The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1) Read online

  Serena took her hand just as the flags passed under the barbican. “Come.” And she pulled Tess across the gate tower and down the steep steps to join the parties below.

  Tess felt a bit awkward, maybe even a bit misplaced, but she followed along, urged as she was by Serena’s tugging. They were met in the yard by Conall and a man who was of his same height, but whose demeanor soon gave the impression of being day to Conall’s night.

  “Gregor!” Serena happily called out and kissed him upon both cheeks.

  Tess met Conall’s eye, returned his nod of greeting, and offered a small half-smile for his safe return. She hugged her great cloak more tightly around her, keeping hold of Conall’s gaze, as his appeared in no hurry to leave hers—until the man named Gregor stepped immediately and purposefully before Tess, putting Conall behind him.

  “I am Gregor Kincaid,” he announced, his eyes dancing. “I dinna right care who you are, lass, but you should ken I aim to be completely at your mercy.”

  Serena giggled and swatted his shoulder from beside Tess.

  He pretended an affront. He took Tess’s hand in his, ignoring her scandalized expression. “Or your disposal? Your beck and call?” He placed his other hand over hers, despite Tess curling her fingers uncomfortably within his.

  “Oh, Gregor, do leave off,” Serena chided, all in good humor.

  Tess hadn’t a clue what to make of this man.

  Conall stepped around him, his dark frown giving the impression that he did not share Serena’s affinity for the man’s playfulness. Almost glowering at his friend, Conall disengaged Tess’s hand and kept it held by his own.

  “Lady Tess Munro,” Conall said, “I am sorry to introduce you to Gregor Kincaid, chief of all Stonehaven.”

  Gregor’s playful expression shifted subtly. “Munro, you say?”

  Tess kept his gaze but felt her expression harden just a bit; her chin raised, supposing he was taking her measure.

  But he only smiled again. “A glorious pleasure, indeed, Lady Tess.”

  After a moment, Gregor Kincaid turned back to Serena, took up her hand now, and began walking toward the keep. Tess heard him say, “Munro, he says. Here’s a story, aye?”

  Tess looked up at Conall, whose expression advised her to disregard Gregor Kinkaid, though she saw no true displeasure in his eyes. Still holding her hand in his, they followed in the wake of Gregor and Serena.

  Tess had never dined within the hall, and as they entered the keep, she saw that many people were already seated at the long trestle tables. Nervously, she watched Gregor and Serena make their way toward the family’s table at the front of the room. Unconsciously, she slowed, tugging lightly at her hand. Conall, a step in front of her, turned at her resistance. He realized what had given her pause and gave a brief nod, a gesture of assurance meant to communicate that all would be well. Her palms turned instantly damp and her stomach churned but she followed anyway, keeping her gaze on his broad back to avoid eye contact with any who might take exception to her presence.

  “Perhaps I should return to the tower,” she suggested, but this faintly given idea was lost in the din of the crowded hall. Before she knew it, she was next to Conall at the main table, and he was holding out a chair for her.

  Tess sat and looked around. To her left, at the center, sat Conall, who was pulled immediately into conversation with the priest, Father Ioan, seated on the other side of the laird. If the little round man was surprised to see her in the hall, he did not say, but rather lowered his head and his voice so quickly to Conall that she thought he must be imparting urgent and secretive news. Next to him sat Leslie MacDonnell, the castle’s steward, whom Tess knew not at all, save for the pinched lip stares he sometimes offered when she did happen upon him. His value to his laird was evident by his position at the head table.

  Serena sensed Tess’s unease, and reached below the table to squeeze her hand where it had sat nervously upon her knee. Her friend offered an encouraging smile. Fortified by this, Tess considered the jovial mood of the occupants of the room.

