The Highlander's French Bride Read online

  “Aye,” Kinnon replied happily. And if Jean-Baptiste was here, that meant Melisende was… There—

  She stood before him, eyes wide with shock, face drained of color, the hem of her skirt spattered with mud. She stared at him, mouth partly open, and Kinnon had to smile.

  “Still siccing yer dog on soldiers, Melisende?” he teased.

  She drew in a sudden breath and Kinnon was gratified to see her relax, happiness blooming across her face. He pushed Jean-Baptiste aside and closed the distance between them. He had imagined their meeting dozens of times, and he half-waited for her to fling herself into his arms as he wanted her to. But he hadn’t counted on the look of wary hunger in her eyes, or for her arms to remain at her sides, her feet rooted in place.

  Something has happened. She doesnae trust me. He mocked himself. Would ye trust someone who waited nearly four years to come back to ye? He stepped close and gently kissed her forehead. She tasted of sunshine and fresh air, and he longed to explore her further. But this was neither the time nor place. And he was painfully unsure if she would welcome the intimacy.

  Mayhap my place is to see her settled, independent, content. She deserves to have the desires of her heart—not merely accept what I want her to have. He considered this only briefly. Nae. She will come back to Scotland with me. Whatever the penance, I will do it, but then she will be my wife and I will see she never regrets her decision.

  Unable to part from her, he caught her hand as he gave her space. Her face was now flushed, her eyes sparkling. Her fingers laced with his and a thrill of pleasure ran through him.

  “You took your time coming back, monsieur.” Her clear blue eyes were wide, solemn.

  Kinnon’s grin widened. “My timing hasnae always been my own these past years. Though I do admit to leaving France before my tasks were completed.”

  “Tasks?” she questioned, drawling the word out as though it tasted unpleasant.

  Kinnon grimaced. “Nae, finding ye isnae a task. Blame my poor tongue for not finding a better way to express it.” He silently begged her forgiveness as he drank in the details of her face. “And the fact is I’ve been chasing after ye for months. The suddenness of finding ye is overwhelming.”

  “Does this man have permission to speak with you, Melisende?” An arrogant, hostile voice interrupted their reunion.

  She jumped, clearly startled, flinging an apologetic look at Kinnon before facing the man at her shoulder. “This is an old friend, Jean-Luc,” she murmured. “I am fine.”

  Old friend. The words stung. Perhaps there was more to the reticence in her greeting than just their years apart. Kinnon’s stare bored into the dark eyes of the Frenchman, a knight by the sight of his black tunic with white Maltese cross on the shoulder. A Hospitaller. The man Josse said cared for Jean-Baptiste. Kinnon instantly hated him.

  He turned a soft look on Melisende. “Mayhap we could step out of the busy market and ye could introduce us?” I can be civil, but ’twill take all my willpower. He cannae have known her for more than two days—three at the most. Beyond care for the dog, what claim does he have on her?

  The commander stepped forward. “I will make the introductions. Kinnon, this is Sir Jean-Luc Villeneuve, a knight of good standing with the Hospitallers. He was part of the group that brought this young woman and the pilgrims she traveled with to Aubrac three mornings ago.”

  He faced the knight. “Jean-Luc, Kinnon and his men are under Hospitaller protection as long as they are in Aubrac. He has traveled quite a distance to assure this woman’s safety from those who wronged her in Le Puy.”

  Jean-Luc scowled, but quickly hid his annoyance in his commander’s presence. He nodded to D’Aramitz, then to Kinnon. “I thank you for your offer of assistance. However, Melisende is quite immune to harm as long as she remains in my protection.”

  Remains? Kinnon fumed. The Melisende he knew would not sacrifice herself for fleeting protection. She would have gutted any man who propositioned her in such a manner—had she indeed lost everything because of him?

  The weight of guilt settled over him like a familiar cloak. Had he not returned to the farm that day, she and Lucienne might have lived there unnoticed by the soldiers, at least for a time. And if they’d had to seek shelter with the butcher or even her reluctant uncle, she would not have had a warrant hanging over her head. The possibility of returning to the farm would have remained open to her, and he would not have found her wandering so far from home.

