HEART OF FIRE

A REBELLIOUS HIGHLAND HEARTS

SHORT STORY

The Cairngorms

The Scottish Highlands

Summer, 1454

THE MAN DREW her attention far too often—and she wanted to hate him for it.

But she didn’t, and that was the problem.

Curse her, why couldn’t she?

Seated astride her garron as they traveled down a deep, wide glen, Inghinn glared at Captain Errol’s broad back. As always, the warrior rode with calm self-assurance, his gaze sweeping their surroundings. Like her, Errol had served the clan-chief for many years—a silent, watchful presence.

They were journeying through a wild, sparsely inhabited area, and as such, he was on the alert for outlaws. The remoteness of the Cairngorms made it an ideal choice for those looking to prey on travelers. Errol couldn’t afford to let his attention slip, especially since he was escorting the Forbes himself, and his daughter, home.

Tearing her attention from Errol, Inghinn glanced over her shoulder at where Greer Forbes rode behind her upon a prancing grey palfrey. Usually, Lady Greer wore a smile upon her lovely face, her grey eyes sparkling with life. But this afternoon, there was a dullness to her. Even her wheat-colored hair, which shone even on the greyest day, seemed lifeless.

At least her eyes were no longer puffy and bloodshot from weeping through the night. In the past days, Greer had rallied. She was a strong lass, tougher than most folk gave her credit for. Nonetheless, Greer had been suffering. They’d left Dun Ugadale on the Kintyre Peninsula just a week earlier, and for the first few nights, Inghinn had lain awake on her sheepskin, listening to the muffled sound of her mistress’s weeping. It was a knife to the heart to hear her so upset.

Inghinn had been Lady Greer’s maid since the lass’s tenth birthday. She’d been young herself then, just twenty winters, and had watched Greer grow from a happy, lively bairn into an equally sunny-natured young woman. Inghinn loved her with as much fierceness as if they were kin, yet despite that they’d always shared an easy relationship, she was careful not to overstep the invisible lines of rank that separated them.

As such, she’d watched the lady’s misery and held her tongue.

If Greer wished to talk to her about the man she’d clearly fallen in love with, she would.

Inghinn’s gaze roamed over Greer’s pale, strained face for a moment, disquiet flickering through her. She’d known, from the moment she’d seen Greer and Brodie’s gazes lock in the barmkin of Dun Ugadale broch, on the day of their arrival, that her young mistress was about to learn one of life’s cruel lessons.

That a man could tear a woman’s heart to pieces if she didn’t guard it.

Stifling a sigh, Inghinn turned back to the direction of travel.

She wished it wasn’t so, but in her experience, love meant pain.

Love meant humiliation.

Lost in bitter memories that she hated dwelling on, yet sometimes couldn’t prevent herself from torturing herself with, Inghinn glanced over at the sweeping granite peak of Ben Macdui, the highest of the mountains within the Cairngorms. Outlined against purple storm clouds, it was stoic, sculpted, and it made her feel very small and alone in the world.

Moments passed, and then the fine hair on the back of her neck prickled, drawing her out of her brooding.

Someone was watching her.

Tensing, she cut her gaze sideways. With a jolt, she realized that Errol had slowed his courser so that he now rode alongside Crabapple.

His dark gaze bored into her.

Inghinn started to sweat. Even so, she rose to the challenge—as she always did. Her chin lifted, and she frowned. Errol Forbes wouldn’t humiliate her ever again. She’d made herself that promise nearly a decade earlier, and she reminded herself of it again now.

Don’t let him intimidate ye.

Usually, their staring contests were conducted in silence. Ever since that fateful night, only a handful of cold words had passed between them. As such, Errol surprised her now by speaking.

“I’d watch yerself, Inghinn,” he drawled, his voice a low rumble. “If the wind changes, that furrow upon yer brow will remain forever.”

Heat fired under Inghinn’s ribs. She couldn’t believe he’d summoned the nerve to talk to her. At Druminnor, it had been easy enough to avoid each other. However, on this trip, they’d been thrown together. The only thing that made it bearable was the fact that they didn’t speak to each other.

An implicit agreement that he’d just broken.

She then scowled, no doubt carving an even deeper furrow upon her brow. “Maybe,” she replied, her tone clipped. “But, unfortunately, ye are already stuck with yer face forever.”

