The Tempest (Rebel Hearts Book 3), page 1
The Tempest
Rebel Hearts, Volume 3
Lily Baldwin
Published by Lily Baldwin, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE TEMPEST
First edition. August 9, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 Lily Baldwin.
Written by Lily Baldwin.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One | Epilogue
The Wolf, Rebel Hearts, Book Four
For Autumn ~ you are my courageous, amazing girl. You inspire me to reach ever higher. I love you so much!
Chapter One
Tempest bent low over her saddle and drove her heels into Storm’s flanks. The spirited, chestnut mare surged forward as eager to gallop as her mistress. Wind whipped through Tempest’s unbound black curls and a smile spread across her face as the joy of the ride filled her soul-deep.
“Faster, Storm,” she cried.
Storm whinnied in reply and charged ahead, her hooves thundering across thick beds of heather, which blanketed the rolling moorland. Overhead, a golden eagle soared, its wings spread wide. Closing her eyes, Tempest dropped the reins. She arched her back and spread her arms out to the side, letting her head fall back.
“I’m flying,” she exclaimed, but then her breath hitched as Storm reared up on her hind legs, tossing Tempest to the ground. She landed with a hard thud, forcing the breath from her lungs. Her chest ached. She couldn’t move.
“Tempest!”
A masculine voice called her name, the timber deep and familiar. An instant later, clear blue eyes, framed by furrowed black brows, hovered over her. “Tempest, speak to me!”
She gasped, at last pulling air into her lungs. “Caleb!”
Relief shaped his features as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips firm and sensual. “Praise be to all the Saints. When I saw ye fall, I...I thought I lost ye. How could I ever go on without ye?”
With a shaky hand, she reached up and cupped his cheek. “Ye needn’t fear. We’ll always be together, now and forever.”
A smile broke across his face. “Ye make me a happy man.” He gathered her close and stood, cradling her tenderly in his arms. “I love ye, Tempest.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “And I love ye.”
“Then marry me,” Caleb blurted, his blue gaze filled with hope. “Marry me and make me the luckiest man in the Highlands!”
“Aye,” she exclaimed. “I will marry ye!”
He closed his eyes and lowered his lips a breath from hers. “Tempest,” he whispered.
“Aye,” she replied, breathlessly.
“Ye’re...” he began, but then his words trailed off.
“Aye,” she urged him.
His eyes flew open, but the warmth she had glimpsed in their blue depths was gone. His expression hardened. Cold dread entered her soul. His gaze narrowed on her. “Ye’re the last woman I would ever choose to marry,” he snarled.
Tempest jerked awake. Her heart pounded. Her dream had felt so real. She could still feel the warmth of Caleb’s embrace and the security of his gentle concern, but with a screech of frustration, she shoved her blanket down and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Her dream had become a nightmare.
A nightmare that too closely mirrored reality.
She had no idea what she had done to earn Caleb’s disdain, but his coolness toward her had been growing over the past weeks. And no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get him alone long enough to confront him over the matter.
Resting her head in her hands, she remembered how different Caleb had been toward her when he’d first come to Castle Bron.
On the day they met, Tempest had been rushing around the keep, making certain that Castle Bron was ready for her sister’s return. Upon Lady Elora’s arrival, she introduced two new companions, Nathan Campbell, whom her sister eventually married, and Nathan’s closest friend, Caleb.
Caleb was a bounty hunter with a quiet yet compelling presence who never lost control and had a preference for solitude. His tall, well-muscled physique moved with an easy grace, and his striking blue eyes were deeply set beneath a strong, serious brow.
When they had first locked eyes, her breath caught, and her stomach danced.
Even now, perched on the edge of her bed, a smile upturned her lips as she remembered his well-mannered greeting, after which, to her surprise, he had asked to bed down in the stables for the duration of his stay, politely refusing a chamber within the keep. It was Tempest who had shown him the way to the stables. As they walked together, she remembered finding herself uncharacteristically tongue-tied...
“Welcome to Castle Bron,” she managed to say.
He dipped his head slightly to her. “Thank ye.”
Seldom quiet, she searched her mind for something to say to the sexy newcomer, but she suddenly felt so uncertain. When they arrived at the stables, she showed him to the ladder that led up to the loft, and he smiled down at her. “Thank ye,” he said again.
Her cheeks burned. She wanted to reply, but her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She stood in place, staring up at him, unspeaking; until, at last, she finally blurted, “I love to ride!”
An amused look passed over his features. He smiled slightly, his eyes warm as he continued to meet her gaze, but he did not reply.
“I...I come to the stables often.” She swallowed hard.
Still, he did not speak.
Feeling like a fool, she longed to run away, but her legs refused to cooperate. Finally, her heart racing, her legs trembling, she managed a step back and then another. Just as she was about to turn on her heel and sprint away from the intoxicating stranger, the corners of his mouth upturned in a slight smile and he said, “I’m glad.”
A smile broke across her face, and her heart leapt. Not knowing what else to do or say, she waved and backed away only to trip on an overturned bucket.
He rushed to her aid. “Are ye hurt?”
