The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1) Page 12

  "Tess, have you no need for repose?" He asked, without opening his eyes.

  "I am plagued by repose of late and well you know it."

  "But suffer your laird's need of it."

  "Tis not my laird you are," she said quietly but dropped carefully to the soft grass. She made a show of arranging her skirts about her legs. She'd thought she'd allowed for enough space between herself and Conall, a safe distance. But at her remark, Conall opened his eyes and rolled to his side, coming up onto his elbow, which now placed him within reach of her.

  "Aye, I am no," he said, without rancor. Just thoughtfully. And then, “Lass, you said your mother loved you, but you didn’t sound very convinced of it. Was she no a kind person?”

  Tess was quick to correct. “My mum was the sweetest, most gentle person. She just didn’t... she couldn’t really love me.”

  Conall frowned. “All mothers love, tis...just nature,” he challenged.

  “It wasn’t in her nature, I suppose. Oh, she was lovely, mistake me not,” Tess was quick to defend. After a moment, while her eyes stared straight out over Inesfree, she offered, “Truly, my mum was the finest person I had ever known—so fragile and beautiful I often found myself just staring at her in awe—but she had demons, I am afraid. Her mind would wander. No, more than that, it would plague her and harass her and so often she would....” Tess shrugged, her words trailing off. “She wasn’t well, and not entirely capable of love at all times.” And, rather as an afterthought, “This would have killed her though, my being...gone.”

  “And your sire?”

  Tess thought for a moment. “I barely know him. While they were married, he spent much time in Scotland and we remained in England. Any memory I have of that time, before we were moved into the abbey, is fuzzy. I remember being hopeful, looking forward to his rare visits, but then I recall—” she shook her head and stared away from him, “I was disappointing to him, I always felt.”

  She seemed to shake herself within, but did not look at him, only gazed upon the hills and mists. But soon enough as he continued to regard her, her cheeks reddened in response. "Do not stare at me," she reprimanded, her voice a hurried whisper.

  Conall said lazily, "Endure this, lass, for the alternative would scare you even more."

  "I am not afraid of you." It hadn't sounded very convincing. She turned to glare at him. "I am not," she said again, this time with more bravado than truth, staring into those blue eyes, trying very hard to convince herself. He tilted his head, looking at her still, his eyes telling her she should not make statements that she knew he could so easily discredit.

  But he did nothing, save to lie back down and fold his arms under his head.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “You just did.”

  “What? Oh,” and she grinned at this bit of foolery, and saw just the barest quirking of his lips. Tess played along. “May I ask you another question?”

  “You did it again.”

  Now Tess laughed out loud, but caught herself, clapping her hand over her mouth. She shouldn’t be enjoying the company of this man. Not at all. But her eyes danced.

  “I am about to ask you a question,” she said, pleased with her own cleverness.

  “Hmm.” He smiled fully now thought his eyes remained closed.

  “Why Marlefield? Why me?” She asked, sorry to see the smile disappear from his handsome face.

  Conall opened his eyes, but didn’t move otherwise, just watched the clouds rolling by, seeming to consider his words.

  But he didn’t answer, or didn’t answer soon enough, so that Tess now regretted even more dispelling his lighter mood and asked, “Did I confuse you? That was two questions, actually. Would you like them asked one at a time? I can space them out....”

  She saw his chest move a bit and he threw a glance at her, his lips quirked again. And she felt better.

  “’Tis war time, lass,” was his very vague reply. He kept his gaze upon her. “I am sorry you are the pawn for you seem like a decent enough person—though entirely too stubborn for my purposes.”

  Tess shrugged. She would not apologize for her behavior while she remained his captive. Of course, while she wouldn’t actually express regret for having foiled his plans, she was sorry for the circumstance between the two of them. She looked at him, at all that maleness, those riveting eyes, those very able hands, capable of keeping a person—even a pawn—very safe. She thought of his kisses and realized it was indeed a shame, this circumstance.

