Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02] Read online

  She clasped her hands together at this pronouncement. “I thank you, milady. My grandson has already grown an inch, I swear it, since I’ve been feeding him the extra rations of meat your husband has given me. I’ve been promised a fur if my work pleases you. It would be so nice to have the extra warmth this winter.”

  “I’m going to tell him as soon as I see him, Isla,” I assured her, “that I think you deserve two furs—one for you and one for your grandson.”

  Isla’s face lit up. “Would you? Oh, I’d be so indebted.” She seemed almost overcome with the possibility. “I don’t know how to thank you. I truly don’t.”

  “There’s no need to thank me, Isla. You deserve all the rewards you’re given. Your hard work of past days is obvious. This manor is slowly coming back to life. It is I—it is we,” I said, gesturing to my sisters, “who are indebted to you.”

  Clementine stepped forward and weaved her arm through mine. “Aye,” she agreed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Isla.”

  I was deeply touched by the extent of Isla’s gratitude. It occurred to me that the workers of our clan had gone unrewarded for many years. It was no wonder they had become lax with their work habits if they’d never reaped the benefits of their labors. My husband’s methods of leadership were indeed much more effective than those of my father.

  “Would you like to see the menu we’ve planned for the noon meal, milady?” It was Jinty, one of the cooks, who spoke. “Your husband said he likes herbs with his carrots and fresh bread along with his meat, and butter for his bread and salt on the table. So we’ve been trying a few new dishes.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be very pleased, Jinty,” I said.

  “We’re a little behind this morning, alas,” Jinty lamented, “although we’ve been up since before dawn. One of the bakers—Mary—she’s taken ill. Nothing serious, I hope, but we told her to stay abed until she’s well. We don’t want her passing on her illness to your husband, now, do we? We’re just a little behind without the extra pair of hands, but we’ll be sure to have everything ready by the time your husband returns to us at noontime. He said he’s not hunting today, but working in the weapons sheds.”

  I had no knowledge of my husband’s schedule for the day, but I was glad to hear that he was close by and that I might see him during the day. This knowledge, however, was prickled with the new information Bonnie had given me. Caleb was here, also close by. The thought of both my husband and my first love together, in the same keep—or in the same room—brought an uneasy glimmer to the light, which I made a point to ignore.

  And I was distracted by my elder sister, who’d taken an unusually keen interest in the goings-on of the kitchen. “If you need help with the bread...I’d be happy to contribute,” she said softly.

  “I will, too,” said Lottie.

  Isla welcomed Clementine’s help, and I recruited Lottie to help me set the tables in the hall.

  “You know,” said Clementine. “I’ve always—my whole life—wanted to learn to cook. I was hoping to ask for that assignment at the convent.” After an uneasy pause, as though a thought had occurred to her, she said, “Are you sure that Father will allow this, Stella?”

  “I’ll handle Father,” I said, experiencing a wash of courage that was entirely new to me. I was tired of being afraid of him, of hiding away from his misdirected, useless anger. There was work to be done that was not only highly beneficial for the well-being, success and prosperity of our clan, but also enjoyable. For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of purpose, and of strength. In fact, I was overcome by a strong yet inexplicable desire to not only clean up this keep but oust my own father from his reign altogether. My father’s power had brought me endless misery—although I hadn’t realized the extent of it until my husband had shone a light on all things remiss. Each and every discontentment of Kade’s, since he’d arrived within our walls, had been astute and entirely accurate. Through my husband’s perspective, I was able to see that the life I had led thus far was not easy, pampered or safe, as my father had always claimed to us. It was riddled with fear, abuse and isolation.

  I wanted my husband’s reign to start now.

  I hadn’t known Kade Mackenzie all that long—less than two months—but what I did know of him had enlightened me on every level. I thought of him now. His light eyes and the enticing grip of his strong warrior’s hands. The shape of his mouth. His smile. His wicked, wicked tongue. As it always did when I was in his presence or remembering his reverberating effect on me, my skin grew warmer, my body stirred with a muted self-awareness that charged me with restless, undirected urgency.