Errol inclined his head. “Ye found me handsome once … don’t ye remember?”

Inghinn’s heart started to punch against her breastbone. Knave. How dare he allude to the past? Her lip curled then. “Not in the least … I’ve seen pigs’ arses that are comelier than ye.” It was a vulgar thing to say—but she couldn’t help herself.

Nonetheless, she shocked herself into silence.

What the devil was wrong with her?

A heartbeat followed, and then to her utter shock, Errol threw back his head and laughed.

Dizziness washed over Inghinn. She’d never heard the gruff captain laugh before. The sound was deep and rich, and it echoed over the glen.

Of course, she was lying, for she found him dizzyingly attractive. The bastard reeked of masculinity. He was a big, brawny warrior with thick dark hair that fell in soft waves around a strong-featured face, and his expressive walnut-brown eyes had captivated her from the first.

She wouldn’t tell him that though—she’d rather have her tongue ripped out.

“Go to Hades, Errol,” Inghinn ground out as her cheeks grew hot. How dare he laugh at her?

Errol weathered her fury, his gaze never wavering. “Aye, as long as I meet ye there, Inghinn,” he growled back.

“I don’t know what has set ye two to bickering, yet could ye please cease?” A weary, brittle voice intruded then. Inghinn glanced over her shoulder to find Lady Greer frowning at them. “I have a headache, and ye are making it worse.”

“Apologies, Lady Greer … we forgot ourselves.” Errol’s tone was respectful, apologetic, and when Inghinn glanced his way, she saw that his eyes had shadowed. Like Inghinn, he adored Lady Greer and had no doubt noted that she wasn’t herself these days.

Inghinn said nothing. She knew she should also apologize, yet her tongue suddenly felt leaden.

Anger still pulsed through her, as well as a confusing storm of emotions. After years of admirable self-restraint, she felt as if she’d just lost control.

Errol had deliberately baited her, and she’d taken the hook like a hungry trout.

The captain urged his courser on then, moving forward in the line so that he and Inghinn no longer rode side-by-side. His departure was a relief, and Inghinn took slow, deep breaths as her burning cheeks cooled.

Good, she needed to collect herself again, needed to remind herself that they were no more than four days from Druminnor. Once they returned home, things would go back to a safe, settled routine—one where Inghinn and Errol’s paths rarely crossed. There were changes afoot though, for soon Lady Greer would wed Malcolm Sutherland and move to Dunrobin Castle in the north. Inghinn wanted to go with her—that way, she’d remain with her mistress and leave Errol Forbes far behind her.

Curse it, why did her chest start to ache at the thought of never seeing him again? Her uncontrollable response to this man vexed her.

Inghinn was still taking deliberate, deep breaths, and wishing her heartbeat would slow, when fat drops of water fell on her face a short while later. Glancing up, she noted that the ominous storm clouds that had hung behind Ben Macdui were now directly above.

A deep rumble followed, and up ahead, Errol’s horse gave a frightened squeal and reared up. He kept his seat easily, even as his courser danced on the spot. Meanwhile, Inghinn’s usually unflappable mount tossed his head and sidestepped. “Don’t fash yerself, Crabapple,” Inghinn murmured, leaning forward, and stroking the garron’s furry neck. “It’s just a bit of thunder.”

Another deep boom split the heavens. Lightning forked down between two mountains to the east, and Errol’s courser tried to bolt. Only his skill kept it in check.

The rain started to patter down then, just a few drops at first before it increased to a downpour.

Inghinn muttered an oath and yanked up the hood of her cloak. It was a light woolen mantle, made for the summer, and it wouldn’t keep her dry for long. Meanwhile, Crabapple gave a nervous buck, nearly unseating her.

“Forbes!” Errol called out to his clan-chief, even as he still fought to keep his horse from taking off. “It’s too exposed out here. We should make for the nearest pinewood, make camp, and wait the storm out.”

Up ahead, Alexander Forbes twisted in the saddle, his square jaw set, as rain poured down his face. Inghinn knew he’d been hoping to make it out of the Cairngorms today. They’d camped for the past two nights, and the Laird of Druminnor had made it clear to all that he wanted to sleep in a proper bed tonight. However, if they kept riding in this, they’d all catch their death of cold. Aye, it was summer—but up here in the mountains, the weather could turn chilly even during the milder months.