  “’Tis only war, and no personal—no you and I anyway.”

  Her nod was slow, though she wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. It seemed decidedly personal—or did she only wish that? “But...why am I still here?” She didn’t think she needed to add, while I still refuse to wed you.

  “You’ll wed me yet, lass, mark my words.”

  That was an infuriating condition, his apparent ability to read her very thoughts. Tess thought it wise to change the subject.

  "Do you fight for Robert Bruce?"

  "I fight for Scotland," he answered, so simply, so matter-of-factly, she knew it to be an integral part of the man.

  "For Bruce and Scotland, you mean to say."

  "Always, only, for Scotland, occasionally beside the Bruce."

  "And pillaging and raping and murder are necessary deeds to ensure Scotland's freedom?"

  He opened his eyes and Tess knew in that moment that she'd gone too far by repeating sheer supposition, rumors of which she’d yet to be shown any evidence. Gone was the light blue of ease in his eyes, replaced by frowning depths of deep blue, colder, she imagined, than any loch in winter.

  "Have I raped you, Tess?"

  "No," this, a mere squeak.

  "Have I stormed Marlefield?"

  "No."

  "If I raped you, Tess, would that make it easier to sustain a hatred you believe you should feel? A hatred that diminishes by degrees with each passing day?"

  With mounting regret for having opened her mouth in this arena, she stared at the hands in her lap. At this last theory examined, she lifted her eyes to his, sure the rapid color rising to her cheeks answered his question.

  She should hate him. She had—at one time. But he'd proceeded to prove himself not the monster she'd anticipated, nor quite the one she'd dreaded. Tess considered herself not at all prepared to deal with this Conall MacGregor.

  MacGregor the Murderer she could well take on. Fear and hatred could, as he'd guessed, sustain a person. She could confront a beast and stay true to the Munros with relative ease. But she knew not what to do with his kindness, found herself at a loss when confronted with something so simple as a smile from the man. Truly, Tess was lost.

  “I have to hate you, that is all. It is my duty,” was all she said.

  Conall stared at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his tone was relaxed, no sense of smugness detected. “You want to,” he said. “To hate me, that is. I think therein lies your greatest struggle.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Tess hadn’t lied when she’d told Conall that she wasn’t afraid of him. And while she wasn’t so naive as to believe that she knew him well—sometimes not at all, it seemed—she’d been his captive for many weeks now, and he had yet to fulfill any promise of harm to her. She felt quite safe in her belief that he wasn’t bent on her destruction, even as she continued to thwart his well-laid plans. Curiously, though Conall and Tess had spoken of marriage, he had not again demanded that she wed him. She wasn’t sure what steadied his head or hand in this regard.

  What she was afraid of, however, was her very own self. Or—more succinctly—her rather ungovernable response to that man. He was correct; she didn’t hate him and perhaps she never had. Any loathing, real or hoped for, to which she’d tried to cling, was, as he’d said, waning day by day.

  And this was a great and shameful quandary.

  Maybe in another time—another life perhaps—she’d want to know more about him, would want to be kissed by him
, and experience the full promise those kisses teased at. But now, she had no business keeping any emotion for him save the ever-fading hate. And she just couldn’t do it.

  She needed to get away from him before it truly was too late. He may not be quite the beast she’d once thought, but she was still and would always remain nothing more than a pawn.

  He’d left her alone these past many days, to both her pleasure and, sadly, her chagrin. She’d returned to her kitchen and garden duties and had given up trying to have herself removed from his bedchamber. But even in this, Tess had adopted a careless insolence; her exhaustion at night meant she wasn’t even bothered to wakefulness by his coming and going in the chamber. But then, she hadn’t seen Bethany in the last few days and nights, either. This, too, fueled her ill-spirits of late.

  The only speck of relief—it wasn’t great enough to be construed as joy—was that the evil-eyed Ezra seemed to finally have been discharged of his duties. She hadn’t seen him since her return to her chores, and though no mention was ever made to her, he had not been replaced, either. She didn’t dare question it, since she’d never been comfortable in his presence anyway and was thankful that she needn’t suffer him any longer.

