Page 13 of Tempting the Highland Captive

CHAPTERSIX

That night, Amelia dreamed of Ron Kyall. She dreamed of his hands upon her body, as Michael Rossell lay dead in the corner, Ron’s dirk sticking out of his chest. It was dark, sordid, and erotic in a way that made Amelia’s cheeks burn with shame. She awoke with a start and realized that someone was screaming. Rising from her bed, she threw her clothes on and rushed out into the corridor. Lucas caught her on the stairs. “The village is aflame!”

“What!? How?!” Amelia did not wait for him to answer but raced down the remainder of the stairs with Lucas close on her heels. Every able-bodied man was gathering to fight the inferno. Amelia began shouting orders, before her feet had barely hit the ground. The men obeyed without a second thought. A line of people from the well to the flames was made and another from the loch to the other end of the village. Every container that would hold water was employed. Clothes were drenched in water to keep the men from catching fire. Women and children sobbed and screamed as they watched their homes burn to the ground.

“Save the granary!” Amelia yelled above the din and another line formed to carry water between the blaze and the village’s food stores.

Amongst the noise and smoke a different kind of scream tore through the air, a desperate sound that ripped at the heart and caused the stomach to drop. “My bairn! My bairn is still in there!” It was the scream of a mother who was being forced to watch her child die.

Amelia’s heart raced in terror as she picked up her skirts and ran with all her might toward the burning croft. She could hear an infant wailing as she approached and prayed to God that the poor wee one’s death would be swift and painless. Grabbing the mother before she could throw herself into the flames, Amelia dragged the woman back beating at the sparks that had caught at the mother’s skirts. “Ye cannae go in there,” Amelia panted. The croft was engulfed in flames and Amelia could not see a way for anyone to get in and out of the croft without instantly going up in flames.

As she spoke to the mother, a dark figure covered in a soaking wet plaid raced through the smoke and into the burning croft. Amelia stood, her eyes burning, tears streaming down her cheeks, and held her breath. She had no notion who the man might be, but she assumed it was the bairn’s father. She held the sobbing ranting mother in her arms and waited. What was only seconds felt like an eternity. When the man finally emerged from the flames, he tossed the blazing plaid from his shoulders away from the bairn in his arms. Amelia released the mother, watching as she scrambled to her feet and flung herself at the man in gratitude. Taking the bairn into her shaking arms, she sobbed into the bairn’s spat of fluffy dark hair. Amelia sank to the ground in relief and said a prayer of thanksgiving. Taking a deep breath that nearly choked her with the smoke, she arose once more and went to help the young parents.

“Ye can take yerselves and the bairn tae the castle. Maggie will see ye tae rights.” The mother barely acknowledged Amelia’s words, she was so absorbed by the fact that her baby had survived, but the man looked up and met her eyes.

“Ron?” she asked, stunned, believing herself to have seen a ghost. His words from the prison whispered across her mind. I will haunt ye for this! Even dead, ye will nae be rid o’ me! She swallowed hard and staggered backward, her heart leaping to her throat.

“Wife,” he greeted, blue eyes shining brightly in his smoke smeared face.

“How?” she gasped out, the shock getting the better of her, as she reached out with a shaky hand to make certain that he was real and not an apparition. Her fingers flitted across the whiskery skin of his cheeks, and she gasped once more as the reality of the situation dawned on her.

“I was pardoned,” he answered, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.

“Ye were proven innocent?” she asked in disbelief, taking a step closer.

“Nae.” He shook his head. “I was pardoned by the king. ‘Tis a tradition for monarchs on their birthdays tae pardon prisoners.”

“Why have ye come?” Amelia’s thoughts were spinning around and around her head making her feel very dizzy. She had never planned to see him again, but there he stood flesh and blood right in front of her.

“Tae collect on what ye owe me.” He pulled on her hand closing the distance between them. His words and the look on his face finally snapped Amelia out of her daze and she remembered where she was and what was happening. Turning away from him, she jerked her hand free of his grasp, and dashed back over to the well to help pull up another bucket of water. Much to her chagrin, Ron followed her. “What can I do tae be o’ aid?” The look in his eyes told her that he was sincere in his wish to help.

