Faolan blazed his fiercest glare at Angus then turned to frown at Ciara, who stood patiently waiting with her arms gracefully crossed over her chest. Her golden eyes burned liquid holes through his body. The minx was plotting. He’d bet his best horse.
“What?” Faolan hissed. He could tell by the look on her face she was about to say something he wasn’t going to like.
Ciara patted a calming hand on Faolan’s arm and molded her exquisite body against his. “Please don’t be angry with Angus, husband. He was only trying to do as ye asked.”
Faolan tensed, grinding his teeth so hard he swore he heard them crack as he slid a step away from Ciara’s disturbing touch. His body responded with eagerness to her heat. Her scent alone made his mouth water. He could barely form a sensible thought because of the memories of their joining springing to mind.
He took a deep breath and shook himself, steeling himself against her sensual arsenal. God’s beard, he could spread her right there on the floor. This desire for her was madness. “Angus was asked to guard the clan seat, to guard castle MacKay in my absence. How was his bringing ye to this remote village in the north doing what I asked of him?”
Ciara eased forward and snuggled tighter against him. Her eyes widened as she slid both hands up his chest. “Did ye not also tell him to watch over me and tend to my every request?”
Angus bobbed his head up and down as though it were on a stick. “Ye did say that to me, Faolan. Ye did ask me to watch over the lady. Ye did tell me to listen to her bidding.”
Faolan scowled at Angus over the top of Ciara’s head and struggled to keep from exploding. He’d lost complete power over this situation starting with this vixen tantalizing his senses to the uncontrollable cock stiffening between his legs.
He fixed Angus with a piercing gaze as his voice fell to an acerbic growl. “I see, Angus. Apparently, in the future, I shall need to be a bit more specific when I leave my instructions at the keep.”
Ciara bit her lip and turned toward Angus with a remorseful bow of her head. “Forgive me, Angus, for causing you so much trouble. Perhaps I was wrong to travel to my husband’s side.”
She turned back to Faolan and drew a bit of silk from her sleeve, dabbing it to the corners of her eyes. Ciara sniffed, her voice trembling as she appeared to weep into her hand. “Forgive me, husband. I only seek to please you and I thought it was the proper thing to do. I shall return to the keep straight away since you seem so ashamed to have me at your side.”
With a growl, Faolan scrubbed his face with one hand, then raked it through his hair. “I am not ashamed of ye! ’Tis just…’tis just that…”
“’Tis just what?” Ciara hiccupped, her eyes wide as a single teardrop trickled down her cheek.
“Nothing. It is of no consequence. Ye are here now and here ye shall stay. There is but one more settlement to visit after this one. We shall return to the keep within the week. Ye are welcome to stay here at my side. However, ye must understand I have a great deal of business to be about. Ye will have to entertain yourself.”
Hellfire, how had he lost control of this situation? His shoulders sagging in defeat, he turned back to Angus. “Would ye be so kind as to bring in her bags? Then ye can take the cart round to the stable.”
“What cart? Lady Ciara rides as though she were born on the back of a horse. She carried but one bag on the saddle in front of her. She doesna pack endless trunks of clothes like most women ye meet.” Angus waggled his bushy brows, much like a puppy wags his tail for his master’s approval.
Faolan’s mouth fell open as he turned to his wife. He started to speak, then thought better of it. Now was not the time. Hands raised in defeat, he bowed his head and made his way back to his seat. “If ye will forgive me then, I still have a day’s business to sort through. I am afraid my time will be quite filled until late into the evening.”
With an obedient nod of her head, Ciara clasped her hands dutifully in front of her. “Then I shall go about the village introducing myself and see if there’s anything I might do to help ease the lives of our people.”
Faolan couldn’t believe his ears. This woman would be the death of him. “Ye shall do no such thing,” Faolan thundered, crashing his fist on top of the desk. He’d held his temper as long as he could. The woman pushed him over the edge. If Ciara was going to leave the safety of the keep, then she’d best learn how he expected her to behave. “Ye have no business wandering about alone. Have ye never heard of kidnappings or even worse dangers for a woman wandering alone in the Highlands?”
At the return of Ciara’s trembling lower lip, Faolan roared again. “And donotstart crying again! Angus, go with her. See that she is kept safe…and this time, do what yeknowI mean.”
Scooping up her cloak, Angus pulled Ciara by the arm and scooted her toward the door. Bending to whisper loudly in her ear, he nodded toward Faolan as he spoke. “We had best be going. He’s headed toward one of his fierce tirades and it’s a mite early in your marriage for ye to witness one o’ his storms.”
Pointedly locking her gaze with his, Ciara raised her voice loud enough to be certain Faolan overheard her words. “I love a good storm. It sets fire to my blood and stirs my very soul.”
Faolan swallowed hard and adjusted his kilt as he watched her swinging skirts sashay out of the room. After hearing her words, he wondered if there was an icy spring nearby where he might souse his body before he retired.
* * *
The harried womanpulled the boy by the shoulders until he stood trembling in front of Faolan. Faolan studied the lad up and down. He couldn’t have been older than eight or nine years old. It was hard to tell since by the look of his knobby bones, most of his meals had been too far apart. His mother’s bony fingers gripped him steady, while she wiped his running nose with the corner of her apron. The boy appeared as though he’d been unwell for a while, purple shadows darkened his sunken eyes.
The woman waited for permission to speak, standing with head downcast, shoulders slumped. Face weighted with weariness, eyes red-rimmed, she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days.
Faolan raised his head from the scratch of his quill and motioned her forward with a nod of his head. “Good e’en to ye. I would hear your words and as a sign of your fealty to your clan, I would ask ye to speak only the truth in what ye seek from your laird,” Faolan repeated the age-old greeting taught to him by his father. He waited, quill paused in midair for the woman to state her needs. He twirled the feather between his fingertips, waiting for her to speak. For the hundredth time, he silently thanked his mother for insisting he learn to read and write. With a sharp intake of breath, her face shimmered across his mind, her unnecessary death still a raw, gaping wound. Mother. A time-traveling witch from the far off future, she had suffered more than most.
With a shaky curtsy and a respectful bob of her head, the woman in front of him cleared her throat. “I come here this e’en to give ye my only son, in gratitude for returning his life to me.”
Faolan sat up straighter and set the quill aside. Returned his life to her? It had been a long day. Surely, he misunderstood the woman. He leaned across the table to ensure he had correctly heard the mother’s words. “What are ye saying, woman? Are ye asking that I take your son to the keep to be fostered?”
Edging forward, the frail woman pushed her wispy hair out of her eyes, her chapped raw hands rasping as she scraped them across her skin. The little boy just stared at his feet; his tiny hands clenched at his sides.