Surely, the Forbes wouldn’t risk all their health just to reach the nearest inn?

The clan-chief scowled at his captain, clearly struggling with his advice, before he eventually gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he shouted back. “Lead the way, Captain.”

Errol eased his dancing courser out of the line and let it leap forward, kicking peaty earth up under its hooves.

In a heartbeat, he was away, taking them north, away from the exposed moorland they currently rode through. Instead, he headed toward a blanket of dark pines that covered the lower slopes of the granite peaks soaring above.

The heady scent of pine enveloped Inghinn as she drew Crabapple up and slid off his back.

Thunder boomed farther down the glen, and the gelding flattened his furry ears back and tossed his head, showing her the whites of his eyes. Inghinn placed a hand on the pony’s shoulder, feeling the fear that shivered through him. Many of the other horses here—including Lady Greer’s palfrey—appeared unmoved by the storm. However, her pony and Errol’s courser weren’t among them.

They’d traveled a few furlongs inside the pinewood, making camp in a small clearing that was studded by tree stumps and charred areas where firepits had once burned. Someone else had cleared the trees away here and used this very spot as a camp.

The rain continued to drum down as the Forbes company settled in for the night. Hide tents went up in a tight circle, and the warriors cut down branches from the surrounding trees to create a temporary enclosure for the horses around a large sheltering pine.

“Go inside, and dry off, Lady Greer,” Inghinn gestured toward the tent that had just been pitched a few yards away. “The men will bring in our saddle bags.”

Greer’s pretty features tightened. “Ye should get out of the rain too.”

“And I will,” Inghinn assured her with a smile. “Just as soon as I see to our mounts.”

Blinking water out of her eyes, she took the reins of Samhradh, Greer’s palfrey, and led her and Crabapple toward the enclosure.

Inside the rustic wooden perimeter, she started unsaddling both ponies under the protection of the overhanging tree, which kept off the worst of the rain.

Crabapple was still on edge. The poor beast flinched with every peal of thunder that vibrated down the glen.

Inghinn had just yanked the saddle from the garron’s back when a gruff male voice, laced with impatience, interrupted her. “What are ye still doing out here, woman?”

Inghinn cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze meeting Captain Errol’s. He was scowling at her, rain running down his face in rivulets.

God’s troth, what was this? The captain usually avoided her as if she were a leper—something she was grateful for—yet today, he’d directly spoken to her twice .

“What does it look like, dolt?” Inghinn muttered, answering his frown with one of her own. “Seeing to my and Lady Greer’s mounts.”

“Leave the ponies to one of my men,” he ordered, stepping forward and yanking the saddle from her. “Ye are drenched to the skin.”

Inghinn snorted, raking her gaze over the captain. She’d been about to tell him that he, too, looked like a drowned rat, yet the words suddenly died in her throat.

The smoke-colored linen lèine Errol wore was soaked through, clinging to his broad shoulders and the sculpted lines of his chest. She could see every bulging muscle.

Heat flushed over Inghinn’s chest, and her breathing grew shallow.

She remembered then, a night many years previous, when she’d explored the naked planes of his chest—when she’d tasted the salt of his skin.

Inghinn’s legs went weak.

Errol’s dark brows drew together then, his patience clearly at an end. “Ye aren’t going to argue with me over this, are ye?”

Her chin kicked up, and she resisted the urge to grab the saddle from him. “Enough,” she snapped. “Why don’t ye let me go about my business, and I shall pay ye the same courtesy.”

“Christ’s teeth, Inghinn,” he muttered, his walnut-colored eyes narrowing. “I swear ye are as stubborn as a mule.” He stepped forward, gently shouldering her out of the way as he swung the saddle over the fence. Moving behind her, he then crossed to Samhradh and started unfastening the mare’s girth. “I’ll see to these two … now get yer arse inside yer tent before I throw ye over my shoulder and carry ye there.”

“Rude, insufferable churl,” Inghinn muttered as she pushed her way into the tent she would be sharing with Lady Greer. “I hope a bolt of lightning smites him dead.”

“I take it ye are speaking of Captain Errol?”

Inghinn pushed wet hair out of her eyes to find Lady Greer observing her. Her mistress had shed her drenched cloak and was now toweling off her hair with a drying cloth.

“Aye,” Inghinn growled. “None other.”

Lady Greer arched an eyebrow. “I must admit I was surprised to see ye arguing today … usually ye just glower at each other.”

