The Highlander's French Bride Read online

  She grinned, happiness lighting her elfin face. “I like him.”

  “He is a good lad. Ye look like a princess up there.”

  Melisende caught his gaze. “You are very good with her. Merci.”

  “High praise from milady. I am humbled.” He sketched her a salute and offered his hand to help her mount. “I see no reason we cannae go to the farm in Châteauneuf-de-Randon, if that is still yer wish.”

  She begged him with her eyes to not be so formal with her. “I would like that very much. I know ’tis silly, when there is likely nothing there but deserted buildings, or someone else lives there now, but it was my home for a while.”

  Kinnon smiled, but it was not the jaunty, heart-stopping smile she longed to see, and she doubled her resolve to mend things between them as soon as they had a few moments alone.

  Jean-Baptiste galloped into the courtyard on Hamish’s heels. The dog spied Melisende and headed directly to her, halting at her pony’s feet. Arielle gave a small cry.

  “Do not worry, ma petite. He will protect you, not harm you.”

  “I want to pet him,” the child declared.

  Pleased to see her emerge further from her shyness, Melisende placed a hand on Kinnon’s sleeve. “Would you please help her down so she can meet Jean-Baptiste properly?” she asked. Kinnon set the little girl on the ground, and she stared at the dog, one hand gripping the edge of Kinnon’s plaide.

  “Put your hand out like this for him to smell so he knows you,” Melisende instructed, showing Arielle a fist. “Please sit, Jean-Baptiste, and show her your manners.”

  The big dog lowered his haunches to the ground and offered the child a paw. Arielle flashed an excited grin to Kinnon and Melisende then took a step forward. Jean-Baptiste leaned forward and sniffed her tiny knuckles, then gave them a quick swipe with his tongue. Sitting back, he appeared satisfied with their meeting, tongue lolling to the side, a grin on his face.

  Arielle laughed and clapped her hands. “Egli è mio amico!”

  “Yes, ma petite,” Melisende agreed with a smile for the little girl’s happiness. “He is now your friend.”

  * * *

  They rode through the streets of Le Puy and past the chapelle Saint-Michel d’Aiguilhe perched on a rocky pinnacle near the edge of town. South of town, they entered a wooded valley and stopped beside a waterfall.

  “I wished to be quit of town and the eyes of the soldiers there as quickly as possible. We will eat a bite and refresh ourselves here.” Kinnon assisted Melisende from her horse as Rory lifted Arielle from her pony, before vanishing into the woods without a backward glance.

  Biting her lip in frustration, Melisende fed Arielle from the stores in the pack saddle, nibbling on a piece of hard cheese as she waited for Kinnon to return. Jean-Baptiste drank from the foot of the waterfall then collapsed to the ground, panting softly as the day warmed.

  The men were ready to leave again when Kinnon slipped through the trees into their midst. With a nod of thanks, he took the bread and cheese Rory handed him downing it in several hasty bites before turning to Melisende. She sat, her back against a tree, Arielle sound asleep in her lap.

  “I will wake her,” she said, ducking her head to whisper in the little girl’s ear.

  “Nae. She can ride with me.” Kinnon mounted his horse then motioned for Hamish to hand the lass up to him. Arielle blinked owlishly at this change, but settled herself against Kinnon and dropped back off to sleep. Rory handed Melisende onto her mare.

  Melisende tried not to feel slighted, but she could see no reason for him to share his thoughts when she had been less than forthcoming with her own. She rode amidst the men-at-arms, struggling to keep her thoughts on her new home and life ahead and off the remembrance of her treacherous sister—and Kinnon.

  “Are ye tired?” Kinnon asked, reining his horse to her side. Arielle draped across his lap, but he did not seem to mind.

  “A bit,” she admitted.

  “We have a long journey ahead. We will take a day’s break at Bordeaux and again at Brest before crossing to Ireland.”

  “Ireland?” she asked, her interest piqued.

  “Aye. North by northwest from Brest to Ireland, then up the coast a bit before crossing to Scotland. My clan has a holding along the Firth of Clyde. Depending on the ship, we can land there, and ’tis only a short ride to the castle.”

