Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

B ruce’s mind had never been such a blank slate of rage before. It felt as if the berserker bloodlust had come over him without the scent of battle in the air.

Why did the laird’s son get to sit with the maiden on his knee, her eyes meekly downcast as she accepted the way he was fondling her voluptuous breasts? It made him so mad when he thought of it, that Bruce flung himself on a wild horse in the stables and rode out onto the grasslands as if the three Furies were chasing him.

The girl was immune to his glamor. No woman had ever turned him down before!

As impossible as Bruce found this to believe, he had to accept it. The slim little sylph who had rescued him from the sea and nursed him back to health was a little girl no longer. In the three years since their first meeting, she had grown into a beautiful woman. A beautiful, highly desirable woman who did not find him attractive. Who seemed to hate him with every fiber of her being.

Bellowing loudly at the top of his voice, Bruce flung himself out of the saddle. Tethering the reins to a thicket of bushes, he went to the cliffs and stood on the edge. Crazy thoughts crowded into his head. If she did not agree to lie with him, he might go mad with frustration. What had begun in his mind as a vague interest seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Like a ravening beast in a cage, Bruce’s heart growled to be set free.

Wrenching back discipline over his emotions, Bruce straightened his shoulders and headed down to the fishing village near the beach. He would have known his way there blindfolded. So many times he had tried to locate the little peasant girl who had made his eyes wake to the world with hope for the first time.

The locals hung their heads and refused to make eye contact when they saw him leading the horse downhill. No one acknowledged him. No one smiled. Some of them rolled their eyes to the gray clouds above because they were so tired of him asking them the same old question. The hulking Highlander might want to know the answer to his mystery woman’s identity, but he was doomed to be disappointed.

Bruce stopped the fisherman. He admired the elderly man for making a living out of these freezing waters. “Good morrow, Elder. Och nay, dinnae turn awa’ from me. I’m asking ye nicely.”

The old man faltered and then stopped. Making an effort not to sound exasperated, the fisherman bid Bruce a good morrow. The Highlander got straight to the point. “Aye, it would be a good morrow but for one wee thing. Yon comptroller at the chief’s hall got hold o’ the wee lassie who helped me oot three years past.”

He could tell from the guarded look that came over the man’s face that the fisherman knew he was talking about the girl with the green eyes. “I can confirm the chief’s man took away one of oor maidens, master, but that’s the only information ye are going to get oot o’ me!”

Holding back his frustration, Bruce slipped the man a silver coin. “For the love of all that’s precious to ye, auld man, I beg ye to tell the laird’s men that she has a husband. Spread the word to everyone who lives on the beach. When the time comes, they must swear the girl is married.” Bruce tried to think of a believable story. “Tell them that her husband is a local man who traveled to Scotland on a mission. Tell no one of her virginal status other than to swear she was married on the mainland a few weeks prior.”

The fisherman gave up all pretense that he did not know who Bruce was talking about after this. “Why is this lie so important, master?”

Bruce managed to keep his temper. “Use yer heid, auld man! She’s living in the lion’s den noo. Withoot the protection a married status can give her, she will be ravished against her will.”

The old man stepped back, crossing his arms. “And is nae that ravishing likely to come from ye, lad? Ye’re more than fond o’ her—ye’re obsessed—coming here as often as ye can, sniffing around like a hungry bear after hibernation, looking for sweet honey.”

Holding up his hands, palms facing outward, Bruce acknowledged the old man’s observation. “Aye, aye. It might look that way, but I have the girl’s best interests at heart. This I swear to ye.”

The fisherman’s wife had come out to stand next to her husband and heard this last confession. “Girl? Esme McKenzie is a young maiden who has seen twenty summers; she is nae ‘girl’.”

Bruce nodded. “She was a girl when I first laid eyes on her, so I suppose that is how she will always be remembered in me heart. And if ye think of her with affection, dinnae call her a maiden again.”

The fisherman’s wife scowled. “Ye should be ashamed o’ yerself, Berserker, bending yer knee to a ruddy Norseman! Scuttle back to yer own side of the island as fast as ye can go. We’ll nae say a word against yer story. Noo, be gone.”

After this, all Bruce could do was mount his horse and go back up the hill. It was hard going riding to the cliffside because he sat heavily in the saddle. The horse struggled and bridled underneath him, shying to the side as it tried to buck off his weight. But Bruce’s mood was lighter. Esme McKenzie. Esme of the Kenzie clan. A pretty name. A rumble of thunder came from the north as black clouds collected over the tossing waves.

As if to mock him, Bruce saw Esme walking behind Clyde as he rode into the stables. Quickly vaulting off the horse and throwing the reins to the groom, he strode over to the couple.

“Where were you?” Clyde got his question in first. “Father wants to have a chat about the spring raids you have planned.”