Inghinn made a choking sound, even as heat rolled over her in a prickling wave. She hadn’t realized Greer had noticed the tension between them.

“Aye, well … the man’s a boor,” she said stiffly, crossing to where a saddle bag had been set down by the side of the tent and helping herself to a drying cloth. “I can’t abide him.”

“Aye? Why then do I sometimes catch ye watching him?” Inghinn’s heart slammed against her ribs at these words. However, Greer hadn’t yet finished. “And ye should know that I sometimes spy him observing ye .”

Dizziness swept over Inghinn, and she clenched the drying cloth tightly. “That’s ridiculous,” she gasped. “He does not.”

“He does … although he’s sly about it.”

The women’s gazes met and held. Greer’s expression was open, frank. She wasn’t a lass who held onto secrets; she wore her thoughts, her feelings, on her face for all to see.

But Inghinn wasn’t like her mistress. Despite that she got on well with Greer, and enjoyed their easy rapport, she was intensely private by nature, a trait that had intensified with the years. She hated others knowing her business and had a proud streak.

Heart hammering, Inghinn looked away first. Lord, she wished they could speak about something, anything , else. She’d finished drying herself off the best she could, and now hung her soaking cloak up next to Greer’s on the center pole of the tent. “No disrespect, Lady Greer, but ye are talking nonsense now,” she muttered. “Errol Forbes is the last man I’d stare at.”

Greer huffed a sigh. “Very well, Inghinn … keep yer secrets. I don’t have the strength in me this afternoon to get the truth out of ye.”

Inghinn glanced in her mistress’s direction once more to see that Greer had sunk into the nest of sheepskins the men had readied for her. Her young face was pale and vulnerable, and Inghinn’s chest constricted. The lass had been through much in the past days. She didn’t want to upset her.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Greer waved her away. “Ye weren’t … just exhausting.”

Inghinn swallowed hard. Part of her wanted to confide in Greer, to spill the hurt she’d carried around for so long. Yet doing so would get messy indeed. And since her mistress hadn’t spoken about the husky blacksmith she’d left behind in Dun Ugadale, Inghinn felt embarrassed about being so candid. They were lady and maid, not sisters. It wasn’t proper.

After a brief silence, Inghinn took a step toward her mistress. “Are ye feeling unwell?”

Lady Greer shook her head. “No … just cold and damp.”

“Well then, what we need now is a little warmed wine to take the chill out of our fingers and toes,” Inghinn replied briskly. If they couldn’t be honest with each other, she could at least do her job. Despite that the temperature was mild enough, her skin felt clammy and her limbs cold. “Shall I ask for a brazier to be lit so I can prepare us some?”

Greer nodded, favoring Inghinn with a wan smile. “Aye … that’s a bonnie idea.”

Thunder boomed overhead, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminated the interior of the tent.

Inghinn flinched. A wet, gloomy afternoon had slid into an equally murky dusk, followed by a stormy night. Now she lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

She wished sleep would come, yet despite that her body was weary from another day in the saddle, she was wide awake. Tonight, her mind churned, and her soul was restless. The events of the day had unsettled her deeply.

She didn’t feel like herself. Not at all.

Another peal of thunder shook the tent then, and Inghinn murmured a curse and sat up.

Poor Crabapple would be beside himself. She hoped the men had built the enclosure sturdily; the last thing she wanted was her garron, or Captain Errol’s flighty courser, to try and break out, injuring themselves in the process.

She’d thought the thunder might cease, yet it rolled on and on.

Jaw clenched, Inghinn pushed her blankets aside. She couldn’t lie there while a storm exploded overhead. She had to check on her pony. Pulling on her boots, she rose to her feet and took down her cloak from where it hung drying on the center pole. The wool was still damp, yet warm, from its proximity to the glowing brazier.

Inghinn’s attention shifted to Lady Greer’s sleeping form.

The poor lass was exhausted. This wouldn’t take long; she wouldn’t wake her.

Pulling up her hood, Inghinn ducked out of the tent. Around her, the other small pavilions looked ghostly in the pouring rain and the smoking pitch torches that had been erected around the perimeter.

Lightning flashed overhead then, illuminating the pinewood in sharp relief for a heartbeat.

