The Thistle and the Rose(4)

Something made Celia hesitate. For perhaps the first time in her life, she didn't quite know what to do next. The giant who had seconds before burst through the wooden panel simply stood with the oddest look on his face, his sword at his side. The one at her mercy never even attempted to struggle; he, too, just looked at her.

As fierce as the one standing looked, these were the most non-combative pair of fighters Celia could imagine.

When she first reacted to the intruder, Celia had moved to protect the baby. No one was going to harm Kit. But now, looking at her captive and the warrior by the wall, she was at a loss. They certainly did not seem to be threatening her. And there was no indication that either one had any desire to go through the baby's door. No, they just gawked at her like a pair of oversized abbey schoolboys.

Why, the giant by the panel almost looked entertained by what he was looking at. His amusement will cost this one his life, if he's not careful, Celia thought with annoyance.

Oh, how she hated when she was not taken seriously. She should slit this one's throat and get some respect.

Then Celia saw the look in his eyes change. He was looking at her, really looking at her. Suddenly she was very aware of the thinness of the gown she was wearing. The warrior's eyes seemed to look right through it as he surveyed every inch of her body. They paused with lustful intensity at her hips, breasts, and mouth as his gaze returned to her face.

This man was despicable.

But he was not going to get away with this.

Celia waited until his eyes met hers, and then she slowly looked him over from top to bottom with a look of sheer disgust. Her smirking conclusion would hopefully convey an attitude of absolute scorn. What a worthless piece of old meat, she wanted her careless look to say.

And it did.

Colin realized that this woman was actually appraising him. Him, the future chieftain of the Campbell clan. One of the most powerful warriors in the Western Isles...in all Scotland!

And she found him wanting!

Anger began to simmer in the veins of the giant. No woman had ever looked at him with such disdain. And in his very own castle! This was too much. How could he have let his guard down so?

And what was worse, he could see she knew that she'd rattled him.

But worst of all, Alec Macpherson was watching the whole thing! The amused look on his face! Oh, God!

Well, at least she didn't have a sword to his throat, Colin thought. But this all had to stop. Lord help them all if anything should happen to Alec while he was visiting Kildalton Castle. There would be real hell to pay with the Highlanders. Colin had to speak to her.

With that, Colin unconsciously began to raise his sword and step toward the two on the floor before him. As he did, the woman raised her elbow, prepared to thrust her weapon into Colin's prone guest. She would kill Alec and be on her feet to face Colin before he reached her. The warrior stopped.

“Wait!” he commanded, though the word seemed to soften as he said it.

Celia shot a glance at Colin. His word rang with conciliation, yet his face showed fierce annoyance at the sound of his own voice. She had him, and it clearly irritated him that she did.

Her face showed the dominance she felt. That image of her, kneeling upon the chest of the vanquished foe was a startling one for Colin.

Suddenly, a pounding at the hallway door was accompanied by the sound of Lord Hugh Campbell's voice.

“Lady Celia, are you all right? Lady Celia!” he called. The old man's voice was quavering with concern.

“Aye, Lord Hugh, but I have two intruders,” Celia shouted, keeping the giant in her peripheral vision while not taking her eye off the warrior beneath her. She was feeling a mixture of relief and pride at the moment's victory.

But why wasn't the one by the panel making his escape?

“Oh, my God!” she heard the old man roar, then shout down the hallway. “Runt, rouse Jean, Emmet, and Edmund, too, from the hall. Hurry, lad!”

“Father!” Colin called, silencing the ruckus in the hallway. “Father, it's Colin.” His voice carried the steely edge of fury in it.

“Colin?” the old man returned.

“Aye. Colin. And Alec Macpherson, too. If he doesn't get murdered where he lies.” Colin scowled at this she-devil with contempt in his eyes. Whoever or whatever this woman was, she had overstepped the bounds of a decent defense.

Celia yanked the sword point away from her captive's throat and, with a look of dismay at Colin, scampered across the room for her cloak, ruffled for a moment at the turn of events. She felt a sudden desire to be covered.

Colin watched with surprise this sudden display of timidity by the woman.

Still watching the woman who now appeared to be cowering on the other side of the room, Colin offered Alec a hand up, then strode to the door and unbarred it.