  “Mayhap I should hear more about your clan,” she encouraged him, warmth from his attention flooding her.

  “My sister’s husband, Ranald, is laird at Scaurness Castle, overlooking the firth.”

  “What is a firth?” she asked.

  “’Tis the opening of a river from the sea. The River Clyde goes inland to the Bishopric of Glasgow, a major shipping town, and our castle controls the traffic on the river.”

  “Are you much at war? It sounds like a military post.”

  “Pirates from time to time, or an ambitious man who would wrest control of the firth for himself. Ranald is a strong leader.” Kinnon cocked his head. “How is it we have not discussed this before now?”

  Melisende’s lips curved. “We spoke of other things in Aubrac, and our travel along the pilgrims’ trail was often too swift and treacherous for casual talk. And our nights were spent making love,” she added.

  Kinnon nodded slowly. “Aye. Hard travel doesnae make for much talk. And I expect ye will need yer sleep at night. As will the lass.”

  Unmindful of the men around her, Melisende replied, “I want to spend my nights with you.” His eyebrows lifted as though surprised, cutting her to the quick. “I wish to speak with you later,” she said. He nodded and they rode the wooded trail side by side.

  * * *

  Kinnon sank to the ground beside Melisende. “Is the lass abed?”

  Melisende looked up from her spot on the plaide she’d spread out for sleeping. Her hair was loose and spilled about her like a dark cloud. “Oui. I am sorry we were so late leaving my oncle’s house. I know we could have made this trip in a day had we left earlier.”

  “Och, it would have been a verra hard day’s travel. We’ve plenty of those ahead.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, tamping down a surge of desire. “Ye said ye wished to discuss something with me?”

  “Oui. It is about Lucienne and me. And you.”

  A curious combination of relief and apprehension twisted in his chest. “Tell me.”

  Melisende rose to her feet and he reached for her arm to help her, rising with her. Warmth sparked through his hand and higher, then pooled low in his belly. I wish to clear this up between us, Melisende. But talking is not what I want right now.

  He released her and followed her a few feet away. She halted, twisting her hands at her waist.

  “It cannae be as bad as that,” he remarked.

  She faced him. “It has worsened throughout the day.”

  “Aye, problems have a way of doing that the longer we put off confronting them.”

  She tilted her head. “Why are you being so agreeable? I have treated you horribly.”

  “Nae,” he drawled. “But I have withstood battle and imminent death better.”

  She released her hands, letting them drop to her sides. “Last night, I went with Lucienne to her room. She told me of her life in Italy, going from house to house since she and Raul had none of their own. Then, after he divorced her, going from bed to bed.”

  Leaning back against a tree, she closed her eyes briefly, pain and regret etched on her pretty face. “It was then she told me she wanted me to raise Arielle. Not only is she unable to provide for her, but men—perverted men—had cast their gazes on the child. It was not nice of me, but I told her what a shameless life she led, and she became hateful, telling me how perfect I must be, how little I understood her.”

  She stepped closer, taking his hands in hers. Kinnon’s heart missed a beat. “It was then she told me Arielle is your daughter.”

  Heat of a different sort surged through him. Anger blinded him and
instead of Melisende, he saw Lucienne’s smug face, her sly smile and covetous eyes.

  “Be damned!”

  He gripped her hands, noting the chill of her flesh. Regret tightened his chest. “I never touched yer sister. She was scarcely older than a child. A flirtatious lass, aye, but I would never betray her or ye in that way.” He demanded her attention. “I have told ye this before.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “I believe you.”

  The unspoken words hung in the air. “But, what, Melisende?”

  “But it has hit me hard. I did not want to believe her when she told me the first time—when she ran away with Raul. I could not believe it of you. I knew she was angry and capable of saying anything that day.” She slipped her hands from his and his blood froze as she turned away.

  “She was angry yesterday, too. Why is this different?” But he knew. Only a few feet away slept a little girl who had been born too early for her mother’s husband to claim her as his. And instead of having her mother’s coloring, she had that of her aunt—and him.