Inghinn shuddered. Fortunately, it looked to be sheet rather than fork lightning—otherwise, she’d be afraid it might hit one of the surrounding trees or a tent. Nonetheless, her garron would be terrified.

Head bowed, she hurried toward the enclosure, her boots squelching on wet ground carpeted with pine needles. The fragrant scent of pine wrapped itself around her as she reached the edge of the trees.

Most of the horses were huddled on the far side of the fenced area, under the overhanging boughs of the large pine. However, Errol’s courser was pacing up and down the fence line, eyes wild, nostrils flared, while wee Crabapple, who was smaller than the others, had been pushed out of the group. The garron stood, head up, his stocky body trembling, near the fence. Letting herself in, and carefully closing the gate behind her, lest Errol’s horse get loose, Inghinn went to her pony.

Crabapple gave a soft snort at the sight of her, which was reassuring. Yet she could feel his tremors of fear when she stroked his neck.

Taking hold of a handful of spiky mane, she led him out of the rain, shouldering some of the other horses aside so that the garron stood behind them, as far as possible from the storm.

“Ye shall be fine, lad,” Inghinn murmured. “Look … I’ve found ye the best, driest spot here.” Indeed, pine boughs now stretched overhead, shielding them both from the hammering rain. Thunder boomed overhead once more, and Inghinn glanced over at where Errol’s bay gelding gave a high-pitched, frightened whinny. Inghinn’s brow furrowed; with its long legs, the horse looked capable of jumping out of the enclosure.

Turning her attention back to Crabapple, Inghinn stepped closer to him, pressing herself against his flank. His trembling had subsided just a little. The warmth of the pony’s body felt reassuring, and for a short while, she was content to just stand there, stroking his neck and shoulder as the storm continued to roll across the sky above them.

Lord, she’d never witnessed such a violent tempest.

“This will pass soon enough,” she murmured to her pony. “And soon ye will be back in yer stable at Druminnor, stuffing yer fat belly with hay. What do ye think about that?”

Crabapple blew hard through his nostrils in response, and Inghinn smiled. “Apologies, lad.” She then patted his broad flank. “But ye get fat on just the smell of oats.”

“God’s blood, woman.” A male voice shattered her reverie then. “Have ye the wits of a fowl?”

Inghinn jolted in fright, one hand flying to her breastbone.

She twisted then, to find Captain Errol behind her. He’d put a rope around his horse’s neck and had brought it under the pine boughs. He now stood next to the gelding, one hand on his shoulder. The gelding’s nostrils were still flared, its head held unnaturally high, yet Errol's presence had calmed it.

However, the captain didn’t look pleased. A row of flickering and smoking torches surrounded the enclosure, casting a soft glow over him. His dark brows had knitted together, and his strong jaw was bunched.

“No,” Inghinn replied tightly once her heart had slid back down from her throat to her ribcage. “My garron is frightened of thunder … I came outdoors to soothe him.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Errol growled back. “Most folk with good sense are asleep.”

“Aye, well … I never had good sense,” she shot back, her anger rising. “Or I would never have lain with ye all those years ago.”

The moment the words left her lips she regretted them. However, it was too late.

A wave of prickling, scalding mortification washed over her. Her tongue had a mind of its own today. Every time this man insulted her, she flung something even worse back in his face. Right now, she wished for nothing more than to dig a great big hole and bury herself in it.

Meanwhile, Errol’s handsome face tightened. He then breathed a curse under his breath before shaking his head. “God’s blood … since when did ye get such a forked tongue?”

Inghinn’s breathing caught, and then something gave way inside her.

Enough. If he was going to insult her, she’d show him an even sharper edge to her tongue. She’d serve him up some cutting honesty.

Leaving her pony’s side, she closed the few yards separating them and halted before Errol, raising her chin to hold his eye. She then reached out, poking him hard in the breastbone with the tip of her index finger. “Does yer memory fail ye?” she snarled. “Do ye forget what ye said to me that night … after ye tumbled me in the hayloft?”

Her pulse stuttered as she remembered the storm of passion that had caught them both up. They’d been hungry for each other, after weeks of longing looks and stolen touches. However, the aftermath of their tumble had shattered the rosy picture she’d painted of the young warrior she’d fallen for.

A nerve flickered in Errol’s cheek. “I remember all right,” he growled back. “I asked ye to be my wife, and ye slapped my face.”