  ‘Twas not so crowded as the hall might be were there a true banquet, but it was near to full. The low fire in the hearth was barely required, all these bodies adding warmth. A light haze of the smoke that ever lingered about the keep hung above the tables, reaching to the timber of the ceiling. Brown and gray—of the tables, the rush- filled floor, the peasants’ garments, the very air—were the predominant colors in the room, brightened only rarely by more cheerful shades: a bouquet of spring blooms lying atop a table, a brightly dressed rag doll held tightly in the arms of a child.

  The haunting sounds of a Celtic harp drifted across the hall, and as Tess looked around for the minstrel, she reveled in the wistful atmosphere created by the lovely music.

  Trenchers of food came first to the chief’s table, which prompted all those still milling about to find their seats. One by one, kitchen girls and pages delivered the meal, fresh from the kitchen, to each of the tables—hot lamb custarde and braised greens and peas, and tasty parsnip pie with raisins.

  “You had success today at the border?” Tess asked of Conall, while they supped.

  He was either surprised by the question or perhaps more by her attempt at conversation. He set down his eating knife and took a long swallow of his ale, then rested his forearms on either side of his trencher, as if he were unaccustomed to eating and talking at the same time.

  “My efforts were no so much thwarted, as redundant,” he answered, casting a glance above her head to acknowledge Gregor Kincaid, seated on the other side of Serena.

  When the women turned their eyes to Gregor, he only shrugged, spearing beans onto his own knife. “Only that we happened there first,” he said and shoved the vegetables into his mouth, hunkering down over his food.

  Conall shrugged as well. “Saved us the hassle. The reivers will be silent, at least for a time.”

  “But there is still another war,” Serena reminded them, “and as pleased as I am to see you, Gregor, I think your stopover begs an inquiry.”

  “We will ride for Elcho Park after May day,” Conall explained. “William Wallace himself has taken up a position there, disturbing the English and defectors in the area. We’ll give him some assist.” These words were softly spoken, meant only for ears very near to him.

  Tess swiveled her head to Conall when he’d revealed these plans. His dark eyes rested upon her, anticipating her reaction.

  What would become of her? Did he wonder that as well? Did he trust her to remain, only because she’d given an oath that she would?

  Would she remain, if given true opportunity to flee? Or, would she choose to keep on at Inesfree? She must be honest with herself about her current circumstances: truth be known, she was not unhappy and had purpose in caring for Bethany and Angus, enjoyed a deep camaraderie with Serena, and took pride in her responsibilities, tending the herb garden, sewing and needlepoint. She’d had no purpose in her father’s home. And, too...there was Conall.

  She could not ignore, first, the near-constant, if unwelcome, appeal of the man, nor, secondly, the temptation—dare she think it, the potential?—of her own response to him. Certainly not after these last few days.

  “I would wish you God’s grace, and a safe return,” she said, opting for the most generic reply. He continued to hold her gaze, his own thoughtful.

  Tess spent some of the evening with Bethany and Angus, just sitting with them near the hearth, giving Angus details of the goings-on in the hall, while Bethany dozed in her lap. The hall had a carefree ambiance tonight. It was possible that this was the usual mood of the supper hall and Tess wouldn’t know this, having never before taken part. The harp had been united with another instrument and the music turned from subdued to jaunty, prompting several occupants to begin to dance.

  “There is a woman,” Tess was telling Angus, her voice low, “and God love her, she has as many years as my own father, pushing herself—I cannot think of another way to describe it—upon a
youth with her dance. His face is beyond red. The chorus you hear is his mates, urging him on, though he seems most resistant.” It might have been quite humorous, save for the boy’s palpable mortification. “She’s lifting her skirts—oh my,” Tess kept telling, though her eyes widened at exactly how much the old woman exposed to the boy.

  Angus chuckled beside her. “He canna run?”

  “They won’t let him,” Tess explained, watching as the older men around him, soldiers and peasants alike, circled the woman and the boy, refusing to allow the youth’s escape.

  “Best thing can happen is the music stops,” Angus guessed, and when it did at that very moment, he and Tess shared even greater laughter at the perfect timing. After a moment, Angus asked, “And where is the laird now?”

