by Victoria Zak
“God’s wounds, Effie, haven’t ye heard the rumors about the smith? Why would ye go into his shop alone? ’Tis like sending a lamb into a lion’s den.”
Effie snatched her arm out from his grip. “Are ye spying on me?” She looked at him crossly.
Conall stood with his hands on his hips with a sly grin on his face. Looking down, he kicked at a rock. “What be the matter, Effie? Ye know me better than that.”
“I went to pick up a lock and key for —-”
“I know why ye were there, lass. I asked why ye would go inside his shop.”
Effie narrowed her eyes at him. Was he thinking the worst of her; that she would whore herself out to the blacksmith? Anger began to boil over her and she was about to burst. “Conall Hamilton, I can choose who I want to be with; I do no’ need yer blessing. Furthermore, ye have no claim over me.” Effie turned on her heels, but yet again Conall wasn’t letting her go. He spun her around and now they stood face to face.
“Meet me at our place.” A seriousness radiated from him that heated her to the core.
Effie gazed deeply into his eyes. “Conall Hamilton, I will no’ ---”
Conall cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer until their lips were a mere whisper apart. “Meet me at our place.” His voice was low and held a promise that she knew he would keep. A promise that kept her coming back for more. A promise of pleasure to come.
With a sly grin, Conall unpinned his cloak and handed it to Effie as he quit the bailey and trotted toward the glen’s edge before she could protest. Truly she meant to stand firm and walk away, but the man drew her in and captivated her. She was his prisoner and his beautiful little secret.
Chapter 3
Effie paced outside the edge of the glen’s tree line with her hands on her hips, cursing herself for a fool. Why couldn’t she say no to this man? How was he supposed to take her seriously if she kept caving in to his every demand? Appalled, Effie blew a red strand of hair from her face and said, “I can no’ believe what I’m about to do.”
Yet again, she could believe it. Conall was the only man who made her feel alive. The way he bedded her was like nothing she had ever felt before. He savored every inch of her body relentlessly, always coming back for more. It didn’t matter how many times he made love to her, it always felt like the first time when they were together. She just wished she could talk about it, especially to Abigale and Alice.
Perhaps she was a wee bit jealous watching James and Abigale share their love for one another openly. They were inseparable. Abigale beamed about her husband’s wicked ways of pleasure and it only made her want to talk about Conall in the same light. It was only natural to want to brag about him. Wasn’t that what women did behind closed doors, gossip about their lovers?
The more she thought about it, the more she began to ache for Conall’s touch and his kisses that drove forth her primal need for him. A need she felt right now warming her body and settling at her core, causing her to tighten her thighs to relieve the throbbing. “For the love of saints!” The excitement was too much to hold back. Effie flung her basket to the ground along with Conall’s cloak and raced deep into the forest.
Crunching leaves beneath heavy feet alerted Effie that he was here; he’d been waiting for her. Alas he would have to wait a wee bit longer, for she wasn’t ready to be caught. Quickly, she hid behind a big yew tree. Her chest rose rapidly as she tried to suck in the cool air. The glen became eerily quiet. The ground trembled slightly and she grinned.
Although they had played this game of cat and mouse numerous times, the thrill was still there nipping at her stomach. The rules of the game were simple; if she could reach the circle of stones first, she was safe, but if he caught her, she was his for the taking.
Convinced that Conall was still a ways away, Effie took off toward the stones with god speed. Her cloak whipped behind her as she pumped her legs as fast as she could, for she knew this path like the back of her hand, weaving between the trees. Almost there. Just around the bend and she would reach the circle.
He stalked her like wild game, even though he was out of sight. Knowing it was a bad idea to take her eyes off the stones, she dared to glance back behind her. When she turned back around she came to an abrupt stop. Her heart raced and she smiled. It was Conall.
A huge silver and storm gray dragon stood before her. Twin massive horns proudly perched on top of the dragon’s head seemed to touch the sky. Scales glistened as a ray of sunlight cast through the trees and shined down upon him. He folded his wings as he approached her. “Ye’re late,” Conall growled deeply. Although his mouth didn’t move, Effie could hear him through mind speak as if he was a part of her being.
