The Highlander's Sin (20 page)

But he belonged there
, owed that much to his father. If he was not going to be able to avenge their lives, at the very least he could rule his clan.

Their acceptance
was a risk he’d have to take. And together he and Heather could rebuild his castle, rebuild his clan. She’d make a good mistress. The lass was certainly bossy enough.

“Why do ye want to m
arry me?” He’d not asked before and wasn’t sure he wanted to know her answer. Women were supposed to do what they were told, and he’d told her to marry him. She should comply as the fairer sex, but knowing Heather, she’d comply only to poison his soup later. There had to be an ulterior motive for her.

“To save myself. To save your people.” Her voice was bland, banal.

“For a normal woman, I’d take your answer at face value, but ye’re a lot more complicated than that.” He leaned forward, catching the scent of her hair as it blew about in the wind. “Tell me, princess, is there another reason?”

She huffed. If she’d not been holding on
to the saddle for balance, he guessed she might have crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well, is there?”
he prodded.

“My life before ye
lacked adventure.” She shrugged. “I want more from life than chasing my brothers’ bairns. I dinna want to be told who to marry. I wanted the choice to be my own.”

Duncan frowned, staring down at her crown of golden hair.
“I fear I’ve failed ye on the last account.”

Heather shook her head. “Nay. Remember
, I told ye I wanted to marry ye.”

“For the adventure of it? Or to be released from your brothers’ hands? Is that why ye didna sneak from the cave until after they’d gone?”

When she spoke, he could practically hear the smile in her voice. “Aye.”

“Ye trust me.” The fact resonated deep within him. No one had ever trusted him. The monks didn’t count. Her trust was a gift he’d cherish and strive never to destroy.

“Aye, warrior priest. I trust ye.”

Duncan swallowed hard. He’d just been given a gift and a curse. The lass expected much of him, and he feared he’d only disappoint her.

“Do ye trust me?” she asked.

“Aye.” There was no pause in his answer. She’d proved herself today when she could have set herself free. His mind still reeled with that understanding.

Heather was proving to be a lot more complicated than he’d originally thought. Not simply a spoiled hellion, but a strong, intelligent, considerate temptress. Her kiss was enough to make a man toss his clerical robes and fall to his knees before her. And her lovemaking was enough to make him beg entrance to her heaven every second of every day.

Now he understood why so many men did abominable things just to be with a woman. But such a notion made him realize he had to be more careful. Falling for Heathe
r was dangerous in so many ways, and just because they’d exchanged trust didn’t mean he or his abbey were out of danger yet.

“Duncan,
” she started, a nervous edge to her tone. “Will they let ye renounce your position in the church?”

He cleared his throat. “I believe so.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve not
yet taken my final vows.”

“Then are ye truly a priest?”

“Aye, I just had not pledged my life to the church as yet. They knew who I was when I arrived. Prior Samuel didna want me to give up everything until I was truly ready. But now I think it best to claim back my identity.”

“
Your identity? Who are ye really?”

Chapter Eighteen

D
uncan had not answered her question, and it’d been nearly four hours since they’d ridden away from the cave. He veered off the road, pulling his horse to a stop in a copse of trees. Blade was covered in a lather of sweat, and Heather thought she just might not make it to the nearest bush. Besides her urgent need to seek privacy, her stomach grumbled loudly.

“We’ll take a short break here. Then we’ll ride another hour to an inn where we can grab a decent meal.”

Judging by the sun, it was just before noon. She’d be lucky not to lose consciousness by the time they got to the inn. Heather nodded and waited for Duncan to dismount. He reached up, wrapped his hands firmly around her waist, bringing her instantly alert. Her body awakened, recalling every touch from the night before. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she shoved away the sensations churning in her center. Duncan set her on her feet, and she pretended to barely notice his hands around her waist before she leapt behind a thick, lichen-covered tree.

“Dinna look at me!” she called.

Was he laughing?

She went about her business and then rejoined him and his horse, who was being fed a nice apple treat.

“Are ye familiar with the inn?” she asked.

“Somewhat. They’ve a nice rabbit stew.” His voice had grown distant, as though he mulled some deeper thoughts.

Heather’s stomach grumbled in answer. Duncan raised a brow.

“I didna realize ye were so famished.” He reached inside the bottomless satchel of his, pulled out a shiny green apple and tossed it her way.

Heather caught it with one hand and took a huge bite. “Mmm.”

Duncan grinned. “Have never seen a woman enjoy an apple so much.”

“And I never have.” Truly. She was famished, thirsty, and the apple helped to alleviate both.

