Chapter Eleven

While his rugged face appeared chiseled from stone, his riveting stare caused Sorcha to hold her breath. Was he thinking as she suspected, that because she hadn't wed Finn properly, that she possessed a weaker moral code? That she might be amenable now or soon or one day to his original proposition to spend a night with him?

Sorcha licked her dry lips and saw that his gaze followed the motion of her tongue. Against all better judgment, she did not move, not one muscle, when Augustus MacKenzie slowly closed the small distance between them, his blue eyes locked with hers. She stiffened when he touched her, when he lifted his warm hand and cupped her chin, but she did not pull away. Even as her pulse raced and her stomach knotted, she kept her eyes fixed on his as he applied slight pressure to raise her face to his and brought his mouth down on hers.

His kiss was powerful but not overpowering. And still the entire world faded from awareness until nothing remained but mesmerizing warmth, a surprising gentleness, and a beguiling friction that tempted her lips to part. He brushed his lips softly against hers before he opened his mouth and slid his tongue past her teeth. His tongue was as velvet, offering sleek enticement, circling inside her mouth, sensuous and searing.

Sorcha's breath fluttered outward.

But oh, the taste of him, the silky sway of tongues, the butterflies that roused to flight in her belly, the slow roll of tension that trembled within her. Everything in her cried out to plunge hard into the kiss, to drive forward at him and grasp tightly.

She'd wondered, had she not, about a kiss from another? From someone who was not Finn, the only man she'd ever kissed before this moment. At one point she worried that she might have forgotten how, that she would be drowned in guilt at a moment such as this, but...she was not. She knew and felt only Augustus. His strong hands framed her face, his long fingers threading in her hair. Tilting his head, he nipped at her lips, and she answered, more than willing, allowing her tongue to dance with his. Funny, that she didn't recall the overwhelming surge of sensation, how every nerve and fiber and bit of flesh lit on fire.

So well-remembered, the act of kissing, and yet so brand new. She didn't remember being awash in wanton need, not as she was now. Her hands relaxed, her fists unfurling. She moved them toward him, awkwardly gripping at the first thing they touched, the fabric of his tunic near his waist. Augustus was tall and broad, and Sorcha felt small and safe in his arms. That sensation startled her nearly as much as his breathtaking expertise, how easily he'd made her not only complicit, but become the aggressor, lifting herself onto her toes, sliding her hand up around his neck, drawing him down to her.

Any warning her brain might have offered was repressed by the blood pounding in her ears, by the shocking delight of being held in the arms of the man whom she'd vowed should not be allowed to unsettle her composure. His embrace grew firmer, drawing her closer, while a strong hand circled her nape, and skillful fingers soothed the tension in her neck.

When finally he released her mouth, he lightly traced his forefinger along her bottom lip and stared down at her with a smoldering gaze for what seemed an eternity before he said, "I rejoice in your passion, lass, but sadly, ?tis nae the time nae the place to get carried away."

His voice was deliciously husky, generating a warmth between her legs to which she was no stranger. Dream-like images and titillating scenarios flashed inside her head, of bare flesh and entwined limbs. Sorcha bit her lip, nearly undone with yearning at the idea of him naked. Finn had been a tender and simplistic lover; she'd bet her own precious freedom that the Rebel was anything but, that he was ardent and vigorous. He teemed now with a physical desire, his jaw tight and chest heaving, his gaze wild.

Trapped yet in a haze of peace and an incomprehensible joy, Sorcha answered intuitively, "It's been so long."

"Aye, but nae more."

The beautiful bedevilment was quickly overtaken by a late-blooming guilt, for her actions, and for her betrayal of both Finn and Grimm, the latter's circumstance being more dire presently. The knot in her stomach turned distinctly uncomfortable. Her cheeks flushed with color that hadn't anything to do with desire and yearning. Awkwardly, she pushed against him to be free.

Guilt was a curious thing, choosing to manifest and then vanish as it pleased.

"Release me," she said, which was intended to be a command but sound like pleading.

He did, his large hands slowly falling away from her neck and face, sliding provocatively down her shoulders and arms until Sorcha stepped out of his reach.

