Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It was a battle of wills, of emotions, and of strength. Jamison had her on the strength but she was an even match in the other two categories. Having spent the past several hours in her chamber, weeping until she became sick, Havilland was shattered in so many ways. She didn’t want Jamison to touch her yet his arms around her undid her. It was an embrace she would never know again, his powerful body against hers.

  Truth was, she couldn’t fight him any longer. Physically, anyway. She didn’t want to hurt him, this man she adored so deeply. She finally hung her head as her struggles died down, trying very hard not to cry.

  “I do not know where Madeline would have gone,” she said. “I am sure wherever it is, she escaped through the postern gate. It seems to be her favorite access point and one that is not as carefully guarded as the gatehouse. It would have been easy for her.”

  Jamison could feel her relax in his arms, her warmth and softness clutched against him. “But beyond that, ye dunna know?” he asked, his voice considerably less harsh.

  She shook her head. “I cannot guess,” she said. “Elinog, the Preece home, is about ten miles to the east. It is possible she may have gone there, but I do not know for certain.”

  Jamison was satisfied, certain that she didn’t know any more. Lifting his head, he nodded at Beaux, who had been watching the entire exchange rather warily. He could see so much power and passion between the two and it was astonishing that so much emotion could develop in just a few short days. But it was clear that there was much feeling there. He felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment as he watched, so when Jamison finally gave him the nod telling him to proceed, he left gladly.

  He didn’t want to intrude anymore.

  Jamison watched Beaux as the man disappeared down the stairs. He heard him as he shut the door to the keep, the hollow echo reverberating off of the stone walls. But he continued to stand there, holding Havilland tightly. At this point, he had no intention of letter her go.

  Ever.

  “I am sorry that Amaline must be held, but ye understand that she has released her sister, who was me prisoner,” he said, his voice scratchy and soft. “What she did was wrong, Havi.”

  Havilland was quickly growing distraught, not about her sisters as much as over the fact that Jamison was holding her quite closely. She could feel him wedged up behind her, his big body so incredibly comforting and inviting. But she couldn’t let herself feel that comfort; it was a charade, a phantom of a love that might have been. There was too much pain in allowing herself to feel it, even one last time.

  “Please let me go,” she whispered.

  His response was to tighten up his hold. “I willna,” he murmured, his lips by the side of her head. “I will never let ye go. Havilland, I… I love ye. I havena had the courage tae tell ye before now because I dinna know what I was feelin’. I knew I adored ye – and I told ye so – but now I know that I love ye with all of me heart. I willna let ye go. Ye’re going tae become me wife and we will return tae Scotland where….”

  “Jamison, stop!” she gasped. The tears were starting to come now. “We cannot marry. I heard what your friends told you. You have no choice in the matter. You must fulfill your brother’s betrothal and to pretend otherwise is selfish. You know you cannot marry me yet you pretend as if you still have a choice. Do you not know what you are doing to me with your refusal to face the truth? You are killing me!”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. He continued to hold her tightly, his mouth next to her head. Softly, gently, he kissed her hair. Havilland felt him and the tears came in torrents, painful weeping as he was utterly and completely breaking her heart. She went limp, trying to force him to release her, then stiffening and trying to pull herself out his arms. No matter which way she went, he held her fast. His kisses against her head continued, even when she tried to move her head away from him.

  At one point, she leaned her head so far away from him that he had full access to her tender neck, which he took full advantage of. He latched on to her flesh, suckling her, biting her, as she moaned and wept and tried to pull away from him.

  “Jamison, please stop,” she begged through her tears. “Please… you are destroying me.”

  He wouldn’t release her, his mouth still latched on to her neck. “Tell me ye love me, Havi.”

  “Stop… please!”

  “Tell me ye love me.”

  “I will not!”

  “Tell me so I may live on it the rest of me life.”

  She burst out in a fresh round of sobs. “I love you,” she whispered, utterly and completely miserable. “I have never loved anything in my life like I love you. And I hate you for asking me. I hate you for forcing me to tell you!”

  The only sound after that was her loud weeping, so painful that tears stung Jamison’s eyes. He couldn’t believe he was going to lose her. That wasn’t what he wanted; it wasn’t in his plan. His plan was to marry Havilland and return home to rule his clan, but increasingly, he kept remembering Beaux’s words… ye canna force the lass tae marry ye no matter how badly ye want tae. Was it actually possible that Havilland would stand her ground, that she wouldn’t succumb to his wishes? He couldn’t stomach the thought. He was starting to panic, just a little.

  “Ye dunna hate me,” he crooned, kissing any flesh his lips could come into contact with. “But I would like tae know why ye dunna believe me when I say I will marry ye against the wishes of me da. I will happily accept the consequences of me actions. For ye, I would do anything.”

  Havilland struggled to gain control of her weeping. “Because… because marriage is not something to be based on emotion,” she said, sniffling. “Marriages are to strengthen bonds and gain allies. If you marry me, what will happen? Your father will be disappointed and your clan will hate you. They will hate me. Do you think that is fair to either of us, Jamison? And what of our children? Will they be hated, too?”