  Melisende’s voice floated soft in the night. “She was such a sweet child. So eager to please.” She gave a wistful laugh. “She did not always like her légumes, and was often lost in daydreams, but she always had a pretty flower for me or a witty song she made up.”

  She faced Kinnon, hands twisting at her waist. “Why is she trying to destroy me?”

  * * *

  He held her as tight as he could through the night, long after her silent, shuddering cries eased and she drifted off to sleep. Damn Lucienne for wreaking havoc wherever she goes, feeding her own pleasures without care to the cost. And damn the need for her to ruin her sister’s happiness. The stars twinkled above them through the leafy canopy and the moon sent its filtered light through the glen. Melisende’s head lay tucked beneath his chin, her body curved against his. Arielle was a small bundle of wool only an arm’s reach away, Jean-Baptiste curled at her feet.

  Poor lass needs a mother who can protect her, love her, teach her. He recalled Melisende’s earlier words. Neither of us thought of bringing a child into the family so soon—or at such an age. I am not against raising the lass. But now I wonder if her daily presence will tarnish the trust Melisende and I should be building.

  He thoroughly disliked the turn his thoughts were taking. Firmly, he schooled his mind away from such things and imagined Scaurness Castle and the firth beyond. The breeze in the trees became the sound of waves on the beach. When he woke, it was morning, the smell of breakfast was in the air, and Melisende was gone.

  Chapter 31

  He scrambled to his feet, tossing the blanket aside as he scanned the area for signs of his wife. The plaide Arielle had slept on was no longer on the ground, and neither was Jean-Baptiste. Hamish squatted beside the campfire, prodding the embers.

  “Where are they?” Kinnon demanded.

  Hamish gave him a startled look, then relaxed. “Yer wife and the wee lass have been up for an hour or more. She said they wished to get an early start.”

  “An early start? They’ve left?” Kinnon shook his head to clear his mind.

  “Nae,” Hamish replied easily. “But they are likely to call ye a sleepy head.”

  Feminine voices reached his ears and he looked up sharply. Melisende and Arielle strolled into camp, the lass skipping beside Melisende’s skirts, the pair hand in hand.

  “Where have ye been, and why are ye alone?” He wasn’t sure what vexed him more. That he’d though she’d left him, that she had no guard, or that she looked so right with Arielle at her side.

  Melisende’s eyebrows drew upward. “Good morning. We have been completing our morning ritual, if put so bluntly.” She tossed a look over her shoulder at the men now taking their places at the fire. “And six of your most trusted soldiers came with us and Jean-Baptiste to keep us quite safe.”

  Kinnon considered it entirely too early in the morning to take criticism well. Especially since she was right and he was wrong. She hadn’t left him, and an adequate guard which included her dog had accompanied her. She and Arielle did look well together. If only they’d taken an aversion to each other… Nae, that was uncharitable. The wee lass needed to be with family.

  His cheeks warmed. “My apologies. I only just woke to find ye gone and Hamish entirely too flippant with yer whereabouts,” he added unfairly. “I agree we could use an early start.”

  “Arielle and I have already eaten. Since you have a penchant for eating in the saddle, we only await your pleasure.”

  Kinnon bowed. “As ye wish.” He stalked into the trees for his own morning ritual, splashing his face with water from the cold pool at the base of the waterfall. When he arrived back at camp, he found it cleared and the horses saddled and ready to go. He grabbed a chunk of bread from the small bundle Hamish handed him and crammed it into his mouth before climbing into his saddle. Melisende reined her mare next to him.

  “Might I have a good morning kiss, or does sleeping late always disagree with you?”

  He chewed twice and swallowed before addressing her upturned face. A mixture of gentle teasing and wariness lurked in her eyes. Drawing one arm about her waist, he lifted her from her horse and set her across his lap. He lowered his head, and amid laughter and cheers, he kissed his wife as though the words the night before had never been spoken.

  His hurt and pain appeased, he returned her to her saddle. It healed his heart to see the love in her gaze, and he smiled at her as he urged his horse to a walk.

