Page 12 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

It was not her first kiss; she had been kissed many times before, but not like this. He thrust his hands into her hair and ran the silky strands through his fingers, and without even realizing, Malle wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. The rasp of his beard against her face was so pleasurable that she ran her hands over it and heard herself moaning again. What was happening to her?

But that beard reminded her that he was very much a man. A Dunbar man. Her enemy. She tried to push him away and of course it was useless, but eventually he let her go.

They stood scowling at each other, both breathless and furious. Craig was not only angry with Malle, but with himself. She was trespassing, but that was not what had maddened him; what had really enraged him was her defiance. He disliked and desired her at the same time, and he felt helpless to reconcile these emotions.

His body wanted her quite desperately, but she obviously did not feel the same, and this baffled him. How could a tiny woman like this stand up to a man ten inches taller than she and not be afraid? He was used to putting the fear of God into men who were much bigger in size and strength than this little woman. However, he had seen not one sign of fear in her eyes as she lunged at him, and there had been no hesitation in her movements. She was as wild as a she-cat defending her kittens.

Malle knew she should be furious—she was furious—but not only with Craig. She was angry with herself for enjoying the kiss so much.

If he expected her to calm down, he was sorely disappointed. He could almost see the sparks flying from her eyes.

“So that is how the men in your family treat their women,” she said scathingly. She felt as though he could read her thoughts, and was feeling embarrassed and vulnerable, and as always at times like these, she lashed out.

She raked him up and down with a withering stare. “I am sorry I set foot on your land, but rest assured it will never happen again. If I see you on neutral ground, do not speak to me, do not look at me, in fact...do not acknowledge me in any way, and I will do you the same courtesy.”

His anger was now rising to meet her own. “Have a care, MacEwan!” he said angrily. “You are still on my land and I would be quite within my rights to arrest and imprison you. My family is as dear to me as yours is to you, and do not forget it. If you carry on in this vein I will not be responsible for my actions, so watch your mouth!”

He began to walk away but Malle was not ready to be quiet yet. “No wonder Isobell died in your family’s care. The Dunbars are obviously used to taking just what they want!”

Craig stopped in his tracks and bunched his hands into fists. “Not another word,” he growled. He was at the limit of his self control, and he knew that one more sound from her would be one too many. He would never strike a woman, but he was not above throwing one in the dungeon.

Fortunately, Malle had said all she wanted to, and turned away from him. The last she saw of him was his broad back as he rode away in the direction of his castle.

The last few moments had been a wrenching emotional ordeal for Malle. She tried to contain herself until he was out of sight, then she collapsed on the ground and started to sob her heart out. Being with Craig, held against the solid warmth of his body, having his powerful arms around her, his firm lips moving gently on hers, had been the most blissful moment of her whole life, and yet she had driven him away. How she wished he were not the enemy!

She was unaware that tears were trickling down her face until she saw a damp spot on her dress, then she hastily wiped away the moisture from her cheeks.

She sat for a long time looking at the grave before she thought about standing up, intending to say a last prayer and go home, but to her surprise, there was a priest standing behind her. He was an elderly man; tall, bent, and wrinkled, with faded blue eyes, but he had the kindest face she had ever seen, and benevolence radiated from him as he smiled at her. Malle hoped he had not witnessed the argument between herself and Craig, and their subsequent kiss; as a celibate man, it might have shocked him.

“Good morning, my dear,” he greeted her, and she noted that he had quite a fine strong voice for a man who looked to be in his seventies. “Let me help you up.”

Malle could have managed quite well on her own, but she allowed him to grasp her wrist and help her, realizing for the first time that it was tender from Craig’s grasp, and slightly bruised. She felt a surge of anger. Why had she even thought that she might like him?

“I am Father John Baxter,” the priest said softly. “Why are you looking at this grave? It is a long way from the others.”

“I am Malle MacEwan, and Isobell MacEwan was my ancestor, so I was curious,” she replied. “I had heard about her and Donnan’s love story, and I have read some pieces of their diaries. They were passionately in love, and what happened to Isobell was such a tragedy.”

Father Baxter nodded. “Indeed, and a mystery,” he sighed. “Come to the church. I have priests’ diaries going back centuries. Maybe they could shed some light on the matter, if we add it to what you have uncovered already.”

“I am trespassing on MacEwan land, Father,” she pointed out. “So I must go back.”

Father John shook his head emphatically. “In the church you are on God’s land, not the Dunbars’ or anyone else’s,” he replied. “That is why you can take sanctuary here and no one can touch you.”

Malle sighed with relief.

“And we can eat,” he suggested. “Plain fare, but it will sustain you.”

“Thank you, Father. I am rather hungry,” she admitted. They chatted about all the affairs of the church, her life at the castle, and the recent problems on the border.

When they got to the Church of St Laurence the Martyr, they went inside to Father John’s humble quarters, which was no more than a room with two chairs, a table, and a narrow bed with a fire for cooking and heating. The only decoration was a crucifix on the wall above his bed, and the entire place would not have filled the dress cupboard in Malle’s bedroom.

There were a few shelves with bread, cheese, milk, and some earthenware dishes which probably contained barley and oats, a flagon of ale, and a few apples. Malle had seen a goat and a few chickens outside with a small kitchen garden, so Father John was self sufficient in this beautiful place. She envied him the solitary simplicity of his life. He put a bannock, a slice of cheese, and a mug of ale in front of her, then looked at her frankly.

“You said that you wanted to find out more about the Dunbars?” he asked.

“Isobell and Donan,” she replied, nodding. “Because their story seems to have much to do with the feud that is going on between our families today. For a while, during Isobell’s short life, it seemed to cool down a bit, but now it has flared up again and I have no idea why. We found a man’s body floating in the Cut the other day. He had been stabbed through the heart, but no one has any idea why, or who could have done it. He was a common working man with no valuables, so it cannot have been robbery.” She looked up at him and shrugged. “I know about it,” Father John said slowly. “Laird Dunbar came here after the death with the body to have it blessed and anointed. He was most upset and so was his son, Craig. I have never seen either of them that way before. His gentle blue eyes looked sad as he remembered.

“Hmm,” Malle said shortly. “I had no idea Craig Dunbar had any feelings.”