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On the horse, Elspeth sat in front of Cyrus, his strong arm wrapped tightly around her. Despite the danger, she felt safer than she ever had. She couldn't believe a man as prominent as an earl had invaded an enemy castle and rescued her, unaided. 'Twas madness. The very idea that he might care so much about her that he would risk his life astounded her. He must have fought a dozen men to get to her in the castle. His generosity and selflessness warmed her heart.
She'd recognized his deep voice the instant he'd said her name, right before the whirlwind of him tossing her over his shoulder and kicking men aside. Though his actions had been brusque, he had not hurt her in the least. Physically and emotionally, he was a hard man, yet he always touched her in a gentle manner.
As they traveled along the dark road, she heard more than just their mount's hooves striking the hard-packed ground. Thunder rumbled overhead and, from a distance, the alarming staccato of galloping horses escalated.
Heart thudding hard, she turned her head. "Horses are approaching behind us."
"Aye. They're following." Cyrus guided the horse off the road into the cover of a small wood by a stream.
Moments later, three horses galloped by.
Thankful they hadn't been spotted, she drew in a deep breath. "If that's him, his force has certainly shrunk."
"He probably sent those three men after us but kept a few with him. Wish I could've disabled more of them." Cyrus dismounted, then lifted her to the ground. He led the horse to the burn to drink. "If they catch our trail, they could follow us to Greymont. 'Tis the last thing I want. They'll likely check Darby Hall first. I need to hide you until we lose them." He glanced up toward the flash of lightning. "And we need to find shelter until this storm passes."
She thought of the cellars underneath her buildings. "I know of a place nearby."
"Where?"
"In town. We're close enough to walk."
He gathered his clothing, along with his bow and quiver full of arrows.
After leaving the borrowed horse untethered by the water and a fresh patch of grass, they slipped through the wood toward the road. When they paused to listen, she heard only thunder and wind riffling through the leaves. Once they were on the road, lightning flashed, the wind blew the cowl off her head and a few large raindrops plopped against her face.
"Let's hurry. I don't want you to get drenched." He took her hand, and they rushed past the first buildings lining the streets. "I hope the others arrived at Greymont before this gale."
"Indeed." After dragging the cowl over her head again, Elspeth led the way along the town's near-deserted back allies until they reached the cellar door underneath her dressmaking shop. Feeling in the hidden pocket in her underskirts, she found the small ring of keys. Thank the saints Henry hadn't heard them jingling and confiscated them.
"This is the cellar of my dress shop." She slid the large key into the lock and turned.
"He will surely search here next."
"'Tis true, but I have a plan." They entered the dark cellar and she locked the door. Lightning flickered through the narrow window over the door. After lighting a candle with a flint and setting it on the dusty table, she went to an old cupboard. "Help me move this."
"I'll do it." He strode forward. "You're probably weak from hunger."
"Nay, I'm well." The action had invigorated her. Plus, being with Cyrus always made her feel exhilarated. "Let's slide it to the left."
They dragged the heavy piece of furniture aside enough to expose an ancient scarred door. "This leads to the cellar of the tavern next door. I like to keep it blocked."
"I hear no revelry going on up there. Just the thunder."
"'Tis quieter during the week." After opening the door, she retrieved the candle and carried it into the neighboring cellar. "The owner, Master Brown, stores his excess wine and grain down here. He's the friendly sort and won't mind if we stay here a short while. Best of all, Henry won't have any inkling where we are if you can manage to drag that cupboard back over the doorway to conceal it."
"I will in a few minutes. I want to make sure this place is secure first."
Elspeth deposited the candle on a dusty barrel. "How long do you think we'll have to remain here?"
"Until the morn. By then, the storm should've passed and the MacKenzie reinforcements should arrive in the area. That is... if Norval can travel quickly and avoid any attacks. This storm may slow him down." Cyrus glanced away, scowling.
A pang of guilt struck her. "I regret putting you and your men in so much danger."
"Do not fash yourself over it. They've been through many battles. 'Tis what I pay them for."