Very aware that Esme was listening in, Bruce did not know what to say. “Went for a ride to clear me heid. Ate too much at the feast. Er, well done for getting the Highland council to recognize yer clan’s claim. How much gold did ye have to bribe them with?”

Clyde’s brows lowered. “Are you saying the McFletchers do not have a rightful claim to this island?”

Bruce forgot about the awkward situation for a moment. “Awa’ with ye, lad! Why d’ye brangle?”

Pushing Esme behind him with a possessive gesture, Clyde measured up to Bruce, balling his fists aggressively. “I’m not after a brangle, Highlander. I heard you mock my tribe’s claim. We did not have to bribe anyone to recognize us.”

Hiding his smile as best he could, Bruce muttered under his breath. “Och, lad, ye will need to bribe them all over again if they hear ye call the McFletchers a ‘tribe’.”

Covering her mouth with her hands, Esme tried to stifle her laughter. Spinning around, Clyde raised his fist, aiming for her face.

But the punch never landed. Looking at his frozen fist in confusion, Clyde saw Bruce had him by the wrist, his mighty muscles hardly flexing; he was able to hold the laird’s son’s meaty hand so easily.

“Before ye let yer temper get the better o’ ye, Clyde, I have some news for ye. The lass is married. Her husband is in Scotland the noo, and he’s a sturdy fellow with friends in the Kirk. Yer faither would nae want ye to be foutering? 1 around with the local wives, would he?”

Dropping his fist, Clyde snarled. “Don’t touch me again if you value your life! If you think you’re immortal, I swear I will test that brag, Highlander.”

Bruce stepped back, his expression was neutral. “Ye cannae take the woman to bed, Clyde.”

The laird’s son sneered. “She has agreed to work in my household. It is a distinguished position. To hell with her husband, isn’t that right, Wench?” Clyde turned to Esme and asked her the question directly. She had been staring like a good, docile servant at the ground throughout the conversation.

Lifting her head, she nodded. “Aye, master. I have agreed to work in yer quarters.”

Bruce’s mouth dropped open with shock at her reply. His blood boiled when he noticed how Clyde was secretly squeezing and kneading Esme’s bottom as she stood in front of him. The girl had no shame! Was this blond braided bampot with a greasy beard more to her taste than he was?

Pushing Bruce aside, Clyde continued to his house, dragging Esme with him. Helplessly, the Highlander watched them leave.

And then Esme turned back to see if he was watching her. She gave him an enigmatic smile. Bruce knew then that Esme was playing a deep game with the men in her life, and it was up to him to protect her from the consequences of her actions!

All the important members of the Laird’s household lived in a compound around the great hall and all of them shared the kitchen’s fire pit. This made sense on an isolated island with no forests as only one fire needed to be stoked and tended.

This gave Esme the access she needed to both households; the laird’s and his son’s. She had no idea yet how she would go about getting her revenge on the cruel barbarians who had swept over the island ten years ago, murdering everyone she loved without a hint of pity or compassion. She was shrewd enough to wait and see for the best opportunity.

Shuffling across the stony walkway at the crack of dawn the next day, Esme headed for the kitchen to heat water for Laird Alfred’s son’s ablutions. A loud thumping sound distracted her from the task. Placing the wooden pail gently down on the ground, she went to see what was making the noise.

In the gray light of dawn, she saw the Highlander standing in front of one of the target dummies in the training yard. With his legs straddled in a slight crouch to lower his height, the man swung hard punches at the tightly stuffed straw, over and over again. His strength was relentless. Stroke after hard stroke, he pummeled the target dummy until the sacking fabric started to tear.

As a fair-minded person, Esme had to admit to herself that there could be no finer sight for a woman to observe than the shirtless Highlander slugging away at the hapless focus of his fury. Despite the nip in the late October air, all he wore was a roughly pleated black plaid belted around his lean hips and a pair of soft leather boots laced under his knees.

As something awakened inside her, Esme pushed it firmly back down. She was too busy plotting her revenge to get sidetracked by her enemy’s ally. And yet she had to admit she could stand here all day watching how the muscles in his back flexed and rippled as he pounded away.

Summoning the willpower to move, Esme inhaled the brisk morning air as she turned to pick up the pail again. Somehow, he heard her and turned. Their eyes locked and for a fraction of time, Esme wanted to run forward instead of stepping back, so enthralled was she by his fierce stare.

“It’s a braw morning for it, Esme.” There was an undercurrent of dissatisfaction in his tone, but the cocky grin on his face enchanted her. Stepping out from the shadows, Esme bobbed a curtsy and tried to explain. “Aye. That it is, Highlander.”

He leaned to one side and picked a large square of linen off one of the ring posts. Using the cloth, he rubbed it over his torso to mop up the slick sheen of sweat glimmering on his skin. Like a deer caught in the light of a lantern, Esme was transfixed. Her fingers tingled from the memory of touching him. Never before had she wanted a man more.

