Chapter Six

“But I barely spoke to the man,” Rachel fumed where she paced by the empty hearth.

“You spent the night on Macbain land,” Father Daughtry replied and took a sip of ale.

“In a cave on the mountain,” Rachel nearly yelled, but reined in her outrage when Isabelle touched her arm. “Without Angus Riley,” she added in a firm but softer tone.

“You are but a woman,” the priest continued, and Rachel clamped her teeth shut. “A man must have been with you. How else did you escape Druim?”

“I escaped by using my brain,” she responded evenly.

“Rachel was with me.” Alec’s granite words filled the room. It was a simple statement but easily misinterpreted. Phillip smiled roguishly. Colin merely glanced at her from where he sat staring at Isabelle, who tried to pretend she wasn’t staring at him. Father Daughtry’s eyes gleamed with recrimination.

“Whore,” her father hissed low, condemnation in his wild stare.

The twang of steel sliding free broke through William’s sputtering. “Shut yer thieving, lying mouth else I cut yer tongue from it,” Alec growled, his sword a natural extension of his arm as he moved into a battle stance.

Rachel stood rooted to the stone floor. Concern for her father’s life warred with fury that he’d judged her without any evidence or defense.

“Rachel Brindle is as intact as when I found her on the mountain outside Druim,” Alec gritted out, his stare taking in the audience to her humiliation. “And if she says she was untouched at Druim, she was untouched. Angus Riley lies.” He held his sword until Father Daughtry finally nodded.

“He comes here to claim her from ye,” Colin said. “Noon, Elspet’s meadow.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard today,” Alec said and sheathed his sword. “We’ll finish this.”

“No,” Rachel said, exhaling. “I will not have blood spilled over me.”

Alec’s eyes turned to her. They still held fury, but their blue depths softened. “It’s our way, lass.” He waved toward the large tapestry hanging on the wall, depicting the death scene that had started the feud a hundred years ago. “I will not have ye slandered, and I will not give ye up to those lying bastards.”

She stepped closer to him, trying to make her eyes and face as hard as his. “Then I’m coming.” Her voice dropped. “To clean up whatever mess you all make.”

If she couldn’t stop them from fighting, she could stop them from dying.

…

Rachel inhaled the light fragrance of heather and gorse on the summer breeze. The sun beat hard against the low clouds, breaking through to touch the bright green field. Elspet’s meadow, the place where Macbain and Munro would battle for a woman.

Blasted dramatic Highlanders.

Rachel frowned at the thick man who slid from his horse. Angus’s gaze sought her and his easy smile faltered when he found her. Did the man honestly think she welcomed his slander?

“Are ye well?” Angus called across the space, where wildflowers danced in a swirling frenzy.

Rachel tucked an errant curl back behind her ear. “I did not handfast with you, Angus Riley. I don’t even know you. Withdraw your ridiculous claim and walk away from this cursed field.”

Another man, taller and broader, dismounted. He held the conceited look of authority. The Macbain. “Whether ye are aware or not, Angus Riley claimed ye when he brought ye to my castle. He took ye without force. Ye went along willingly.”

Rachel snorted. “I was unconscious.”

“When ye woke, ye did not ask to turn around.”

She threw up her hands. “I did!”

Isabelle placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. It was his word against hers.

Alec stepped before her, sword in hand. Angus’s sword sang out as he strode forward. A ray of sun broke through the clouds to shine down between the enemies, as if Elspet herself tried to bar them from making the same mistake they had a century ago. Rachel’s fingers dug into the back of Alec’s shirt. He turned toward her and lowered his sword. Angus lunged.

“No!” Rachel screamed and twisted to block Alec. But Angus’s momentum was too great. The point of his sword lowered from his strike, but he couldn’t stop the thrust in time. Rachel gasped as hot pain ripped through her middle, piercing her intestines, slicing skin, veins, and muscles. The solid blade tore back out of her as he withdrew.

“Nay!” Alec roared and caught her wilting body, cushioning it as she crumpled to the sunlit wildflowers. “Rachel! Nay!” His exhalations were fierce pants. “Do not leave me.”

Alec’s words swam in her head, mixed with the clenching pain and spreading numbness. The tang of blood and bile covered the subtle aroma of summer. Rachel gasped, straining for air, and shivered.