  * * *

  The early evening stars were out before they arrived at the old farm house. They had taken pains to skirt the small town of Châteauneuf-de-Randon, where Kinnon feared they might run into the same trouble with the soldiers as they had in Le Puy. Memories of the area assaulted him. Bertrand’s army had camped just beyond that ridge. He recalled the white canvas tent where Bertrand had died and an entire city had paid him homage. Such an enigmatic man. He accomplished so much for France and was a shining hero to the people, and yet the darker side of war had lived within his camp.

  Kinnon emerged from his memories into the reality of the abandoned farm. Melisende had dismounted at the opening to the yard. The gate hung by one hinge, its frame weathered and worn. A chicken squawked, chased by a ragged rooster. Jean-Baptiste bounded past Melisende and stopped in the middle of the overgrown area, a puzzled look on his face. Arielle ran after him, squealing as she caught him by his heavy collar. He licked her face.

  “Only two chickens, no goats. Not even a cow left,” Melisende mourned.

  “It has been a few years,” he reminded her with a smile.

  She sent him an apologetic look and picked up her skirt as she stepped slowly up the path to the house. Slipping through the doorway, she vanished from his sight.

  The sun beat down on him much as it had the first day he’d urged the horses and wagon up the winding, rocky trail almost four years ago. The air had the same sweetness, rising from the sun-warmed grass. It was quieter, though, with the farm animals gone, and this time Jean-Baptiste would not question his right to step onto the property.

  He watched Arielle as she played with the big dog. She laughed as she ran from one side of the yard to the other, Jean-Baptiste’s long strides keeping pace with her easily. She slipped and fell, her hands splayed forward as she caught herself against his sturdy frame. The dog licked her face and stood firm as she grasped his collar and righted herself.

  The men stood about, talking quietly among themselves. Kinnon knew the journey ahead would be long and arduous, and the men were, for the most part, eager to be home. But the south of France was nowhere near the Scottish Highlands, and weeks of travel lay before them. Weeks that would test the strength of his and Melisende’s new bond as the close confines of a ship and each night in a different spot would soon wear at even the most placid demeanor.

  And what of Arielle? Like it or not, the child would come between them, even if only in the simplest manner. She could not be turned loose to
wander the ship, and certainly would not be allowed to sleep anywhere except with Melisende. There would be limited space on the ship, and too many dangers for a three-year-old to encounter.

  Movement to his right caught his attention. Melisende had left the house and made her way down the path to the spot overlooking the hillside. The trail was almost non-existent and cluttered with weeds and leaves and other debris, but her track was true. He followed her to her favorite spot and found her leaning against one of the boulders. He eased next to another large stone.

  “Mind the snake,” she murmured. With a start, Kinnon glanced down at the rock in time to see the flash of a whip-like tail as its owner vanished over the far edge.

  “It was harmless, but I remember how much you dislike them,” she added.

  Kinnon abandoned his position next to the boulder and approached Melisende, staring out over the field with her.

  “Do the Highlands look thus?” she asked.

  “A bit. But wilder. Great glens or clearings that sweep into the mountains and hide amid vast forests.”

  “Is it cold?”

  “Often. But my clan lives on the sea, and the weather there is milder than in the mountains.”

  Melisende was silent and Kinnon was not sure if she found that agreeable or not. He stepped closer. “Is this what ye want? To remain here? Will ye be terribly homesick if you come to Scotland?”

  She took a deep breath. “I cannot say. There is the desire to rebuild the farm, to make it prosperous again. It is so very sad to see it thus. But there would always be the fear of someone who remembered me—and Jean-Baptiste.” She shook her head. “And I am now your wife. Being with you is the most important thing—more than this could ever be,” she added, motioning around her with her hand. “I will take my memories with me to my new home and try not to think on them over much.”

  “I could stay here with ye,” he offered carefully, attempting to judge her heart. “Mayhap a few of my men would consider living here and marrying a pretty French lass—like I have. We could protect ye.”

  At last she faced him. “And I would look for Lucienne around every corner, in every room and walkway.” Her lips twisted to one side. “I cannot do that.”