Shaw was intrigued by her words, for he knew them to be true. He had witnessed bitterness between generations of Highlanders that seemed destined to go forever unresolved. Was that not true of their two families? The Lamonts and Campbells had been estranged since the time of their fathers.
A stooped figure emerged from the pall of smoke, carrying a basket filled with plants and roots.
“Astra,” Merritt called. “Did you see who did this?”
“Aye.” The old woman nodded toward the towering forest. “Horsemen, leading many horses.”
“Did you know these men?” Shaw asked.
“Nay.” She shook her head. “’Twas too dark to see their faces.”
“But we know them to be your clansmen,” Sabina added.
“And how would you know that?”
At his look, the dark-haired beauty turned away. But her fiery sister said, “It is the thieving Campbells who have always made our lives miserable. And because of them—”
“Nay, Merritt.” Sabina caught her hand, adding, “There is no reason to confide in this stranger. He is one of them.”
The two sisters turned away, leaving so many of his questions unanswered.
Seeing the old woman struggling beneath her burden, Shaw took the heavy basket from Astra’s hands. She appeared genuinely surprised at his act of kindness. Leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick, she trailed behind as they returned to the manor house.
Shaw followed the two young women to the kitchen, which showed the same signs of neglect as the rest of the house. The floor was bare of rushes. Several wooden benches lay battered and broken beside the fireplace, apparently to be used as firewood. To his amazement, he discovered that, except for a few dried fruits and vegetables, the larder was empty.
He thought of the larder at Kinloch House, filled with the carcasses of deer, boar, sheep and pigs, as well as pheasant and partridge. Anyone in the nearby villages requiring food need only ask the laird and it was given to them.
While the three women set about crushing herbs and grinding roots into paste, he made several trips outside and returned with logs and dried grasses, which he used to start a fire in the huge, blackened fireplace.
Soon the room took on a cheery note, as the warmth of the fire chased away the gloom of the predawn darkness. Astra made her way to Shaw’s side, carrying a goblet.
“Ale, my lord?”
“Aye. Thank you.”
It was the first nourishment he’d had in hours. He drained it in quick gulps and felt the warmth settle low in his stomach, then spread slowly through his veins, reviving him.
The old woman refilled his goblet before hobbling away.
Easing himself into a chair in front of the fire, he watched as Sabina and Merritt prepared a tea made from the bark of a willow. As the liquid bubbled, the strong earthy fragrance filled the kitchen.
He studied the two sisters, who were so different. It was not just their clothes, although Merritt’s choice had his lips twitching in humor. While Sabina wore a modest gown of pale blue, to match her eyes, Merritt was dressed in the rough garb of a stableboy, with oversize breeches and boots, and a coarse hooded cloak. Sabina’s hair was as black as a raven’s wing; Merritt’s the color of flame. Sabina stood a head shorter and had the calm demeanor of royalty. Merritt’s every movement seemed charged with energy. While Sabina seemed comfortable in the kitchen, working with an economy of movement, Merritt’s distaste for such lowly work was obvious in the way she sighed with impatience over each chore. Sabina seemed oblivious to everything except the herbs she was mixing. Merritt glanced up often, inquisitive green eyes studying the stranger who sat facing her.
“This will ease your brother’s pain,” Sabina said as she poured the strong willow tea into a goblet.
At once Shaw stood and led the women up the stairs to the chambers where his brother lay. Inside, he knelt and gently lifted Sutton’s head so that the liquid could be forced between his lips. Taking the cup from Sabina, he murmured soothingly, “Drink, Sutton. We’ve brought you something for the pain. Drink. So that you might rest.”
His brother was completely unresponsive, but with a great deal of patience, Shaw managed to force a little of the tea down his throat.
The women watched, silently marveling at the gentleness in one so strong. It was a quality they had rarely witnessed among Highland men.
“We will change his poultice now,” Sabina said.
While Shaw lifted and turned him, Sabina and Merritt were able to remove the old bloody dressings and replace them with clean fresh ones. By the time they had finished, all of them felt drained from the effort.
“We must rest now,” Sabina said. “For the night has been long, and we are near exhaustion.”
“Aye:” Shaw indicated the bed. “You may sleep there. Your servant can sleep on the floor next to your bed. I will sleep beside my brother.”
The women were shocked at his suggestion, but it was Merritt who spoke for them. “You cannot keep us prisoners in our own home. We will not stay with you.” She began to brush past him. “We are returning to our own rooms, to sleep until the morrow.”
Catching her roughly by the arm, Shaw withdrew his sword and was rewarded with a flash of fear in her eyes.
“You will lie down.” He gave her a shove, not only to add to her fear, but because the touch of her caused a strange kind of heat in his loins. A heat that was unaccustomed and unwelcome. “And you will do it quickly. My patience has reached its limit.”
While Sabina and the old servant quickly retreated to the bed, Merritt lingered long enough to send him a withering look. “If I had my weapons, Campbell, you would not be so quick to give orders.”
