Heaven and the Heather by Elizabeth Holcombe Page A

wish ye to know this and more.”
    Niall reached into the pouch at his belt and produced a folded piece of paper. He snapped it open and displayed it before her eyes.
    She read the harsh edict set forth by the queen’s councilors before Her Majesty had set foot in Scotland.
    “By fire and sword!” she gasped.
    “Savage words, aye?” he said taking the paper away and tucking it into his pouch.
    “ Oui ,” she breathed. “They are quite savage.”
    “The name MacGregor is a blight upon the land through no fault of our own. More powerful clans have courted the monarchy against us. When Mary arrived I saw hope that, aye, she might agree that MacGregors have a right to live in peace without fear our land will be taken and our people killed as her Privy Council has decreed, as Campbell has enacted by murdering my father and brother. I have no doubt that I will be next, then the rest of my clan, one by one or more.”
    “This is how you Highlanders live, in fear?” Sabine tried to understand.
    “Not all of us. Some have the monarchy to protect them, like Campbell. He despises my clan because our lands share the same boundaries.”
    “Is that the only reason?”
    Niall stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “Does there need to be any other reason?”
    “In civilized places, oui , there does.”
    “Will my returning yer precious purse mean anything to ye?”
    Sabine paused, the meat juices dripping from her fist. “It means you can keep a promise. That you’re a man of honor, in one regard.”
    “Aye, that was my hope.”
    Niall reached up and took the meat from her. He placed it back on the trencher. With the hem of his woolen garment he wiped the juices from her hands. She found her gaze lowering to his exposed and powerful thighs, for a moment curious as to what lay in shadow beneath the wool.
    “Are ye trying to learn more about me?” he asked never missing a thing when it came to her. How irritatingly perceptive.
    Sabine jerked her gaze up to meet his. “Certainly not!…I mean, oui , what is that odd wool you wear?”
    Niall dropped it back to his thighs.
    “’Tis my plaid, fashioned into a kilt. ’Tis a goodly garment. Keeps me concealed afield, keeps me warm, keeps the rain from my head, perfect for my ‘wild home’.”
    “Wild home,” she breathed. “Kilt…plaid.” The strange words felt comfortable on her tongue.
    Slowly, Niall cupped both of her hands and raised them to his lips.
    She tried not to close her eyes and give into the moment. Yet, from his touch a flurry of sensation overtook her. He kissed her wrists, at the place where her blood pulsed so fast and so hot. She forced herself to resist his bold manner, but he took her further away from this chamber, deeper into his free spirit. She shivered as he pushed her sleeve up her right arm kissed the sensitive flesh there, all the while cradling her damaged hand in his large strong one. She could not help but close her eyes. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she flexed her twisted fingers around his thumb and squeezed. A low moan escaped her lips. She had to return to the bedchamber, to the masque, or they both could face the gaol.
    “You must take your leave from this chamber,” she whispered. Then she cleared her throat delicately and said more forcefully, “You have to go.”
    She released his thumb and took her hand back. She sat there, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath.
    “D’ye want that?” he asked from far away.
    She opened her eyes. Niall stood at the side of her bed. He had abided her wishes, damn him!
    “ Oui ,” she replied mournfully. “’Tis true.” She tucked both of her hands deep into her lap. “You must leave. Go back to your home.” Her face was suddenly warm. Sweet Sainte Giles! Were those tears misting her eyes? “I beg you, leave my sac and…go.”
    “Aye, I’ll go,” he whispered. “Ye’ll get yer purse after I see the queen.”
    He gave her one sapphire wink and a hint of unforgettable grin