Highland Destiny (4 page)

Maldie’s first clear thought was to briefly thank God that Nigel still slept, that the man had not seen anything. Then anger swept through her, although she was not sure who she was most angry with, Balfour for nearly seducing her into bed, or herself for allowing it. She strode away, neatly eluding Balfour’s attempt to grasp her by the arm and hold her at his side. After briskly pacing in front of the massive stone fireplace opposite the end of the bed, she turned to glare at Balfour. He looked wary, but not contrite at all, and that annoyed her.

“Why are ye still here?” she snapped, pushing her tangled hair back over her shoulders with a quick, angry gesture.

Balfour leaned against one of the tall, thick posts at the foot of the bed and studied her. He fought to ignore how full and wet her lips were, his kisses still marking them, as well as the flush upon her cheeks. There would be no returning to her arms, not today. The look on her face told him clearly that the thoughts she now had about him were not kind ones. He had but one chance to stop her anger from turning her cold toward him, and that was to make her realize and accept that, for that brief time she had been in his arms, she had been a very willing, very warm partner. It was true that he had stolen a kiss, had ignored her protest, but it was also true that all that had happened after that had been with her full and passionate willingness.

“But a moment ago I was most welcome,” he replied, purposely keeping his voice calm and his tone pleasant.

Despite all of her efforts not to, Maldie blushed. She knew he referred to how greedily she had accepted his kisses, and she could not deny that. However, he was unkind to remind her of her lack of moral strength, she decided. She would never have discovered how weak she was if he had not forced that first kiss upon her. Before his lips had touched hers, she had only suspected that she would be unable to resist the strength of his passion and her own. Now she knew she could not, and she did not appreciate him showing her that hard truth.

“Weel, that welcome has fled.” She silently cursed, for, even to her own ears, her voice held a sulky tone. “As ye can see, I have much work to do here.”

“Oh? Nigel sleeps. Ye need to watch him do that, do ye? Come, say what ye truly mean. Ye wish me gone for I made ye feel the same passion I do. Ye shared a heat with me, and ye want me far away ere ye start to feel it again.”

“Such arrogance. Ye tricked me. I said
nay
to that first kiss and ye ignored me. Like all men, ye decided ye wanted something, so ye reached out and took it.”

“Aye, I accept the blame for that first kiss.” He straightened up, walked to the
door, and looked back at her as he opened it. “But, lass, ye
gave
me the second one, eagerly and with a passion as hot and strong as my own. Aye, ye will probably try hard to deny that once I leave, but I think ye have too much wit to believe such a lie. Ye wanted me, Maldie Kirkcaldy, as greedily as I wanted you. Ye ken it weel, and so do I.”

When the door shut behind him, Maldie looked around for something large and heavy to throw at the thick oak panel. By the time she saw something suitable she knew it would be a wasted gesture, for he was undoubtedly too far away to hear anything. She cursed and sat down on the thick lambskin rug in front of the fireplace. It would have been nice to have slain him on the spot with cold words, with a sharp wit that would have shamed him into slinking away like a whipped cur, but she knew she had failed miserably in doing that. He had said all he had wished to and left, and she had been unable to mount a serious defense.

What deeply troubled her and somewhat angered her was that he was right. She could curse him as ungallant, arrogant, and vain, but it did not change the fact that he was right. She had felt the same passion he had, had shared a heat with him. Their desire was well matched. Their hunger for each other of an equal strength. Passion had made her as blind and as heedless as it had made him. It was not really fair to blame him for what had happened, or what had almost happened.