  My husband would protect me, if it came to that. With his assurances, I could follow through on the jobs that I needed to do, and that I wanted to do. And if Kade wasn’t able to shield me from the consequences of my own actions for one reason or another, well, so be it. I would fight for myself. I would take the hours as they came, and do my best to act honorably and for the greater good, as he did.

  Lottie and I chatted idly as we straightened the settings for the tables and lit the many candles placed liberally around the room.

  I stopped abruptly as I heard commotion. A number of people were entering the main doors of the manor. There were voices and footsteps.

  It was Maisie, Bonnie and Jamie, dressed in his soldier’s garb.

  Jamie was followed by his brother. None other than the boy I had once cried for and yearned for above all others, who’d given me comfort when before I’d had none, and to whom I had first promised my heart and my hand.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I FROZE AS Caleb approached me, standing only feet from where I stood.

  It had been almost two months since I’d seen him, but the change in him was dramatic. He’d lost weight, and his worn clothing hung from his thin frame. His brown eyes were shadowed by the hardship of past weeks, and his fair hair was long and unclean. The trials of his banishment were written across his disheveled appearance. His had been an arduous journey, I could see. And the worry in his eyes brought tears to mine. He knew of my marriage, of course. My unwillingness, my fear. My attempts to flee. I was sure Jamie had been given the full, descriptive version of the story by Bonnie, and that Caleb himself had likely been spared no detail of it. And I could see in his expression that he was, even now, imagining every brutal aspect of my forced marriage bed. I watched the thoughts ripple across his face with transparent emotion, and I could see that the light in his eyes had changed, almost imperceptibly, yet the change was unmistakable. As I had changed, so had he. He had endured much: this was clear and made me wonder what kind of punishment my father had, in fact, subjected him to, beyond merely banishing him to a warm, dry stable somewhere in the heart of Edinburgh, as I had visualized his exile.

  He reached for my hand and held my fingers lightly in his own.

  The contact felt foreign and strange. There was a distance there. I now belonged to another man. The sweetness of our youth and innocence had taken a turn, and there was a guarded air between us.

  “Stella,” he said, stepping closer and reaching to touch his cool fingers to the flushed skin of my cheek. “You look lovelier than ever. Are you well?”

  The question was cautious, hinting at deeper curiosities. How badly did he hurt you? Was it a ravishing that has hardened your heart? Do you still love me as you once did? These and other questions seemed to drift like weaving threads of mist through the air around us.

  Once, when Caleb had touched me, the light brush of his fingers had delivered a soft, simple promise that had calmed me. Now the gentle caress felt hollow somehow. I had become accustomed to more immediate, vigorous reactions at a man’s touch: a roaring, febrile flame as opposed to this, a wispy, endangered ember.

  Before I could speak to him, the very subject of his unspoken thoughts strode into the room. Stunned and speechless as I was, my attention might have been too absorbed to take much notice. But the presence was too large, too glinted with light.

&nbs
p; My husband.

  Keenly observant at all times, Kade’s stormy eyes took in every detail of Caleb’s proximity to me with hawklike acuity, and watched with dark alertness as Caleb abruptly removed his touch from my face and my fingers. Kade walked to where we stood, and began to circle us, his gaze taking in Caleb’s unthreatening, ragged appearance.

  It was impossible not to compare the two of them, given the situation. Caleb was in every way a less imposing figure. He was as boyishly handsome as I remembered him, although his sandy-brown hair had lost its sunny vibrancy, dirty and unkempt as it was. His face looked thinner, his already lean body even more angular beneath his rough-hewn tunic that was threadbare and patched. Caleb’s fingers, as I had always known them, were still stained with the charcoal of his work.