She grew heavy in that hidden cleft between her legs. The uncontrollable urge to run her fingers over her thighs and satisfy the swollen sensation growing there was all Esme could think about. Her breath caught in her throat, turning her sigh into a gasp. When he heard that sound his smile grew wider.

“Braw morning for what, sweetheart?” his brow raised with the question, the light of laughter in his eyes as he hung up the cloth and came closer. He narrowed the gap between them so fast that Esme wondered how such a tall man could move so swiftly. The next thing she knew, he was standing in front of her with a proprietary expression on his face.

“Answer me.” Lifting her chin with one finger, he forced Esme to look straight into his dark eyes. The heaviness under her ragged shift gown intensified. Her lids felt weighted down as the urge to roll her head back and receive his kiss overwhelmed her. But a small voice would not give in. All of her womanly instincts screamed at Esme to press herself against this man, begging for him to use her any way he wanted. The small voice rebelled at this notion.

He’s part of yer problem, girl, not the solution! Be strong. Yer time to lie down with a man waits in yer future. When ye do, it will be a loving act done with dignity, not a roll in the hay with the laird’s lickspittle!

She could smell the husky scent of his sweat—the Highlander stood so close to her. Tentatively, Esme reached out a hand and laid it against the rock-hard muscle on his proud chest. Her future flashed in front of her. Yes, she would let him lead her to his chamber where he would loosen that belt holding the plaid around his belly and let it drop to the floor. His rampant desire would belong to her for one magical moment. And she wanted him so badly.

The wild tendrils of black hair that fell over his pale brow made him resemble some romantic hero of old. His hawkish stare and firm mouth could be stern one moment and break into smiles the next. And the taut muscles running in rigid ridges over his stomach seemed to point her gaze downwards, to where she knew her satisfaction hid under the black wool of his plaid.

“I…” she was so close to surrendering herself to him, that Esme could feel her knees shaking. Summoning up her strength, she pushed him away. “A braw morning for ye to stay away from me, Highlander!” The words were hissed in an undervoice so that only he could hear them.

The way he looked at her once he caught his balance made Esme think he was close to beating her, his dark expression was so angry. But he managed to hold himself back.

“That great lummox ye call yer master noo will never make ye his official mistress, Esme. Ye ken that, dinnae ye?” His voice was also low, like a deep growl of disapproval at her cruel rejection of him.

“I call nay man ‘master’, Highlander, so therefore, I cannae be a man’s mistress.”

His bitterness was evident on his handsome face. “Och, ye’re lying to yerself, lass. Ye’re like one o’ those snake handlers at the mainland fairs who swear they can charm the serpents.”

Edging away from him, Esme felt it was safe for her to be as sassy as she pleased to the warrior. “So? Ye think ye can charm me too! If I had to choose between the two masters, I would choose the laird’s son. He is married already and cannae want for more.”

The man gave a short bark of laughter. “Ha! Ye are so innocent, I’ll forgive yer ignorance. Ye ken nothing o’ men if ye think a wife under the covers will stop his eyes from roving above them.”

Esme’s lip curled. “I am starting to see why ye remain unwed, Highlander, if that is how ye see yer own marriage playing oot in the future.”

That shut him up. He did not respond, shocked once again at her insightful cheekiness. Seeing him struck dumb, Esme made the move to leave. He stopped her by pulling the sleeve of her kirtle. “Esme, promise me ye will stick to the story of having a husband on the mainland—it is all that protects ye. And that is all I can offer ye until ye choose to accept me patronage.”

She wanted to scream at him and rake her nails down his face, hissing out oaths and curses. Her family’s bones lay scattered and lost in the cold mud near the burnt ruins of their home and this man wanted to support her?

He had no idea how hot the need for vengeance boiled inside her. These gray skies and damp weather were ideal conditions for fungi to start growing on the rotting wood and wet grass. When she saw the Death Cap, Fool’s Funnel, and Amanitas sticking their deadly heads up, Esme swore that she would harvest them and serve them forth in the great hall.

Tugging at the scratchy woolen fabric, she tried to free herself. “Let me go! I dinnae need ye to guard me virtue.”

Hearing her angry words of rejection, the Highlander released his hold on her. He shouted after Esme as she ran to the kitchen. “It’s me who keeps this island safe from another invasion, Esme. That’s the only service I supply to the laird. I’m nae yer enemy, lass!”

Slamming the door behind her, Esme pressed her ear against the wood panels, listening for sounds of pursuit. But there were none. She did not know whether to be peeved or relieved about that. The cleft between her thighs pulsed with impatience. If she were to be honest with herself, Esme had to admit that at that moment she had wanted the dark warrior to lie down with her more than anything else in the wide world.

1 ? Mess around