The door swung in, and Lord Hugh entered unceremoniously, dressed only in his nightshirt and holding a long sword in his hand. He was only slightly shorter than Colin, but as broad in the shoulders, and the scarred and weathered face of the old man told of a life of violence, care, and toil.

Behind him, his squire Runt carried a smoky torch and a short sword. Lord Hugh leaned his sword against Runt and embraced his son heartily.

“Colin,” he said. “We weren't expecting you for another fortnight, at least! The usual pigheadedness in the Highlands, I suppose.”

“Aye, Father. I had to leave, or kill someone.” His last comment he directed toward the opposite side of the room, belatedly asserting his authority.

Colin walked over to Alec and clapped his great arm around the Macpherson's wide shoulders. “But Alec Macpherson's come to stay with us for a bit.”

“Alec, my boy, it's so good to see you here again. It's like old times, you two boys...ah, strong, grown men now...together again. Maybe we'll teach you to swim and sail yet!” The old warrior smiled, greeting the young Macpherson with a crushing bear hug.

“Thank you, Lord Hugh,” Alec said, returning the greeting. “My father sends his regards to you. I know he misses seeing you at the Highland gatherings.”

“Thank him for me, lad. We've had many a good time together, he and I. And gotten into a bit of trouble, too, I'll warrant you.”

The old man turned to Colin. “You lads must be dog-tired after that journey. Well, to bed, then; we'll talk in the morning. So you're putting him in this room, that's good...Hold! By the Virgin, that's not good! Lady Celia! Where are you, lass?”

“Here, m'lord.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Where Celia stood by the clothes pegs on the opposite side of the room, she had been partially blocked from the group of men by the heavily curtained bed. With the arrival of his son and the Macpherson heir, Lord Hugh had momentarily forgotten her, even if the two young men had not.

“Lady Celia,” Lord Hugh began, moving quickly to her and taking her hand. “Lassie, these great baboons must've given you a terrible fright. Are you all right, dear?”

Colin could not believe what he was seeing. Hugh Campbell's ferocity was legendary in Scotland. In England, Hugh Campbell's name was rivaled only by the Black Douglas as the most fearsome of Scots. Mothers all along the Irish and English coasts invoked his name in the dark of the night to control their unruly brats. The Campbell wealth and fame had been bought with the blood of so many battles, so many raids. This man was war incarnate. For the past forty years, this had been a man to be feared.

And yet, here was this same man, reaching out with the gentleness of a lapdog. His voice, his look, the way he moved to this woman, all bespoke the manners of an abbey clerk.

And this woman. This woman who moments before had wielded a sword like a seasoned soldier. Who had upended and vanquished Alec Macpherson, an extremely capable fighter. This she-devil who had held even him, Colin Campbell, at bay...and then eyed him so scornfully.

And here she was, putting a limp and quivering hand into the laird's great paw. Here she was, looking into his father's eyes like some newborn fawn, fragile and vulnerable.

She had purposely changed from a lion to a lamb in the blink of an eye. The woman was a witch!

She was working her charms on his father, but they would not work on Colin Campbell. Not again.

Looking past his father's shoulder, Colin suddenly glimpsed a genuine look that he hadn't expected to see. Was it worry? Was it fear? Colin's view of women was that they were naturally fearful. God knows, in a land so torn by feuding clans and marauding Englishmen, women had good reason for fear. They needed strong men to protect them.

But that sudden flash of fear in this woman seemed extraordinary for some reason. Fear of what, he wondered.

But more important, who was she and what was she after, this woman? Why had she come to Kildalton?



“I'm fine, m'lord,” she began sheepishly, suddenly feeling an uncontrollable urge to explain, to apologize. “I thought they were...I didn't know who...I know, perhaps, I...If their lordships would see it to...”

Celia was rattled. For some unaccountable reason she felt her face burn with embarrassment. It was good that the room was dark. The one torch that the squire held would not shed enough light to betray her flushed face.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, it occurred to her perhaps this warrior would persuade his father to throw her out. Where would she go next? She could see the glowering look of anger in his eyes now. Then, for a fleeting moment, she thought she sensed a change in those gray eyes. Concern, perhaps. Or sympathy. Whatever it was, the look passed quickly, replaced by the fierce scowl that she guessed could hide any soft feeling this warrior harbored.