“If you had your weapons, and dared to defy me...” He dragged her close, until the heat of his breath stung her cheek. Up close she smelled of the earthy spices and herbs she had been mixing. An altogether pleasant fragrance that had him breathing it deeply into his lungs before he reminded himself how much he despised these Lamonts, who had been the cause of his brother’s pain. “Woman or no, you would be dead. Now heed my orders and be quick about it.”
He gritted his teeth as he shoved her away.
With her head high and her spine stiff, she marched to the bed and climbed beneath the covers. But she kept her eyes wide, continuing to watch him as he secured the room.
Barring the door from within, Shaw pulled a fur robe around himself and eased down beside his brother, taking care to place his sword in his right hand and a dirk in his left.
Though he was exhausted beyond belief, he knew he would never be able to fall asleep. Because the truth was, he was also exhilarated by the success of his quest. He had, after all, found his brother alive. Though he knew the next few days would decide Sutton’s fate, Shaw was convinced that he had been brought to his brother’s side during this critical time because Sutton was meant to live. Please God, he prayed fervently, Sutton had to live.
His gaze fell on the figures in the bed and his thoughts turned to the little firebrand, Merritt. She was a most annoying gnat, getting under his skin, stinging at the most unexpected times. It was obvious that, unlike her sister, Sabina, she’d had little training as a lady and much preferred the life of a warrior.
Why was she doing things that, by rights, ought to be done by her father? Where was the old villain? And where were the servants? How had Inverene House fallen into such disrepair?
So many questions. So many worries. His mind was reeling.
With the warmth of the fire at his back, and the heat of the ale in his belly, he soon gave in to the need to sleep.
Chapter Five
Merritt listened to the sounds of slow, even breathing. She knew that her sister and Astra were both sleeping soundly. But her concern was for the intruder. Was he truly asleep, or was he still watching?
She waited, biding her time. Though the Campbell had suffered only flesh wounds, they had gone unattended, causing him to lose much blood. His pain and ex
haustion had been evident in his face. He would be hard-pressed to remain awake when the fire and the ale and the soft sounds of the night all conspired against him.
She was not a patient woman, but what she lacked in patience, she more than made up for in cunning. This stranger threatened the safety of her family. As always, she would do whatever necessary to protect them. And so she waited, and watched, and listened. And finally, when she could bear it no longer, she slipped silently from the bed and began to move stealthily across the room.
In the glow of the embers she could make out the glint of his sword. She would have to disarm him before slitting his throat. And she would have to move quickly, otherwise he would overpower her and gain the advantage. Her only chance lay in that brief moment of confusion when he was first jolted from sleep.
She inched closer, keeping her eye on the hand that rested atop the jeweled hilt of his sword. If she saw his fingers curl, or noticed his arm tensing, she was prepared to leap backward, out of harm’s way.
His injured brother moaned in his sleep and she froze. Her heart was beating so loudly, she feared he could hear it. For long minutes she stood perfectly still, watching, listening. At last, convinced that he had not awakened, she began to move closer.
When she was beside him, she dropped to her knees and slowly, gradually, reached a hand to his sword. It did not occur to her to be afraid. Her only thought now was for the safety of her family. For their sake she would do whatever necessary.
When her fingers tightened around the hilt, she closed her eyes, envisioning what she must do. It was imperative that she lift the sword and bring it down across his throat with all the force she could muster, for she would get but one chance to slay her enemy.
Her fingers felt slick with sheen, and she offered a prayer that she would not falter as she grasped the weapon. That done, she opened her eyes. What she saw had her heart leaping to her throat.
Pale, cool cat’s eyes were staring back at her.
And then, without warning, she was dragged unceremoniously to the floor and pinned beneath the furious Campbell.
“Fool,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “Could you not even give me a moment’s rest?”
She kicked and bit and scratched as she fought a losing battle against his considerable strength. “If I had accomplished what I set out to do, you would have had your wish. You’d have been given rest... for an eternity.”
He grunted in pain as she raked her fingernails across his cheek. “There was no need for this, woman. I was fair with you.”
To end her struggles he pressed his body firmly over hers, his thighs pinning hers, his hands grasping her flailing fists. “I could have killed you when I first encountered you in the stables, wench. But it was my intention to retrieve my brother and allow all those within these walls to dwell in peace.”
She twisted her head from side to side, determined to fight him with every breath. “I will not listen to your lies,” she whispered defiantly. “There has ne’er been a Campbell who did not say one thing while plotting another.”
He could feel his temper getting the best of him. Clamping both her hands in one of his, he grasped her roughly by the chin, stilling her movements, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I speak the truth. My quest was a noble one.”
“Noble,” she rasped under her breath. The word was filled with contempt. “I find you hiding in my stable—”
His temper grew. “I was not hiding.”
“And you attacked me.”
“You challenged me first,” he said through gritted teeth. “I had no choice but to fight.”
“And now the stable has been burned to the ground and our horses stolen...”
He was outraged. “You cannot think that I was responsible—”
“And you continue to insist that you and your precious brother are merely innocent victims.”
“Be quiet, woman. Can you not keep a civil tongue?”
“Oh, aye. You’d like that, would you? Shall I bow and scrape like old Astra, and offer you ale? And shall I say aye, my laird, and nay, my laird, and as you wish, my laird—”
“Damn you, woman!” Shaw’s temper snapped. Without regard to what he was doing, he stifled her words with a hard, punishing kiss.