While she stared at him, imagining words she might hurl at him to falsely accuse him of an attack, solely to exonerate herself, Augustus cocked a brow at her.

"Ye canna kiss me like that and expect that I'd be satisfied with naught else—or have me believe that ye would be. And dinna deny what ye feel—what I just caused ye to feel. I will nae believe it, that yer response was manufactured."

"It was not," she murmured before she thought better of it, and then frowned. "It's too...too soon, too difficult...."

"Aye but it dinna have to be."

Angered at his lazy attitude, at his laconic tone, Sorcha bristled and took another step backward, wanting to get away from his unnerving scrutiny and from the nearness of him and his kiss.

"Oh, but I wish you hadn't—" she began with annoyance. Though she'd been secretly thrilled and hugely titillated, she knew she would never admit this to him. "What are you about anyway? Taking advantage of...of today's catastrophe. With all that's happened, this is what you're thinking about? You're a...a hound—a bounder," she accused, struck by inspiration. Staunchly, she refused to make any reference to her own part in their kiss, to her response, which in no way could be construed as reluctant. "You imagine me weak, loose mayhap, and now without Grimm to stand in my defense—"

"I kissed ye because ye smiled," he said, quite calmly, as if his heart did not pound like thunder inside his chest, as did hers. Without smiling, still using a husky bedroom voice, he clarified, "Or rather, I kissed ye in response to the effect of the smile. Jesu, Sorcha, but ye should do that more often."

Preoccupied and bewildered, she shot back the first thing that entered her mind, in a pert tone, "Says the man who does not own a smile." Realizing what she was arguing about, she waved her hands and strode past him, aware for the first time in many minutes the sounds of the existence of others, all around her house, any of whom might have witnessed their kiss. "Stop. Leave it be. Leave me alone now. That is unfair advantage to take, when you know so well how anxious I am today."

"Distracted by a kiss is nae a bad thing, lass," he called after her though he did not follow.

"And stop that," she commanded, throwing the words over her shoulder. "Making light of it, as if...as if—just stop."

Her brain and the thoughts within were tangled, the excitement of his kiss tousling with guilt and thoughts of dear Grimm and his decidedly less stellar circumstance. And then another thought surfaced, one she was aghast to have nearly overlooked. She spun around and retraced her steps, striding with fervor toward Augustus, who remained where she'd left him and crooked a never-before-seen grin at her return.

When she stood directly in front of him, she planted her hands on her hips and chastised, "You are a knave! A hypocrite! You accuse de Montfort of treachery, yet you commit the same offense. You propose he had Grimm arrested so that I was left unprotected, and you insist the MacKenzies will now safeguard me and yet you do this! You are no better than de Montfort, if what you say about his intent is even true!"

Augustus captured her arm in a tight grip, hauling her up against him once more. "Enough!" he clipped, his body stiffening and heightening with fury, his short-lived grin gone, replaced by a steely glower. "Dinna question my integrity," he growled, "nae when ye stand on the shaky moral ground over which lives your response to my kiss."

Sorcha gasped. "How dare—"

"Aye, I dare," he snarled, all evidence of desire washed from his furious fa?ade, "and will continue to do so if ye keep on with rubbish such as this."

Though her knees quaked, she forged on. "You live up to your legend, don't you? The Rebel of Lochaber Forest, who takes what he wants," she accused, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and uncertainty. "Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised by your actions. ?Tis said you manipulate situations to your advantage—is that what you've done with Grimm? Was it your plan then? To bend me to your will?"

Augustus"s grip on her arm tightened, his eyes flashing with anger. "Dinna ever again accuse me of such low treachery," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Augustus released her arm with a forceful shove, his blue eyes darkened, blazing with anger as he took a step back. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, his wide shoulders tense with fury.

Stunned by the intensity of his rage, Sorcha watched him walk away.

***

Unable to shake off the sting of her accusations, the way she'd likened him to de Montfort and what Augustus truly believed were that man's evil designs, Augustus stormed away from Sorcha. He was further annoyed to have the memory of that burning kiss tarnished by the aftermath.

