The Taming of Mairi MacKenzie by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

Author:Welfonder, Sue-Ellen [Welfonder, Sue-Ellen]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Duncurra LLC
Published: 2015-05-07T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Gare stopped outside Dunwynde, letting Mairi enter before him. The walk from the burn had opened his eyes, showing him why he’d reached for her, the reason he’d almost kissed her again. It wasn’t Mairi MacKenzie who’d spelled him. The strong emotions thrumming in his veins had nothing to do with how she’d melted into him when he’d held her. Nor was it the way she’d run her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, clutching him with such stunning female need.

None of that had aught to do with the power of feelings raging inside him.

It was this place.

The Glen of Winds.

So much savage grandeur played havoc with a man’s soul, quickening his blood. For sure, the hills around Blackrock were also grand, the great mist-drenched peaks even mightier, their mass impressive enough to stir any man’s heart. But he’d scarce ventured beyond his stronghold in recent years, a sequestering that made him appreciate the Glen of Winds’ splendor more than he would’ve otherwise.

He wasn’t sure.

He just knew the thunder of falls and the sun glinting on the burn affected him. On the higher ground, the mauve and purple of heather gleamed in the clear autumn light, while the ever-present wind carried the earthy-sweet scent of Mairi’s peat fire.

What man wouldn’t reach for a bonnie lass on such a fine, luminous morn?

His urge to kiss her had nothing to do with her great blue eyes or how the slanting sunlight limned her with gold, drawing attention to the fine womanly shape of her, or the sheen of her raven hair.

Gare’s heart hammered. He sent another glance down the glen, his pulse quickening even now as his gaze moved over the sheer crags and rushing cataracts, the wind-tossed birches along the glen’s high rock-sided edges.

No man could deny such glory.

And when had he become so adept at spinning fables?

All the splendors of Scotland paled beside the woman who’d just slipped into the shadows of the half-ruined broch.

The glen hadn’t made him want to kiss her.

She had.

And she’d entranced him with much more than her sweetly turned ankles and the gloss of her hair. He wanted her in ways he’d never desired another woman. A truth that didn’t surprise him because she was, after all, unlike every other female he’d ever known.

Gare heaved a great sigh, heard the wind picking up, whistling through the trees. He’d promised to leave by gloaming. Now he wished he was already gone, well over the hills and away.

He’d go at once, putting distance between them before his heart overrode reason.

At a brisk pace, he could be at Eilean Creag Castle by nightfall. He’d toss Troll over his shoulder and carry the beast if he wearied.

He only needed to fetch Troll.

Before he could, Mairi appeared in the broch’s doorway.

“Troll hasn’t still eaten.” She glanced over her shoulder, looking worried.

“That cannae be.” Gare stepped past her into the broch, scarce able to see in the dimness after the morning’s bright light.

Even so, Troll’s great bulk was unmistakable, sprawled so listlessly beside the broch’s central fire.

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