It had seemed the only way left to him. But the moment his mouth covered hers, he realized his mistake.
At the first touch of her lips, his blood, which moments ago had been merely heated from their struggle, was now molten lava. His breath backed up in his throat. For a moment his heart forgot to beat. Then his pulse quickened until he felt as if he’d raced clear to the top of a mountain.
In that first instant Merritt went very still, absorbing the shock. His kiss was so completely unexpected, she was caught off guard. And though her sense of independence protested, the sudden, shocking rush of heat overruled. All she could do was endure the press of his lips on hers, and the unexpected tug of desire it aroused in her, as her heartbeat began to race and her blood began to heat.
His hand fisted in her hair, and his mouth moved over hers, tasting, exploring. The body beneath his was so incredibly soft and yielding. Her lips were warm and firm. She tasted clean, fresh, like a Highland meadow kissed with early morning dew. She smelled of heather and wildflowers, exotic and primitive.
What had happened to him? Why was he indulging in pleasures he had long denied himself? And with, of all people, this free-spirited Lamont, who was not so much female as feline, resembling the mountain cats that roamed the Highlands.
Because she was prevented from fighting him, Merritt could do nothing more than endure. And by passively enduring, she found herself responding to this stranger in a way that scandalized her. Against her will, her lips opened for him as his tongue invaded the private recesses of her mouth. Her hands, still held firmly in his big palm, tensed.
Anticipating her resistance, he tightened his grasp.
Her heartbeat was so loud in her chest she could hear nothing else, except a soft sigh that escaped her lips. And though she wanted to believe it was a sigh of exasperation, she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t a sigh of pure pleasure.
Shaw was fully aroused. He knew he had to end this, and quickly.
He had taken his share of spills from saddles, and hard falls from trees. But he’d never been jolted with such force before. With his pulse roaring in his temples, his hand tangled in her hair, he allowed himself one last taste of her before he abruptly pulled away.
Merritt blinked, aware that the kiss had ended as shockingly as it had begun.
Both were overcome by powerful emotions that had them reeling. Shock—that a mere kiss could cause such troubling feelings. Disbelief—that they would have permitted such a scandalous act.
“Return to your bed, woman.” He scrambled to his feet and strode to the fireplace, keeping his back to her.
“May you be damned in hell, Campbell.” Even that epithet, hurled from between clenched teeth, gave her no satisfaction. She wanted to slap his smug, arrogant face. But she knew that might only inflame him to further indignities against her.
He heard her soft footfall as she hurriedly made her way to the bed; listened to the rustle of the bed covers as she quickly settled herself beside her sister.
As he lifted a piece of the broken chaise that was used for firewood, Shaw cursed and called himself every kind of a fool. It was the first time he could ever recall allowing his temper to get the best of him. And that temper, he realized, had led to an almost irresistible temptation.
He tossed the wood on the hot coals and watched as flames began to devour it. Wiping his hands along his tunic, he realized that they were none too steady.
The damnable woman had bewitched him. But it wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t, he vowed. Because if it did, he wasn’t certain he’d find the strength to resist.
The soft rosy light of morning filtered through the balcony window. Shaw sat beside his brother’s pallet, watching the unsteady rise and fall of Su
tton’s chest as he took each labored breath. For the past hour Shaw had sat thus, willing his brother to breathe, to fight, to live.
From her position in the bed, Merritt studied the intruder, while pretending to sleep. What was it about this man that was so intriguing? He was, after all, a hated Campbell. The Campbells had been the enemy of the Lamonts for as long as she could remember. And the late-night raids, which had gone on for generations, only fueled the deep-seated hostilities. But there was something different about this vexing man, though she couldn’t quite grasp it.
She closed her eyes, remembering their kiss. Her cheeks still burned at the shocking way she had responded to his kiss. Now that her sanity had returned, she felt like a traitor. A traitor and a fool. Never before had she allowed a man such intimacy. She should have fought him to the death.
“Let me go, ye savage,” came Astra’s voice. “I must prepare a meal before the laird awakens.”
Merritt’s eyes snapped open. The old servant faced the Campbell, who stood barring the door.
“The laird, is it?” Shaw asked with a trace of sarcasm. “And where was this laird last night, when his stable was burned and his horses stolen?”
“My father has given orders that he cannot be disturbed when he is sleeping,” Merritt said, scrambling quickly out of bed.
“Sleeping?” Shaw shot her a suspicious look. “Or out stealing other men’s cattle?”
Sabina, awakened by the argument, sat up, shoving dark hair from her eyes. “How dare you speak of our father in such a manner. He is a fair man and an honest one.”
So, Shaw thought, the dark-haired one had as much fire and spirit as her sister, though she kept it hidden beneath a veil of meek humility.
He started toward the door. “Then you will not mind if I see for myself this noble paragon of virtue.”
“Nay!” both sisters shouted in unison.
At once Shaw turned back to see them racing across the room. They skidded to a halt at the dark, dangerous look in his eye.
“What are you hiding?”