  And so it was, that on this day, more than a week after her scrambled dash away from Inesfree, that Tess sat once again in the herb garden. Rains had threatened all morn. The sky churned up gray and dour clouds, whisking them across a sunless sky. Serena had been kind enough to loan her yet more pieces of apparel; today it was a hooded gray cloak. There wasn’t much to be done in the garden, but she was still happy to remain out of doors as long as possible, despite the depressing weather.

  Soon enough, the rains did come, and Tess hitched up the basket of plucked herbs onto her hip and started back toward the kitchens. She thought she spied Bethany. Across the inner bailey, a child with blonde hair, just about Bethany’s size, darted through the light shower and the outer gate, out of Tess’s sight. Curious, she followed, her hood pulled low against the rain, hoping to catch up with Bethany before she disappeared. Tess walked briskly but never came upon the child again, even though she’d walked almost halfway around the square outer bailey. She was surprised to find herself near the postern gate and the back door to the larder and kitchens.

  She stared at that gate, the one she’d discovered while watching those boys dicing many days ago. There was none about to stop her or question her. She walked further, and with only one last glance to be sure there were no witnesses, she lifted the latch.

  It did not budge. Tess frowned and squinted at the handle. It should just lift out of the brace, but it did not. True, it was old and rusted, but it should at least have budged. She tried again, and used two hands now, but to no avail.

  Tess turned around, scanning the yard again, her mouth pinching a bit in confusion. With a frustrated shrug, and now chilled by the continued rain, Tess began walking back from whence she’d come. The outer gate and bridge were almost out of sight when she heard the call to raise the gate. Wondering if Conall might be among the coming party, she waited only long enough to see that it was, instead, old Metylda entering on her rickety cart, pulled by an impossibly aged nag. The old woman obviously felt the same as Tess did about the rains, her head likewise covered in a dark and heavy cloak. She turned her cart left, toward Tess, aiming for the back of the outer yard, where she usually stood her rig, closer to the kitchen. Metylda barely lifted her head and did not see or greet Tess as the cart rolled past Tess. The old healer might request to see Tess’s knees again, to discern for sure that her ministrations had been helpful, so Tess was bound to meet up with her inside.

  Tess returned to the inner courtyard, intent on getting out of the rain, but looked back, just in time to see Metylda stepping slowly from the seat of the cart, her movements judicious. She reached under a heavy woolen blanket, which covered much of the bed of the wagon, and withdrew her little leather satchel, which contained her medicinal herbs. On solid ground now, and with her head still lowered, Metylda walked rather spryly into the kitchens.

  Tess’s eyes remained fixed on the covered bed of the wagon.

  A person might lie under that blanket and never be noticed.

  THE RAINS BROUGHT CONALL and his men back to Inesfree earlier than expected. They had not been training today, but had, over the past many days, been shadowing and disrupting reivers along the border. The borderlands between England and Scotland had borne the brunt of the battles waged between the two warring nations. Sadly, their little towns had been mostly wiped out, castles burned, people killed and forgotten, and farms obliterated by the English’s love of burning everything in their wake. The people of the borders, understandably, were distraught over what little care had been shown them. Many of them had begun to turn the tables by plundering lands and homes and keeps on both sides of the border, while refusing allegiance to either Scotland or England. Of late, several of these loosely related groups had been hitting close to home, pillaging the small towns of Ainfield Plain and Swalwell, and these only a quarter day’s ride from Inesfree.

  Yesterday Conall had received a missive from the Kincaid, its chief advising of increased activity of these reivers. Conall and Gregor Kincaid had plans to meet up at the end of next month to ride to Wallace’s side, and both thought it imperative now that they settled the reivers’ increasing brutality before they departed their own homes.