She thought of MacNeil and Irving and how they'd disappeared. Were they dead in the wood somewhere? Then there was Hubert, who'd been killed in the attack at Darby. He'd had no inkling he would die this day. Did he have a wife? Children? "Hubert lost his life. Possibly MacNeil and Irving, too." Tears burned her eyes. "I'll never be able to forgive myself."
"The responsibility is mine alone. They were following my orders." Cyrus observed her with dark, troubled eyes. "I now know I shouldn't have sent Irving and MacNeil after Fraser because Dalacroy's men followed them. But I thought 'twas the best thing to do at the time, to safeguard Fraser. I don't always make perfect decisions but do my best to protect all involved. As for my guards, they have always known of the risk to their lives."
She nodded but was still unsatisfied. "Regardless, I must find a way to repay you."
"Nonsense," he grumbled. "I would never expect payment for this."
"But you deserve it."
His gaze connected intimately with hers for a long moment. "Seeing you safe is enough reimbursement for me. As well as bringing down a vile adder like Dalacroy."
But why did he concern himself with her wellbeing? It couldn't be because they'd shared a passionate tryst, for he'd protected her even before then.
"I cannot..." She paused, uncertain how to phrase her thoughts as she searched his striking and compelling features.
"What?"
"I cannot quite grasp your generosity. I have never known anyone so giving, expecting naught in return."
His dark eyes intensified upon her. "You've been treated poorly by men in the past."
She nodded, feeling a pang of sadness that he was right.
"'Twill not happen again as long as I draw breath."
She could not believe his heartfelt words, said in that deep and roughened tone. 'Twas almost like a sworn oath... that he would protect her for the rest of his life. Oh, if only such a thing could be possible. Tears flooded her eyes. She faced away from him, trying to hide the flash of emotion.
"Elspeth?" He touched her shoulder.
Hardly able to withstand the acute and tender emotions, she turned and buried her face against his chest. She sighed as his warm, strong arms surrounded her in complete comfort and security. She slipped her arms around him as well, thanking God for this man.
"Why are you crying?" His voice rumbled against her ear.
"Gratitude," she whispered.
"Shh." He kissed the top of her head. "You need not shed any tears over it."
She drew back a few inches. "I know not why you have a reputation as a warlord when you are the kindest man I have ever known."
"I'm not kind to my enemies."
"Well... I'm glad I'm not your enemy."
"You could never be." He leaned closer, his midnight eyes searching hers in the dimness.
The thunder overhead took her back to that other stormy night when they'd shared a spontaneous and tempestuous passion. Now, as then, the yearning took control. She let him capture her lips in an action as wild as the wind whipping against the building and the rain pouring down outside. She had never felt anything as magical and irresistible as his mouth upon hers. Her arms encircled his neck, drawing him down to her.
He lifted her, turned and knocked an object to the stone floor. Before she knew it, she was sitting on a table, his mouth consuming hers ever more fiercely. 'Twas a kiss that gave and demanded in equal measure. A kiss that touched her soul.
She clutched her fingers into his midnight hair, pulling him closer, wishing she could draw him inside her. His short rough beard rasped her chin in a pleasure-pain abrasion. Desire burned in her core, as he stood between her spread knees.
He tore himself away, forcing her to release him, and turned aside. "Damnation. I have to stop."
"Why?" The word popped out, though she hadn't wanted to utter it, to reveal her true feelings. Surely, he thought her a wanton, but she couldn't help yearning for the kiss to go on forever. She had never suspected a kiss could be life-altering.
He remained silent for a long moment as if searching for a reason. "You must be hungry."
Food was the farthest thing from her mind. 'Twas something else entirely that she hungered for, but she'd best follow reason and try not to involve herself with him again. Though difficult, she attempted to ignore the heated way her body had responded to the closeness of his.
Stepping back, he glanced around. "I wonder if there's anything down here for you to eat."
Gathering her wits, she pushed herself off the table and slid to the floor. "Not much food, but plenty of wine."
"Good. I'm thirsty. But first, I'm going to change out of these stinking guard clothes and put on my plaid." He moved back over the threshold into her cellar and pushed the door almost closed.