  To his surprise, she tightened her grip on his hand as she tipped her gaze to his. “I would like to speak with you in private if you will allow it.”

  He nodded to Jean-Luc, wanting to keep the challenging tilt from his chin, but failing. “I will see no harm comes to her.”

  There were no answering words from the knight, but his face darkened and his eyes flashed dangerously. His commander clapped his hand to the knight’s shoulder, gesturing that he follow him. The two men retreated through the market crowd which had settled once it was clear the dog was not about to tear Kinnon limb from limb.

  Melisende led him through the town gates, Rory keeping pace a discreet distance behind. Jean-Baptiste strolled beside them, tongue lolling to the side. A large tree loomed nearby, solitary and enough distance away to dilute the busy village sounds.

  She halted in the shade of the tree’s spreading branches and released Kinnon’s hand, turning to gaze at the land rolling away from the village—the plateau, the dense forests beyond sheltering rivers and steep mountain trails. Everywhere, wild flowers bloomed—albeit a bit sparse along the trail where the cattle made their way to summer pasture.

  Sunlight pierced the leaves overhead, catching bits of gold and amber in her dark hair. Kinnon stood mesmerized. The pull he’d felt toward her before was back a hundredfold. The knowledge that he could be reassigned—or killed—at any time, had made him cautious whilst attached to Bertrand’s army. And the uncertainty of taking a French wife back to Scotland—where his position all but required he marry a Scotswoman who would bring alliance, money and power to his clan—had kept him from admitting to himself how attracted he was to her.

  And now she was under the protection of a Knight Hospitaller, on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela once she ended her relationship with Jean-Luc. Kinnon clenched his fists, then relaxed with a sigh.

  “Please accept my most sincere apologies, Melisende, for whatever harm yer association with me has brought ye. ’Twas never my intention to abandon ye, nor see ye forced to flee yer home.”

  Her back still to him, her words drifted to him over her shoulder on the light breeze. “You did not abandon us. We were in danger already, though we were not yet aware of it.” She paused then explained. “Had you not come to us, we may have been able to remain at the farm for another few days, but bandits quickly flooded the area, eager to get whatever crumbs fell from De Ros’s table after he abandoned the town. Bertrand’s death left the struggle for power uncertain, though the Maréchal de Sancerre did his best to keep order in the town and countryside.”

  Kinnon shook his head. “I have sought ye for months. There was always another trail to someplace else. I had wanted ye to be safe, not hunted.”

  She still did not turn to him, and though Kinnon admired the strong curve of her spine and the tumble of night-dark hair down her back, he longed to see her face, to get a glimpse of what she thought.

  “Will ye not face me?” he asked. For a moment he was not certain she’d heard him, then she spun about, flinging herself into his arms. Taken off guard, he wrapped his arms about her and buried his face in her hair. Her body shook, and he was undone.

  She finally drew back, but did not break the circle of his arms. Her clear blue eyes, sparkling with tears, pierced his heart. “You are real, are you not? I am not dreaming?”

  “Do ye dream so much of me, ye cannae tell the difference?” he teased.

  It earned him a gentle clout to his shoulder, but her fingers lingered, and he relished the contact
.

  “Oui,” she said softly. “You have been often in my dreams. But they were bittersweet, for I thought I would never see you again. It has been a long time.”

  One side of his mouth twisted wryly. “I was verra anxious to leave France by the time I escaped the tower prison. I will sometime tell you of it.”

  “Not now?”

  “Only if ye wish, but I would rather speak of you and me.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Us? You have found me and I am safe—what more is there?”

  Kinnon struggled with the wariness in her eyes. “I wish to do more than assure myself of yer well-being. I wish to bring ye joy and a lifetime of comfort.” He changed the last word at the final possible moment. Love, he wanted to say. I want to bring ye a lifetime of love. But her uncertainty stopped him.

  To his relief, she smiled, warming his heart.