A red veil fell across Inghinn’s vision, and she stabbed his chest once more, harder this time. “Why would I agree to wed a knave who insults me?”

Confusion clouded his walnut-colored eyes. “I didn’t insult ye.”

“Aye, ye did,” she choked out, outraged that he’d deny it. “We’d barely finished coupling when ye slapped my arse and told me I was a fine field to plow … that ye couldn’t believe it was my first time.”

Errol’s gaze narrowed at this, a flush rising upon his cheekbones. “That was a compliment, lass.”

Inghinn growled a curse and balled her hands by her sides. “Truly, ye have nothing but wool between yer ears.” She paused then, anger thumping like a battle drum against her ribs. “Ye then followed yer compliment by informing me that it was now yer ‘duty’ to do right by me … and that we’d best see if the laird would handfast us in the morning.”

“I was offering ye my protection.”

“By treating me like a common slattern? By talking as if wedding me was penance?”

Errol’s big body tensed. He stared down at her, swallowing. “That was never my intention,” he said roughly. “But ye didn’t remain in my presence long enough to hear anything else.” His throat bobbed once more. “And when I sought ye out later, ye turned yer back on me … in front of everyone.”

Inghinn glared at him, rage still drumming in her breast. Even so, memories dug their sharp claws into her.

Aye, she remembered the incident well. She’d been in Druminnor’s great hall, the day after their tumble. Errol had approached her, and indeed she’d turned away, unable to meet his eye—unable to relive the humiliation.

But in doing so, she’d dishonored her lover. As Inghinn had walked away, the jeers of Errol’s friends rang in her ears as they mocked him.

He never tried approaching her again after that, and ever since, relations between them had been frosty.

But Inghinn’s feelings for the young man-at-arms who’d later be promoted to Captain of the Guard had been anything but cool. Her heart had ached, for she’d been infatuated with Errol for a long while before that fateful night—long before she’d given in to her need for him.

She’d wept into her pillow every night for days afterward.

They stared at each other for a few moments before Errol moved forward so no more than a foot separated them. His face was shadowed this far from the flickering torchlight, yet she could see that his expression was serious. “I’ve never been good with words.” His voice was low, strained. “But back then, I was a callow youth who couldn’t believe his good fortune when the prettiest lass in Druminnor Castle looked his way.”

Inghinn went still, even as her pulse took off.

Errol sucked in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Aye, Inghinn … I was taken with ye … but I messed things up, didn’t I?”

Inghinn pursed her lips. She then gave a jerky nod, not trusting herself to speak.

He dragged a hand down his face, murmuring an oath under his breath. “I’m not making excuses for my behavior … but in those days, I had no idea of how to treat lasses.” His gaze shadowed then. “I grew up with a father who spoke with his fists. He treated my mother and sister like his possessions. He made all their decisions for his family and lashed out when questioned.”

Something deep in Inghinn’s chest tightened. “My father was also a bully,” she murmured, surprised that she’d admit such a thing to this man. “When I left home, I never looked back. He was demeaning … cruel. Women were only any good for breeding and taking care of their menfolk. Once I was free, I told myself that I’d never let anyone treat me as he had.”

Errol nodded, even as emotion rippled across his features.

Inghinn’s belly clenched. Lord, this exchange was making her feel as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, with jagged rocks waiting to slice her to pieces below. It was beyond awkward, but there was something else she had to admit. “I was soft on ye, Errol … but after that night, I was determined that ye’d never know.”

“Inghinn,” he murmured, his voice roughening once more. “How I wish I could go back in time and change the things I said.”

She sighed, pushing damp hair off her cheeks. “Aye, well, maybe if I’d let ye explain yerself, we could have been friends at least.” She was keeping up a brave front when her heart was actually thumping in her ears and her belly was in knots.

Like the coward she was when it came to affairs of the heart, she wanted to run from him and pretend this conversation had never happened.

But to her surprise, he shook his head. “I never wanted to be yer friend .” His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “And I still don’t.”

Inghinn’s breath caught. What was he saying?

A beat of silence swelled between them before Errol muttered an oath under his breath. “Curse it,” he muttered. “I’ve always been an oaf when expressing myself … when talking about the things that matter.” He broke off then, his gaze imploring. “What I’m trying to say … is that I long for ye … as much now as I did ten years ago.”

