Page 12 of The Devil in Plaid
“Aye,” the sisters said in unison as they leaned toward Fiona.
“He pressed a kiss to my cheek.”
“Is that all?” Abby complained.
“That is proper,” Esme said, looking pointedly at her sister.
“I’ve been kissed before,” Abby blurted. An instant later she covered her mouth with her hands.
“What are ye about?” Esme snapped. “Who did ye kiss?”
“I didn’t kiss him,” Abby insisted. “But a few days ago, I met a young man at market. He’s one of the stable hand’s cousins come to train here. Anyway, he asked me to talk while he cleaned one of the stalls. He listened to me chatter on, and I was nervous, so I talked even more than normal. And when he was done, he washed his hands, plucked me down from my perch on the stall wall and pressed a kiss right to my lips.” She fell back on the bed. “It was glorious!”
Esme’s cheeks reddened. “Ye can’t be kissing a strange man. We don’t know his family. What were ye thinking, Abby?”
Brows drawn, Fiona stood, then sat next to Abby on the bed. “Ye ken I usually try to stay out of things between ye two, but Esme’s right. Ye’re still young, too young to be fooling around with men. Yer liable to gain a reputation.”
“Then who will marry ye?” Esme added.
“But he had such gorgeous, stormy black eyes and broad shoulders and—”
Just then the bell sounded.
“’Tis time for chapel,” Fiona said.
Esme stood up and shook the wrinkles from her skirts. “Abby, ye’d best stay after the service and confess yer dalliance to Father John.”
“I will not,” Abby shot back. “It was only a kiss.”
“Silence,” Fiona snapped. Her heart started to race. “The bell has not stopped.” She held her breath. Still, it rang out, her heart hammering in time to its fierce clanging. “’Tis the alarm.”
Fiona rushed to the casement and threw open the shutters and leaned out. Warriors were straining as they turned the wheel to drop the drawbridge. Fiona held her breath watching, waiting. Several moments later, a single rider entered the outer wall.
“He bears the colors of my lord,” Fiona exclaimed. “He must bring word from Adam. She narrowed her eyes on the rider. His seat did not look right. Her hand flew to her mouth as the man slid to the ground, his body sprawled out, unmoving.
“Saints above,” Fiona gasped. She whirled around and raced from her chamber, then down the stairs, through the great hall, and out into the courtyard.
“What is happening?” she cried when her path intercepted her father’s.
Laird Gordon MacDonnell also hastened to reach the rider. “I do not ken, child,” he said, breathless from his excursion.
A wall of MacDonnell warriors encircled the body.
“Clear the way,” her father called.
The men scurried back. Fiona dropped to her knees next to the injured man. Two arrows protruded from his chest.
Tears stung her eyes. She recognized him from her visits to the Mackenzie keep. She pressed a trembling hand to his cheek. “Henry, what word have ye brought from my lord,” she asked.
He muttered something she could not hear.
She dropped her head, putting her ear just above his mouth.
“They are coming,” he rasped. Then his eyes closed. His head rolled to the side.
She sat straight and locked eyes with her father. “Close the drawbridge. They’re coming!”