  They drank in the sight of one another for long minutes, as though parched by their long time apart. Melisende’s heart swelled with the joy of being with him again. Kinnon motioned for her to make herself comfortable. His hands were as sturdy as she remembered, strong, gentle, capable. Her entire body filled with light, carefree. As simple as it seemed, his very presence chased her worries away.

  “Mayhap I should tell ye a bit of what happened after that day.” he said.

  “Trading information for absolution?” she asked archly.

  “If ’tis in yer heart to grant it, aye.” He leaned toward her, hesitated, then eased back. “I want ye to at least know why I was away so long.”

  Melisende studied his face, eager for a closer look inside his heart. Did he seek me out for purely chivalric reasons? Her mind slid to Jean-Luc’s thinly veiled proposition. The knight offered safety at the cost of my self-esteem. I cannot believe it of Kinnon. I will not.

  She leaned against the broad trunk of the tree. Kinnon’s brow wrinkled.

  “I dinnae wish to bore ye with details…”

  She laughed. “I am so happy to see you, I will gladly listen to you tell me of the number of times you thought of me these past years,” she teased him.

  His brows leapt upward. “Truly? Ye wish to hear of all the times I wished I’d never left France—because of ye?”

  Melisende’s chest tightened. “’Twas poor of me to jest. I do not believe for a moment you wished to remain in France.”

  Kinnon tilted his head. “’Twould be two separate things. By the time I was released from prison, I couldnae see the shores of France behind me soon enough. I was in verra poor health, and angry with Hervé and God. In that order.”

  “I can understand being angry with Hervé, but with God?” She was puzzled. Though they had not discussed their personal beliefs, Kinnon had not voiced dissatisfaction with his religion before.

  “Hervé willingly sent me to a prison where he knew I wouldnae survive.” Kinnon scowled. “No one sought to care for my wounds, and my ribs were broken by Hervé’s louts, giving me a chest ailment that left me frail and near death. I still do not tolerate vigorous activity well, and my leg will never allow me to be a warrior again. But I finally look and feel more like myself and less a scarecrow.”

  “Did God not heal you?”

  “God and the good brothers at the monastery at Iona, an island not too far distant from my home in Scotland. During my time in prison, I felt God had abandoned me. I had not been able to save ye and Lucienne—indeed, I led the soldiers to yer doorstep—and I felt no punishment was too severe for me.”

  She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he touched her cheek, silencing her as his fingertips caressed her skin. He tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear as a smile played about his lips. Self-conscious, she smoothed the strands away from her face.

  “It went against all I’d been taught was decent to think the soldiers who had ravaged yer country still roamed the land freely, taking advantage of the innocents and looting at will, whilst I rotted away in a dark, rodent-infested tower room. I am no saint, but where was the justice in allowing this?”

  Kinnon rose and stepped a pace away, agitated, and Melisende could only wait, helpless, as he fought his inner demons. “I concluded I had much to atone for, and resolved to spend whatever time I had left in pursuit of leniency, searching for a glimpse of God’s grace.”

  “And did you find it?” she asked softly.

  He halted abruptly and faced her, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I found a meddlesome monk who rarely left me time to feel sorry for myself.”

  Good for him, she thought fiercely. The long, lonely and likely terrifying days in prison were enough time to feed your despair.

  “What made you decide to return to France?” she asked.

  “Brother Padraig told me that even in times of great turmoil, to think on things of great beauty and I would find peace.”

  “And did you?” she asked.

  “Aye. I thought of ye.” His eyes bored into hers, pleading for forgiveness, begging she believe him.

  She couldn’t stop the smile that tilted her lips. “I think I like your Frère Padraig.”

  “He was right. Even in the midst of a war that showed me how far men could stray from God and their sworn path, ye brought beauty and peace into my life. Melisende, I have always admired ye. Always found myself a better man for being with ye. I dinnae know what yer place is with Jean-Luc, but I would take ye far from here and explore the two of us without the distractions of war and those who wish to change us.”

  Caution rose in her. “What precisely are you offering?”

  “I am a poor choice for a husband, but ’tis all I can offer. We could have a home near my clan, though I turned the lairdship over to my sister’s husband when I first returned to Scotland. I dinnae wish to rule, only to serve. Ye first, then wherever I am needed.”