Dizziness swept over Inghinn. For a moment, she gazed at Errol, not sure she’d understood correctly.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair then, his chest rising and falling sharply. “Why do ye think I’ve never taken a wife?” he asked. “It was ye I wanted … it’s only ever been ye.”

Inghinn’s lips parted.

Of course, it had only ever been him for her. She’d done her best to deny it and had grown angry at herself whenever her gaze traveled in Errol’s direction. Yet her heart knew the truth. The fire that had sparked years earlier had smoldered within her, refusing to go out.

Suddenly, her legs started to tremble and the last of the anger and hurt she’d been clinging to fell away.

Her hand lifted then. Only this time, she didn’t jab him in the chest with her finger. Instead, she tentatively traced his strong jaw with her fingertips. “I long for ye too,” she admitted, even as fear constricted her chest. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this. She was making herself far too vulnerable.

Errol continued to hold her gaze, conflicting emotions playing across his strong face. “Ye do?”

“Aye … some fires can’t be put out.”

Errol caught her hand with his then and turned it over, placing a gentle kiss upon her palm. “Ye slay me, woman,” he murmured. “One look from ye makes me want to kneel at yer feet.”

“Don’t do that,” she replied shakily. “The ground is wet.”

A soft, rumbling laugh escaped him, his mouth curving into a tender smile. However, his walnut gaze was limpid, and the way he was looking at her right now made heat pool low in Inghinn’s belly.

Lord, how she’d longed for him to gaze at her like that again over the years. She couldn’t believe he was doing so now.

But he did more than that, Errol shifted closer to her still, his hands rising to cup her face. The feel of his calloused palms against her cheeks made Inghinn’s breathing catch.

An instant later, he lowered his head, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss.

Inghinn gasped again as Errol’s tongue swept her lips open. The kiss was passionate, determined, and it made Inghinn’s toes curl inside her damp boots. She barely noticed the rain that pattered down around them now. The pair of them were lost in their own world.

Her arms came up, linking around his neck, pulling him closer.

Their embrace quickly went from passionate to wild. Years of longing ignited in an inferno that consumed them both.

Before Inghinn knew what was happening, he’d walked her backward, right against the trunk of the sheltering pine. It was dry under here and private, for the horses that also sheltered beneath the tree provided a barrier between them and the rest of the Forbes camp.

Errol shrugged off his cloak and pushed Inghinn’s from her shoulders. Both garments fluttered to the bed of pine needles beneath their feet.

Suddenly, his hot mouth was on her neck, while her hands slid down his chest, exploring. The heat of his body burned through the thin linen lèine he wore, branding her palms.

Errol kissed Inghinn once more, their tongues dueling as he pressed his body the length of hers. She felt the hard rod of his arousal nudging against her belly then, and excitement quickened in the cradle of her hips. Despite the passing of the years, she still remembered just how beautiful he looked naked.

She’d told herself she’d never lie with anyone again, and especially not the man who’d broken her heart. Yet now, all her resolve dissolved like spring snow.

Lord, he felt so strong, so male. He brought every sense to life. She longed to join with him again, to make up for all the years they’d lost.

“Ye taste so sweet,” Errol breathed as he trailed more kisses down her jaw and throat. “Perfect.”

In response, Inghinn gave a soft moan, angling her head back against the rough trunk to give him greater access. Lord, he said he wasn’t good with words, yet right now, he was saying all the right things.

Taking her invitation, Errol unlaced the front of her kirtle and pushed both it and the lèine she wore underneath off her shoulders.

Cool, damp air feathered across her exposed breasts. Her gasps echoed through the enclosure when he lowered himself before her and hungrily suckled a taut peak.

Inghinn bit her lower lip as delicious pleasure pulsed through her with each suck. Her breasts, although small, suddenly felt heavy and sensitive. The heat of his mouth and the languid way he pleasured her caused need to coil tight in her loins.

She let her head fall back farther, her eyes closing as she gave herself up to sensation.

A short while later, Errol rose to his feet once more, hiked up Inghinn’s skirts, and slid a leg between her thighs, spreading her wide.

Excitement spiked within Inghinn then, a soft cry escaping when his fingers slid between her thighs, gently teasing her. She was wet down there, she could feel it, and so needy too.

Her back arched, her hips tilting forward as she welcomed his questing fingers—and when he slid a finger deep inside her, she started to quiver.