  She didn’t have to scan the room to know, had kept half an eye on him since taking leave of the table. He’d remained and was now surrounded by his retinue of soldiers and advisors. “He plots with his war council and the Kincaid,” she informed Angus. She looked left and right, then whispered to Angus, “They will join William Wallace himself in a sennight or so.”

  Angus nodded. “As he should. Freedom will no happen by the will of one man alone.”

  She tried to take interest in other things and people around the room but found her eyes returning to Conall. He stood larger and taller than any man around that table, save for Gregor, and even he was not so broad as Conall. His size had at one time intimidated her, but that was long ago. She thought boldly of him pressed against her, holding her tenderly, an impossible thing to imagine if you’d not experienced it firsthand.

  She mused to Angus, “Seems to me, if you were upon a battlefield and you witnessed the coming of Conall MacGregor as your enemy, surely you would turn and run. I know I would.”

  Angus tilted his head and lifted his brow. “You haven’t as yet.”

  She continued to watch Conall as he rose from the table and dismissed the men around him. Tess wondered if he might be equally as attuned to her, for though she’d not once found his eyes upon her while she’d sat with Angus, he seemed to know exactly where she was, and his gaze settled on her without having to search around.

  She watched him walk toward her, wondering if she would ever get used to the great appeal of Conall MacGregor, that sure stride, the wide shoulders, those piercing eyes. Tess’s heart skipped a bit, then quickened as he neared. Realization dawned finally that whatever it was that kissing led to—she had only been educated in the basics—it was inevitable between her and Conall. And this thought did not displease her. It might well have something to do with her desire for more of his kisses, or mayhap it was the way he stared at her now as he neared, all that smoldering intensity churning her belly and breast, teasing her into acceptance. Tess felt a flush warm her cheeks.

  He reached her and Angus near the large fire against the courtyard-side wall, his eyes scanning over the three of them sitting there.

  “Aye, laird,” Angus said, bringing Conall and Tess’s eyes to him, both amazed at the man’s uncanny ability to know when someone came near, and who that someone was.

  “Angus,” Conall greeted. “I’ll carry the lass up for you,” Conall offered and reached to carefully pull the sleeping Bethany from the old man’s arms.

  Tess said good night to Angus and kissed his cheek and followed Conall out of the hall.

  UP IN THE TOWER, CONALL settled the child onto her small bed. Bethany roused a bit, so that Tess sat on one side of the bed and fussed over her for a few minutes. Conall thought that might be something he could never do; likely, he and that small bed frame, in pieces, would crash to the floor. He strained to hear Tess’s gentle murmurings at Bethany’s ear but could not.

  He busied himself with the small fire in the hearth, removing the belt that held his sword to keep in out of the way as he went down on one knee. He poked at the logs, making sure they were in a position to keep a low fire burning at least for the next hour. When he stood and turned again after several minutes, Tess was standing as well, her eyes on him.

  Conall sent a glance to the small bed and found Bethany’s eyes closed again, with no lines marring the perfect skin of her forehead. He reached for the belt and sword he’d discarded only moments before. He hadn’t any reason to stay.

  And yet, he had no desire to leave.

  Tess spoke, drawing his eyes again to her, though her gaze focused only on his sword and the hand that held it. “There might well be danger if you go to Wallace’s side. All of England—indeed, some of Scotland—seek his capture, or demand his surrender.”

  Conall nodded. “Aye. Wallace has only Scotland’s interests at heart, but he’d be the first to tell you, he does much of his thinking with the blade of his sword.”

  “But you are not like him,” Tess guessed, tilting her head at him, finally meeting his eyes, “in that regard.”

  “You dinna ken that,” he told her. “You haven’t seen me in battle.”

  In response she gave a little laugh, which raised Conall’s brow. Her eyes even danced a bit now. “Angus has informed me that I have,” she confided. “He sees much for an old man without sight. He is quite sure that we—you and I—battle daily.”