  Today’s outing, with about fifty of his men, had succeeded only in showing him where the reivers had been, as they’d come upon the burnt out village of Langley Moor. Likely, the assault had taken place the day before, as the remains of the crofter’s huts, burned down to heaps of ash and bodies, barely smoked yet. If there had been survivors, they were gone as well, not even lingering about to bury the dead.

  No clues had been left to identify the perpetrators, and though the area had been scoured and the next closest villages visited throughout the morning, they knew no more than when the sun had risen.

  Death disturbed Conall. Senseless death and ruin infuriated him. They would head out tomorrow and try to discover which band of border reivers might be responsible. His best plan might be to charge into the reivers’ lands and start knocking heads to get the answers he needed.

  Conall nodded up at the soldiers atop the gate as he passed underneath. He was weary and wished only for a hot bath and tall ale.

  And Tess.

  That thought had not come completely unbidden. He’d been thinking on her while riding back to Inesfree. When did he not, really? He didn’t understand the reasoning, didn’t question the logic or lack thereof behind it, only knew that he’d missed her this past week. It was foolish, he knew. But the day had been miserable, and thoughts of Tess had calmed him. Not even carnal thoughts of kissing or touching and all the things he wanted to do to her, but just...her.

  It was time to force the marriage, he knew. He needed to wed Tess to regain Marlefield. He wanted to marry to bring Tess to him. She was not immune to his touch or his kiss, of that he was certain, ofttimes thinking it befuddled and thrilled her as much as it did him. If they were married, she would yield. Marriage would remove an obstacle, allow her to keep a bit of her pride, he guessed. It would make her his.

  His head would never allow him to say these things out loud, certainly not to any MacDonnell or MacGregor, but he knew he wanted Tess as his own, and he needed her to want it as well.

  Conall left his mount with one of the grooms who’d come running through the rain as the soldiers approached. The boy took the reins from Conall and John and two more soldiers, leading all four horses back to the stables. On down the returning line, grooms continued recovering horses. Drained warriors, silent with the weight of the day’s trials still upon them, were glad to be within sight of the keep.

  The men stepped inside, welcomed by a strong fire in the main hall, and the warmth it provided. Several soldiers took up seats upon the benches that would in a few hours be home to their supper. Serving wenches scrambled at
their arrival, scampering off to the kitchens to fetch ale. Conall allowed the men their ease; they’d witnessed atrocities today and were certainly permitted any attempt to drown them out.

  He had other plans and took the stairs two at a time at the end of the hall. Inside his chamber, there was no Tess. It dawned on him that at this time of day, she would still be about her kitchen chores, and Conall retraced his steps.

  Inside the kitchens, there was no Tess. Conall approached Eagan, not oblivious to the stillness that always overtook the kitchen upon his appearance.

  “Where is Tess?” He asked the round little man.

  Eagan looked around, as if he hadn’t given her any thought for a while. “She was here,” he said lamely. And then, with a worried look at his chief, “But that was quite a while ago. She went to gather herbs and...” his voice trailed off as dread contorted the cook’s usually composed expression.

  Conall’s nostril’s flared. He spun on his heel and headed outdoors. The rains continued to fall. Only a few people moved about, only those with someplace to be, heads covered and lowered against the rain.

  There was no Tess.

  She couldn’t have, he thought.

  She wouldn’t have dared.

  He turned around in the yard, his boots eating up mud from the ground. Rain splashed on his bare head and face. He swiped his hand angrily from forehead to chin, swiping water away. His curse then would have raised the brow of the devil himself.

  “Sound the alarm!”

  TESS THOUGHT HERSELF extremely lucky this day. If she had planned an escape, it would have involved all of these perfect opportunities. Metylda’s coming to the castle; covering the bed of her wagon because of the rain; the old hag making another stop after Inesfree, to a small village further north, where Tess stealthily clambered from her hidden spot within the healer’s wagon. ‘Twas only the rain that annoyed her, but this even had only to do with the chill, and that she would most definitely survive.