But she did, she admitted, and inwardly grimaced at her own confusion. It had always been so easy to scorn passion, to push away any man who revealed an interest in her. The ease with which she had cast aside all desire had made her cocky, made her think she was strong enough not to repeat her mother’s folly. Balfour had slaughtered that confidence, shown her with one kiss that she could be as foolish and as weak as the most witless of women. She not only resented him for that uncomfortable revelation, she knew she was now afraid of drawing close to the man. She had come to Donncoill to join in the destruction of Beaton, not to become a laird’s mistress. By the time Nigel was well enough to finish recovering without any further nursing, she was going to have to make the decision as to whether she would stay and fight Beaton alongside the Murrays, or flee the temptation of Sir Balfour. There was no doubt in Maldie’s mind that staying could well cost her her hard-fought-for innocence. She briefly suspected that it could also cost her her heart. Soon she would have to decide just how high a price she wished to pay for help in killing Beaton.

Balfour sighed as he stared out at his fields, watching the spring planting with little interest. He was acting like some lovelorn girl and was disgusted with himself. He could not stop thinking about Maldie, about how good she tasted and how perfectly she fit in his arms. It had only been an hour since he had left her and he was aching to see her again, to hold her again. The only thing that stayed him was the certainty that it would be a very big mistake. She was still angry, and she needed time to think about what had happened between them.

“And so do I,” he muttered, shaking his head.

The passion she stirred inside of him with her soft, full mouth and her small, lithe body was a delicious, heady thing. It was also unsettling. Something that powerful made it hard to think clearly and, with young Eric’s life at stake, Balfour knew that a clear head was vital.

“Has Nigel worsened?” asked James as he walked up to Balfour and leaned against
the parapets.

“Nay. He sleeps. The fever shows no sign of returning.”

“’Tis what I heard, yet your expression was so dark I feared the good news had proven false.”

“’Tis not Nigel nor his health I scowl o’er, but his wee nurse.”

“A comely lass,” James said, watching Balfour closely as the man chuckled.

“Too comely. Too sweet. Too tempting.”

“And too ready at hand.”

Balfour looked straight at James and slowly nodded. “Aye. We were in sore need of a skilled healer for Nigel and, behold, there she was. A blessing or a trap? Aye, sometimes when one has a great need God miraculously fills it, but I cannae take the chance of believing that now. Too much is at risk.”

“Mayhap ye should just send her away.”

“I should. She has even said she will leave as soon as Nigel no longer needs her healing skills. My wits said, ‘
Aye, that was for the best
,’ but all else began to plot ways to keep her here. I fear I learned naught from my father’s many follies. I want the lass and ’tis all I can think of.”

“Nay, not all, for ye ken that she has secrets. Ye can see that there are questions that need to be answered.”

“I do.” Balfour grimaced. “Howbeit, when I am near her, I dinnae think of getting any answers.”

“Then
I
will.”

Balfour hesitated only a moment before nodding. “My pride pushes me to say that I can do it myself. Fortunately, at this moment, I have more wit than pride. I have a weakness for the lass. I cannae trust myself to do what needs to be done. So, aye, see what ye can discover. She appeared at a time of need, but also at a time of conflict. She could be a bonny angel of mercy, but she could also be an adder slipped into our camp by our enemies. Maldie Kirkcaldy holds fast to many a secret. I must learn what they are. And dinnae take too long in discovering what those secrets are, old friend. I confess, that wee green-eyed lassie makes my blood run hot and my wits scatter. Best ye find out the truth swiftly, ere I am too ensorcelled to believe any ill of her.”

“Ye take good care of me, lass,” Nigel said as Maldie helped him ease his battered body into a seated position, carefully arranging several fat pillows behind his back. “I would have died if ye had not come to my aid.”

Maldie inwardly grimaced as she felt Nigel’s arm curl around her waist. It had been five days since his fever had broken and, with each day, he had shown an increasing and alarming interest in her. The moment he had regained the strength to move his arm, he had begun to touch her. They were subtle, inoffensive touches, easily excused, except that they were becoming more frequent. There was also far too much warmth in his lovely amber eyes each time he looked at her.