They remounted Blade and continued on their way. The hour didn’t drag on as the previous ones had, partially because she’d had a snack, though her belly still grumbled. Having had a taste of food, she was ready for more. They’d worked up quite an appetite with their…nightly activities. She imagined every way in which the rabbit stew could be cooked. With carrots and potatoes or without. With a touch of sage and thyme, or more of a bland, peppery flavoring. Heather couldn’t give a fig what blend, as long as it was warm and accompanied by bread. That made her frown. There was every possibility that it would be cold and not a crumb in sight.

Before she had a chance to really work herself up over how the stew would be produced, they arrived at a large croft with a small wooden barn. A wooden sign staked into the ground outside the inn read:
Crofter’s Inn.

As they rode up to the door, a young boy of about fourteen summers rushed from the
barn toward them.

“
G’day, Father MacKay.” He bowed his head in Duncan’s direction.

“Blessings to ye, my lad.” Duncan pressed his hand to the boy’s head and then dismounted. He winked up at Heather as he reached for her. “We were hoping ye’re mother has made some of her rabbit stew.”

“As always, keeps a pot boiling for ye. Let me take your mount to our stables.” The boy trudged with Blade toward the barn—also, apparently, the stables.

Duncan held Heather’s elbow, heat suffusing the spot, and led her toward the front door. Would there ever come a
time when he touched her that she didn’t think about the both of them naked and his mouth upon her flesh?

An older gentleman and his wife spilled out followed by a brood of at least a dozen girls and boys. A ton of bairns in this household—
Dunrobin did not seem half as bad as this.

Heather plastered on her best smile, fully aware she looked like a beggar beside Duncan in his magnificent robes.

“Father MacKay,” the woman exclaimed. “We are so blessed to have ye with us.” Her eyes roved over toward Heather.

“Many thanks. Ye’ve always been very hospitable.” Duncan did not make mention of Heather.

She felt her face coloring, wondering what these people must think of her. Glancing down toward the ground, she examined the hem of her gown. Dirt-smudged, torn. She most definitely looked like a beggar. All the better, should her brothers come looking for her here. The innkeepers would make mention only of a poor, sad lass with the priest.

“Come inside. Ye must be famished.” The woman spoke while glancing at Heather, but on the last word, she turned her gaze to Duncan.

“Aye, madam, we have ridden hard.”

She smiled cordially and waved them inside. They walked past a long line of children whose cheeks were reddened, as though they’d just scrubbed the grime off their faces at seeing riders approaching.

Inside, the inn smelled musty, like spilled beer and unwashed bodies, but above all that was the succulent scent of stew. Heather detected an essence of sage, rosemary and pepper. It would appear the innkeeper’s wife was a fan of spices, all the better.

“The regulars will be in soon. Ye might wish to avoid their rowdy behavior.”

“Aye. My thanks,” Duncan said.

She led them through a wooden door to a diminutive room past what looked to be a common dining hall. The room was cozy, private and dimly lit by a small window with homespun curtains pulled back. Duncan drew the windows and lit two candles on the table instead.

He took a seat at a small table with three chairs and pointed to the chair opposite him. “Sit, lass.”

Heather nodded and pulled out the chair, arranging her skirts as best she could beneath her. Even arranged, they looked haggard, only fit for burning.

“I’ll be back with the stew.” The woman left them alone, closing the door quietly.

Duncan gazed over at her like she wore the finest of gowns and smiled. “We’ll eat and then be on our way.”

Heather returned his smile and then shifted her gaze warily toward the door.
“Do ye know the regulars?”

Duncan
steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Not beyond a skirmish or two.”

“Ye fought with them?” She gave a little laugh.
“Do ye fight with everyone?”

“Och, nay. I have to keep up appearances. I took their confessions after.”

That made her laugh all the more. “What people must think of ye. A right, honorable man of the cloth and all the while, ye’ve a sword as long as your leg and sharp as death.”

“No one asks about that. Odd
ly enough.” He stared at her lips, pupils dilating.

It would appear she was not the only one who couldn’t get thoughts of last night from her mind. “’Haps they think it a family heirloom.”

That made Duncan chuckle. “Entirely possible.”

A moment later the woman returned with two bowls of steaming stew. She set them down on the table.

“Care for some ale?”

“Aye, please,” Duncan replied.

Heather stared down with disbelief into her bowl. Barely two bites filled hers, while Duncan’s was near to overflowing. Why had the woman snubbed her?

Duncan glanced over at her
. Seeing what must have been a stricken look he turned his eyes to her bowl.