  Her heart fluttered, so startled by his words. She wanted to leap at accepting his proposal, but her tongue could not speak the words. Kinnon’s eyes clouded and she was aware her hesitance stung him. She gave him an encouraging smile and took a breath, the words now whispering all that was in her heart. “You are what I dreamed of when I felt lonely and despaired. Thoughts of you filled the sad corners of my heart and kept me smiling even when I could not see through my tears. But this is all rather sudden. I have so much to atone for. How can I abandon my quest and change my life so completely? There are things I must understand. Only then can I know where I belong.”

  “I would stay in France with ye as long as ye need,” he told her. “Though my memories here—other than ye—arenae fond ones. Making new ones with ye could be a start.”

  “I thank you, Kinnon. Let me first say that whilst Jean-Luc was prepared to offer me his protection for whatever favors I was willing to give in return, we have only been friends. I’ve seen much of him these past two days because Jean-Baptiste injured his foot several days ago and needed more healing than I could provide.”

  Kinnon stared at her, and she could not say if his eyes held relief for her or himself. “I believe ye. As a knight he has enough honor to not force ye, though as a man he would have done his best to convince ye to bend to his will.” He pulled her to her feet. “Ye are a beautiful woman, Melisende. So beautiful.”

  He took her hands in his, running his thumbs across the backs of her hands. “I dinnae wish to push ye into this. I understand we should take time to know each other better. Tell me of yer plans. What did ye wish to accomplish by coming on pilgrimage?”

  Unease washed over her. “If you spoke with my oncle, you know of Lucienne.”

  “I heard his story, aye. I would now hear yers.”

  Dismayed with how uncontrollable her sister had become, Melisende made the story brief. “She challenged me whenever possible, but her open flirtations with the men who came to the shop caused unwelcome gossip. I became reluctant to take her with me into the market, and equally reluctant to leave her alone at the shop. But mon oncle was away on a trip to Paris and I had no choice.”

  She tried to slip her fin
gers from his, but he firmed his grip and gave her an understanding look. She took courage from it and continued. “I found her talking intimately with a customer, en chemise de nuit, the day she disappeared. She and the young man eloped that day. I am told they settled in Italy.” She hesitated to mention Lucienne’s daughter. She could still envision the words of Lucienne’s letter, telling her she’d convinced Raul the child was premature, and the lingering hurt of Lucienne telling her Kinnon had preferred her over Melisende. She refused to put the two together, to believe Kinnon had fathered Lucienne’s babe. Or should he know?

  Kinnon placed her palms together, holding her hands in the warmth of his. “I know this weighs heavily on ye, but ’twas not yer fault, Melisende. I see nothing in ye that tells me ye wished her to be anything but sweet and kind and wholesome—like yerself.”

  The hurt she’d held inside for so long burst forth. “She told me you and she—that you preferred her to me. That you loved her.”

  He blinked at her in surprise, then his face reddened. “Yer sister was a beautiful lass, and that is the only way I saw her. I loved her for yer sake, but liking yer sister was a difficult job.”

  “Can you please explain that to me?”

  “Aye. When I woke in yer house, I was covered with a sheet, but disrobed. Lucienne had taken great pains to sew my wound, but apparently she’d also taken an interest in things she shouldnae. From the verra start, she was a confusing mixture of kindness and seductress, and it was difficult to know which she was from one moment to the next. She tended my wound—saving my life—and taught me to milk the cow. And she invited me more than once into her bed.”

  Melisende closed her eyes, avoiding Kinnon’s gaze. But the image of him wrapped in Lucienne’s blonde curls and slender limbs forced her eyes immediately open again. He watched her patiently.

  “I dinnae accept. I did, however, scold her for being so forward. When I came back to yer farm, she treated me as her favorite brother—at least ’tis how I saw it.”

  Memories of Lucienne’s squeal of happiness when Kinnon arrived rose to the surface. She was too happy, too excited. She wished for more from Kinnon than he was willing to give—I see that now.