Through labored breaths Effie replied, “Nay, ye were a wee bit slow in catching me this time. I do believe I almost outwitted the dragon.” Effie smirked and removed her cloak.
Conall laughed, which was more like a deep belly-rumble, and began to circle her. Warm air from his nostrils blew down her neck making her heart thump faster. She closed her eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t make her wait long. “Aye, lass, I thought ye might have changed yer mind and went home.”
“I wanted to, but me legs didnae want to move in that direction.” Effie seductively unlaced the front of her dress as she looked up into the massive dragon’s eyes. They stormed gray and flashed blue with intensity.
Conall bent his head down and brushed up against her chest. “I’m glad ye came.”
Effie took a step back and her dress pooled at her feet. Her curly red hair hid her perfectly round breasts as she stood in front of the dragon as naked as the day she was born.
For the briefest moment the cold air caused her to shiver and her teeth began to slightly chatter. As if the dragon sensed her discomfort, he quickly wrapped his tail around her waist, pulling her closer. Rough scales brushed against her soft flawless skin, sending an erotic sensation through her body. For the love of saints! When is he going to shift?
Building up anticipation was the torturous part of the game they loved to play. The more he held back, the more she craved his touch.
Her body pressed against his warm chest as she caressed his silvery scales. They were tough for shielding against arrows; a perfect body of armor, she mused. Yet, soft when touched the right way.
In a flash the dragon’s tail disappeared. No more did Conall stand before her as a dragon, he was now flesh and blood; human. A naked human to boot.
His stormy eyes soaked in every inch of her figure as if he was making love to her with his eyes. She trembled as he licked his lips and approached her. Strong, powerful hands gripped the sides of her head, pulling her into a ravenous, soul-crushing kiss. Effie wrapped her arms around his neck, positive that if she hadn’t, she would have melted to the ground. As he warmed her with the heat radiating from his skin, the cold was soon forgotten.
He kissed her with vigorous passion like only he could deliver.
For the love of saints, who was she fooling? She could never leave Conall. No mortal man could ever compare, he was her dragon to love even if she had to stay a secret.
~~~~~
With her back against the tree, Conall thrust deep into Effie and knew he wouldn’t be able to last long. Holy hell! Seeing the blacksmith with Effie was enough to set his dragon flying off the cliffs of jealousy and into a sea of impulsive desire to stake his claim, and not just physically. Bastart! Not only did he have his wife’s ghost pressuring him to marry the lass; now his dragon was adding his opinion. In fact he didn’t recall asking the beastie for his blessing.
Feeling her legs tighten around his hips, he knew his red-haired lass was close to crumbling in his arms. Off to the side he saw her cloak piled on the ground. Conall moved them over to the spot and laid her down. Staring back at him were vibrant eyes as green as the glen’s grass in spring. He brushed the back of his hands against her cheek. There was much more to their relationship than he realized. Had it been there all along? He felt like he w
as seeing her for the first time, the true woman who had stolen his heart.
“Conall, what be the matter with ye?”
He smiled down at her. “Be me wife.” He didn’t know where the words had come from and hell, he didn’t care. Perhaps this morning’s pondering had finally become clear to him. He wanted Effie to be his wife.
“Yer wife?” Effie creased her forehead in disbelief.
“Aye.” Conall thrust deeply inside her again making her moan and her body arch beneath him.
“Finally ye’re going to make an honest woman oot of me, aye?” she panted and teased.
Conall stilled and held her stare. “I’ve never questioned yer honesty. ’Tis me I question. I failed me last marriage. I dinnae want to fail ye.”
Effie tightened her legs around his waist and took his head in her hands. “Ye could never fail me, Conall. Ye saved me.”
“Then ye’ll be me wife?”
She was holding back the tears, he could tell by the way her chin wrinkled and her bottom lip quivered. Before he knew it, she’d flashed him the brightest smile he had ever seen. “Aye.”