“Well, that w
on’t do,” he mumbled. He yanked her bowl toward his and upended his into it, until they both had equal portions. “Better.”

When the innkeeper returned,
she frowned at seeing what he’d done. Heat filled Heather’s face—anger, embarrassment.

“’Tis a sin to judge others and withhold from them what is rightfully theirs.” He said the words with his eyes locked on Heather then, at the last syllable, he glanced up at the woman with a reproachful gaze.

The woman straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her. She was stern when she spoke. “Apologies, Father, but I—”

Duncan held up his hand. “This lass is deserving of more than your scorn.”

The woman bit her tongue. They engaged in a silent battle, his eyes boring into hers, and the woman seemed set on not backing down, until finally, she relented. “Aye, Father.” She shifted her gaze to Heather. “Apologies.”

Heather smiled weakly, unable
to find her voice. She nodded, wishing she could sink into the floor.

The woman turned without setting down the mugs. A moment later, she returned with the mugs full and frothy. A boy followed with a plate full of freshly sliced, still-steaming bread.

“On the house,” she said softly.

“Blessings to ye,” Duncan said with a genuine smile.

The woman backed out of the room, her gaze on the ground, fully regretting her previous actions.

“Why did she do that?” Heather asked, genuinely confused as to why she had been disparaged. Certainly a dirty gown did not mean she should starve.

“Sometimes people judge others by their appearance and not by their hearts.”

“And what would she have seen with my appearance?”

Duncan took a slow sip of his ale. “Not what ye would have hoped.”

Heather’s eyes widened, and her stomach plummeted. “They think I’m…a…”

“Aye. A harlot.”

“Because I have a dirty gown? A few tears?”

“Because of that, and because ye’re beautiful, because ye travel alone with a priest. I must be escorting ye to a convent or returning ye to your family.”

Her stomach soured, losing some of the hunger she’d felt keenly.
“That’s mad.”

“Nay, princess, I assure ye, ’tis not.”

Heather was suddenly sad for every woman who may have looked a little down on her luck and could have been turned away by someone like the innkeeper’s wife. She hoped she hadn’t ever looked at someone and judged them by their appearance. Hoping wasn’t settling, for she was certain that at some point in her life she’d judged someone by their outward presence. She gazed down at her bowl of stew, now filled near to the top. Duncan had shared with her. How many small things such as this had he done for her to show the kindness of his heart?

Mercenary by trade, sinner
, as he professed, Duncan MacKay was a good man.

Heather flicked her gaze up to him, seeing how he observed her intently. Her stomach fluttered. “What?” she asked softly.

“Will ye take the first bite?”

“Oh. Aye.” She lifted the spoon to her mouth and was met with a surprisingly delicious taste. ’Haps the innkeeper’s wife had left a sour taste in her mouth, but no matter. The rich, decadent flavor of the stew flowed welcomingly over her tongue. “Delicious.”

“I am glad ye think so. When I’ve been on the road for a long time, I often find my way here, simply so I can have something hearty and good before I take another bite of an oatcake.”

Heather smiled and tore off a piece of steamy, buttery-smelling bread. “How can ye be sure ’tis truly tasty and not the works of your imagination after days of bland sustenance and hunger?”

Duncan chuckled, taking the piece of bread she offered. “Right ye are. This may be the worst stew in all the Highlands.”

They shared a
laugh over that. Heather watched Duncan eat, loving the enjoyment he took in each bite, and struck by the thought that he’d brought her to a place that was special to him. With that thought, the idea that he would be her husband startled her once more. She’d known it. Agreed to it. But the notion had yet to sink in.

Her. Married.

She shook her head and shoveled another bite of stew into her mouth, chewing without tasting.

Married.

The word repeated in her mind again and again. She was bound to make a terrible wife.

And she was determined to find out more about this man she was supposed to marry—before they said
I do
. There was an air of mystery around Duncan. He was hiding from his past. Hiding from his demons.

Could they be so hellish
that even he refused to face them? Besides her brothers, and maybe even a smidge more so, Duncan was the most fearsome man she’d ever come to know. Imagining him afraid of anything was enough to make her scoff, but it was clear that whatever skeletons were buried beneath his bed, kept him awake at night.

Heather took a hearty swig of her ale, but before she could swallow it, a banging sounded at the door. She glanced from the wooden barrier back to Duncan, whose lips had gone firm, his eyes narrowed. He leapt from his chair and pulled his sword from its sheath on his back, and he moved to stand in front of her. Protecting her.