Embarrassed that he had better self-control than she did, she shook her head and began looking for the crates of wine. Pausing, she glanced at the door, wishing she could see through it. Though she had shared the greatest intimacy with him, she had never seen him completely naked—only his upper body. What would the sculpted, hard-as-granite muscles of his entire body look like?
"Stop it," she hissed low and forced herself to focus on what she was doing. In front of her sat a crate with a familiar French vineyard name.
"What?" Wearing his plaid, Cyrus stood in the doorway.
Mortification seared her. Had he heard her talking to herself again? "I found the wine."
He came toward her. "Will the tavern owner mind?"
"Nay, I'll reimburse him."
After Cyrus pried open a crate, she lifted out a dusty bottle and placed it on the table. Holding the candle with an unsteady hand, she searched through a cupboard drawer, relieved when the light gleamed across a corkscrew. She took the utensil and twisted it into the cork, then yanked it free.
She glanced around. "I see no drinking vessels down here, and even if there were, they would likely be filled with dust."
"We can drink from the bottle, unless you're too refined for that." He raised a brow.
She detected the rare hint of teasing lurking in his obsidian eyes. "Humph, you're the nobleman." She offered him the wine.
He motioned toward her. "Ladies first."
"Very well." Not wanting to drink too much on an empty stomach for fear she would lose all sense around him, she took a small sip, then handed him the bottle.
"That wasn't much." He guzzled a long swig, while she stared at his beautifully sculpted masculine lips pursed on the bottle opening. The action was far more sensual than it should have been, and it made her crave another wild and illicit kiss.
He lowered the bottle and licked his lips. "'Tis even better than I expected."
"He buys from a small but excellent vineyard in France. I have him order mine as well."
Cyrus glanced around. "I doubt there's any edible food down here."
'Haps he was the hungry one, since he kept mentioning food. Taking the candle, she looked inside the cupboards and bins. "Carrots," she announced.
"Are they covered in dirt?"
"Aye, but we could wash them with the wine."
Though she felt ridiculous rubbing her hands over the carrots while he dribbled wine over them, 'twas their one means of having any sort of food this night. Besides, getting the soil on her hands reminded her of digging in her garden, which she always enjoyed.
Once the carrots were devoid of the dirt, they sat on low stools munching on the firm roots.
"I don't recall ever eating a raw carrot before." He quirked a brow. "'Tis something I would feed my horse."
She grinned. "Aye. They're always cooked in our stews, but the raw taste is not so bad."
He chewed another bite and swallowed. "When is Dalacroy's solicitor expected to arrive?"
"Probably tomorrow."
"And Dalacroy did not suspect the deeds were false?" Cyrus asked.
"Nay, thank the saints. No telling what he would've done if he'd figured it out."
"Where are the originals... if you trust me enough to tell me?"
"Of course, I trust you. They're well hidden in the cellar at Darby Hall. I daresay he will have a difficult time finding them."
Cyrus nodded. "In that case, he will try to recapture you and force you to hand them over. 'Twill likely happen tomorrow."
A chill passed along Elspeth's spine. She could've never guessed that Alexander's son could be so evil.
Cyrus's jaw clenched hard. "I'll kill him if he tries it." Eyes narrowed, he shook his head. "When I saw that he didn't allow you to eat with everyone else at his table, I wanted to run him through. I knew you were hungry, and he was trying to torture you by eating in front of you."
"Think naught of it. He turned my stomach. I had no appetite then, anyway." She bit off a piece of carrot and crunched it.
Staring absently at the bottle in his hand, Cyrus frowned. "Makes me think of something that happened in the past." He took a long swallow of the wine, then offered it to her.
She drank a few sips. "About being hungry?"
"Aye."
"What happened?"
He seemed hesitant to reveal the thoughts and memories playing out behind his solemn and soulful gaze. "When I was a lad of seven summers, I fostered with Chief and Lady Comyn of Toramuir, who owed fealty to my father."
Elspeth nodded, hoping to encourage him to keep talking.
"'Twas considered an honor that their overlord entrusted them to help raise his heir. 'Twas also a great responsibility. They were kind enough, but their eldest son, Ben, was a hellion. A cruel lad, even at ten summers."
She frowned, ire stirring in her chest. "What did he do? Refuse to allow you food?"
