Highlander's Lost Daughter (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Alisa Adams

  When they drew apart he could not let her go. “I love you, my Tavvy. I have never felt this way about any other woman.”

  “How can we be together?” she whispered.

  “I will find a way,” he replied grimly. “Whatever happens, I will find a way.”

  The wine came then, and she bathed his wounds, washed them, then applied a healing salve and a bandage to his hands.

  “You did this for me,” she whispered, kissing his hands.

  “I would do anything for you,” he replied. “That is what people in love do, Tavvy.” He picked her up and laid her gently on his bed, then climbed on to lie beside her.

  She was not afraid; she trusted him completely, and being here with him like this was blissful.

  “I have to go to Inverness for work the day after tomorrow,” he sighed. “An early start to the working year, but there is no rest for the wicked!”

  She nestled into his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I never want to move,” she said dreamily. “When are you coming back?”

  “Ten days, maybe more,” he replied. “I am not sure.”

  “And after that?” Her voice was anxious.

  He turned to face her. “We can think about what to do when I am away and decide when I get back.”

  For a moment they gazed at each other, smiling. He touched her throat with his forefinger, letting it trail down her chest until it reached the edge of her dress. He followed it with tiny open-mouthed kisses, so that the tip of his tongue trailed down her body. She arched her neck back and moaned in pleasure as he gently molded her breast with his bandaged hand, then trailed it down to her waist and behind her back to cup her buttock.

  She was alive with sensations she had never felt before. His fingers left a tingling path behind them as they traveled gently over her, and she gasped with delight as he opened his hand and began to stroke her more firmly. Then he cupped her breasts with both hands and stroked her nipples over the fabric of her dress so they hardened into tiny nubs of flesh.

  She was looking helplessly into his eyes. They were shining because he knew he was giving her such pleasure. He kissed her mouth softly. “Do you trust me, Tavvy?” he asked.

  She nodded, unable to speak for the emotion that was choking her.

  He lifted up her skirt and put his hand underneath it, and he touched her on her most intimate spot, which was now wet with desire, then slid his finger inside her and out again, over and over.

  There was a new feeling, one that was ticklish and fluttering, but began to build into a rhythmic sensation that came and went, growing stronger and more delightful with every moment. It was an exquisite torture of anticipation before it exploded in a storm of ecstasy that spread from inside her to every part of her body, then faded away and gently deposited her back on Earth.

  Blair watched every expression on her face as he pleasured her. At first there was a puzzled expression, then it changed to surprise, and finally an almost agonized delight. At the moment of her climax she screamed, not in pain, but in pure delight.

  He smiled at her. “Did you like it?” he asked, “or is that a silly question?”

  “I loved it,” she breathed. “Blair, is that what happens when—”

  “When we make love?” He smiled at her sadly. “Yes, but we will have to wait. I do not want you to be with child, and as you saw, we can still be together in a different way.”

  “But you are not satisfied,” she protested.

  “I am satisfied just being here with you,” he murmured.

  “I have to go,” she said regretfully.

  “I will write to you when I am away,” he smiled and trailed his thumb over her lower lip. “I will take an extra guard with me just to carry messages for you.”

  She laughed and he tickled her, and that started a playful brawl that ended with Blair pinning Tavia on the bed and kissing her till her head spun. She gently pushed him away and stood up, straightening her dress.

  “I wish you could stay,” he whispered.

  “I do too.” She kissed him and turned away, sweeping out of the room as fast as she could while she still had the strength to tear herself away.

  Blair watched the door close behind her and smiled broadly. His body was unsatisfied but he was singing inside. Tavia loved him. Then his mind sobered at the thought of Rob Grant; he was not a powerful man, but he was a mean one. However, if he laid a hand on his love again, Blair knew that he would personally end his life.

  Laird Colin Patterson was an irascible man, given to sudden fits of temper and violent mood swings. He looked a lot like his son, and at the age of fifty was still tall, personable, and attractive with thick hair that was almost snow white, and cloudy blue-gray eyes. Now, sitting at the dining room table waiting for his son, he was in a state of barely-controlled fury.

  Blair came into the room looking irritatingly happy and carefree, and smelling of fresh air from his ride. He smiled at his father as he sat down. It was New Year's Day 1411; he was a young man in his prime who had the love of his life within reach. He was on top of the world.

  “Did you enjoy the ceilidh?” his father asked firmly.

  “Yes, Father, I did,” he replied, as he deposited a huge kipper and a brick-sized slice of bread on his plate. “And you?”

  “Very much, until I heard about your brawl with the Grant boy.” Colin Patterson glared ferociously at his son from under lowered brows, then steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Thank God you are going to Inverness tomorrow,” he sighed. “You need a wife—a good strong woman that will make you toe the line.”

  “Like my mother?” Blair asked slyly. He had never known his mother—she had died of diptheria when he was very young—but her reputation was known far and wide. She had been a stern, assertive woman, fiercely protective of those she loved, and his father had adored her.

  “Yes, like your mother!” Colin shouted. “She was the finest woman who ever lived.” Then he changed the subject. “What caused the fight?”

  “He was trying to force his attentions on a young woman who didn’t want them.” Blair’s voice was a low threatening rumble as he remembered.

  “Who?” Colin asked.

  “Tavia Donald,” Blair replied evenly.

  “A villager?” His father was incredulous. “Why?”

  “Because she is a human being and she needed my help.” Blair’s voice was menacing.