On the next ragged inhale she felt warmth. Heat wrapped around her middle and she blinked open. Alec stared down into her eyes. Deep emotion turned the blue darker, more intense. A brilliant array of lighter blue shot out from his large pupils. She reached a blood-streaked hand to his face.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

“Hold on, Rachel,” he pleaded, and rubbed her hand along his warm cheek.

Pain ebbed as the warmth of magic woke Rachel’s senses.

A startled gasp came from Father Daughtry and several others gathered around. “She’s glowing.”

Rachel assessed her body. Isabelle rested her hands near the wound. Her sister’s eyes were closed in concentration as she fed her magic into Rachel.

“Isabelle?” William choked.

Rachel reached for Isabelle’s hands at the same time she fed her own magic, now revived with the knitting of her worst wounds, throughout her body.

“No, Father. It is me,” Rachel said.

Isabelle met her eyes as Rachel nodded, a smile touching her lips. Isabelle removed her hands but the glow continued.

“Witchery!” Father Daughtry clutched his heavy crucifix.

Rachel heard murmurs around them, but Alec’s face blocked their view. “I’m sorry I distracted you again,” she whispered to him.

He rolled his eyes and exhaled in a gust. With a full breath, his worry relaxed into a broad smile. “Bloody hell, thank ye Lord for magic.”

Rachel smiled.

His eyes closed for a brief moment as he shook his head, his smile turning grim. “I promise, Rachel, I’ll never let ye near danger again,” Alec swore and lifted her into his arms. She glanced at Isabelle—who leaned against Colin—and Colin nodded to Rachel, subtle appreciation and respect in his gaze.

“We shall not suffer a witch to live,” Father Daughtry recited and clenched his rosary.

“I would keep yer name calling to yerself,” Colin advised.

Alec’s hard stare shot across the distance to pierce the cleric. Rachel glanced over Alec’s shoulder at the flabbergasted Macbains. Angus’s sword sagged, its blade dark with her blood, the tip lost in the green grass.

“Go home, Macbains,” Alec growled without turning. “No one believes yer lies.” He paused, turning to stare hard at Angus. “Rachel Brindle is mine.”

Rachel’s healed stomach fluttered, and she found it difficult to inhale fully. She could easily read the energy surging through Alec, muscles contracting with power, heart thudding in time with his footfalls. None of the telltale signs of falsehood—sweating, increased blinking, jump in heart rate—surfaced at his declaration.

Her pulse quickened as she replayed his words: Rachel Brindle is mine. Did that make Alec Munro hers? Her hands slid to his well-muscled biceps.

“Ye are well?” He spoke low.

She nodded.

They rode back to the keep in silence. Rachel leaned her head against his chest the entire way, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. Alec’s essence enveloped her: his clean masculine smell, his heat, his corded arms pulling her close into the shelter of his chest. Even his legs braced around her, supporting her easily without complaint.

He lowered her gently to the ground in the bailey, as if she were still injured. She smiled at him. “I am well.”

“Covered with yer own blood.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “Truly, I am whole and well.” He nodded but his frown remained.

Rachel insisted on returning to the great hall after changing another ruined gown. Between Father Daughtry’s condemnation and her father’s spluttering, she wasn’t about to sit above while they slandered her.

“Never seen anything like it.” Father Daughtry shook his head. “Must be from the Devil.”

“She prays.” Alec’s voice sounded annoyed. “’Tis a blessing from God. She saved my own life that day Angus stole her.”

Rachel and Isabelle stepped into the great hall. Father Daughtry stared directly at her, his cross held tightly. “Have you fornicated with the Devil?”

“I am a maid,” she replied, eyes wide.

“With healing magic you could remake yourself a maid every day,” her father said, and Rachel gasped at his crudeness.

Alec’s sword rang with promise as he leveled it with William’s throat. “The only reason yer heart does not bleed itself dry on the end of this blade is because it would distress yer daughter.”

William’s eyes widened and he backed away.

Alec brought his sword around to point at Father Daughtry. “She is not a witch and the only devil she will be consorting with is me.”

Rachel opened her mouth then shut it. At least he hadn’t said fornicating.

“The church may want to investigate this further,” Father Daughtry mumbled.

“The church will need to go through me,” Alec said, his scowl so murderous the priest crossed himself.

Phillip stepped beside Alec, and in front of Rachel. “And every warrior belonging to Clan Munro.”