Conall returned her smile and pressed his hardened length deep inside her, pumping her hard and fast. In rhythm, the passion they shared began to build to a fever pitch, causing them to crash through the walls of ecstasy together.
Trying to catch his breath, he buried his head alongside her neck, relishing in the sweet honey scent of her hair. Christ, he needed this woman more than the air he breathed. Everything about her drove him daft. Her boldness amused him, her intelligence intrigued him, her beauty was beyond temptation, but most of all Effie was strong; she was a survivor.
As Effie lay wrapped up in Conall’s arms, he kissed down her neck and trailed down between her breasts. “When shall we marry?” Effie asked amongst heavy breathing.
Conall rolled over on his side, propping himself up on his forearm. His free hand roamed her body. “James needs me to oversee a situation. Something about cattle raiding of some sort. I shall be no longer than three nights. Will that give ye enough time to prepare?” He grinned.
“Ye’re giving me three days to prepare our wedding?” Effie said, shocked.
“How much time do ye need? Ye get the priest, put on a dress,” Conall shrugged his shoulders, “and be done with it.”
Effie playfully slapped at his chest. “If that’s what it takes to get ye in front of the priest then it shall be done.”
Conall leaned over Effie and kissed her. “As far as I’m concerned, ye be already me wife. I do no’ need a priest’s blessing.”
~~~~~
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, they stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms until the threat of cold crept up on them. Effie tried to remove herself from Conall’s arms but was quickly stopped. “Where do ye think ye’re going?” He tightened his arms around her.
Effie beamed at the fact that he didn’t want to let her go; however the cold pricked at her skin and she began to shiver. “I’m getting dressed, ’tis cold.”
Conall pulled her closer into his body and instantly she started to warm. “Conall, I have to start planning our wedding. Dinnae ye think we should be getting back?”
“Nay.” Relentlessly, he kissed her neck.
“Ye’re distracting me.” She pushed at his chest.
“Aye.” Ignoring her, Conall continued his sweet assault down her chest and captured a pink nipple with his mouth.
For the love of saints, this man drove her daft. She supposed that he was getting his fill of her before he left for three days. Three days, she pondered. Arranging a wedding in three days was going to be a task. Panicked, Effie sat up as Conall huffed his disapproval. “Conall. I have three days, three days to arrange our wedding. I can no’ stay here any longer.”
Effie stood with teeth chattering and grabbed her dress. She was glad that next time he bedded her, they would be in a warm room under furs, lying on a bed, not under an old yew tree out in the cold. Though, as she looked around the forest as she laced the front of her dress, she knew this place would always be their little secret. She thought herself lucky that the woodland creatures couldn’t talk.
“Well, are ye coming with me or are ye staying oot here to freeze?” Effie said.
“Och lass, did ye bring me my cloak?”
Shite! In her passion-filled frenzy she had forgotten she’d dropped everything when she ran into the glen. Sheepishly, she looked at him. “I left it along with me basket at the edge of the woods before I came here.”
Conall smiled and shook his head. “Looks like I’ll be escorting ye back to grab me cloak then. I have no clothes with me”
Effie blushed. Of course he didn’t have any clothes; he had shifted. “Here, take this.” She offered him her cloak so at least he could cover up.
“Nay, ye’ll freeze. I’ll be fine, dinnae fash yerself.” Conall stood and draped her cloak over her shoulders. “Let’s go fetch me clothes.”
As they crunched through the dry old leaves, Effie couldn’t believe that finally she was going to be a wife. Conall in fact was her Prince Charming and finally her happy ever after was here. She looked up at him as they shared a smile. Three days, she thought. She could wait three days.
They reached the glen’s edge and Effie quickly fetched her basket with Conall’s cloak. She dared one last look at his naked body and blushed again. “Ye know lass, yer quite bonny when ye blush like that. Yer freckles darken.” Conall walked up to her and cupped her face, kissing her freckled cheeks. “I have somethin’ for ye.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “Conall, I told ye I have to go.” Her attention was instantly brought to her hand, her left hand as a matter of fact. A golden ring with joined hands had been slipped on her finger. She looked up at Conall in surprise.