“Nay, I—” she started to explain that she was constantly tripping over her skirts while in the stables, but her breath caught when his strong hand clasped her waist. Heart pounding, mouth dry, she lost herself in the warmth of his gaze. They stood a breath apart for several moments, eyes locked. She felt as if something within him reached across the space between them and caressed her very soul. Unable to withstand the powerful feelings rushing through her, she tore her gaze away and sprinted from the stables.
Over those initial weeks, she had spent little time in his company as he often kept to himself. Still, when she did see him, he had always been kind to her, and despite his reserved nature, Tempest had felt his presence profoundly. He carried himself with a quiet confidence that stole her breath and made her palms sweat.
Alone in her chamber, she closed her eyes, her mind revisiting the time Caleb had danced with her in the great hall. In fairness, he had only done so at Nathan’s urging. Still, while they had danced, his lips upturned slightly, again hinting at a rarely seen smile. And as the music slowed, their eyes had met. In his gaze, she had glimpsed the same hunger that made her own heart long for his touch.
Or at least she thought she had...
She knew those fleeting moments may have been nothing more than the fancies of her own imagination.
A mirthless laugh fled her lips as she stood and crossed to the casement. Her heart brimming with doubt, she threw open the shutters. Scanning the courtyard below, her gaze settled on the stables. She wondered whether Caleb was still asleep in the hay loft, the sound of his restful breaths mingling with the gentle whinnies and snorts of the clan’s horses. She imagined him lying on his pallet, his eyes closed, his dark lashes fanning out across his cheeks, and a peaceful set to his square jaw.
“Stop it,” she snapped at herself.
It was a small wonder she could still conjure his ruggedly handsome features so easily as it had been weeks since she had spoken to him for more than a fleeting moment. When her sister and Nathan had still been at Castle Bron, Caleb would come to the castle for the evening meal; however, the laird and lady of the keep had traveled north to visit Nathan’s family. Now, Caleb never set foot in the great hall.
Expelling a long sigh, Tempest watched the sun break over the distant horizon. A new day had begun. Squaring her shoulders, she closed her eyes against the ache in her heart just as a soft rapping sounded at the door.
“Enter,” she called.
Her maid, Firtha, hastened inside with a tunic draped over her arm. “Good morrow, Lady Temperance,” she said quickly, her brow pinched with worry.
Firtha was tall and skinny with angular, bony shoulders and a long neck. The skin over her pinched face was pulled taut and held a pale hue without a hint o
f rosiness across her cheeks. As always, she looked as if she were about to burst into tears.
“I’ve mended yer skirt, my lady,” she said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “I do wish ye’d be more careful. Ye might have broken yer neck.”
Tempest raised a brow at her fretful maid. “My foot caught on the gate, and I scraped my knee.”
“Ye shouldn’t have been in the stall with yer unruly mare in the first place. Arthur and Jacob tend the horses. Ye're a lady. In fact, with yer sister gone, ye are the lady of Castle Bron.”
Accustomed to ignoring her maid’s relentless scolding, Tempest stretched her arms over her head. “I will dress as there is much to do today.”
Firtha hastened to the wardrobe and hung the freshly mended tunic on a peg before withdrawing a dark green tunic and cream colored surcote.
“Just the tunic, please,” Tempest said, taking another deep breath against her rising frustration.
Firtha turned and met her gaze. “But Lady Temperance, ‘tis most improper—”
“We have the same conversation every morning,” Tempest interrupted. “I have no intention of wearing a surcote today, just like yesterday and the day before that. I could go on.”
Firtha pressed her lips in a grim line as if choking back a string of reprimands before finally muttering, “Aye, my lady.” Frowning, the maid returned the surcote to the wardrobe, then crossed to Tempest’s side.
After helping Tempest don the soft woolen tunic, Firtha cinched a leather belt tightly around Tempest’s waist. And, just as she did every morning, Tempest loosened the knot until the belt sat low on her hips. Firtha shook her head with disapproval but held her tongue, for which Tempest was grateful. Running her fingers through her thick, black curls, she turned and faced her maid. “Agnes is expecting me in the kitchen.”
“Very well, Lady Temperance,” Firtha replied, her voice heavy with resignation. Casting Tempest a fleeting look of displeasure, she started to straighten the bed linens.
“Fritha, will ye never call me Tempest? Even Elora has ceased calling me Temperance.”
Fritha released the blanket she held and put her hands on her hips. “Forgive my defiance, my lady, but ye were first given the pet name when ye were a wee child because of yer impulsive nature. I believe it only encourages yer recklessness. Yer given name is perfectly respectable, and it means restraint, which is the very thing yer sister asked me to teach ye when she made me yer maid on yer tenth birthday.”
Tempest knew that Firtha was right, at least about Elora’s reasoning for making Firtha her maid. Elora had hoped that Firtha might be a positive influence on Tempest, but regardless of her maid’s tireless efforts at schooling Tempest in decorum and the gentle role of a clan’s lady, Tempest continued to follow her own heart and mind, which meant Firtha was upset most of the time.
With her hair unbound and her tunic flowing freely, Tempest left her chamber and her anxious maid behind and made her way to the kitchen where Agnes awaited her.
“Good morrow, my lady.”
