Heaven and the Heather (26 page)

N
iall had found Sabine, muddy, half-drowned, with a bloody scrape on her forehead. He was never so happy in all of his life.

And never so angry.

A sudden storm had swept down
Beinn Tulaichean
just as Agnes had found him, stolen a kiss, and announced “the curse is gone.” Niall did not have to ask that witch what she meant by “curse.” Agnes and her usual cache of gloom and doom had run Sabine from the glen.

He smoothed back Sabine’s thick hair from her muddied forehead.

Sabine lay on as soft a pallet as Niall could fashion of straw and his plaid. He knelt beside her. His tunic dangling over his knees kept him warm enough in his and Rory’s wee hovel on the side of the ben.

He glided his fingers over the damp curls of Sabine’s midnight hair, silently grateful that Rory was off to get the rest of the clansmen for the Gathering. His fingers tangled gently in the locks. The wound on her forehead was nothing more than a bump and a scrape. Niall had cleaned it with a handful of wet moss. Sabine would live. Eventually, she would awaken.

“I didnae tell ye the rest of the
waulking
song,” he said over the steady beat of the rain outside. The sound was so much a part of the glen, he hardly noticed it.

He leaned down, lips a breath from her warm cheek.

“
O I’ll not touch yer mantle,

And I’ll let yer claiths alane;

But I’ll tak ye out of the clear water,

My dear, to be my ain….
”

Niall kissed her cheek.

“
Non!
” Sabine bolted upright, sending Niall hard onto his buttocks. His back struck an iron trough full of steaming water. Some splashed out and plastered the tunic to his shoulders.

Eyes wide, she looked about the small cottage before pausing on Niall. He scooted away from the trough back to her side.

“Where am I?” she demanded.

“My cottage, quite private.”

“Private?” she asked, eyeing him warily. There was nothing private in this valley, as far as she was concerned.

“Aye, after yer wee row with Agnes, I thought ye might like to sort things out,” he replied.

Sabine stiffened. He knew her mind too well.

“I had gone to your mountain. ’Tis where you go to ‘sort things out’,” she said mocking his inflection on purpose.

“And ye’re still on the ben, in a sheiling. A grand one at that. We built it, me and Rory.”

“Sheiling?”

“A wee dwelling on the ben, so I can be near the sheep in summer.” He winked at her. “And so I can collect any strays I may find. Makes the wee beasties feel safe.”

“I am not a sheep.”

“Not since I last checked.”

Sabine shifted on the pallet, suddenly something more than usual seemed amiss.

Then she looked down at her waist. “My
sac
!”

“Where it is meant to be,” he said. “’Tis yours.”

She stared at him.

“Look inside,” he said. “Make certain all is in order.”

“I do not have to,” she replied.

She lifted her hand to the top of her gown. Her eyes widened.

“’Tis drying by the fire,” he said before she could gasp in alarm.

She glanced at the paper. “It seems to be well…as am

I.”

She glanced at the turf and wattle ceiling. “So very

crude,” she whispered. “More of a dwelling for beasts. The rain is leaking inside….”

“I could’ve left ye on
Beinn Tulaichean
bleeding all over the heather if ye’d prefer.” He grinned, moving closer until his thigh touched hers. Sabine did not pull away, liking him near, feeling his warmth in the chilling damp air.

“I am grateful.” She captured his gaze. “Most grateful.”

“Why did ye go in such haste? Ye should’ve come to me. I would’ve told ye that Agnes’s words are as empty as the Queen’s promises.”

“I should not be here,” she blurted out, remembering the nasty truths Agnes had told her.

“In this glen or in this cottage?” Niall glanced briefly at the sparse surroundings. “Of course, calling this place a cottage does it a great service. I know that it isnae a castle or a palace with a proper bed, but—”

Sabine bristled. “You talk too much, Niall MacGregor. I do not need fine things to comfort my soul. I’ve been surrounded by them all of my life, and they’ve caused me no happiness. I do not miss them.”

“We have the finer things,” Niall said. “Ye just have to look a wee bit to find them—”

“You have to look more than a ‘wee bit’ to see anything fine about me. I must look like a beggar now covered in your fine Highland mud.”

“Just a wee bit of good Highland soil on ye, ’tis all, I assure ye.”

“No jest, Niall,” she said. “I must look as horrible as I feel.”

He smiled. “Did ye not just tell me that ye no longer have use for the finer things?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not tease.”

“I ken ye enough to know that bathing in the burn is too…now, how should I say this?…” He loved teasing her, watching her cheeks flush, eyes flare. “…Common?”

Teasingly she raised a hand to him, but he jumped to his feet narrowly missing striking the top of his head on a low beam. With a sweep of his arm, he pointed to the wooden trough and its steaming contents.

“
Voila!
”

Sabine eyed the bath.

“I dragged the bloody thing across the ben. It was not as arduous as carrying water from the burn and heating it in yon wee cauldron to give ye the finest bath in the Highlands.”

Sabine eyed the cauldron over the fire. Then she shifted her gaze to the trough, her bath, her gift from Niall. But one thing remained on her mind.

“What’s amiss?” Niall asked.

“’Tis but a trough for the sheep to drink,” she blurted out.

Niall folded his arms across his chest. “’Tis a bloody trough, aye. I dragged it here and boiled four cauldrons of water to fill it. The least ye could do is show a wee bit of gratitude.”

“You dragged water four times up the bank of that river in the valley?”

“From a wee fall of the burn right outside the door. I’m not daft.”

A half-smile played on her lips. “That is a matter for debate.”