  And if Caleb was earthy and subdued in appearance, Kade, in contrast, was blindingly...shiny, as always. His hair had a sheen to it that was noticeable, and might have been a result of his almost-ritualistic daily swims in the loch. Kade’s shoulders were brown and gleaming with strength. The rich leather of his sparring vest and trews clung to him like a second skin. His weaponry glittered with his movement, and the effect was somehow festive even in its warning. And his pale predator’s eyes were narrowed with his discovery yet illuminated with the layered emotions of his character that I was beginning to learn. Resilience. Charisma. Power. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, searing jealousy.

  What surprised me about my own reaction to the very different spectacles of Caleb and Kade was that the solace I used to find in Caleb’s company was much less pronounced than it once was. My body had grown warm and aware, aye. My skin was heated and tingly. The secret place between my thighs felt sultry and warm. I was responding, not to Caleb, who I had once found so soothing. Nay, I was responding, I realized, to the close proximity of my protective warrior husband, whose fierceness—so frightening to me once—was arousing me beyond belief. I tried to quell the thoughts, but my mind seemed intent on remembering, in some detail, the intensity of pleasure forced upon me by the clever suction of his mouth, pulling, feasting with relentless intention. The methodical thrust of his tongue. The clenching, succulent rapture. I felt almost faint with longing as I watched the razor-sharp blades of my husband’s knives catch shards of sunlight, throwing the silver-cast reflections around the room in an iridescent display. The boundaries between safety and danger were distorted. I wondered at my own reaction even as my nipples beaded and the low ache of my most delicate places began to throb with a fervent, ripening desire.

  “It does not surprise me,” said Kade evenly, without slowing his measured, stalking movements, “that my wife attracts the attention of other men.” His tone was calm and direct, laced with a distilled fury that raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck—and inspired a light quiver in my moistening core. And there was more to Kade’s manner than anger; he looked to be genuinely interested in the details of this encounter. I had little doubt that Kade knew of my former youthful attraction to the man he was now on the verge of attacking. Caleb’s banishment and the reason behind it had become somewhat of a discussion point among our clan’s people. News of that kind had a way of traveling, and would likely have reached Kade at some point between Caleb’s exile and this moment. Kade had probably heard of it before our marriage had even taken place. And now Kade, seeing the object of his wife’s onetime affection, appeared vaguely bemused by the sight of him.

  “What does surprise me, however,” Kade continued, “is that this, by all accounts, is my most fearsome competitor for her affections.” He was studying Caleb, and it was a scrutiny that was clearly making Caleb wildly uncomfortable. Caleb stared at my husband—and his myriad of gleaming armaments—with a mixture of awe, terror and evident resolve: whatever my husband decided to do about Caleb’s mild advances would go uncontested. It was glaringly obvious to all that Kade outmatched Caleb in combative skill by a measure of at least ten to one. My sisters whispered in a huddled group from the periphery, unnerved by the prospect of watching Caleb gutted. As was I.

  “I’d challenge you to a duel,” my husband said, “but you don’t appear to be carrying a weapon.” Kade’s expression was sardonic, disbelieving. He half smiled, as though he found Caleb’s omission not only foolish but entertaining.

  When Caleb did not reply to Kade’s observation, my husband continued. “I’d offer to lend you one of my weapons, but I fear that if you chose to accept a call to arms, your death would come so swiftly and so easily that it would greatly upset my wife. And I can’t have my wife upset with me, now, can I? It never pays to upset one’s wife, so I’ve heard.” He repeated my title with emphasis, as though to reiterate the justification behind his barely corralled wrath.

  Still, Caleb remained silent, watching Kade’s feet as he circled us.

  “What say you, man?” Kade asked pointedly. “What are you doing touching my wife in any way whatsoever?” Kade’s words were dripping with murderous ire. “You are asking to be challenged, are you not? You’ve started something, aye, and so you must be prepared to finish it.” And then, with a quiet menace that renewed all my original fears of him, even if those fears were inlaid with confounding desire, Kade leaned close to Caleb and said, “Are you imagining that my wife might have lingering feelings for you, even though she is now married?”

  “That would be a question for your wife, I imagine,” Caleb said, finally meeting Kade’s hostile gaze. I could see Caleb was working to keep the panic from showing in his voice and in his manner.

