desire.

A manly groan set off an answering sigh of surrender. Splaying his fingers, he kneaded her buttocks, and his mouth took hers in a devilishly deep kiss. Cool air touched her ankles, her knees, her thighs, and although she did not understand how, she knew he would love her here, where they stood.

As eager as he, she reached inside his hose, and when her hands closed over him, she felt her knees tremble with weakness. Then he was lifting her, setting her legs astride his hips, and she knew what he would do.

Her senses spinning with anticipation, she pushed his tunic up and his hose down, and in the next breath, he made them one.

Relief, as pure as heavenly light, spread through her, but it was only the beginning. His back against an ancient wall, his legs planted firmly in the soft ground, he thrust deeper, setting a rhythm that both primed her need and made kindling of her desire. He took her too close to the edge of rapture, and fearing a quick end, she broke the kiss. “Slowly, Revas.”

His eyes drifted open, revealing so joyous an expression, she lost control. And as she yielded to the first tremor of satisfaction, he smiled and joined her. Throbbing in unison, in perfect harmony, they held on tight, until the rapturous moment ebbed, then flowed into absolute serenity.

A blessedly sweet kiss followed, which led to a near bone-crushing hug. “By my oath,” he said, “I had not intended to do more than hold your hand.”

On the heels of their mind-jarring loving, the anguished confession made her smile. “Shall I shoulder the blame for corrupting you?”

Wincing, he lowered her to the ground and righted his clothing. She did the same, never taking her eyes from his worried frown. “What troubles you, Revas?”

“What if you conceive the next Maiden?”

Euphoria lingered, keeping her misgivings at bay. “If I conceive, it will surely be a lad.”

“How do you know?”

It was common for women to speak among themselves of their birthing experience. Conversing with a man on the subject of creation unsettled her. A silly notion, she was forced to admit, considering the intimacy they had shared.

“Don't be shy. Share your thoughts with me.”

Oddly comfortable, she said, “Because my mother had three sons before me. As did her mother and grandmother. The Maidens always bear their sons first.”

He brushed leaves off his shoulders. “Always?”

“Always.”

“How did you know that? I saw no mention of it in the Covenant.”

Feeling smug and contented, she trailed her index finger down the front of his tunic. “Not all of the legend is written.”

An idea had him in its grasp, yet he slapped his hand over hers. “Ah, womanly secrets inspire me.”

She welcomed the leverage of knowing more than Revas on at least one subject, for he was quickly becoming an expert on her. “Inspire you to what?”

Drawing her hand to his lips, he kissed her palm. “To strip you of that bonny blue dress and love you again, unless we attend Summerlad and Serena.”

A shiver stole her composure.

“Come, love, the day wanes.”

Riding four abreast and laughing all the way, they returned to the castle. In the yard, the sheriff approached them, his face drawn into stern lines.

“A word, Revas,” Brodie called out.

Pulling her along, Revas said, “ 'Twill wait, my friend.”

“I fear not.”

Revas stopped. She withdrew her hand and left them on the steps. Just as she opened the door, she heard Revas call her back. On the threshold, she stopped, stunned, for there—at a table near the hearth—sat an aging priest. Beside him stood a man who looked so much like her father, she cringed.

“Welcome home, little Maiden.”

Revas raced up the steps and into the common room.

Back rigid, hands clasped tightly, Meridene faced her brother, who gazed at her with unabashed affection. The priest stared from one sibling to the other.

A cauldron simmered over the hearth fire. Empty benches and stools had been pushed beneath the tables in preparation for the evening meal. All appeared normal, save the tension that hung like a storm in the close air.

Revas moved quickly to her side, but she was unaware of his presence.

“I thought never to see you again.” Her voice was devoid of warmth or scorn.

William's bulky shoulders sagged and his lips thinned. Even in disappointment, he bore a striking resemblance to their father. Did that likeness hold Meridene back, or had she spoken truly when she said she had no love in her heart for her kinsmen?

“And I you, dear sister. Though I prayed for a word from you. You are well?” His inquiring gaze slid to Revas.

“Well enough, William,” she said.

No cutting remark about Scotland. No praise for England. Looking down at her, Revas was reminded of the lass he'd met and wed that day so long ago. Yet time and circumstances had changed her; the brave girl had become a poised woman.

Into the tense silence, Revas said, “Welcome, William and Father John. We've been a-fielding.” With a look, he implored William to have patience. “If you will excuse us, we must tidy ourselves.”

He felt her awareness a moment before she glanced up at him, and Revas was unprepared to see her green eyes barren of emotion. An hour ago, they had shimmered with excitement and passion.