"He caused me to miss one supper. But when a servant told his mother what he'd done, she punished him."
"I'm glad." Elspeth cast the tough and fibrous carrot stub aside. "I detest bullies."
Cyrus nodded. "I learned to become a strong fighter, at least. As much as I could, I protected the younger lads from Ben. Even though I was three years younger than he was, within a year or two, we were almost the same height. Paul MacTarril was his best friend and cohort in the mistreatment of the lads, his lieutenant, so to speak."
Elspeth gasped. "So that's why you and the magistrate share no brotherly feelings."
"Indeed. I got into many fights and arguments with Paul and Ben. After I'd been there about three years, another laird's son fostered with us. As soon as I saw the wee lad and my foster brothers' snide grins, I knew what would happen. Since they were less successful in beating me up, they would focus all their aggression on this newcomer."
"Oh no." Elspeth's protective mothering instinct rose to the forefront. She dreaded to hear how the tyrants had treated the small boy.
Cyrus frowned. "Patrick was seven summers and half the size of Ben, who was thirteen by that time. Ben had threatened to beat the lad if he ate, but I didn't know it. Patrick told no one for days. He was terrified of Ben and getting thinner by the day. Finally, the boy admitted to me what was happening. I told him to stick with me if he wanted to remain safe, and I forced Ben to back down."
"That was so kind of you." She already had an enormous amount of admiration for Cyrus, but this information made her revere him even more.
"One day, Ben caught the lad alone, and I discovered Patrick on the ground while Ben was kicking him with all his might. I knocked Ben down and gave him a black eye for that. From then on, Patrick stayed near me most of the time and we became friends. He was the closest thing to a brother I had there. But... I should've known better than to make a friend."
"Why? Surely 'tis better to make friends than to be lonely."
Cyrus's expression turned dark and tormented. "At a most crucial time, I was unable to protect wee Patrick. And worst of all, I think Ben did it to punish me because he knew I saw the lad as a younger brother."
"Good heavens." Though Elspeth dreaded the answer, she had to ask, "What happened?"
"Ben held the lad upside down and dangled him from the battlements. I was running toward them, intending to grab Patrick, but Ben dropped him a moment before I could reach them."
"Oh, the poor lad." Tears burned Elspeth's eyes.
"He died instantly. I was overcome with guilt and grief and... rage. Being so young, I didn't ken how to deal with that many painful feelings at once. I tried to strangle the bastard, but someone dragged me off him."
"I would feel the same." She wiped the moisture from her eyes.
"The wee demons tried to blame it on me, but the laird and lady knew I was friends with Patrick. A few of the other foster brothers lied, saying it was an accident because Ben had threatened to do the same to them. Regardless of whether I was labeled a tattletale or not, I told the laird the truth of what had happened. Finally, a few of the other lads revealed what they saw. Even some of the servants on the ground had been witnesses. Chief Comyn could scarce believe the cruelty of his own son."
Her throat tightened and tears stung her eyes. Elspeth could only shake her head, imagining her own precious son in such a deadly situation.
"The boy's father was near destroyed at the news of his death and demanded recompense," Cyrus said. "The foster parents had to pay a high fine, which nearly ruined them. My father took me back home. 'Twas the thing I wanted most in the world, but I would've never wished to lose my friend. When the other lairds and chiefs learned what happened, they removed their sons as well. Most of the Comyn clan's alliances were severed, leaving them vulnerable. Even though Ben was only thirteen summers at the time, he was old enough to know better."
"Of course." She clenched her hands, still jittery from the unexpected emotion. "Where is he now?"
"Last I heard, he had inherited the chiefdom of that small branch of the Comyn Clan. After the slaying, they retained their land, but they had to find another overlord protector."
"'Tis so tragic about Patrick." Elspeth was unable to believe how the story of a lad she didn't know could tear at her soul so sharply. "Just imagining my son in that situation is agonizing."
Cyrus nodded, his tormented gaze clinging to hers. "Tell me of your son. What is he like?"
She wiped the moisture from her eyes and tried to put the tragedy from her mind. "Adam is so bright, wise, and very mature for his age. With his ginger hair and light brown eyes, he favors me a great deal. He's always been very responsible, even when he was much smaller."