Still, as he walked, the weight of his own actions bore down on him. He had warned her of the possible danger she faced, and why she needed protection, and yet he'd kissed her, realizing now the full implications of his actions. It was a reckless move, not entirely out of character save that this was not in the heat of battle, where impulsiveness might save lives. Still, in that moment, when the effect of her smile was fresh and intoxicating, he could no more resist the pull of her presence or the beckoning softness of her lips than any other red-blooded man.

Thus, he was briefly torn between indignation and desire, anger and longing. While part of him resented being chastised for crossing boundaries, for having dared what he did, another part of him refused to regret it. The thrill of Sorcha's kiss had branded him, and a rush of adrenaline still coursed through his veins so that, despite the consequences, he was glad that he'd acted on the impulse. He refused to let doubt creep in. He would face whatever repercussions she hurled his way—save for comparing him to the despicable de Montfort—but he would not apologize for following that path of desire.

And yet, there was one fleeting regret. His legendary status had gained him respect and admiration and allowed him to command loyalty and obedience more easily. More importantly, his legend had served him well, dissuading thieves and brigands, and sometimes effortlessly intimidating enemies. He had never wished to be anyone else—until today, when Sorcha had thrown his reputation in his face. For one brief moment and for the first time in his life, he wished he wasn"t that man.

Augustus strode purposefully across the camp taking shape, while clusters of soldiers rode in and out, either to or from their previous campsite. At present, only a few tents had been erected, barely taller than the long grass which stretched forever across the lane from Sorcha's wee cottage.

Still wearing a dark scowl, he scanned the faces until he found Geddy, who was conferring with Angus, Kael, Colin, and Griffyn. As he approached, Colin noticed his coming and though he straightened to attention, the lad did not lose the smirk he wore but seemed to direct it at his laird.

Assuming the sly grin meant he'd witnessed Augustus kissing Sorcha—and suffering neither shame nor guilt over this—Augustus grimly stared down the lad, causing the smirk to dissolve by the time he'd reached the group.

Shifting his attention to Geddy, Augustus asked without preamble, "How will ye break ?em up? I want at least two units surveying Ironwood."

"Aye and we'll keep a close eye on Lord Aldric and what goes on there," Geddy answered promptly. "I'm just telling Angus he'll take that watch."

"And send John of Skye and Angus the Black over to the Bonnie Barrell," Augustus instructed. "Chat up the barmaids. I want to ken what's being said and be advised if there's any mention of a court session or trial or any news regarding the prisoner."

John, formerly of Skye, and Angus the Black, distinguished from several other soldiers named Angus by his mane of long black hair, had been employed in this regard more than once. Both were fine looking lads with easy charm, the kind that didn't come naturally to Augustus. This wouldn't be the first time they were dispatched with similar instructions: extract information from forthcoming wenches or tavern patrons using their charismatic demeanor.

The next instruction he might have given was disrupted by the advent of a swiftly moving rider. He came from the south and even while he was still at the furthest end of the quietly bustling camp, the speed of his approach and his distinctive red and gold tabard caught the eye. Hands that had instinctively reached for hilts of their swords relaxed, recognizing the colors of their king, Robert Bruce. As he drew near, the royal insignia emblazoned upon his chest could be made out, further identifying him as a messenger of the king.

Augustus's tent had yet to be erected and thus no banner was displayed to guide the messenger to him. Geddy raised his arm and gave out a short, low whistle, which drew the man's attention to them.

Though he'd never met a messenger who was not serious and purposeful, reflecting the gravity of his position, this one wore a mien of particular sternness. Augustus exchanged a quick glance with Geddy and Angus, a silent communication passing between them as they braced themselves for whatever news the king's messenger might bring. They remained still as the rider was allowed to approach without interference.

The messenger searched the faces of Augustus's group and, having decided his target, focused on Augustus alone as he reined in. His expression did not lose its grimness as he announced, "I bring urgent news from Robert Bruce."

He did not dismount but withdrew a scroll from inside his tabard and stretched out his hand.

Kael, closest to the man and horse, received the scroll and brought it to Augustus.

Augustus first inspected the unbroken seal carefully before snapping the wafer and perusing the few words plied to parchment.

