of her skin ignited a flame deep in his belly. And when he bent to kiss it, he imagined himself in a garden filled with lilies.
He inhaled deeply.
Lilies.
Eoin couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s scent had practically brought him to his knees. And his lips still thrummed with a rhythmic pulse.
Damnation.
He swiped his arm across his mouth. Dragon’s breath, he would not allow old emotions to boil to the surface. He was in Ardnamurchan for one purpose and that was to quash the MacDonald uprising. In no way would he lose sight of his mission. Eoin was one of the best fighting men in Scotland and Clan Gregor was renowned for their unsurpassed tactics. He and his men had kept the English out of Scotland when the truce with James III fell apart. And by God they would now ensure the MacDonalds crawled back to their stony keeps and kept their greedy fingers out of the king’s coffers.
But this assignment to Mingary had to be the most miserable post of his life. Aside from being in the secluded region of Ardnamurchan, he rued being forced to be the guest of Aleck MacIain. The man hadn’t impressed him in Stirling and traveling with the bastard for the past two weeks hadn’t improved Eoin’s opinion.
And why the hell wasn’t Sir Aleck standing beside Helen when I approached?
That the man lacked manners was an understatement—and definitely none of Eoin’s concern. He was there to focus on training and fighting, and that’s exactly what he’d do. They’d be patrolling the northern waters as well. In fact, Eoin planned to spend more time sailing his galley than in the miserable guest chamber.
After climbing up the ladder to the stable loft, his feet crunched atop the straw strewn over the timber boards. The smell of musty hay filled his nostrils as he regarded his men. “Do not grow too comfortable. We’ll be sailing north a few days hence.”
Fergus, Eoin’s second in command, stepped beside him. “Running sorties, will we?”
“Aye. We’ll make a point of sailing past MacDonald lands flying the king’s pennant. Let them know we’ve come to stay for a bit.”
“And how long do you think that might be?”
“Who knows?” Eoin looped his thumbs into his belt. “With luck, the MacDonalds will realize they should be happy King James didn’t rob them of all their lands.”
Fergus smirked. “’Twill be a cold day in hell when that happens.”
Eoin shrugged. “One day the MacDonalds will give up their feud and realize they cannot win a war against Scotland.”
“Only after half of them are dead,” said Willy, a skilled man with a mace and targe.
“Bloody oath,” Fergus cursed. “They’d best not be taking us to Hades with them.”
“Wheesht. ’Tis why we’re the best fighting men in Scotland. We’ll not be escorting the MacDonalds to hell. They can find the way on their own.” Eoin drew his dirk and held it high. “But we’ll be glad to show them the path.”
“Och aye,” the men bellowed, pumping their fists in the air.
“Let us see to our nooning, then we’ll meet the bedraggled MacIain guard in the courtyard and determine if they ken how to handle their weapons.”
Chapter Four
With his arms crossed, Eoin stood beside the MacIain Chieftain in the courtyard, surrounded by thirty-foot curtain walls. During the midday meal, he’d opted to stop by the kitchens for a bit of bread and a hunk of cheese. He couldn’t bring himself to step into the great hall and watch Aleck MacIain preside over the throng. Nor did he care to put himself in the middle of banter between young bucks flexing their muscles.
He turned his attention to the sparring warriors. As he’d thought, the MacIain men lacked in skill, though most were solid lads. If Eoin had a year, he just might be able to turn them into soldiers.
“Every one of my men is near fourteen stone,” Aleck gloated.
Eoin kept his sights on the nearest pair, fighting with swords. “Aye, you’ve amassed yourself a great deal of meat.”
The overstuffed chieftain puffed out his chest. “Brawn, mind you.”
“Brawn?” Eoin raised his eyebrows and then cast his gaze to the clouds. “I’ll give you that, they might even be good at slaying dragons.”
“Watch yourself,” MacIain growled.
Eoin inclined his chin toward the man sparring with Fergus. “Your man there is sizeable, but he wields his sword like he’s chopping wood.”
“Pardon me? Grant is my best warrior. He’d beat your man in a fight any day, hands down.”