Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (8 page)

“I’m not certain,” Kirstin answered when they were once again alone. “I suspect that Mother Frances will pull me into her solar tomorrow to speak with me about it.”

“I was listening in on a few conversations before dinner, and I think it has to do with money.”

“Money?” Kirstin was immediately on alert. “Melrose is beautiful. Just look at all they have.” Kirstin shook her head, though she wondered if that was indeed what this could be about. It would make sense, but how in the world could she be of use? “That canna be right.”

“Aye, but they’ve been robbed before. By the English. They are honor bound by the rules of the church to let the enemy inside. Letting them in gets them looted. But, I dinna think it’s about them being robbed. They want to fund something bigger.”

“Like what?”

Donna shrugged, tossing her finished apple to the ground where a few birds not yet in their nests for the evening swooped down to peck at the sticky white flesh.

“They didn’t gossip about the uses for the money?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “I know, ye wish me to now seek a penance for listening in.”

Kirstin tugged Donna along the path until they found a bench. “That is not the case at all. I just feel so out of place. I dinna understand the reason for us being here either, and I feel like everyone but us knows.”

They sat on the bench, and Kirstin kept her eye out for any nuns that might be slinking close to listen. Sneaky old biddies.

“As your elder, I absolve ye of any sin.”

“What?” Donna giggled. “Ye canna do that.”

Kirstin frowned. Theologically, nay, she couldn’t, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to go with it. “Ye need to be our ears. I’ll pay any penance on your behalf. I need ye to do this, Donna. Everyone ceases speaking when I pass. They are extra careful with me as I’m Mother Aileen’s representative, but they are freer with their speech when ye are around. Use that to our advantage. I dinna like being in the dark.”

“Me either.” Donna picked a piece of apple skin from her teeth. “I will do it. As long as ye promise I’ll not get in trouble, or on the day of reckoning be outside the pearly white gates with God pointing in the other direction.”

Kirstin laughed. “I promise that willna happen from this incident, but I canna make promises from other areas of your life. In this, ye are helping me, your abbess and your abbey—your home.”

Donna gazed around the orchard, nodding. “Aye. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open then.”

“Good.” Kirstin stood, and smoothed her gray skirts. “Let us go and get our prayer books for compline then, and since the nuns will not speak with me nearby, dinna sit near me. I know at Nèamh many a rumor was spread through whispers at prayers.”

A few torches already lit to illuminate their way to the guest wing of the abbey. Outside their door was a woven basket covered by a white linen. Odd.

Kirstin bent, pulling back the linen to find a dozen ripe apples and a rolled parchment tied with red ribbon.

“Who is it from?” Donna asked, clapping her hands. “So exciting.”

Kirstin had an idea who it was before she tugged off the ribbon. She’d gotten little gifts like this before. A lifetime ago.

Once more memories assaulted her. Clinks of glasses, soft murmurs of love, running up the stairs, her blood charged with excitement.

She read and reread the scrawled words.

Dearest Kay,

There is an apple in the basket for every reason in which I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for being a cad. For not finding you sooner.

I’m sorry for not holding onto you when I had the chance. For letting you slip away.

I’m sorry for not telling you how much I wanted you, for taking you for granted.

I’m sorry for not saying the right things, for not being the man you needed.

I’m sorry for not protecting you, for not realizing sooner how wrong I was.

I’m sorry for not listening to you, for not letting you go now.

~G

“What does it say?”

Donna leaned over her shoulder to see, but Kirstin rolled up the parchment before she had the chance to see its contents.

Kirstin cleared her throat, swallowing down her heart, which had somehow clawed its way up her neck, lodging somewhere in the back of her mouth. Her eyes stung as tears threatened to spill. How could he do this? How could he write to her? Make her feel everything in a rush all at once. It was overwhelming. Her heart surged, her fingers trembled, arms prickled. She was cold. She was hot.

She was delighted and devastated at the same time.

Kirstin cleared her throat. “Run along to compline, Donna. I’m suddenly not feeling well at all.”

“What about the apples?” Donna picked up the basket, sniffing the fruit with pleasure.

“They are yours.”

For she couldn’t eat his apology. Wasn’t even certain how to accept it. He wasn’t letting go this time.

This time.

Why, oh why, did her heart sing? Why did hope fill her at his persistence? There could be nothing between them. Not again.

And yet… She longed for it.

Chapter Nine

She was dizzy. Vision blurred and the wood beneath her hip where she lay on her side bit painfully into her bones. Water lapped all around her, and a slow breeze whistled on the wind. Blinking open her eyes, she saw she lay on the bottom of small fishing boat.

The boat rocked gently. Behind her an old man sat telling her a story about the loch and a sea monster that lived within its depths. His oar dipped into the water, the soft sound of a splash as he pushed them forward, slow and methodical.

“Coming to shore now, lass.”

They gently hit the shore, the wood creaking as it slid against the bank. Kirstin tried to push herself upright, but she felt so weak, as though her limbs had been filled with steel instead of bone. She managed to lean up on her elbow, taking a break before she would try to sit the remainder of the way up.