  Kade paused for a brief moment, spearing Caleb with a glare so intent that any inkling of courage Caleb might have summoned withered instantly. Kade surprised me then as he appeared to take Caleb’s reply to heart. “A very good point,” Kade said, turning to me. “Wife,” he began, his feral eyes wandering my face, lingering on my parted lips.

  Then, in a quick, soldier’s movement, he stepped forward, clasping my wrist with brutal, unthinking force before immediately gentling his grasp and weaving his fingers through mine. He was watching my face as he pulled me along with him. I had no choice but to follow, even if I wanted to refuse. My head issued warnings, conjuring protests. But my body wanted nothing more than to obey his every command.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” he said shortly, as though he cared not whether our audience was inclined to allow us our leave. “I have some urgent matters I need to discuss with my wife. Do not expect us until the morrow.” Then, as a vicious afterthought, Kade turned to Caleb and uttered a frigid warning. “If you ever so much as brush up against my wife again, I will have no choice but to challenge you on the spot. And I’m not inclined to show even the remotest hint of either mercy or remorse when it comes to matters concerning my wife. Either stay away from her, or be prepared to defend your actions. Consider yourself duly warned.”

  With that, Kade turned to go, leading me, not unwillingly, along with him.

  A sharp stab of anxiety entwined with pure, primal excitement speared me. The seething emotion behind my husband’s outrageous, barely contained strength made me wonder what he intended to do with me. Would he punish me? Would his rage be enough to see him breaking his vow? The thought brought a flare of heat to my nether regions that caused me to gasp lightly. My sisters and Caleb seemed to interpret the sound I made as one of distress. Their faces showed concern, and pity. There was nothing they could do to stop Kade, or to protect me. I was his. As it was, my husband barely gave them a backward glance as he hauled me through the door, down the corridor, and up the staircase to our private chambers.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WE’D BARELY ENTERED the bedchambers, the door decisively slammed—and locked—behind us, before the tirade began. Any control my husband had mastered in the public eye vanished as soon as we were alone.

  “That—?” He was so upset he could barely get the words out, and it was the first time I’d seen him so utterly ruffled. “That boy is the one you pined for all this time? That mess of inadequacy is the object of y
our burning desire? The one who you cried for and dreamed about, even so recently as three nights ago? That—?”

  “What do you mean?” I said. I didn’t recall my recent dreams. And I hadn’t pined for Caleb in...well, in some time.

  “You talk in your sleep, wife. You say his name.” He glared at me, wounded accusation in his sky-hued eyes; it looked strange there, the youthful admonishment contrasting with his seasoned hardness.

  “I don’t,” I said, perturbed by this information.

  “What do you mean ‘I don’t’? You do! I hear you! I’m here with you, as you sleep, am I not? You say his name. I’ve heard it. Several times.”

  “’Tis just dreams,” I whispered. “I can’t remember them. I can’t control that.”

  “Nay, you can’t control the deepest desires of your heart. Is that what this is? Is it him you think of?” He was pacing now, highly agitated. He ran his hand through his hair, grabbing it in a fistful. “I’d heard of your broken heart before we wed, aye. Some stable boy who’d been banished to Edinburgh. I’d heard the story of you father’s refusal, your sorrow—all of it. I chose to treat it as the gossip I thought it to be.”

  My husband approached me, frustration radiating from his big, battle-sculpted body. His hair was in disarray and his strength a visceral presence. But I didn’t flinch back from him. I knew by now that he wouldn’t hurt me. Over time, as this realization had taken hold, my body seemed to have adjusted to the knowledge with odd effect. As though the little reservoirs where the fear had once lurked were now simmering with understanding. With heat and passion. With soft-edged lust.

  Kade stood before me, ferocious and immense, his weapons, his fury and his musculature displayed in full. His intensity only succeeded in stirring my smoldering arousal further. Within the glaring aura of his raging masculinity, I felt more feminine than I ever had. I felt receptive, as though the purpose of my humanness resided here, in this room, with him.