"He sounds exceptional."
Feeling proud, she sat up straighter. "I think he will make a great laird someday. He's very industrious and hardworking. His tutors say he is advancing quickly. Although I miss him dreadfully, I knew 'twas time for him to learn at school. I'd taught him all I could, and I didn't want to hold him back."
"'Tis admirable."
"I'm so grateful he isn't here now."
"Does Dalacroy know of his existence?" Cyrus asked.
"I don't know. I hope not. Because of all the children of nobles and lairds who attend the private school, 'tis well protected behind walls, with locked gates and guards."
"He should be safe." Cyrus hoped to ease her mind so she could get some rest tonight. He planned to stop Dalacroy and his men tomorrow, one way or another. If the rest of the MacKenzies arrived, 'twould be far easier and quicker. But if they didn't, he would disable the blackguards one at a time, as he had done earlier that night. He would keep that to himself for now, so Elspeth wouldn't worry.
He hoped he hadn't upset her too much by telling her of Patrick's murder. He hadn't talked about the lad in years, although he thought of him anytime he experienced a loss or failed to protect someone. Elspeth possessed a compelling warmth that had caused him to blather on too much. She seemed interested and as if she understood.
The wine had likely loosed his tongue as well, he realized as he set the empty bottle aside and got to his feet. "I'm going to drag the cupboard back into place."
After he'd done that and closed the door, he spread out the cloak on the packed dirt floor. 'Haps he should not say what he was about to, for many reasons, but 'twas what felt the most natural. And he hoped she would not object. "Come, lie down here beside me so you can get warm and sleep."
Her gaze both questioning and interested, she arose from the stool. "Will you sleep, too?"
"If I can." And he hoped he could, for tomorrow would likely be a difficult day with much fighting. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe. "Are you still hungry?"
"Nay, I'm fine." She lay down on the cloak.
When an unwelcome bolt of arousal struck him, he glanced away, attempting to rein in his urges. How the devil could he lie beside her, control himself and sleep? He did not ken if 'twould be possible.
"I'll try to find you some breakfast in the morn." He forced himself to focus on her well-being.
"Mayhap I can convince Mistress Brown to provide us something."
"Aye, she should have some bannocks or porridge, at least."
"If not, there are more carrots," she quipped.
Cyrus felt a grin tugging at his lips. "I don't care if I never see another raw carrot." He released the upper part of his belted plaid from the penannular brooch. He needed to use the wool fabric to keep her warm, but the very idea of sharing body heat quickened his blood.
"Goodness, I think I had too much wine," she mused. "The room is spinning."
That was far more than he needed to know. He couldn't take advantage of a cupshoten woman, he decided as he joined her. "Maybe 'twill go away if you lie still."
"Aye."
He covered her arms and torso with part of his plaid. "Are you cold?"
"I was a little chilly, but you're so warm." She turned toward him and snuggled against his chest.
When he put an arm around her, she released a long sigh against his throat, and he felt her delicate frame relax. His body did the opposite. Restrained arousal tensed all his muscles. He drew in a deep breath in an effort to settle down, but this only served to fill his head with her alluring fragrance—a hint of French perfume intermingling with her natural female scent.
"You know something? You're the only man I've ever trusted," she murmured.
Her unexpected confession warmed his heart, for he valued trust highly, but it also sent scorching heat to another part of his anatomy. 'Haps lying beside her was a terrible idea. He had to find a way to distract himself from his roguish thoughts, else he would wind up kissing her like he had earlier.
"In truth?" he asked. "What about your late husband?"
She shook her head against him. "Nay, I didn't trust him. My father forced me to marry him. This thrilled Da, for it cleared his debts and elevated his daughter to a lady. But I thought my life was over. The last thing I wanted was to marry a man older than my father. I was tempted to run away, but I knew I couldn't survive on my own. Nor could I leave my brother and sister to fend for themselves."
Anger twisted in Cyrus's chest that a lass so young had to wed a much older man that she didn't even like. He admired her strength in facing the difficult tasks, both in wedding the man and in caring for her siblings.
"How did you meet him?" Cyrus wanted to know more about her life.