  She had some valid concerns but he was certain he could convince her otherwise. “If I marry ye, Clan MacLennan will find another husband for their daughter,” he said. “I am not the only man in northern Scotland tae marry and they’ll forget about me soon enough. But the MacKenzie will not and neither will I – what I did tae Connell MacKenzie, I did tae save me brother. What they did tae Georgie was revenge. Now it is my turn tae seek vengeance and I shall, but knowing I have ye by me side…knowing I have the most beautiful, most adoring wife a man could have… that will see me through, Havi. I will be invincible.”

  Havilland had calmed by now, at least sufficiently enough to think the situation through. She was seeing it from a far different angle than he was and as much as it broke her heart, she knew she was seeing it clearly. God, it was killing her, but it was the only way.

  She had to make him understand.

  Gently, she was able to pull from his embrace, facing him in the dim light of the landing. Her face was still wet with tears and she wiped at her eyes, struggling with everything she had to compose herself. It was important that she say what she needed to say without breaking down. For both of their sakes, she had to do it.

  “Shall I tell you what will really happen?” she asked softly. “Because of me, you will fall out of favor with your father as well as your clan. By not marrying the MacLennan girl, you will make an enemy out of that clan as well. And this MacKenzie that you must face…Jamison, if you marry the MacLennan girl, you will not have to face him. Your friends have said so. But if you marry me, you will have to face him. Do you think for one minute I could live with the knowledge that you were forced to do this because of me? Do you think for one minute I could live with the knowledge that I had killed you? I know there is the possibility that you will survive, but there is equal possibility that you will not. I would rather have you alive and married to another than dead and married to me. I do not want to be your widow. Jamison, you must return home and marry this girl and find peace with your clan and the MacKenzies. I love you enough to know that I must let you go. If you l
oved me enough, you would know that, also. Are you really so eager to die with me as your wife?”

  He stared at her, the look on his face something she would never forget. He actually took a step back, an expression of horror and realization beyond anything he’d ever experienced before.

  “If ye loved me enough, then ye’d want tae be with me no matter the opposition we would face,” he said softly.

  Havilland resisted the urge to touch his face, as if the mere gesture could force the man to understand what she was saying. “I love you enough to know that if you marry me, we would never know peace,” she murmured. “Is that truly how you want our marriage to be?”

  “I dunna care so long as we are together.”

  He was being stubborn which was weakening her resolve. But she couldn’t give in to it, not now. The tears were threatening again but she had to be strong. She had to get through this.

  “And I would rather have you alive,” she said huskily. “You said that you love me.”

  “I do.”

  She stepped forward, then, putting her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. “You said you would do anything for me.”

  “I will. Ye know I will.”

  She forced a smile. “Then go home and marry that girl,” she said. “I will be all right. I will continue on here at Four Crosses and I will remember you as the only man I will ever love. There will never be anyone else. Only you. But I will not marry you. All of the begging in the world will not convince me to do it. It is my wish that you go home and do what you were born to do. Become the leader for your clan that I know you can be.”

  His face darkened. “Havi, dunna….”

  “You said you would do anything for me. I am asking you to do this for me.”

  Pain swept his features. “Ye canna mean it.”

  “I do. With all that I am, I do. Please, Jamison… go. Do this for me.”

  His lower lip began to tremble and he stepped back, away from her. “I canna.”

  “You promised you would do anything for me. This is what I want.”

  He didn’t want to do it. God help him, he didn’t want to do it. He couldn’t. But she had made her wishes clear. He could feel his throat tightening up, tears of great sorrow threatening, but before he could speak, she suddenly threw herself forward and kissed him. It was a powerful kiss, one of great feeling and emotion. Instinctively, his arms went around her, holding her closer than he’d ever held anything in his life. He knew that this was his last chance to touch her, to taste her, and he wasn’t going to waste it. When she tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let her. He put a hand on the back of her head and held her mouth to his.

  He wasn’t going to let this moment end.

  Jamison’s lips devoured hers, suckling them, before moving to her cheek and chin. Havilland had started to weep now, her composure shattering. She pushed at him now, trying to push him away, trying to separate them, but he wouldn’t allow it. His mouth was on her neck, her shoulder, and he suddenly turned around, bracing her against the wall so she couldn’t get away from him easily. Now, he had her trapped and he intended to take advantage of that.

  His mouth slanted over hers once more, his tongue invading her sweet orifice, as the hand that was behind her head went to her shoulder and pulled the collar of her dress down. She was fairly well cinched up with the ties on the back of the garment but he yanked hard, loosening the stays, listening to her gasp with shock and uncertainty. So many emotions were swirling between them, too many to grasp. When he bit down on her shoulder, a love bite that saw him sinking his big teeth into her flesh, she cried out softly, wanting more.

  Havilland had stopped trying to push Jamison away. For the moment, she had surrendered. Back against the wall as he overwhelmed her with his size, she simply wept softly as he pulled the collar of her dress down far enough that he exposed the tops of her breasts. She had such beautiful breasts. He suckled and kissed them, his hands on her neck, her shoulders, finally cupping her breasts as he nibbled on them. When he gave another good yank and exposed her left nipple, she stiffened. He could feel her. But the moment his mouth claimed her taut, warm nipple, her body seemed to collapse against him.

