Warrior’s Redemption Read online

  He started to deny it but realized even before the first word left his mouth that she was correct. Instead he responded by laying his hands flat upon the table in front of him.

  Dani stood, a grin spreading over her face. “Oh, I do like a man who listens to good advice. I know you have stuff going on, so I won’t keep you any longer. I just stopped by to make sure you planned to be at tomorrow’s midday meal. Ada is allowing me to fix something special and I want to make sure you’re there to try it.”

  Had he not yet made it clear to her that he did not consider her a servant here? Obviously, he had not. He rose to his feet and moved to where she stood, catching up her hand when he reached her side.

  “Yer no one of the kitchen staff, Dani, and you’ve no a need to learn to be one. Yer a lady, aye? My lady. You can spend yer day in . . .” He paused, realizing as he spoke that he wasn’t exactly sure how the lady of the castle might spend her time. “In pursuit of a lady’s activities,” he finished somewhat belatedly.

  “A lady’s activities?” she echoed, her smile lighting her eyes and lilting in her voice. “Oh, Malcolm, I have no idea what those might be, but please understand, I love to cook. It’s a pleasure to me to create good food, and a whole new challenge here. It’s something I want to do, not something I think you expect me to do.”

  As if he could deny her anything that brought her pleasure when she looked at him like that. He would have told her that very thing, too, but a flicker of movement caught his eye. The door, almost closed a moment earlier, was less so now. Someone had moved it, ever so slightly.

  His guess was that Dermid or his man Rauf stood just outside. Listening.

  One look at Dani and it was clear she suspected as much. Her back facing the door, she cut her eyes in that direction and back to him again as a slow, mischievous smile lifted her lips.

  With a waggle of her eyebrows, she lifted her free hand to his neck, twining her fingers in his hair.

  “So you’ll be sure not to miss tomorrow’s midday meal, right? I want to surprise you.” Stretching up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips close to his ear. “Dermid, you think?” she whispered.

  He could only nod his answer, his body reacting too intensely to having her so close, the scent of fresh flowers filling his senses. His free arm tightened around her, pulling her against him, and he bent to her, his mouth finding hers.

  Her lips were soft and pliant, opening to him, her tongue dancing against his. She tasted of mint and cinnamon, like an end-of-meal sweet he found himself desperately craving.

  Both his hands were at her back now, sliding down, lower, to capture the perfectly rounded curves of her buttocks, lifting her from her feet and pressing her against his heated, hardened desire.

  She groaned into his mouth, and both her hands tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

  When she lifted one leg, hooking her foot behind his thigh, it was all over. Desire spiraled into a rage of need, beyond his ability to understand.

  In two long strides he backed her into the hard slab of wood and pressed against her, crushing her against the heavy oak door.

  The partially open heavy oak door.

  Clasped together, they stumbled against the solid surface behind them as it gave way, slamming the door shut as their bodies fell against it.

  A yelp from the other side hit Malcolm’s ears like a bucket of cold water tossed onto a randy dog.

  He stared into Dani’s eyes, huge liquid pools, a languid green he wanted nothing more than to immerse himself in, as he fought to calm his breathing.

  A scratching at the wood and he looked down to see a wiggling fold of plaid caught in the closed door.

  Dani’s gaze had followed his and a strangled little huffing noise escaped from her as she stared at the twitching material.

  Pray Odin he hadn’t made her cry! How he could have so lost control of his actions, he could not say.

  Desperation invaded his heart as the noise continued, her whole body trembling with it as she clamped a hand over her mouth.

  With a tentative finger, he raised her chin, his desperation washed away with the relief of what he found.

  Her eyes sparkled as her lips pressed together in a vain attempt to hold in the sounds she made. No tears. Laughter!

  “Lord, Malcolm,” she whispered, even as she fought the giggles that threatened to overcome her. “If you don’t open that door, do you think he’ll just abandon his plaid and make a run for it? I can already picture him. . . .”