The very last thing she needed, she thought crossly as she neatly eluded his touch and went to collect the tray of food the maid had set on the table near the window, was yet another Murray trying to lure her into his bed. Nigel was being far sweeter and more courteous in his pursuit than Balfour, and it irritated Maldie a little that she had no interest in the younger Murray. Nigel was treating her as a man would treat a fine lady, his skill at flattery far surpassed Balfour’s, and he was an extraordinarily handsome man, yet she was completely unmoved by his interest.

“I think I may need your kind aid in eating this stew,” Nigel said quietly as she set the tray on his lap.

She glanced at him with some suspicion as she sat down on the edge of the bed and began to feed him the thick venison stew. He idly rested a hand on her knee and she felt no weakness there. The man could probably feed himself, but she decided to allow him to play his game. He did still suffer from weakness, his strength badly depleted by his wounds and the fever. There was always the chance that he feared losing the strength a good long rest had given him and finding himself unable to continue feeding himself partway through his meal or embarrassing himself by making a poor job of it. Since he was still completely harmless, she saw no gain in arguing the matter.

“Why do ye search for your kinsmen here?” Nigel asked as Maldie cut him some bread. “The Kirkcaldy clan roosts many leagues from here.”

“Aye, they do. I havenae gotten lost, if that is what ye think,” she replied. “I dinnae wish to go to them.”

“Why?” He coughed a little when she somewhat roughly stuck a thick slice of bread in his mouth. “’Tis a reasonable question,” he protested, smiling faintly at the look of irritation on her face.

“Mayhap. The Kirkcaldys dinnae want me about. I have made no secret of the sad truth that I am a poor lass and have lived a rough life.”

“As have many of the Kirkcaldys, I am certain.”

“Aye. Howbeit, what I havenae said is that I am a bastard child.” Nigel’s eyes widened slightly, but she saw no scorn or distaste there, merely curiosity and the faintest hint of pity. “My mother was the eldest daughter of a Kirkcaldy laird. She allowed herself to be seduced away from her kinsmen. Weel, the mon who stole her away from hearth and home was already wed. When she got with child, he left her. She was too ashamed to go home.”

Maldie decided it was safe to tell that much truth about herself. She would keep well hidden the name of her sire as well as the fact that he had stayed until she was born, until he had seen that his sin had given him a girl child and not the son he craved.
Naming her sire could pull her into more trouble than she could deal with, perhaps even put her life at stake. Speaking of the man’s craving for a son could easily spawn more questions than she could safely answer.

“Ye could be misjudging the Kirkcaldys.” Nigel used both hands to grasp his tankard of wine as he took a drink. “They may not care that ye are a bastard child. Your mother’s fear that they would turn her or ye aside could be born of her own sense of guilt and shame. Mayhap ye should return home and speak to her.”

“I cannae. She is dead.”

“I am sorry for your loss. So, do ye seek out your father’s kinsmen?”

That question made Maldie very uneasy and she abruptly stood up. “Nay. That cur has shown no interest in me. I have none in him. Are ye done?”

He nodded and she took the tray away, setting it back on the table near the window. It was now clear that answering a few questions was not enough to satisfy Nigel’s curiosity. No matter how carefully she replied, her answer seemed to breed yet another question. The way he was so closely watching her told Maldie that her reaction to the question about her father had only whetted his appetite for more answers. It was not going to be easy to hold fast to her secrets without raising suspicions. If she decided to stay at Donncoill, to take even a small part in the fight against Beaton, she was going to have to think of some story about her past, something detailed and elaborate enough to answer all possible questions. Maldie was not sure she could think of such a complicated lie, nor tell it well.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention and she was surprised at how relieved she was to see Balfour. Since they had kissed she had done her best to stay far away from the man, nearly fleeing the room the moment he cleared the doorway. Even the small, terse courtesies they had exchanged in passing had been enough to make her uneasy. She had often caught a look in his dark eyes that told her he was fully aware of her retreat. Maldie also sensed that he was not going to allow it any longer. Despite that, she tried to slip past him, sighing with resignation when he caught her firmly by the arm.