Colin stepped to the other side of Alec. “And Clan Macleod.”

Rachel blinked several times. Never before had anyone defended her besides her sister. And now it seemed she had the protection of two Highland clans.

After a battle of stares, Father Daughtry nodded and kissed his cross. “What, then, would you have me do? It is my duty to fight for your souls in this heathen land.”

“Then bless us,” Alec said. “Our union.”

Rachel turned to stone. Indignation warred with hope. Marriage? She barely knew Alec Munro. She’d dreamt of the handsome boy from the festival as she’d grown, making him into a gallant knight in her musings. But this was no dream, and real men were not gallant, knight or not. All the reasons she should be furious and appalled tumbled through her head.

But…the thought of Alec, his warmth, his strength, his easy acceptance of her powers, warmed Rachel’s stomach and squeezed her heart.

“What?” Her father’s face flushed.

Alec sheathed his sword and pointed at him. “Ye, William Brindle, will give yer daughter, Rachel, to me.” He turned his sword to Phillip and Colin. “Ye two will witness.” He swiveled back around to Father Daughtry. “And ye will sanctify our marriage with yer bloody blessing.” For another long moment it seemed everyone else had turned to stone, until Phillip slapped Alec on the back, a smile on his roguish face.

“And what would you have me do?” Rachel’s voice seemed small compared to Alec’s mighty roar—small but strong. She held her gaze steady as he turned to her.

His face was still chiseled, jaw tight, eyes sparking. But his voice was gentler. “Ye will say ‘I do.’”

Rachel met him with her own spark. “I haven’t heard a question.” With that she walked through the maze of statues to the doors and stepped into the summer breeze.

She found the stables and entered the building’s warmth, breathing in the pungent smell of fresh hay. The large lashed eyes of several mares turned her way as they munched, tails swishing. She leaned against the wooden wall. She barely had time to think before she heard his footfalls grinding into the pebbles of the bailey. She closed her eyes.

The light crunching paused before her and she inhaled the clean masculine scent that was all Alec. “Rachel.” His voice started a shiver that catapulted through her body.

She slowly opened her eyes and stared up at the massive Highland warrior.

“Life flashes by too fast up here to waste time courting.”

Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “Too fast for a simple question?” She propped hands on hips. “Let me teach you a little something about women, Alec Munro.” She leaned forward to stare up into his face. “You men may dream about your first battle, mentally preparing for it the moment you can walk. Well women dream about…” She suddenly felt foolish. Her hands slipped from her hips.

Alec caught her chin. “What, Rachel, what have ye dreamed about since ye were a wee lass?”

She pursed her lips and ignored the sting of moisture in her eyes. “The bloody question, delivered reverently by a gallant knight.”

Alec ran his thumb over her cheekbone and grinned. “I’ll never be a gallant knight, Rachel.”

“Agreed,” she sniffed, her eyes looking up to the ceiling for a moment before meeting his again. “Delivered, then, by a stubborn, domineering, overbearing mountain of a man.”

His grin increased. “And here I was afraid ye would say ye didn’t even know me.”

She glanced down. “I don’t.”

His voice softened and he ran a finger over the scar. “I think ye do.” He paused. “And I know a lot about ye.” He ran fingers through her curls, encouraging that shiver to the tips of her toes. She braced her trembling legs against the wall. Alec’s dark blue eyes focused on hers. “I know ye are the bravest woman I have ever met.” He closed the scant distance between them. “I know ye trust me.”

She frowned and tried to breathe evenly. Arrogant sod.

“In the woods ye didn’t sound an alarm.” When she didn’t refute he continued. “Ye possess magic and it’s a blessing, but should only be used when necessary because it tires ye.” He raised her wrist and traced the wings of the brown dragonfly.

Alec’s nose skimmed the pulse of her neck, his lips hovering up to her jaw, making her heart pound. “I know yer scent.” He inhaled and goose bumps rippled along her arms.

His hand moved to her chest, palm against her heart, fingers stretched up along her collarbone. “I know the sound of yer heart racing and how yer sky blue eyes turn darker when I am close.”

She would have denied it, but guessed it was true.

“Ye are exceedingly clever. And ye still favor sweetened raspberries like ye did as a lass.”

Her words were breathy, shallow. “I’m still lethal with a wooden sword.”