The man stood, wobbly, stabbing his oar into the water and the shallow earth beneath the glittering depths, black with streaks of white from the moon.

“There’s the castle. I’d best be heading back across the loch afore that ‘ole monster comes up to get me. Go on now. Ye said your kin’s inside?”

Kirstin nodded, despite the water he’d given her, her tongue still felt too swollen to speak. She gazed up at the tall tower of Eilean Donan. Torches were lit along the wall, lighting up the massive and imposing structure. She’d made it. Now if only she could find her cousin. If she could even get out of this boat.

“Ye’ll have to stand to get out,” the old fisherman said. He reached a feeble hand forward, callused from decades of working oars and tackle.

“What’s going on here?” A deep baritone voice echoed somewhere from onshore. Not the old man’s, Kirstin was certain.

“Bringing this lass back to the castle. She was on the other side of the loch. Said she belongs here.”

The soft crunch of boots on the grass, a swipe of reeds. A dark figure looming above her.

“I’ve not seen her here before,” he said, his voice like a beacon. She reached instinctively out to him.

“Well, are ye calling me a liar?” the old man asked.

The younger man chuckled. “Not ye, sir.”

“Her?”

“Maybe.”

Kirstin managed to push up, catching sight of the man through her bleary eyes. He was large. Tall, broad. Steel glinted at his hip. A warrior. His hair was light against the night sky. Golden almost as the moon shone on it, and bound in a queue at the nape of his neck. His eyes, they studied her with curiosity and interest. Something within their depths told her she could trust him. Should trust him. And she did. For some reason, though she knew better than to trust a stranger, this man made her feel safe.

She tried to speak, only a croak coming out, and then again, “I belong here,” she said, though it wasn’t entirely true.

The castle had been her destination. She had to find her cousin, Finn, and rumors had spread across Loch Alsh that he’d been spotted at Eilean Donan. She intended to find out. After all, he’d been missing for the better part of six years, and he’d saved her life when the MacLeods had attacked her castle. She could have suffered the fate of her maid—death. Or the fate of her sister—abduction, possibly death. At the very least, she owed him her thanks.

“I’ll take her,” the man said, reaching out his hand.

Kirstin lifted a heavy arm, slipping her small hand against his larger, warm palm.

The old man straightened, somehow managing to put his wooden oar between the two of them. “Now, see here, ye’ll not be ill using her.”

“Never.” The warrior stuck out his hand. “I am Laird Buchanan. I will see to it that she is returned to wherever she belongs. Ye have my word.”

The older man gripped Laird Buchanan’s forearm. “Aye, then.”

Strong arms slipped beneath her weakened body. Why hadn’t she planned better? She should have packed a satchel full of food, a water skin. A blanket. But instead, she’d rushed away from the abbey with nothing but the gown on her back. If not for the old man finding her across the loch and offering her passage, she might have laid there until she was dead.

She was lifted into the air, her chilled body sinking against the warmth of her savior’s muscled form. Kirstin wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled good. Like leather and pine. Smelling him only reminded her how much she must reek, and if she wasn’t so exhausted and weak she might have been embarrassed.

“Thank ye,” she whispered to the old man, and to this new strong laird.

The old man muttered something, and then she felt herself floating, weightless in this warrior’s arms. “Where should I take ye?” he asked.

“My cousin. Is he here? Finn MacNeacail.”

“I’ve not heard of your cousin. But I will look. In the meantime, I will take ye back to the castle.”

“Is it your castle?”

“Nay, lass. A friend’s. But ye’ll be safe there.”

When she woke some time later, she was tucked beneath a thick blanket in the middle of a massive bed. Light streamed through a window. And dying embers lined the hearth. She sat straight up, unsure of where she was. The room was empty, but looked to be a man’s room if the set of boots and various weapons were any indication.

Oh, dear, heavens. What had she done?

She yanked back the covers. She was only in her chemise.

Kirstin’s hands flew to her face and she gasped.

She’d never been with a man before. She wasn’t even married! Oh, now her reputation was sullied. She must have… the warrior from the night before…

Had she been so exhausted that she’d slept through it?

Tears sprung to her eyes and she tugged up her chemise expecting to see blood on her thighs. But there was nothing. She wasn’t sore either.

From the stories she’d heard from the nuns at Nèamh, she would have suffered both, nay?

The door handle jiggled, and she quickly shoved down her chemise and tugged the blankets up. Limbs trembled. Teeth chattered.

A servant entered, a warm smile on her wrinkled face. Her arisaid was worn, her belly plump. She looked happy and well-cared for. “His lairdship said ye’d be sleeping. We brought ye a bath and some food to break your fast.”

“His lairdship?” Kirstin asked.

“Laird Buchanan. He serves Robert the Bruce.”

“Whose castle is this?”