“I was going to leave ye alone with your brother,” she said as she turned to face Balfour, making one faint attempt to pull free of his hand and quickly giving up when he tightened his grip.

“Weel, I have no wish to hurt Nigel’s tender feelings,” Balfour flashed a quick grin at Nigel before fixing his gaze on Maidie, “but I came here to fetch you.”

“Why?”

“’Tis time ye went outside and had a wee taste of spring.”

“I had a verra big taste of it when I walked from Dundee to here.”

“The fine weather wasnae here yet. The sky is bluer and the sun warmer now.”

“Nigel may need something.”

“Aye,” agreed Nigel with a sharp haste that caused Balfour to frown. “I dinnae think I should be left alone just yet.”

“Ye willnae be alone,” Balfour said, watching Nigel closely as he nudged Maldie out of the room. “Old Caitlin is hobbling her way to your room e’en as we speak.” He grinned when Nigel groaned a curse. “She cannae wait to spend a few hours with ‘her wee, bonny bairn.’”

“What was that all about?” Maldie demanded after Balfour shut the door and started to tug her along the hallway.

“Old Caitlin was Nigel’s nursemaid, his milkmother,” Balfour replied. “She still sees him as a wee lad, not a mon, and treats him so. And, why have ye suddenly agreed to come with me after fleeing from the sight of me for days?”

Maldie briefly considered telling him the truth, that Nigel was wooing her. She had simply made a choice between the two brothers, both of whom were trying to lure her into bed. There was a chance she could put a stop to Nigel’s tentative seduction before there was any real confrontation. To walk off with Balfour, who made little secret of what he wanted from her, might be one way to do that. She brushed aside the thought of telling Balfour any of that, however. She was courting enough trouble by simply lingering at Donncoill without setting one brother against the other or, worse, inspiring them to indulge in some manly competition where she was the prize.

“I havenae been fleeing from you,” she protested, struggling to sound haughty.

“Aye, ye have. Scurrying off like a wee timid mousie flushed from the grain.”

“Ye think yourself far more important than ye are.”

“Racing for the safety of some warren like a wee rabbit with the hounds after it.”

“I was but leaving so that ye and your brother could have some time to speak privately.”

“Bounding off like a deer that has heard the hunter’s horn.”

“Ye are going to run out of animals soon.”

Balfour choked back a laugh. “Slinking off into the shadows like a whipped cur.”

“Wait a moment.” Maldie stopped as they left the keep, yanking on her arm hard enough to halt him and make him face her. “What happened to bounding, racing, and fleeing?”

“Ye dinnae like the word slinking, eh?”

“I am nay afraid of you, Balfour Murray.”

He hooked his arm through hers and started to walk again. “Nay? Then ye run from me because I am nay as pretty as Nigel?”

She stumbled slightly and he watched her closely as he waited for her reply. From the moment Nigel had opened his eyes after shaking free of the fever’s grip, Balfour had sensed that the man was no longer seeing Maldie as a possible threat. The gleam he had sometimes caught in his brother’s eyes had not been that of a man seeking to solve a mystery or root out betrayal. Nigel wanted Maldie, and Balfour began to think his brother wanted her as badly as he himself did.

The instant he had seen the glint of desire in Nigel’s glance, Balfour had fought the urge to pull Maldie out of his brother’s reach and hide her away, like some greedy child hoarding a favorite toy. From the time he had been of an age to take an interest in women, Balfour had seen that most of the ladies favored Nigel over him. Nigel had been graced with a fair face, a lighter nature, and an admirable skill with words. The lasses had always sighed over Nigel’s beauty, praised his sweet tongue, his charm, and his courtly ways. One had even told Balfour that Nigel’s skill in the bedchamber far surpassed his own. It was an old jealousy, one he had thought he had outgrown until he had seen Nigel smile so sweetly at Maldie. He had fought to remain silent, to still his concerns, and just watch the two together. Balfour had seen no sign that Maldie was swayed by Nigel in any way, but he wanted to hear her speak of her indifference aloud.