He smiled. His palms cupped her cheeks and Rachel’s lips opened on their own accord, but he held himself apart. She almost groaned in frustration.

“And I know ye meddle and get into trouble when ye think ’tis the right thing to do,” he said. “We’re certain to yell a bit at each other. For ye have spirit, lass, to match my own.”

His nose touched hers and she hardly breathed. Several heartbeats passed. His heat scorched her. His scent filled her every breath. His strength radiated outward, encompassing her, making her weak and mighty at the same time.

Rachel cleared her throat. “But there’s more to me. I’m not that young girl running free in the fields.”

“We have decades to learn the particulars,” he whispered, so close to her lips she felt the breeze of his words. She nodded, brushing his forehead. He lowered his hands and straightened, a look of mild disappointment tightening his face.

“And what do ye know of me, besides the fact that I’m stubborn and a mountain of a man?” He flexed his thick biceps as if proving her description of him.

She smirked. “You forgot domineering and overbearing.”

He tipped his head and a small laugh broke from her.

“Well, you are kind to let my father live.”

He nodded vehemently.

“You have a good sense of direction, and know how to cook a rabbit.”

“And hunt sweetened raspberries,” he added.

Charming. She could add that. Charming when he wanted to be.

“A leader of a great clan,” she said. “And I think…honorable.”

“I always keep my promises, lass.”

“You are good with a sword and you smell clean,” she added quickly.

He flashed white teeth. “Because I am clean.” He stepped close again. “But ye forgot a most important part of me, something that I’ve recently stumbled upon.” His expression grew serious, almost pained for a moment, as he caught a curl and tucked it with a caress behind her ear. “When that bastard Macbain stabbed ye—”

“Because I was meddling.”

“Aye.” His quick grin faded just as fast as it was born. His gaze moved to the ceiling. “Let me back up.” He paused until he looked her in the eye again. Pure loathing shook his voice. “I hate the Macbains. They killed my father, my two brothers, and would have killed me.” He took a large breath of air.

“But when Angus Riley,” he nearly spit the name, “stabbed ye, all I could think about was ye, saving ye, holding yer warm body against mine again, kissing ye.”

Rachel blushed but couldn’t look away.

“I could have turned and killed him there, possibly killed The Macbain himself, but they meant nothing.” Alec’s thumb brushed her cheek and she realized a tear had trailed down it. “All I could think about was Rachel Brindle and how much…” His lips tightened as if he were about to say something foreign. “How much…I love ye.”

Her breath caught on her inhalation. Alec took her hand in his and his voice deepened with his oath. “Tha gaol agam ort, Rachel. Gu bràth, forever.” He leaned in so close, his bottom lip brushed hers. He waited. “I do not break my promises.”

Rachel moved her lips against his but he held still. The memory of his oath in the cave surfaced. He’d kept his promise not to kiss her until she asked. This wild, headstrong barbarian was her gallant knight. “I love you, too.” She took his face in her hands. “Kiss me, Alec Munro.”

As if a dam had broken, Alec’s entire being overtook her. His lips, hot and urgent, melded with her own. His arms caught her up, fitting her into the shelter of his body, pressing her tightly to his muscled form. The physical difference between them sent rapture spiraling through her. She let him hold her up as sensation after sensation washed away everything but Alec’s taste, Alec’s scent, Alec’s touch. The rough boards at Rachel’s back faded from her consciousness, as did everything but their hearts racing together. His kisses trailed down her neck and she moaned softly. Only then did she hear the polite cough.

She stiffened and Alec growled. “Be gone, Phillip.” Alec’s hot lips feathered back up to hers and she relaxed as his hands ran caresses down her arms.

A deep chuckle. “It’s customary for the bride to say ‘I do’ before—”

“I do,” Rachel breathed against Alec’s lips. He paused and she opened her eyes to see his broad smile. His blue eyes shone bright and he threw back his head and laughed. She couldn’t help but join him. Alec picked her up. Rachel gasped on a giggle and clung hard to his neck as he carried her toward the keep.

“I do, too,” Alec said against her ear. The heat in his words scorched her. “Let us tell the good father quickly, then. I have a desire to learn everything about ye. From the curls of yer lovely head to the tips of yer wee toes, and everything in between.”

He paused to seal his oath. Rachel’s blood rushed with the promise in Alec’s kiss. A promise of adventures and passion.

A promise of a lifetime of love.