He swallowed hard. “Shall we rid ourselves of the smell of horse and forest?”

Please,
her expression said.

Compassion flooded him, and he cursed himself for thinking her brother's presence would make her happy. Did the demons of her nightmares brave the light of day?

He took her hand. It quivered like the wings of a frightened bird, and her palm was damp to the touch.

As a lad, he'd been unable to protect her. As a man, he'd fared no better. He hadn't thought beyond the physical harm she might suffer. To his dismay, he now knew that Meridene's hurt lay deeper. It was a bitter admission to a man who prided himself on his ability to understand and lead the people of this land.

He turned to escort her from the room.

“Meridene,” William called out, as if hesitant to see her go. “I've brought you something.” He picked up a large sack that was tied with a rope and held it out to her. “ 'Tis a letter from my beloved and gifts from my children.”

Her breathing grew shallow, and her hand began to shake in earnest. Revas took the package.

A puzzled and waiting William tilted his head. “The other is yours, by right and title.”

As silent as a stone, she allowed Revas to draw her from the room. Once in her chamber, she pulled her hand free and poured herself a drink of water. The goblet shook, even though she held it with both hands, and she breathed so deeply, her shoulders rose and fell.

Thinking she needed a moment to order her thoughts, Revas walked to his favorite spot. Half-completed, the new tapestry depicted a massive tree, but what began as the trunk became the torso of a man wearing an empty sword belt. Rather than branches, two arms stretched out toward the tapestry's edge and spread great shadows on the forest floor, where the sword of Chapling lay. Whose face would crown the work?

Brilliantly imaginative in scope and exquisite to each pass of the shuttle, the piece, when finished, would inspire conversation. Unfinished, it engaged his curiosity.

As did its creator.

“Why has William come?”

Tapestry forgotten, Revas approached her. “His arrival does not cheer you?”

“Cheer me?” Color flooded her neck and face. “You expect me to rejoice at the sight of a Macgillivray?”

He felt alone, as if he stood before the gates of his enemy's stronghold with only riderless horses at his back. “Your happiness is my foremost concern.”

She put down the goblet, and with much effort, smoothed the wrinkles from her gown. “I thought my safety was.”

William had written that she was in danger. “Do you fear him?”

A glimmer of challenge shone in her eyes but was quickly gone. “I do not know him.”

But she knew herself and governed her emotions too well. Her feelings were there, in her heart, locked up tight. There he would go. “He favors Cutberth in appearance.”

Turning her head to the side, she folded her arms at her waist. “As I recall, yes. Our kinsmen are all fair of face and hair.”

William was Revas's age, only a few years younger than Cutberth had been when Meridene last saw her father. No wonder she trembled. The passage of years had not altered her image of the man who spoke to his daughter with his fist and thrust her into the hands of a foreign king.

Her scars were old, long festering, and he must help to heal them. “Tell me how you feel, Meridene.”

She sat on the arm of the chair and examined her fingernails. “Honestly, I do not know.”

“Are you saddened? Angry?”

“Rather I feel scattered.”

Revas knelt beside her. “Should I have asked if you wanted to see him?”

She tried to smile. “As if you would obey me.”

Self-pity wouldn't do, not if she was to meet and conquer the ghosts of her past. Reassuring her came easily. “Command me, then,” he said. “For I am your champion until the withering of the last thistle.”

She sighed and touched his shoulder.

“What,” he implored, “is in your heart?”

Her eyes were full of sorrow, and her voice distant. “Past hurts and confusion. The urge to run.” She gazed out the window. “An absence of destination.”

Like a petal floating on a slow-moving stream, she drifted away from him. Desperate to keep her, he clutched her wrist. “If you will run to me, I will listen. By my oath, I will stand beside you and offer up my life to please you.”

Her chin quivered; she pressed her fingers there. “You will expect too much of me.”

Of every man, woman, and child he knew, only his daughter spoke so frankly to him. Gibby trusted him. Was Meridene coming to believe in him as well? “Tell me what you wish to do.”

Meridene almost scoffed at the question. What could she do? He had made no offer to send William away. He'd given no assurance that her father did not follow. Revas was destined to make her face a past that loomed like a great black void. A tragedy, for in the span of a day she'd soared to the heavens, only to plunge into the depths of despair. Uncertainty and the unknown awaited her.

In his note, William had said she was in danger. From where? Whom?

Fear squeezed her chest, and she longed to retreat to a quiet place where only harmless thoughts and happy days awaited.

Revas held out the sack to her. “Will you accept William's gifts?”