“I dinnae think there are many men in Scotland who are as pretty as Nigel,” Maldie replied, watching Balfour covertly and curious about the grimace that so briefly twisted
his strong features. It was as if she had somehow hurt him. “Aye, mayhap not e’en in the whole world. A verra pretty mon is your brother.”

“The lasses have always sighed o’er him.” Balfour inwardly cursed, for he was sure he had sounded sullen.

Maldie nodded. “I suspect the mon has ne’er had to chase a lass verra far or verra hard.”

“And how hard will he have to work to win you?”

He spoke in a near whisper and Maldie again stopped to stare at him. The man was jealous. Even scolding herself for excessive vanity did not alter her opinion. He had seen Nigel’s interest in her and clearly thought that, like so many other women before her, she would quickly succumb to a bonny face, a sweet smile, and pretty words. His jealousy was dangerously flattering, but his unspoken accusation was insulting. Then she realized that Balfour struggled with an old jealousy, one he neither wanted nor liked to feel, but one that had undoubtedly been heartily fed over the years by foolish women. She could probably push him away, maybe even kill his desire for her, if she pretended to be swayed by Nigel, to be as easily captivated by beauty and a skillful tongue as other women he had known. But she could not grasp the opportunity presented to her. It was not simply because she could not set one brother against another, either. Sympathy for what he felt stopped her. Maldie understood what he suffered all too well. Because she was poor and a bastard, she had often been ignored or cast aside.

“Verra hard indeed,” she replied and started to walk again.

“Aye? I have seen the way he looks at you.”

“Ah, that is too bad. I had hoped he would be cured of that ere anyone noticed. The mon but feels a softening toward one who has eased his pain. And, dinnae forget, I am nearly all he has had to look upon for a week and a day.”

“A face any mon would take great pleasure in watching.”

She felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks and inwardly cursed. Nigel’s soft, poetic flatteries had only stirred unease and an occasional smile. Balfour awkwardly telling her that she was pretty caused everything inside of her to soften. Maldie feared she was already past saving, that Balfour had already slinked into her heart. While she had been worrying over the passion they shared and how to fight it, her heart had quietly accepted him as the man it wanted. That meant that she had a lot more than her own errant desires to fight. It also meant that her chances of leaving Donncoill unchanged were a great deal less than she had thought.

Maldie was abruptly pulled from her dark thoughts when Balfour stopped and turned her to face him. She hastily looked around and silently cursed. He had walked her to a deserted, sheltered corner. They were encircled by piles of stone and the irregular walls of the tower he was having built. From the wideness of the grin on his face, she was sure that had been his plan all along. Balfour had not taken her outside to enjoy a warm, spring day, but to lure her to a sheltered place so that he could steal another kiss.

What really troubled Maldie was that she was making no effort to thwart him in his seductive game. She should be inflicting pain upon the man, breaking free of his hold, and getting back to the safety of Nigel’s room as fast as she could. Instead she remained still in his arms, thinking with some amusement that he was a handsome rogue.

“So, this is what ye plotted all along,” she said, her palms flat against his broad chest in a weak, fraudulent show of resistance.

“Do ye accuse me of base trickery?” he asked, his voice pleasant, almost amused, as he brushed a kiss over her forehead.

“Aye, I do. Do ye deny it?” She shivered with ill-concealed delight as he kissed the hollow behind her ear.

“’Twas no plot or trickery, bonny Maldie. Merely a thought, something I considered.” He grinned when she uttered a short, sharp sound of disgust. “Ye did need to get out of that room.”

Just as Maldie opened her mouth to tell him succinctly that he was speaking utter nonsense, he touched his lips to hers. A little voice in her head told her that she was courting danger, but she easily ignored it. The warmth his slow, enticing kiss stirred within her melted away all common sense and resistance. He made her feel good and, she ruefully admitted, she was too weak to refuse that.