  Another scratch at the wood and she gave up all pretext, covering her mouth with both her hands as she leaned her head against his chest.

  The vision she suggested was enough to bring a smile to his face as well.

  One deep breath to regain himself and he was ready. With his hands on her shoulders, he directed her away from the door and pulled it open to greet a red-faced Dermid on the other side.

  “There was something you wanted, little brother?”

  Dermid opened his mouth and closed it just as quickly, once, twice, his eyes darting every direction except straight ahead.

  Their spy had apparently gotten more than he’d bargained for.

  “Well, I’m sure you boys have plenty to talk about, so I’ll be leaving you to it.” Dani, having recovered, pushed between them, stopping at the last minute to blind Malcolm with another brilliant smile. “Don’t forget, now. I’m preparing a surprise for you tomorrow.”

  Forget? Not likely.

  Though he sincerely doubted there was anything she could prepare for tomorrow that would surprise him more than she had here today.

  Eighteen

  LIFE WAS GOOD. Not just good. It was right next door to perfect.

  Dani shook the long piece of linen she held, snapping it in the air in front of her with a satisfying crack. The cloth the kitchen girl, Jeanne, had brought to her would serve as a wonderful apron.

  She wrapped it around her middle, tying the ends behind at her waist. Later she’d see if she couldn’t work with the seamstresses in the castle to come up with a proper apron, but for now, this would work just fine.

  She twirled in a tight little circle, feeling more than a bit like a fairy-tale princess. She was making friends in her new home, and yesterday her fairy-tale prince had all but declared his intention of marrying her. My lady, he called her. And not in the vernacular of time, but as in “You are my lady.” Little wonder she hadn’t been able to sleep in more than catnaps all night.

  With another twirl and one last reassuring pat to the coil of hair she’d fixed in place, she was out the door and hurrying through the dawn-gray halls to the stairs and beyond.

  To her surprise, even as early as it was, the castle was already astir, with young boys and girls bustling about in the great hall. She passed through the cavernous room with its great fireplaces set at either side, wondering at all the activity.

  Maids scuttled down the normally empty hallway, smiling and nodding in greeting as they passed, relieving some of Dani’s anxiety. It almost felt as if she’d passed some entrance exam over the past few days in the kitchens and was now accepted as someone who belonged.

  She paused at the entry to the kitchen, squaring her shoulders. Though she had yet to carry off a dish on her own, today would be her true test, at least for her own sense of self. From start to finish, from baking the bread this morning to putting together the dessert she planned for the midday meal, today she would put her newly acquired knowledge to work.

  With both hands, she pushed open the door and was very nearly run down by a young boy, his arms filled with wood scraps.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady,” he called breathlessly, racing past her.

  Lord. She’d thought the great hall was busy, but by comparison to the activity in the kitchen, it might as well have been deserted.

  Right in the center of all of it, she located Ada. The old cook, her hair covered with a tightly wrapped scarf, her sleeves rolled up beyond
her elbows, appeared to be in her element, directing the rush of bodies.

  A rush Dani had not expected.

  She’d taken care to make sure she hadn’t overslept. In her excitement and determination not to be late, she’d swear she’d awoken every hour on the hour throughout the night. And yet, these people had clearly been hard at it for quite some time.

  “I thought you said we’d begin at sunrise.” She was, in fact, positive that was their appointed time to begin.

  The old cook looked up from the huge pot she stirred, a look of surprise sweeping over her perspiration-dotted brow. “Och, lassie, we’ll no be spending our time on a midday meal on this day. We’ve a feast for this very night that needs preparing, we have.”

  Dani ignored her twinge of disappointment and summoned a smile. “Then tell me how I can help. I’ll do whatever you need.”

  Whatever it was that drove this beehive of activity, obviously it was important to all these people. And since they were her people now, it was important to her, too.

