The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine Page A

her wedding. He’d observed her with watery blue eyes that made her flesh crawl. Ruan had called him Tormod, and she vaguely recalled him to be Ruan’s brother. He leaned against a chair holding a book, but he was not looking at the pages.
    He was watching her.
    “Bree,” his eyes dipped over her body. “Aye, ‘tis time ye knew me. I’m the laird, The MacLeod.”
    Bree swallowed.
    Tossing the book onto a nearby table, he strode forward.
    She watched him draw near, knowing she should curtsey, but it was impossible to move. He was standing close, too close. She could smell the whiskey on this breath. Panic flooded her. Much to her horror, his eyes seemed focused upon her breasts.
    “Ye aren’t much to look at now,” he tripped over his words. “Aye…but ye’ll be as ye were. Soon, I’ll warrant.”
    The sun had just risen, and the man was already drunk. Mercifully, the door to the chamber opened, and he jumped guiltily. With his attention distracted, she escaped the room to flee down a passageway and run up a narrow flight of steps. Poised at the top, she took a deep breath and trembled. She’d just bolted from the Lord of the castle’s presence. He’d be furious at her impertinence. How could she explain herself, how could she tell him that he’d simply stood too close? She wrung her hands.
    “Bree!”
    She cringed.
    Tormod had followed.
    He was likely going to beat her. Succumbing to fear, she ran forward, half stumbling in her haste to the bottom of the steps and into the open air. She squinted in the intense sunlight, gradually becoming aware of men, many of them, eyeing her curiously.
    Tormod bellowed from behind and she ran across the courtyard and through the nearest doorway.
***
    Ruan leaned against the remains of the ancient wall with a brooding scowl, determined to enjoy the warmth of the sun, but failing miserably in the attempt. Images of Bree’s white, terrified face filled his mind.
    He shifted uneasily.
    Aye, the wee lass should be frightened. He was a MacLeod and a son of The Black MacLeod himself. She should be afraid. He frowned, unaccountably disturbed that she was. It was an odd twist of fate that had entwined them. He hadn’t expected the tragedy of his sister’s forced marriage to affect his own life in such a manner. He’d been meaning to leave the place, now he felt trapped.
    Why had he listened to Robert’s soft words that he should stay? Aye, his uncle was persuasive. He loved Dunvegan with his very soul, but he could not live under Tormod’s thumb. He had to leave. Once he had secured Merry’s freedom, he’d take her to Cameron. He owed Bree nothing, but why did he feel like a scoundrel for thinking of abandoning her? Then, there was Domnall. How could he betray the man so? They had shared more than one battle. Domnall’s son had been one of his closest friends, and he had few friends.
    He shifted guiltily.
    A shower of dirt and stones rained upon him, splashing into the loch below. Shading his brow, he peered up and then sprang to his feet in alarm.
    A woman ran the outside of the curtain wall, hugging the rocks. As he watched, she tripped and slid down the steep incline directly above him. She managed to check her descent, and stood poised on the edge, as if weighing the decision to continue.
    The moss-covered rocks were slippery and jagged on this side of the castle. A false step wouldn’t end well. He was confounded why she’d attempt such a thing when there were serviceable steps nearby. He opened his mouth in warning, but abruptly closed it upon spying Bree’s long, wavy brown locks.
    The lass was daft. There could be no other explanation.
    Yet, even as he arrived at that conclusion, he spied Tormod barreling down the steep steps leading from the castle wall to the loch below. Seeing Ruan, he pulled up short, finding it necessary to shout, “I was merely speaking with the lass!”
    Aye, his brother would be one to torment her. He was unholy enough. An anger arose