The Mackintosh Bride. Debra Lee Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ released his grip on her and struggled with something behind her. The stallion fidgeted beneath them as a whoosh of oatmeal cloth cut across her peripheral vision. She turned in the saddle to see Iain, bare-chested, jamming his woolen shirt into a leather bag that hung from the horse’s livery.

      “It’s bluidy hot,” he said, and pulled her back against him, spurring the roan upward and south along the ridge line.

      It dawned on her that he was leading them farther away from both Mackintosh and Grant land. Where on earth were they going?

      Will and Hamish lagged behind after stopping to transfer a good-size stag—Will’s prize from yesterday’s hunt—from Hamish’s horse to Will’s.

      The afternoon grew warm, and she lifted her face to the sun. Already her skin was bronzed from weeks working outdoors with her father’s new mounts. A light spray of freckles barely noticeable in the winter months appeared across her nose each summer, much to her mother’s vexation. She smiled at the thought.

      Growing up a lady’s maid at the French court, Madeleine Todd had definite ideas of how a lady should dress and how she should behave. Alena had shunned most of her mother’s well-meaning attempts to transform her into such a creature, preferring instead the freedom of loose clothing and a simple coiffure for her work at the stable.

      Reaching behind to her nape, she gathered her mass of thick hair and pulled it free. She’d been sitting on it. Iain pulled her back against his chest and their bare skin connected. Immediately she realized her mistake. She’d forgotten the dipping neckline at the back of her gown.

      He was pure heat and the chestnut curls of his chest hair were slightly damp, sending a wave of sensation through her like nothing she’d ever experienced. She was conscious of his muscular thighs pressed up against her buttocks, gently undulating with the motion of the stallion beneath them. The thin cloth of her garments and the light wool of his plaid did little to shield her from the inferno of his body.

      There was something she must know, and now seemed as good a time as any to ask him. “Iain?”

      He grunted in response. ”Last night, at the loch. I—I don’t remember…”

      “Oh,” he said, seeming to know what she meant. “I found ye asleep by the water and carried ye back to the fire.”

      She recalled her dream, and a pleasant shiver coursed through her. “But…when I woke up, I was—you were…”

      “Aye, well, ye didna expect I’d take the chance of ye stealin’ off in the night, did you?”

      Nay, she did not. ’Twas clear he wasn’t about to let her go anywhere. For now, at least.

      A few hours later they passed into another small forest, less densely wooded than the lands to the northeast. The stallion fell into a well-worn path and increased his speed. Of his own accord he broke into a gallop. Iain did nothing to slow his pace. They flew past pine and laurel and up over a broad, green hillside, the steed pushing harder as they gained the top.

      “Jesu!” She sucked in a breath.

      A great lodge of timber and stone loomed before them, its chimneys billowing a smoky welcome to the weary travelers. ’Twas big as a castle, twenty rooms at least, positioned at the top of a hill and surrounded by a thick rock wall. She could see the tops of cottages and other buildings peeking out above the stones.

      “What is this place?”

      “Braedûn Lodge,” Iain said. “Home of my uncle, Alistair Davidson, and my aunt Margaret.”

      Of course! Iain had often spoken of his mother when they were children. Ellen. Yes, that was her name. Ellen Davidson Mackintosh. She must have fled here with her sons when Iain’s father was killed and the Grants laid claim to Findhorn Castle.

      Iain directed the stallion into the great courtyard. Kinsmen shouted words of welcome to the three warriors as they approached. She noticed the bronze clan badges they wore in their bonnets, and the Davidson plaid, different from the Mackintosh colors Iain and his kinsmen sported.

      Their smiles and greetings turned to wide-mouthed looks of surprise as they noticed her perched atop the roan, Iain’s arm wrapped possessively ’round her waist.

      The spectators made way for the stallion who seemed to know exactly where he was going. She spotted a large stable and training yard ahead, set just off from the lodge. Iain’s steed made for the gate.

      As the riders passed the main entrance to the lodge, she spied a young woman standing on the steps leading up to the great door. Dressed simply and clutching a basket of wildflowers to her breast, she was a tiny thing with delicate features and dark hair. Alena guessed her to be sixteen or so, the plumpness of childhood still noticeable in her peaches-and-cream face.

      Will guided his mount to the steps and stopped. The girl beamed a smile at him, radiant as summer sunshine. His face flushed scarlet as he returned her gaze. With a nod of his head he indicated the red stag strapped to the back of his horse. Its broad rack of antlers was impressive, even to Alena. The girl voiced her approval, and Will puffed up in the saddle, nearly bursting with pride.

      Hamish and Iain were still chuckling when their mounts halted just inside the stable yard. Two lads sprang forward and the warriors dropped their reins.

      An older man with silver hair, dressed in a Mackintosh plaid and leather riding boots, stood waiting for them to dismount. His bright eyes were riveted to hers. Strange. She almost felt she knew him. ’Twas silly. She’d never seen him or this place before.

      Iain began to lift her from the saddle. Sweet Jesu, not again! She struggled out of his grip. “Will you please un-hand me! I’ve dismounted hundreds of horses under my own power.”

      He threw up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right! As ye wish, vixen.”

      She caught that last word, mumbled under his breath, and shot him a look that could freeze water.

      He threw a leg over the back of the roan and dropped to the ground. He glared up at her for a moment with those stormy eyes, then turned to the silver-haired man and softened his expression. “Duncan.”

      “Laird.” The man smiled warmly. “Welcome home.”

      Iain clapped his kinsman on the back and strode toward the horse trough butted up against the stable where Hamish was already washing the road dust from his burly arms.

      Alena was still mounted. The old man, Duncan, approached her, offering a strong, leathery arm. He had a kind face that was weathered with years of work in the sun. She smiled and leaned against him for support as she slid from the stallion’s back.

      Their gazes locked. He grinned, and a strange premonition washed over her.

      “So, Alena Todd, what brings ye to Braedûn Lodge?”

      Chapter Four

      There was no reasoning with the man.

      Alena paced the wooden floor of the richly furnished bed chamber and fought to control her anger. Before she’d had a chance to recover from Duncan’s startling recognition of her, she’d been whisked off to the main house and installed in a room СКАЧАТЬ