Trying to put her dream, Caleb, and Firtha’s nagging out of her mind, Tempest took a deep breath and smiled. “Good morrow, Agnes.”
Agnes had always reminded Tempest of an oak tree in Autumn. She was tall, solidly built with a ruddy complexion, and bright red hair. With her great height, she stood out among the undercooks who were already hastening about the kitchen, salting meat and baking bread. In the midst of the bustle, Agnes and Tempest planned the day’s menu. They decided on leftover meat pies and smoked herring for the noon meal, and pheasant dumplings, peas, and leek and mutton stew for the evening meal.
“What shall we have for dessert?” Agnes asked but gave Tempest a knowing smile.
“Stewed apples, of course.”
Agnes smiled. “I awoke this morrow somehow knowing ye would make that very request. Ye’ll be happy to know that we already have several bushels peeled and ready to be boiled down.”
Tempest threw her arms around Agnes’s neck. “Ye’re the dearest and the best.”
Agnes laughed and squeezed her tightly. “And ye’re a blessing and a joy, my lady.”
Tempest’s smile faltered. “I’m glad ye think so. Now, if ye can only convince Firtha of that.”
Agnes waved her hand dismissively. “Ye keep speaking yer mind. I’ve admired yer spirit since ye were a wee lass. Sure, ye’re quick to lose yer temper, but ye’re just as quick to laugh. Anyway, Clan Brodie thrives because of its strong and courageous ladies, and Firtha would do well to remember that.”
“She means well,” Tempest said quickly. “And, in fairness, she is trying to do what she feels is best for me.”
Agnes smiled and cupped Tempest’s cheek lovingly. “The only thing that could rival the size of yer temper is yer heart, my lady. And I love ye for it—we all do.”
Tempest’s heart swelled. Tears stung her eyes. “Thank ye, Agnes. I needed to hear those words.”
“Och, pet,” Agnes crooned, pulling Tempest close once more. “Ye’re missing Lady Elora, aren’t ye?”
“Aye,” Tempest said, which wasn’t untrue. She did miss her sister, but that wasn’t the cause of her dampened spirits nor was Firtha’s nagging. It was her dream and Caleb’s cool regard, but she dared not confess to Agnes the true reason for her distress. In fact, she hadn’t confided the depth of her feelings for Caleb to anyone. She gently pulled herself free from Agnes’s embrace and took a deep breath. “But ye needn’t fash yerself. Elora and Nathan will be home soon enough, and I will do my best to ensure that Castle Bron runs smoothly while they are away. With that in mind, I will let ye get to work and I’ll see how things are progressing in the pantry.”
Happy for a fresh distraction, Tempest entered the pantry where Alison, Castle Bron’s pantler, sat on a stool, cradling her newborn bairn in her arms. Alison’s blond curls were pulled back in a simple plait, and her green eyes shone brightly as she smiled when Tempest entered the cramped space.
“Good morrow,” Tempest said briskly, determined to think of anything other than Caleb. Wanting to immerse herself in her work, she skipped over the usual niceties she exchanged with her friend and took up her quill and the ledger. “What is the loaf count from yesterday?”
Alison raised her brow at Tempest. “Ye’re rather eager this morning.”
“I am,” Tempest replied simply.
Alison gave her an assessing look. “Ye don’t quite seem like yerself.”
Tempest chose the same excuse for her mood that had appeased Agnes. After all, it wasn’t truly a lie. “I’m missing Elora.”
“Of course ye are. We all are,” Alison said, her voice soothing. “Actually, I’m surprised ye didn’t go with them.”
“Why?” Tempest asked, looking up from the ledger.
Alison lifted her shoulders. “Ye seemed to get on well with Nathan’s sister, Cait. I would have thought ye’d jumped at the chance to see her again.”
Alison was right. Under normal circumstances, Tempest never would have missed the opportunity to visit Clan Campbell, but ever since Caleb had come to Castle Bron, nothing had felt normal. She forced a smile to her face. “I long to see Cait again. She is such a nervous creature but also honest and kind. Still, I wanted this opportunity to prove myself to Elora.”
“Is that really why ye stayed?” Alison asked softly.
Tempest cast Alison a wary look. “Why would ye think otherwise?”
The pantler shrugged her shoulders. “’Tis just that ye ken yer sister loves ye.”
Tempest set her quill down and looked Alison square in the eye. “Clearly, ye have yer own idea about why I stayed behind. So, out with it already.”
Alison lifted her shoulders. “Well, I have wondered whether a certain Highlander influenced yer decision.”
Tempest’s cheeks suddenly burned. “How...how did ye know?”
“I have eyes don’t I,” Alison said with a coy smile. “But when ye stayed behind that’s when I knew for certain.”
Tempest leaned back against the basket of bread loaves on the shelf behind her and breathed out a sigh of relief.
Alison chuckled. “Secrets are heavy things, aren’t they?”
Tempest nodded. “How long have ye known?”
A glimmer of excitement shone in Alison’s eyes. “I thought I saw a spark between ye and Cait’s brother, Peter, when he first arrived at Castle Bron. But when ye stayed behind, I knew it was because ye were too nervous to see him again.”