“This is so everyone knows ye’re spoken for.”
Effie looked down at the ring. “’Tis beautiful.”
“Aye, it fits ye perfectly.”
Indeed it did. Effie’s dreams were coming true and her nights would no longer plagued by blurred visions of the past.
Chapter 4
“Sir Herbert de Maxwell, a brave knighted warrior, a true faithful subject of the crown, and chief of Clan Maxwell,” A voice mocked. “A warden of the Scottish West March, you’ve kept this side of the March firmly. The bravest amongst his people, vowed to protect his clan, his family, with his life. You are adored by many.” Tavish Maxwell sat, deep in thought with his hands steepled at his chin, in a dark corner of a bedchamber.
“Aye, indeed a true hero,” he spat. He remembered a time when the fallen man had been strong and in good health. Standing over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and a battle scar marring his left cheek, the good knight had been the epitome of a Highlander.
But Tavish knew the man’s honorable façade differently. Growing up under the chief’s rule was one that had made Tavish who he was today; a cunning, cruel man who was evil to the core. Even though his father recognized him as his own, didn’t mean the man loved his son. In fact, Tavish felt like a ghost most of the time around his father. He understood he was an outsider but being dismissed was like a knife to his gut. It stung. At a very young age he had realized he was on his own and had to fight for what he wanted. There was only one concern in his life and that was fighting for what he thought was rightfully his.
Indeed living a lie was something he guessed they both had in common. Tavish was nothing more than an intruder to their perfect noble family. He saw it every day in his stepmother’s eyes. The hurt she held about his father’s deed shone through her cold, blue eyes especially when the wee brat came along. Though she had long forgiven her husband, it was Tavish whom she held responsible for Herbert’s faithless actions. Adultery was a strong brew to swallow.
In the townsfolk’s eyes, Clan Maxwell was the perfect picture of an honorable, loving family, but behind closed doors the truth was painfully obvious; he was unwanted.
Tavish slowly st
ood. Rest had avoided him for days and left his eyes bloodshot and his mood foul. He walked over to his dying father’s bedside. He pulled the fur blanket up and tucked it around his frail body. The man coughed and wheezed, fighting to breathe air into his decayed lungs. The strong healthy man he once knew was now a fragile, dying remnant of himself. Muscles were now replaced with loose, paper-thin skin that had once been tanned but was now pale. His hair was gray, sparse and brittle to the touch. “Yet here ye lie, weak and dying. A corpse.”
Ever since his father’s lungs began to disease, he knew it wouldn’t be long before death would come for Sir Herbert. Tavish had visited his father every day since he fell ill, praying for the words he longed to hear, yet deep inside he knew those words would never come. “All I ever wanted was yer love, da.” He wiped the blood from the auld man’s lips.
Eyeing a goose-feather pillow lying on top of a trunk at the foot of the bed, Tavish walked over and picked it up. He fluffed the billowing square, tossing it a few times in the air. “Though, auld man, I must say, ye’ve taught me one valuable lesson in life. Would ye like to know what it is?” Tavish walked back to his father’s bedside, flipping the pillow back and forth from hand to hand. “I reckon ye do.” He leaned down and whispered in his ear, “If ye want something, it be up to yerself to take it.”
Tavish stood over the bed and relished the fear he saw in his father’s eyes. He felt nothing but pure hatred toward the man. With one last flip of the pillow, he stared deeply into the dying man’s eyes and said coldly, “I may be just a bastart in yer eyes but I’m the one who made ye a legend. ’Tis time for a new chief.”
Quickly, Tavish covered Herbert’s face with the pillow. There wasn’t much of a fight, for the dying man was too weak to protest. After he felt the last twitch of his father’s body, he removed the pillow. Tavish closed the dead man’s eyes and threw the pillow in the hearth, watching it go up in flames. There was no remorse, just satisfaction of a job well done.