  “Good on you, lassie. All hands are welcome on this day, what with so little warning to prepare. Jeanne!” She waved the dripping wooden spoon in her hand, summoning the young maid who’d become Dani’s right hand in her kitchen adventures. “Lady Danielle has offered her help. I’m putting her in yer care, aye?”

  Jeanne’s head bobbed up and down and, with a grin, she clasped Dani’s hand in her own and led her to the end of a table piled high with stacks of vegetables.

  “All we need to do is cut them into pieces and toss them into the buckets. One of the lads will carry them over to where Cook needs them.”

  Dani worked in silence, establishing a rhythm with Jeanne until the buckets in front of them began to fill.

  “What’s this feast for? I hadn’t heard a word about it until I walked in here this morning.”

  “Nor any of us, either, until Cook came round in the middle of the night, rousting us from our pallets. The Feast of Odin, she called it. I hear they’ll even be uncorking the Berserker brew.” The young woman’s grin spread across her face, lighting her eyes. “I’ve heard tell of what it does to a man, aye? I’m looking forward to seeing for my own self what effect it has my Eymer if Cook’s tales are true. It could be quite an evening.”

  “And I as well,” the woman working at the next table over added. “Though not on yer lad, Jeanne. I only hope I’m no too tired to reap the benefits.”

  “I dinna think it possible for you to ever be that tired, Matildis,” another woman chimed in to a ripple of muffled giggles.

  “True,” Matildis replied with a little shimmy of her shoulders. “There’s naught like a hardened stallion to renew a woman’s energy, lest it be a roomful of them.”

  Muffled giggles turned to outright laughter.

  “Matildis!” one of the older women admonished. “Watch yer tongue. There’s wee lassies about.”

  “Wee lassies need to hear the truth of it as well,” Matildis replied with a shrug. “And if that bog myrtle brew works as Cook says, you’ll do well to keep those wee lassies safely tucked in their rooms tonight with their doors bolted, along with any others who’ve no enjoyment for the ride.”

  The buzz of happy conversation filled the air and Dani laughed along with the others, enjoying the comfortable camaraderie of the group as her buckets filled. A boy of perhaps eight or nine dashed in and swooped up those buckets, returning a minute later with empty ones for them to fill again.

  Dani’s curiosity was piqued. History had never been one of her strong points, but actually living history? That was turning out to be much more enjoyable than any dull class filled with names and dates to memorize.

  “Obviously this Feast of Odin is a big celebration. What’s it about?”

  Jeanne shrugged one shoulder without looking up, her knife chopping expertly through the row of carrots in front of her. “It’s meant to bring victory in battle or some such. I’ve heard Cook tell stories from her old home about it, but I dinna ken much more meself. Only that there’s to be all the food we can eat and drink aplenty this night.”

  “Meant to bring victory in battle?” The knife in Dani’s hand stilled.

  That didn’t sound at all like a celebration of some long-remembered battle out of history. Besides, if that were the case, they would have known that it was coming and would have been preparing for days. This big party, whatever it was for, was something no one had expected.

  Meant to bring victory in battle.

  No, that sounded suspiciously like something yet to come.

  It also sounded suspiciously like something she didn’t think she was going to like.

  Not at all.

  And everything that anyone knew about this feast came from the cook’s stories.

  Setting her knife down, she turned and made her way over to the center of the room, straight to the old cook.

  “Ada? This Feast of Odin, can you tell me why we’re celebrating it now?”

  “Feast to Odin,” her friend corrected. “To honor him. Tonight we petition the God of War to protect our warriors when they march off to battle tomorrow. It’s long been a tradition of the MacDowylt to placate their testy ancestors, aye?”

  Dani had been correct. She didn’t like what she was hearing. Not one bit.

  “Where are they—wait. Why? Why are they going into battle?” And why hadn’t Malcolm said a word of it to her?