"To our dear friend and loyal confidante, earl of Lochmere, please hear these words," read the instruction, the notice of which was signed in the king's own hand, the script familiar to Augustus. ?Twas not uncommon, to put no words to paper, certainly not when the message must be carried across a great many miles.

Augustus raised his gaze to the messenger, lifting his brow. "What news?" He asked, his voice steady despite the underlying sense of anticipation.

The messenger nodded and drew in a breath, and then proceeded to deliver his lengthy message in an informal manner.

"Though Sir Douglas has rejoined the king, swelling his numbers, new and unexpected perils awaited them," he began. "Recently, the Lord of Lorn, a notorious sinner, aligned with the English under Pembroke, bringing eight-hundred treacherous Highlanders with him. To their shame, they also brought a large bloodhound—an old dog—committing a grave betrayal by turning man against his loyal beast. This was especially poignant as the king himself had raised the bloodhound from a pup. Dutiful he was, the hound, and nearly effected a capture, having pursued his first master with the utmost eagerness and certainty." The messenger barely moved as he spoke, using not his hands or more frivolous expressions, but only his mouth to convey the message. "Aye, but the king has refined the practice of dividing his force upon any retreat, and as such, they dispersed into the mountains when Pembroke believed he had them pinned. And then into play comes the hound, milord, let loose and seeking his master, fixing on one of the three tracks as the one the king had taken, leading the enemy in pursuit." He crossed his forefinger over his heart, the first motion he'd made since the beginning of the tale. "Saved by the grace of God—and how could it nae be?—when an arrow shot from one in pursuit killed the hound and nae any of the men fleeing. Lo, he lost his banner, the king did, and to his own nephew, Randolph, who since his capture at Methven, is now fighting with the English ranks. ?Twas nae a firm rout, milord; the king put to the sword the detachment of two hundred of Pembroke's finest, those who'd followed the hound and his trail. And Pembroke, at that time, weary of his service to Longshanks, withdrew to Carlisle."

Imagining there was more—the king did not send a messenger merely to update Augustus about his near escape—he put his hands on his hips and waited.

"Aye, but come again, the Pembroke Earl," continued the middle-aged messenger, "advancing into Ayrshire with a force of three thousand cavalry."

"At this moment?" Augustus asked. At the messenger's nod, he queried, "How many are attached to the king now?"

"Six hundred spearmen has he, and knowing of the ability of men of this ilk in battle, especially against cavalry, the king is resolved to oppose Pembroke's advance. He desires you to join him, as Pembroke informed him of his intention to march by Loudon Hill. He challenged our king to battle there on the 10th day of May, milord, and bring adherents as you can pull to your banner."

Geddy cursed, "That's more'n a hundred miles," he said, and consulting his fingers, added, "and less than five days."

At Augustus's right, Griffyn shrugged. "Thirty miles a day is nae hardship."

Geddy swiftly turned a scowl onto Griffyn, his face clearly suggesting otherwise.

Augustus addressed the messenger. "Ye've stopped elsewhere ere ye reached me?"

"Not I, milord," was replied promptly. "But aye, other missives were delivered by other messengers."

Robert Bruce was calling in everyone, which sadly, considering the state of the dissention within the nobles, might not be enough to defeat Pembroke once and for all. Pembroke's army was mighty and had been in serious, devastating pursuit of the king since Robert Bruce had pulled the crown down on his head last spring. The battle that had taken place near Methven last year had nearly seen the newly crowned king captured, his stunning opposition to England and Edward I a breath away from dying a premature death.

Becoming aware of the chatter around him, Geddy and the lads discussing the chances of reaching the king's side in time, Augustus formulated his response to the messenger in his head. It didn't matter what task he'd been given here in Caol or that it was not yet completed. A summons from the king himself was not to be avoided, certainly not with a battle looming, and neither did Augustus have a desire to ignore it. Rather, the very idea of returning to action quickened his pulse.

The messenger"s demeanor softened, his gaze drifting away. Augustus followed his line of sight, noticing Sorcha nearby as she worked on tidying the thatch chaos outside her door. Until that moment, the messenger had been reserved and professional, his expression somber. Presently, his entire fa?ade appeared to melt, affected by wonder at the sight of her. No surprise there, for she was an exquisite pale rose among the thorn of her cottage, a brilliant beacon amidst the mundane army camp.