  Now Conall smiled. His eyes swept over her, considering her skin, turned creamy and gold by the light of the fire, and her eyes, shy but not wary.

  “You’ve no heart for battle, lass.” And yet, he’d never met a person, man or woman, young or old, who had stood their ground as fiercely against his ire and rages and menaces as Tess Munro rather regrettably and regularly had.

  “I do not.”

  “Do you even now plan your escape, knowing I’ll be away?’

  Her eyes darkened. Softly, she insisted, “I promised I would not.”

  “Then we can be done with battling?”

  “I would like nothing more,” she said, and he did realize a bit of relief washing over him until she added, “Yet I am a prisoner here, if only now by my own vow.”

  “You dinna have to be.”

  Her eyes jumped back to his. If any previous statement Tess Munro had uttered had ever shocked him, nothing, he was sure, would ever compare to her next words.

  “I am considering that.” And she held his gaze still, her green eyes even more remarkable with her newfound fearlessness.

  If he kissed her now....

  His teeth gnashed together, warring with indecision, which he rarely had cause to do. He would leave in one week. If he kissed her now, while she actually appeared as if she might welcome it, everything was changed. Everything. If he should not return, if he should fall beside Wallace, what would become of Tess? His chest tightened, a new fear sitting heavily there. He needed to plan for the possibility of his death. There was, aside from Inesfree and its people, now Tess to consider as well.

  He stepped toward her, stopped only a hand’s breadth away. Her eyes lifted as he neared and stood so much taller. Conall set his palm against her cheek, and felt her hand settle upon his chest, her touch whisper soft. His hand slid around her neck and pulled her closer still and she nestled her head against his chest. He bent and pressed a long, slow kiss to the top of her head. He breathed deeply of her scent, infused with the heat that consumed him whenever they touched.

  Conall turned and left the room.

  He would return from Wallace’s side. He would.

  CHAPTER 19

  As Tess knew well by now, Inesfree's master twice annually hosted a large bazaar: in winter at Michaelmas; and in late spring on May Day. The people of Inesfree and the surrounding area, and occasionally some from as far away as Edinburgh and Glasgow came to the four day celebration. They filled the two baileys with their food and song and wares to sell and brought entire families, pitching animal skin tents in the grass and heath where they might sleep off their indulgences outside the walls. Any given day during the May day feast, one might count as many as a thousand heads. Inesfree's steward would record in his ledger a tally of six hundred cattle, three
hundred chickens, one thousand pheasants, and hundreds of smaller game assembled and slaughtered for the banquets held round the clock. It took the half a year between the celebrations to prepare for the next, for there were kegs to fill, tables to construct or upkeep, arrangements to be made for the nobles attending, salt to store, ice to procure and keep, and a host of other necessities which called for Leslie MacDonnell, the castle’s steward, to oversee every detail, major and not.

  All week long, people had arrived, slowly at first, a trickle here and there of a family or small group of travelers. By late last evening, the bailey had been filled near to overflowing. From the window in Serena’s chamber, which she now shared with Tess and Bethany, Tess had watched the goings-on, intrigued by such gaiety and revelry. With a song ever in the air, people danced and frolicked, exchanged money for goods, and the large outer bailey was transformed into the largest of several marketplaces. She watched wistfully but not with enough longing to want to join in.

  On the morning of the first day, Tess once again offered her services to Eagan to aid with the never-ending cooking schedule. It was like nothing she had ever witnessed before. The kitchen now teemed with scores of people, the air within oppressive. She was crowded between people working at the chopping counter she’d at one time had mostly to herself. After only a few hours on the first day, she gratefully accepted a long square of plain linen from another girl, Moira, tying the kerchief around her head as the others had, centering the flat fold along her forehead and knotting it under the hair at her neck. It offered only slight and short-lived relief, taking the hair off her face.