  “Because our good laird Malcolm kens his responsibility to rescue his sister before it’s too late to save the poor lass. Their half brother holds her prisoner at Tordenet Castle.” Ada beat the air with her spoon as she spoke, her eyes narrowing as she got into her story. “I’ve no a doubt but that Laird Alfor’s ghost is walking the halls of his beloved castle over that one, though he’s none to blame but himself. Serves him well enough, it does, naming his firstborn to succeed him as laird. Torquil was an evil, sneaky arse from the day he was old enough to take his first steps. It was the idea of serving him what sent my Ulrick following after Malcolm when his father first sent him off to fight his battles for him.”

  Oh, hell. All the movies she’d ever seen, all the books she’d ever read, all of them spoke to how the Scots couldn’t get along with one another. She’d always just thought it was storytelling.

  “Where’s Malcolm now?”

  “In his solar, I’d say.” Ada stuck her spoon back into the big pot, stirring in sweeping wide circles. “Likely with the MacKilyn’s men, who arrived in the night.”

  She had to talk to him. She couldn’t let him ride off into battle. Not now. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him when she’d only just found him.

  She couldn’t very well be a fairy-tale princess if her fairy-tale prince went off and got himself killed.

  “THEN IT’S SETTLED, William.” Malcolm clasped the forearm of the man across from him, slapping his shoulder as he did so. “You and yer men will join up with us tomorrow at first light. We meet where the trail to yer camp reaches the main road.”

  “It will be so,” William answered, his hand to Malcolm’s shoulder in return of the earlier gesture.

  Malcolm stepped back, his arms crossed at his chest, waiting as the three MacKilyn warriors made their way out of his solar.

  “One last thing.” William paused at the door. “Our good laird bids me remind you that by our being here, you’ve a debt of honor you owe to him. Due and payable upon his request.”

  “Due and payable upon his request,” Malcolm echoed.

  “My laird then bids me inform you of his intention to collect upon said debt before Yule. In one month’s time, he will arrive, accompanied by his daughter, expecting to be welcomed in the fullness of yer hospitality. This is agreeable?”

  “It is.”

  Malcolm did not hesitate in his response. He could not. He could not risk losing the support of the MacKilyn, no matter the personal cost to him.

  Patrick stepped back as the MacKilyn men disappeared out into the hallway, to slump down
into a chair close by.

  “You ken what you’ve just agreed to, aye? It’s no secret that this is no the first time the MacKilyn has exercised this ploy on an ally.”

  Malcolm understood. All too well.

  “It is nothing more than the artifice of a desperate old man.”

  “A desperate old man with no sons, mayhap. But lacking in honor, Colm, you ken as well as I do. There’s no honor to be found in forcing a man to wed yer daughter to obtain the alliance he desperately needs. It’s the sale of yer soul he wants.”

  Malcolm nodded his agreement, refusing to allow regret to poison his heart. He had no choice. His sister’s life depended on his securing the MacKilyn warriors to his cause.

  They’d heard the stories of the MacKilyn’s trickery from the time of their first visit to Castle MacGahan. Stories about the wily old laird with riches and land, but no sons to pass them on to. No sons, but a dozen daughters, it was said.

  A dozen daughters, each in turn to be married off to an ally of the MacKilyn in return for a pledge of their father’s alliance.

  Now he, too, would be one of those stories.

  “And what of Lady Danielle?”

  Malcolm shook his head, unable to meet his brother’s gaze, his tongue too thick to answer.

  “Based on what you told me yestereve, I had thought I would be welcoming a new sister into the family.”

  Perhaps it was the work of the Norns, the vile fate-bringers of Asgard. He should never have confided his plans for Dani to his brother. Now they would never be. For a man who had wanted no entanglements with women, his life had become as a web of spiders.

  “You will be welcoming a new sister into the family, Patrick. A daughter of the house of MacKilyn.”

  “The Elf will no be well pleased,” Patrick muttered, thumb and forefinger stroking his chin.