  Jamison wasn’t thinking any further, at that point, than his need for her – his need to touch her, to taste her, to claim her. He kept pulling her dress down, exposing both breasts in the process and losing himself in their softness. He wasn’t feeding his lust as much as he was feeding his soul. Gorging himself on her flesh fed something in him that went beyond passion. It was bonding, emotional at the deepest level. It was expressing his feelings for her more than his words ever could.

  And Havilland was letting him express himself in his own way. Her arms were around his head as he nursed against her breasts, holding him to her, experiencing the intimacy. It was overwhelming in its power, the beauty of the strength of love as only they could experience it. Jamison was quite certain that he was going to take the woman, here and now, but the moment he snaked a big hand under her skirt and touched the warm flesh of her thigh, it seemed to frighten her.

  It was as if Havilland suddenly realized they shouldn’t be doing this. Perhaps she didn’t want to do it, knowing she would be branded for life to a man she could never have. Whatever the reason, she abruptly yanked from his grasped and stumbled away. Before Jamison could reclaim her, she fled into her chamber, slamming the door and bolting it.

  Jamison was left on the landing, struggling to catch his breath, knowing instinctively that the slamming door was symbolic in so many ways. She was slamming it on him and shutting him out. He knew, without question, that the door would never open again. All of the begging in the world wouldn’t change it. He knew that now, no matter how much he wanted otherwise.

  It was finished.

  Heartbroken, tears fell from his eyes. He didn’t try to wipe them away. He went to her door but didn’t say a word. He put his hand on it and kissed the wood as if to kiss her one more time. It was a closing kiss, symbolic much as the slamming door had been.

  His heart was in that chamber, behind that closed door, never to be reclaimed again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  *

  “You may never have this chance again!”

  *

  He’d said something about Mynydd Tywyll.

  Dark Mountain. Madeline could recall that Evon once spoke of Dark Mountain and the swamps beneath it, spongy and wet areas that were heavily wooded. When he came to visit, he always smelled of compost, a scent so well suited to the swamps. It was a perfect place to hide in, truly, especially for rebels who were trying to stay clear of the English armies moving to and from Four Crosses.

  Mynydd Tywyll was a few miles to the southwest of Four Crosses and that was where Madeline was heading. It was growing dark and the mists were rolling in from the east, but the mist was scattered, like patches of clouds, so every so often, the moon would peek out and illuminate the landscape so she could see where she was going.

  Madeline was on foot but that didn’t matter to her. With her slender build, she had always been able to run faster and farther than anyone else. She had stamina. The heavy cloak that Amaline had brought her slowed her down a little but she was warm in it. Moreover, it helped keep her concealed from the two patrols she had seen from Four Crosses, men with torches who had been looking for her.

  But she’d hidden away from them, camouflaged in the trees, and sticking to the myriad of small steams that ran in this area so her trail couldn’t be followed. Fortunately, she knew the land, having been raised here, so she knew how to make her way to Dark Mountain. In fact, she could smell it before she actually saw it, that heavy moist smell of compost. She followed her nose.

  Once she reached the swamps, she wasn’t exactly sure where to look. The Welsh rebels were here, somewhere. She would find them. It was night and, surely, the cooking fires were going, which would provide her a trail to follow because the canopy was so heavy that it was difficult to see. It was eerie
, too, with shadows lurking in the night, creatures waiting to jump out and eat her.

  Madeline wasn’t normally the spooky type but this was different. She was traipsing through a swamp in the dead of night, listening to the sounds of the darkness, hunting for people who may or may not be here. There was really no way of knowing.

  She could only pray.

  An hour passed. Then two. She lost track of time as she went. The night was deepening and, in spite of the heavy cloak and clothing she wore, she was growing cold because her feet were wet from slogging through freezing water. She was hungry, too, having not eaten since the morning. But she pushed aside her hunger, desperate to find the men she hoped were somewhere near, men whom Evon had fought with. Men determined to free Wales from English rule.

  Evon. The man’s spirit drove her onward, feeding her sense of determination. It also fed her sense of vengeance against Jamison Munro. Killing Evon had ruined the life she’d hoped to have with the man she loved. Her loyalty had always been to Evon more than it had ever been to her sisters and her father. With Roald mad and unable to command, Madeline was convinced that Four Crosses needed a man at the helm. Evon was to be that man and she was to be at his side. They had planned it that way. It was what she had wanted.

  Not strangely, Madeline didn’t consider her sisters’ fate in all of this, nor even her father’s. She assumed that the Welsh would simply let them walk free, as they were of no value to them. Only the castle was. That was what they wanted so very badly.

  And that was what she had intended to deliver.

  She still intended to deliver it. Jamison Munro… that was how she would deliver the fortress to rebels who had been trying to claim it for quite some time. Evon’s death would feed their frenzy against the English and, in particular, against Jamison for the murder of one of their own. She would personally lead the charge, bringing down the only home she had ever known and seeing the man who had murdered Evon punished for his deeds. She would point the Welsh right at the redheaded Highlander to ensure the man was targeted.