"The year before the arranged marriage, I'd noticed that Baron Grey came into my father's shops often to buy things. Several times per week, in fact. He always watched me and went out of his way to talk to me. He'd been a widower for many years and had no heir."
So, she'd made a hopeless graybeard's dreams come true—a young new wife and an heir. Cyrus hoped he didn't end up an old man with no wife and no heir. 'Twould be hellish, but he couldn't think of that now. His normally sound decision-making ability had gone completely awry. He didn't want to consider what he was going to do about Elspeth.
"Did Grey treat you well?"
"He didn't hit me, but he rarely spoke a kind word either. He seemed to enjoy reminding me how he'd elevated my status by marrying me and how I should be grateful. 'Twas misery being married to him."
What a bastard. Had the old codger not even realized that he was the fortunate one with his beautiful wife and wee son? Cyrus would've hauled him over the coals if he'd had the displeasure of meeting him.
Cyrus tried to shove his annoyance away. "What about your da? Did you trust him?"
"I didn't have much choice."
She paused for an extended moment and he wondered if she would continue.
"When I was eleven summers, my mother died trying to deliver her fourth bairn." Moisture glistened in Elspeth's eyes.
"I'm sorry to hear of it." He stroked her shoulder, hoping to soothe her.
"My world was shattered. I was closer to her than anyone. And she was the person I depended on. How could she be gone so suddenly? What would I do without her? My da took to drinking more and staying out later. I had to care for my brother and sister. We felt abandoned. Sometimes we would sit huddled up in a blanket before a small fire, trying to warm ourselves, but the world had become a cold and barren place. We were scared, but as the oldest, I had to hide my fear."
"Saints," he hissed, his chest aching. "I've done the same thing many times."
"We were especially afraid when Da came home drunk. When he lost my mother, he changed and became someone else. Someone we didn't know."
"'Tis tragic."
"Shortly after I wed Grey, Da grew sick and passed on, too. I'm fairly certain he knew what was going to happen and felt that forcing me to marry a baron would secure my future. Jack and Emmaline came to live with me."
"'Tis hard to lose your parents. I was in my twenties when it happened, but you were far younger."
She nodded. "Were you close to yours?"
"Aye. Ma was warm and caring. Da was strict with me, especially, but 'twas clear he loved all of us. He was kind and generous, but he treated my younger brothers with more leniency. As his heir, I had to be the toughest and strongest."
"Clearly you are." Her words softening as if she were half asleep, she breathed against his chest.
He kissed her temple. "Go to sleep, lass."
Balling her fist in his shirt front, she tugged. "I don't wish to."
His body, which had been on a slow simmer during their conversation, suddenly leapt into a full heated boil. He should get up now and put some distance between them, but... he couldn't. He had to know what scintillating thoughts passed through her mind. "What do you wish to do?"
She shook her head. "I will only say... you, being a noble laird, should not have helped such a fallen woman as I am."
"Nonsense. Do not malign yourself. You're a virtuous lady... one who did what she had to in order to survive."
"Aye, but... I don't feel very virtuous at the moment."
Damnation. He truly wished she wouldn't say things like that. 'Twas too tempting by far, but again he couldn't resist the bait. "How do you feel?"
"Scandalous. Because... you make me feel odd things I've never felt before. Like that night in the tower."
Was she talking about desire? She had never felt it before? Although he shouldn't, he needed to clarify. "What sort of odd things?"
She was silent for a long moment as if thinking it over. "I could not possibly put it into words. Blast. I should not have drunk so much wine. My tongue is getting me into trouble."
'Twas getting him into trouble, too, for he could think of naught but consuming her delectable mouth. He kissed her forehead, instead.
She drew in a sharp breath and looked up at him. "You are a man unlike any other I have met."
Her words, spoken in a sincere tone while she stared directly into his soul, made him feel as if he'd been punched in the chest. "That could be a bad thing," he managed to utter.
"Nay, 'tis a very good thing." Her warm breath teased at his lips.
"Why do you bewitch me?" His heart pounded with restraint and temptation.
"Do I? I did not intend it."
"'Tis what makes it so potent." He brushed his mouth across hers.