“Eilean Donan?” The woman chuckled as servants filed into the chamber. “My where did ye come from, lass? The Bruce is holding the castle.”

Kirstin tucked her knees up to her chest. “I am from Skye.”

“A fairy, then.”

That made her smile. As a child she’d often run through the fields of heather pretending to be a fairy. “My name is K—Kay.”

“Well, Laird Buchanan says we are to see to your comfort. I’m Anne if ye need anything.” The maid put her hands on her hips and started ordering the servants about.

“Thank ye.”

“Ye’re a lady. I can tell by your speech.”

’Twas on the tip of her tongue to tell the servant she was a lady born who’d taken sanctuary in an abbey for the last six years, but she kept that part to herself. “Aye. I got lost. Your laird was kind enough to give me shelter for the night.”

Anne nodded. “He’s a kind man.”

The crew of servants finished setting up a bath and filled the table with what looked like a feast for a dozen men, not simply her.

“Shall I help ye with your bath, Lady Kay?”

Kirstin shook her head. “I can manage.” When Anne started to leave, Kirstin called out to her, “Can I have a cinnamon stick?”

“Aye. I’ll bring ye some up.”

As soon as she was alone, Kirstin stuffed a fruit tart into her mouth, crumbs spilling, she was so hungry. She gulped down a glass of goat’s milk, then shrugged out of her chemise, sinking into the warm depths of the bath.

Dried lavender and rosemary floated on top of the water, their scent calming.

Kirstin washed with the ball of soap and linen cloth, and when Anne returned with the cinnamon stick, Kirstin scrubbed her teeth, then stood from the tub, reaching for the thick linen left to dry herself. A fire in the hearth warmed the room so she didn’t freeze from the water on her skin. She climbed from the milk-soapy bath, feeling clean.

But there was a problem. The only clothes she had were the dirty chemise and dark woolen gown—both were nowhere to be seen.

Oh, no…

Was this when the ‘nice’ Laid Buchanan would return, holding her hostage, naked? If he’d not used her body the night before, would he now?

A knock sounded at the door, and she tossed the towel aside and sank quickly back into the tub, unsure of how else to hide herself so that her skin was no longer exposed.

“My lady?” That voice, his, stroked over her skin in such a delicious way, she might have questioned whether or not she’d initiated what could have happened the night before.

“I am not presentable. Do not enter,” she called.

“I will not look. I promise.”

“Nay!”

But he was opening the door. Backing into the room. Facing away from her. Not looking.

She narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to turn around. To grab her out of the tub and—

Why did that thought send a shiver over her skin? Wanton, wicked woman!

He carried something that he laid down on the bed. Kirstin’s eyes widened when she realized what it was. A new chemise. A new gown.

“The other ones looked as though they’d seen better days. Our tailor was able to discern your size and had these taken in for ye. I’ll leave ye to your bath.”

“Wait!” She sat straighter in the tub, then sunk quickly back in when she realized sitting up exposed the tops of her breasts. She had to know what exactly had happened between them. “Did we… Did I…”

He chuckled softly, still facing away. “Nothing happened, lass. I’d not take advantage of ye. As I said, ye’re safe with me.”

“Why are ye being so kind?” She was confused, and yet she felt drawn to him.

“Because. I have a sister. If she were to wash up on shore, I’d want someone to do the same for her.”

Kirstin smiled, feeling suddenly warm. And safe. Safer than she’d felt in years. “Thank ye. I dinna know how I can ever repay ye.”

“My kindness needs no payment, lass. Enjoy your bath.” And then in two long strides, he was out the door.

Kirstin woke with a start, the memories of her past, of Gregor so fresh she could have been reliving them. Sweat slicked over her skin. Skin that felt alive with memory. With want.

She curled up, rolling onto her side, hugging her pillow, recalling how she used to lay in bed beside Gregor, holding onto him just the same way. The sound of his breathing as he slept, the little groan of pleasure he made when he woke and pulled her into his arms.

The moon shone through her single window, lighting on the basket of apples. The basket of apologies.

She couldn’t deny that the gesture was sweet. Thoughtful. Gregor had always been that way. Until the end, when he’d railed about the future they couldn’t have together.

A piece of her had died that night.

Well, at least, she’d thought a piece of her had died. But whatever part of her heart had hidden itself the last decade awakened the moment she saw him on the road. The moment his eyes met hers and she felt struck. Like an invisible force had grabbed hold of her heart, and yanked it from its tightly locked box back out into the open.

There was no denying what was in her heart.

But could she trust it?

She’d done that once before and look what had happened.

Oh, how she wished her sister, Brenna, was here with her now. She could ask her what to do. Brenna had been miserable in her first marriage. Forced to marry a monster at age twelve, she’d been tormented until his death the previous year. Despite years and years of anguish, she’d managed to open her heart again. And had fallen deeply in love with her new husband, Gabriel. She was blessed with a beautiful family. Brenna was happy, ecstatic even. At peace.

Was that a possibility for Kirstin?

With Gregor?