Needing the help and having no time to waste, Amelia gestured with her chin toward the building housing the village’s food stores. “Save the granary,” she panted out and passed the bucket onto the next person in the line. Nodding, Ron went and did as bidden, running over to help with digging a ditch around the granary to keep the flames at bay.

Amelia was not certain how long they fought, but when the flames finally subsided, she stood and surveyed the damage. The fire had started at the end of the village closest to the forest, the wind had done the rest. They had managed to save the granary, but many of the houses were destroyed. “The people will need a place tae stay until we can rebuild,” Lucas’ voice sounded from behind her.

“They can stay in the great hall. There should be enough room for them all.”

“Aye,” Lucas agreed. “I will see that it is done.” Turning, he walked back toward the castle speaking to his warriors as he went. The men of the clan began to gather their families, the young, and the elderly, ushering them up the slopes to the castle.

Amelia scanned the crowd for Ron, her heart racing half hoping it was an illusion, half hoping that it was real. She found him carrying two small children towards the castle, their mother in tow with a bairn at her breast. He was filthy, as they all were, covered in soot and sweat. Strength radiated out of him, from the confident determination in his eyes, to the firm muscles contouring his body, a stark contrast to the weary sorrowed faces around him. Amelia felt something primal rise up within her. Mine, it claimed with a fierce desire that shocked her. She shook it off, disgusted with herself. He is nae mine and the sooner I can be rid o’ him the better.

Amelia trudged up the slope toward the castle, speaking with her people as she went, offering them a safe place for the night and a warm meal. She was bone weary from lack of sleep and the fight to save the village from being entirely engulfed by flames, but she had a long way to go before she would be able to sleep again. Dawn was cresting the horizon and she had a full day of tasks ahead of her, not the least of which meant dealing with the surprise presence of her not-so-deceased husband. What am I goin’ tae do with him? Images of their brief romantic encounter flashed through her head, but she pushed them away. She did not have the time or energy for such entanglements. She had the elders and Michael Rossell to deal with. Perhaps he can help with that, she mused with sudden inspiration. Perhaps I could introduce him as my husband, keeping that he was a prisoner secret. But then how will I get him tae leave after? Would any man give up bein’ laird once they had achieved such a title? Uncertain as to what to do, Amelia chose to help get everyone settled into the great hall before she dealt with her errant husband.

Ron stood and watched as Amelia tended to the needs of her people. She did not look as she had the day that they had wed. She wore plain clothing, covered in soot and other dirt from head to toe, and yet she made the most enchanting impression upon him. She had fought hard for her people and their village. Her commands had been clear, concise, and had worked. They had saved the granary and a good portion of the village. It had been a close thing, but not a single person had died in the inferno. The mother whose bairn he had saved had sworn eternal gratitude to him and his offspring. He had refused her the obligation, simply glad that the bairn would survive.

She is a capable leader, my wife. He smiled at the thought. He had come only to collect on the debt she owed him and to charge interest in the form of financial reimbursement for her running out on him. He would take the money to France and serve as a mercenary. Other Highland warriors had done so before him and done well for themselves. Perhaps he could even save up enough to buy his own piece of land far away from the terrible memories of his past. All of this had sounded completely reasonable, until he saw her again and then his mind had lost all ability to think about anything but the soft, creamy curve of her breast in his hand and the memory of how she had tasted on his tongue. “Like honey and woman,” he murmured, startling one of the clanswomen tending to her bairns beside him. She moved away, giving him a suspicious eye. Ron chuckled and strode across the hall to where Amelia was speaking with her captain of the guards.

The red giant looked up at him and instantly balled his fists clearly planning to punch Ron in the face. “Ye are nae welcome here,” the man Amelia had called Lucas growled.

“Lucas,” Amelia chastised firmly, “as difficult a time as this may be, Ron Kyall is our guest. He saved one of our own from the flames. If not for him, a wee bairn would be dead.”

Lucas looked startled for a moment, then his features shifted from openly violent hostility to mere dislikable suspicion. “What does he want?”

“I dinnae ken, but if ye will be patient and give me a moment alone with him, I am certain tae learn o’ it.”

Ron stifled a chuckle at the way they spoke as if he were not standing right there. “I need tae speak with my wife,” he informed the angry red giant of a man, “alone.”

“Wife?” an elderly man picked up on the last word and shifted in his seat to study Ron.