Niall snorted and grabbed the front of his tunic. “If ye’re not gonnae put yer fair, sweet arse into yon water before it turns chill, I’m gonnae do it.” He began to remove his tunic.

“
Non!
I will get in!” She tossed aside the plaid and jumped to her feet.

“Sabine! Mind the—!” Niall shouted.

Too late. Sabine struck the top of her head hard on a low timber.

“
Merde!
What is this?
Un maison pour les enfants?
” she asked angrily rubbing the top of her head.

Niall stood by the bath, the steam floated up around him. Sabine walked carefully to the other side, loosening the top row of lacings on her gown. She stopped and looked at Niall. She would go no further until he said what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to decide right then, and quickly, to stay. If he delayed a moment longer, she knew she would tell him to go. He just stood there, staring at her, brow furrowed.

Sabine opened her lips to speak, but he beat her to the task.

“I’ll leave ye to yer bath,” was all he said.

He stepped away from the trough, scooped up his plaid and his claymore, and ducked out of the doorway into the rain. The door rattled on its wooden hinges after he slammed it closed.

Sabine remained in stunned silence. It was her fault he had left so abruptly. She had not given him an invitation, had banished him to the elements with one stare, because she was afraid. And, damn his Highland honor, he had complied.

She continued to unlace her gown.

The trough with its luxury of warm water looked most inviting. The last time she had sat in a
baignoire
was before the hearth in Campbell’s castle, three days ago, the morning of her arrest before her queen….

“
Non,
” she whispered letting her gown slip about her feet. “I will forget my troubles if only for a moment.”

Dressed in a white linen shift, she took her gown and
sac
from the floor and placed them on a rough table near the hearth. She winced at the streaks of dried mud on the brocade. Why should that bother her so? Appearances, slovenly or otherwise, did not matter here in the Highlands where living was done without pretense. The land was the true monarch.

“The Highlanders are free. Why not I?” she whispered.

The table was laden with quinces, pears, a joint of meat, and a loaf of
manchette
. She made a place for her possessions, took a pear, and stepped toward the bath. Inwardly she thanked Niall and wondered how far she had driven him away. She dared not look out the door, guessing that he had not gone far. He could return if he wished, that was his choice. She would not open the door and call him inside in the wake of his Highland pride.

The bath beckoned her with steam and a heady fragrance. She looked down and saw small bunches of heather floating on the surface of the water. Niall thought of everything. Quite civilized of him. Sabine felt if she said so, he would violently deny it, as if it were a bad thing.

She removed her tunic and tossed it on top of her gown. The chilling air immediately puckered her flesh into thousands of tiny
chair de poule
. She stepped into the trough, gripping a cool side with her left hand while her right hand gripped the pear as she would her wool ball. She slipped down into the warm water, imagining all of the nasties on her skin dissolving to nothing.

She lay there, her hair dangled over the back of the trough. The popping in the hearth, the patter of the rain, and the gentle sound of her own breathing keeping her company, relaxed her.

She ate the pear and played with the sprigs of heather floating in the water. She squeezed them to release the sweet fragrance that was so much a part of this land. Sabine glanced about the dark rafters and corners of this very small cottage. This was a man’s house, sparse and untidy. A man’s house, and she was alone in it, naked, in a trough of water….

Something moved in the shadows. It rustled, twitched, and…squeaked!

Sabine flinched, splashing water everywhere. The something moved across the floor. She could see its eyes, small, round, and dark. It looked at her. Sabine could not make a sound, her breath was lost. She gripped the pear’s core with her right hand, slowly raised it, and took aim.

With one smooth motion she threw the pear at the shadow with the beady eyes. It shrieked, mirrored Sabine’s scream, and raced out of the cottage through an unseen door, just as Niall bashed in through his door. Sword drawn, he stopped over her bath.

“What is it?” he asked. “What made ye scream?”

“A rat, I think,” Sabine replied. “
Oui
, a nasty rat with tiny eyes and long teeth.”

“One of Rory’s pets, no doubt,” he said lowering his sword and taking a long, impolite look at her.

Sabine instantly covered herself with her hands, a futile gesture at best. Futile and a lie. Slowly, she slid her hands from her body, brushing aside her hair, gaze forged to his. She allowed her eyes to drop to his chest, for a moment, to his chest rising and falling steadily behind his mud-stained tunic and plaid. He was struck mute, and she smiled inwardly at her power over him, but on the outside her entire body trembled.

Niall finally found his grin. She loved his face when he smiled, the furrows on either side of his wide mouth, the way the dimple in his chin disappeared, the way his eyes twinkled and danced beneath arched auburn brows. It warmed her.

“Speechless?” he asked.

“You rarely are,” she said breathlessly, “until this night.”

Under Niall’s admiring gaze, she relaxed and trembled at the same time, the feeling strange to her.

“I have seen fine views and finer views,” he whispered, “but this…well, there are no words….”

There were thoughts, if not words, for this moment. She was here in Scotland before a man who took her heart and soul to places she had dared not go. She was free of her past, of her troubles, completely and utterly free.

She swallowed. Her throat as taut as an iron band.

“Where there are no words, Niall, there are actions,” she said.

“Actions?” he asked, tilting his head just the slightest bit.

She smiled. She had disarmed him.
Très bien.

Sabine sat up a little, her shoulders out of the water.

“Actions,” she repeated.

Niall nodded, quick and brief as if he understood her. “Oh, aye….”

 
Freedom swept over her like a spring avalanche. She held up her arms. Droplets plinked back to the water in the trough. She forced her body to stop shaking. The next thing that she said had to be done quickly, or else she would flee, or simply vanish.
 

“Join me?” she asked. “
S’il vous plaît?
”