And so with great care, his jaw set in hard determination, he worked the glistening salve into his skin until every trace had been absorbed. Then he inhaled deeply of the briny new morn.
Two days.
Two more chances to reap the greatest benefit of Linnet MacKenzie’s beautifying ointment.
And then his assault would begin in bitter earnest.
With soul-stealing, knee-melting kisses.
With relentless, irrepressible care.
Chapter 29
Two days later, on the other side of Scotland, a glittering coat of frost iced the stout walls of Clan MacKenzie’s island stronghold, Eilean Creag. A keening wind, cold and black, tore with all its force across the crenellated battlements and whipped the surrounding waters of Loch Duich into a churning, white-capped frenzy.
But inside the castle’s massive walling, in the smoky warmth of its dimly lit great hall, nothing stirred to greet the approach of another day.
Nary an errant draught dared ruffle the rush-strewn floor, or disturb the couple sleeping soundly in the bulky timbered bed claiming a place of honor on the raised dais at the far end of the cavernous hall.
Even the snores of the many MacKenzies slumbering ‘round the hulking bed were muted snores. Those who valued their necks didn’t snore at all.
Or toss and turn in their sleep.
Duncan MacKenzie, the famed Black Stag of Kintail, had issued strict orders: his lady wife’s rest was not to be disturbed.
Nor was she allowed to leave the bed.
That she’d repeatedly done so, ignoring her husband’s wishes and all good sense, was the reason he’d dismantled their bed, carted it belowstairs, then reassembled it in all its four-posted glory in full view of every man, woman, and child within Eilean Creag’s walls.
And every last one of them had been ordered to keep an eye on her.
But this morn’s dawning brought a fearsome determination to Linnet MacKenzie’s waking heart.
A powerful urge to climb the turret stairs, brave the icy winds blasting across the ramparts, and greet the new day with special fondness and joy.
She would, too, if the great swell of her stomach hadn’t robbed her of her strength. And if her most ardent nocturnal watcher hadn’t plied his usual tricks by keeping one impressively muscled thigh slung possessively over her legs and an equally well-crafted arm clamped around her girth.
Careful not to disturb the handsome brute, she slid a glance at her slumbering husband and weighed the dangers of slipping from his well-meant clutches.
“Do not even think to attempt it,” Duncan MacKenzie warned, not even cracking his eyes.
He did tighten his hold on her.
And as he did so, the edges of her world began to shimmer, the backs of her eyes to sting. But, for once, the knowledge welling inside her didn’t bring ill tidings, reasons for fear. Only joy filled her heart, happiness she was so eager to share.
* * *
“Go back to sleep,”Duncan told his wife, sure she wouldn’t heed him. “You need rest.”
“No, I don’t,” the flame-haired vixen responded, an odd breathiness in her voice, a sentimental thickness only she and a certain lout of an Englishman could achieve. “Not now.”
“Why not?”
“The day is here,” she said, the words banishing any last dredges of Duncan’s own sleep, and replacing them with cold stark wakefulness.
“What day?” Pushing up on his elbows, he peered at her from narrowed eyes, his heart, his whole being lurching with ill-ease just from the look of her.
Faint torchlight leaked through the half-opened bed curtains and spilled across her pale face, revealing gold-flecked eyes, bright with the sheen of tears. Her lower lip also trembled, and that meant…