Her presence brought to mind her predicament and Augustus's own self-appointed role of protector. Lifting his hand, he rubbed his cheeks and jaw, considering her and this new turn.

"Och, but the lass...." Geddy said, having noticed her presence as well.

Augustus nodded, his mind racing with ideas and strategies, and said to the messenger, "Ye may relay to our king that we will attend him anon," he pronounced, drawing the messenger's fascinated attention back to him—and a barely concealed snort from Kael, who might be wondering how they would make so many miles in so short a time.

The man cleared his throat and bowed his head in acknowledgement of this, and with little aim to conceal the action, he cast one more glance at Sorcha, lingering for a moment before he spun his horse about and departed.

"We leave today," Angus said when the man was well gone, "and still we'll struggle to arrive in time to be of any use to the king."

"Coming in fatigued will be nae help against Pembroke," Colin predicted.

"There'll be nae time to construct any siege engines," Geddy contributed, "nae time to outfit the archers proper-like."

"Are you suggesting we ignore the king's summons?" Augustus asked the group in general.

An immediate chorus of "Naes" responded, putting an end to the discussion that it couldn't be done, or couldn't be accomplished suitably.

"Then let us prepare," Augustus instructed. He glanced upward at the sun's position. "Plan to move out in two hours' time. We'll travel by night as well as day."

"And the lass?" Geddy wondered.

Augustus chewed the inside of his cheek, his attention drawn to her while she unknowingly swept loose pieces of thatch away from her stoop.

"Canna leave her here," Colin decided. "We dinna ken that de Montfort is behind the oaf's arrest, but then we dinna ken he isnae."

Griffyn, who rarely spoke, offered what Augustus and possibly others were thinking. "Some men would commit all sorts of offenses to have her."

"But that assumes," Kael proposed, "that the weaver—what's her name? Effie?—lied and this lass here is a guid judge of the oaf, and how do we ken that, when she dinna even ken the oaf was English?"

Narrowing his eyes at Sorcha"s petite figure, his mind and body yet filled with the memory of her kiss, he couldn"t help but ponder the extent to which de Montfort would go to claim her for himself, even at the risk of invoking Augustus"s wrath. He didn"t doubt for a moment that de Montfort was the type who would exploit her vulnerability. Sorcha, in his eyes, was immeasurably superior to any other woman he had encountered, both in appearance and in the strength of her convictions and courage. Even her sharp temper, her fighting spirit, held a certain allure.

"We canna take her with us," Geddy supposed, scratching his head, "unless we deposit in Glasgow or secret her way near Galston while the fight is on."

"Irvine is near to Loudon Hill," Angus reminded them, "and is sympathetic to the Bruce, possibly a safe haven temporarily. I've kin there," he said and scrunched up his face in consideration of this, "or I did at one time. Unless they got themselves kilt, might still be around those parts."

"What about the oaf?" Colin wondered. "Do we trust that Lord Aldric will nae hurry along the trial and punishment while we're gone, in light of yer support?" When several sets of eyes turned toward him in question, Colin lifted his hands defensively. "What? Ye ken Lord Aldric dinna ken why we were there, and with the laird speaking on behalf of the lass?"

Knowing he could not in good conscience leave Sorcha behind, certainly not while Grimm was still imprisoned, and strongly suspecting Sorcha would not leave willingly while Grimm was yet in chains, Augustus turned his narrow gaze onto Geddy. "Ah, but will we nae invite de Montfort to ride to Loudon Hill with us? Should he not? Being so loyal an adherent to Robert Bruce?"

Geddy nodded and Griffyn smirked as they understood. The messenger had called for recruitment, and an entire army, larger than the MacKenzie force and claiming to be on the side of right, was housed nearby. Should they not be expected to also race to the king's side?

Augustus had one more idea.

"Any chance we can spring her man from the dungeon while we're convincing de Montfort to join us?"

Angus let out a low whistle, aptly conveying his surprise.

Augustus sensed the same all around him, in the other faces.

"Och, shite," was Geddy's response. But at the same time as he shook his head disagreeably, a slow grin evolved. "Only one way to find out."