Gasping, Inghinn clutched at Errol’s lèine. Mother Mary, she’d forgotten just how good this felt. How had she gone so long without his hands on her?

Errol whispered an endearment and spread her wider still, pinning her up against the trunk. A second finger then joined the first, sliding inside her in deep, sensual strokes, while the pad of his thumb stroked her.

Pleasure twisted hard in her womb, and then she was shuddering, her core convulsing against his fingers.

“Aye, mo chridhe,” he crooned as she gasped and writhed. “Let me show ye how lovely ye are.”

Groaning his name, Inghinn tugged the lèine from his braies before fumbling with the laces. He’d just worked magic upon her, but it wasn’t enough. She had to touch him .

A moment later, she freed his shaft, her small hand encircling its girth as she marveled at its strength and beauty. It was burning hot and as hard as granite, yet covered in silky skin—even more magnificent than she recalled.

“Are ye ready for me?” he groaned in her ear as she stroked him.

“Aye,” she whispered.

“Good … for if ye continue touching me like that, I shall spend myself.”

His hands slid under her backside, lifting her high as he nestled himself between her spread thighs.

Errol worked his way into her slowly, inch by delicious inch, before sliding home with a rough, satisfied groan.

It was almost too much, and Inghinn wrapped her arms around Errol’s shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and breathing in his spicy scent. Moments later, she entwined her legs around his hips, clinging to him as he started to move in slow, possessive thrusts that filled her completely.

Pleasure coiled once more, tightening each time he slid inside. He was touching her in the same place he had years ago, a spot that made her turn inside out. Writhing, Inghinn sought to intensify the sensation. It felt so good, she had to have more of it.

She had to have more of him . It had been too long. If only the pair of them hadn’t been so crippled by hurt and pride, they could have mended things years earlier. They could have spent night after night in each other’s arms.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Please!”

Errol grunted before complying. His fingers bit into her hips as he drove into her now, pushing her hard against the tree trunk with each thrust.

Inghinn unraveled. Pleasure pulsed through her, and then a rush of wet heat throbbed through her lower belly. Biting her lip as a sob of pleasure fought its way up her throat, she bucked against him, driving his shaft even deeper still.

She’d been transported that night, nearly a decade earlier, but this was even better. This was beyond delicious—it was everything.

Errol made a choked sound then, as if he was swallowing a cry, and plunged into her once more. His big body stiffened against hers, and he gripped Inghinn tightly to him, his mouth finding hers for a languid, tender kiss.

For the longest time, neither of them spoke.

Inghinn couldn’t find the words. The night was still spinning around her. The feel of his strong, warm body against hers made everything right with the world.

Eventually, Errol drew back, his gaze finding hers. It was deeply shadowed against the trunk of the tree as the torchlight stopped short of where they stood, yet Inghinn caught the glint in his eyes.

“Don’t ye go telling me I’m a fine field to plow again,” she warned, although there was a teasing edge to her voice now. Now that they’d spoken honestly, there was no sting in those words.

His mouth quirked. “I won’t,” he murmured. “Although … being buried inside ye makes me the happiest man alive.” He paused then, his smile broadening. “But I confess, I am tempted to slap yer peach of an arse.”

Inghinn snorted a laugh. The man was incorrigible. Warmth flowered across her chest and belly, tenderness melting under her breastbone. “We’ve both grown up, a little, haven’t we?” she whispered.

He nodded, and she felt the emotion that rippled off him.

“This is just the beginning, love,” he murmured, his hand stroking her cheek. “Will ye object if I propose to ye again? I promise to do so with more grace than last time.”

Inghinn gave a soft, shaky laugh, even as her pulse accelerated. “Very well.”

She’d answered lightly, as if his question didn’t matter at all to her. But of course, it did. It meant the world to her, and her breathing stilled as she waited for him to speak once more. She wanted nothing else in this world but to spend the rest of her days with Errol Forbes.

He released Inghinn then, setting her gently onto the ground then taking a step back. And then, to her surprise, he bent down on one knee on the wet ground, angling his face upward so their gazes met once more.

“My lovely Inghinn,” he said huskily. “Will ye do me the honor of becoming my wife? I promise to spend the rest of my days treating ye like the queen ye are.”

Gazing down at his shadowed face, she let out the breath she’d been holding, her heartbeat going wild. “I will,” she whispered back.

The End