A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,73
flask, then followed him out.
Padruig was about to assist Fiona onto her horse, but Stuart waved him off. Padruig ducked aside, taking the bag from Una under her very watchful eye.
Stuart turned Fiona to him, the two of them resting against Piseag’s warm flank. Before she could speak, he tilted her face to his and kissed her.
The kiss took Fiona’s breath away. She’d missed Stuart with every beat of her heart in the long year since she’d seen him last, and his presence now both elated and weakened her. His arms hard on her back kept her upright as his tongue tangled hers, he tasting of whisky and the bracing cold.
But his mouth held heat, his breath scalding her cheek. Fiona dug her fingers into his coat, the rough wool laced with his warmth. Her body ran with fire, need squeezing her, as well as joy that he was here, unhurt, and alive.
She felt the gazes of Padruig, Gair, and Una on them, none of the three ready to politely turn away. Stuart didn’t seem to care. He scooped Fiona up into him, kissing his fill. Piseag remained solidly at her side, as though the mare understood Fiona needed her to prop her up.
A sharp blast of wind made Stuart lift his lips from Fiona’s. He gazed down at her, his blue eyes like pieces of aquamarine. He was Scotland, its sky and bluster, its strength and wildness.
He slowly released her, his breath coming fast. “Are ye well, lass?”
Fiona didn’t know. She never would be, not until Stuart was completely safe.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Stuart traced her cheek. His leather glove was coarse against her skin, but his touch was gentle as could be.
He abruptly stooped down, grasping Fiona’s booted foot to boost her up into the saddle. He lifted Una behind her, while Una gazed over her scarf with all the scorn of a Viking queen.
Stuart caught Piseag’s reins and turned the horse. “Come on,” he said to Gair and Padruig. “We should get ourselves indoors before nightfall.”
The first wisps of snow began to fall as they crossed the last open valley and into the fold of mountain where lay the Macdonald family home.
Fiona eyed the glen with mixed feelings. She’d played here in her happy girlhood, knew sorrow with the deaths of first her mother then her father, and grew frustrated when she realized her brother saw her as a commodity to be married off. A clanswoman could be used to strengthen ties with other clans. Broc hadn’t intended for her to fall for a Cameron, especially one with Jacobite sympathies—Broc believed that being loyal to King Geordie would help him rise in profit and status.
Stuart had said very little to her since his impetuous kiss, resuming the trek through the cold wind. Fiona hadn’t quite recovered, and wasn’t certain she would. The kiss had staggered her, opening up places she’d forced closed.
Her thoughts went back to the last kiss she’d shared with Stuart, September of the previous year, before Teàrlach reached Edinburgh and took it over. They’d had a grand ball at Castle Mòr, Broc’s way of saying he wasn’t afraid. He’d invited both Jacobites and loyalists, as though daring anyone to make trouble. The Camerons had come, Stuart in their lead, and with him had been Mal, Alec, and Will Mackenzie.
Fiona had laughed and danced with them all, knowing in her heart disaster was near. Those supporting Teàrlach were too confident, those opposing too scornful. Their arrogance would clash violently, and she’d been right.
Stuart had swung her out of the Scots dance and into a hall outside the ballroom. He’d leaned her against a wall, his fiery hair loosening from its queue, his body warm in the night.
“Come with me, lass,” he’d whispered. “When all this is over and Scotland ruled by its own king, come home with me. We’ll have a grand celebration, with you as my lady.”
It wasn’t exactly a proposal of marriage but Fiona had known that was what he meant.
They’d kissed, long and passionately, Stuart’s hands on her waist, one coming up to cup her breast. The taste of him had lingered from that day to this, brought to life once more by their kiss outside the shelter.
Fiona hadn’t given him an answer that night. The future had been so uncertain, and she hadn’t wanted to upset Broc.
Stuart had come to her one more time before he’d left to join Teàrlach’s army, and Broc had threatened to kill him.