  “Next time get one of the guards to do it,” Colin grunted. “You need to be setting an example for the people, not beating them to a pulp. That boy is in a terrible state.”

  “Good,” Blair said savagely. “He deserved everything he got.”

  They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, then Blair went to get ready for his trip. Before he left, he sat down in his study and wrote Tavia a letter.

  * * *

  Darling Tavvy,

  * * *

  I wish I could take you with me, and I wish with all my heart that I could have made you mine last night—you have no idea how much I wanted to. I know that despite both our parents’ opposition we can be together somehow and perhaps being in Inverness will give me some inspiration! I love you with all my heart and cannot wait until we are together again.

  * * *

  Your Loving Blair

  * * *

  Bridget was visiting when Tavia received the letter. After Tavia went downstairs again the previous night, her mother and father had demanded to know where she had been.

  “I told them I was treating Blair’s cuts and bruises, which I was,” she sighed. “He has such lovely hands.”

  “And?” Bridget looked about to burst with curiosity. “Whit happened next?”

  “They were happy that we were both fine,” she replied.

  “Naw, ya numpty!” Bridget cried, throwing her hands in the air. “Whit happened with you an’ the Laird?”

  Just then Tavia heard a knock at the door and took the letter from him. She read it slowly, a tender smile on her fa
ce, then kissed it.

  Bridget watched the look on her friend’s face as her lips left the letter. Tavia’s eyes were shining, and the smile on her face was beatific. She hugged Bridget impulsively and laughed with sheer joy, then handed her the letter. Bridget read it through and her eyes widened in amazement.

  “It sounds like he loves ye right enough, Tavvy,” she smiled.

  “I have to write one back,” Tavia said hastily. She went to Archie’s office, thankful that her parents were out for the day. There, she quickly penned a note to Blair.

  * * *

  My Dearest,

  * * *

  I cannot thank you enough for everything that you did last night, not just for rescuing me, but for the pleasure and the love that you gave me afterwards. I will miss you and think of you every minute, my love. Please stay safe and come back to me.

  * * *

  Your Tavvy

  * * *

  “What do you think?” She blotted the note and showed it to Bridget. “My first ever love letter,” she said proudly.

  Bridget’s eyes widened as she read it. “I hope ye havenae done whit I think!” she said fearfully.

  “No, I have not,” Tavia laughed at Bridget’s stricken face, then gave the reply to the messenger. She watched Bridget give a huge sigh of relief. “But we did do something else.”

  When she described what had happened Bridget put her hands in front of her face with an expression of shock and something that looked like disgust.

  “I promise you, Bridget,” Tavia laughed, “when it happens to you, you will not look like that.”

  “We will wait and see,” Bridget demurred, thinking that love was making her friend slightly deranged.

  11

  Tavia’s Nightmare

  Tavia floated on a cloud all throughout the day. Her parents did not remember ever seeing her so happy, and Archie was suspicious. “Do you think Tavvy’s not telling us something, Maureen?” he asked his wife anxiously. He ran a hand through his bright red hair and frowned. “She said she bandaged the Laird’s cuts an’ I believe her, but she wis awa an awfy long time.”

  “Aye, I was thinkin’ the same thing masel’, Archie,” she said grimly. “Oor wee lass has turned intae a lovely young wummin an’ there are a lot o’ lads oot there want tae get their hauns on her ony way they can.”

  “Should we ask her?” he enquired doubtfully. “I would have expected that she would feel miserable today, but it seems to be just the opposite.”

  Maureen stared out of the window for a while, watching Tavia’s hardy young body as she dug mulch into the soil. The bending, stretching, and lifting did not seem to faze her at all.

  Sae strang, an’ sich a wee thing! She smiled at Tavia as she looked up, and her daughter smiled back, and then Maureen knew in her heart that the Laird had not made love with her girl, because there was no guilt in her eyes.

  “If she wants tae tell us onything, she will, Archie,” Maureen answered. “She is no’ the kind o’ lassie who can hide guilt. Let us wait.”

  Archie nodded, acceding to Maureen’s womanly instinct, as he usually did, because she was nearly always right.

  One person who was not feeling at all well that morning was Rob Grant. He was smarting all over not only from his physical wounds, which were very painful, but his mental wounds, which were excruciating. His body would heal in a matter of weeks, but his dignity and his reputation had been injured to such an extent that they would be permanently damaged. He was the second-in-command of the fishing fleet. Who would respect him now?

  His father, Jamie Grant, was a strict churchgoing man who thought that New Year was a heathen celebration, so he had not gone to the ceilidh. When Rob was dragged in just after midnight, bruised, bloody, and covered in his own vomit, he saw red.

  “Whit has happened tae my boy?” he screamed, as four of Rob’s friends brought him in and laid him on the carpet. He lay there moaning and sobbing while Jamie interrogated the others.

  “He wis jist kissin’ yon Tavvy Donald, Mister Grant,” Allie McWhinnie said timidly. “Lovely lassie but a right wee temptress. She screamed an’ the young Laird came an’ beat him black an’ blue. He wis only havin’ a bit o’ fun.”

  Jamie Grant stared down at his son and his lip curled in disgust. He believed in strict physical punishment for erring children, and despite the fact that Rob was nineteen, Jamie still thought of him as a little boy and chastised him as such. He had had problems with Rob before with other girls, but he had been tolerant then, at least by his own standards, reasoning that it was only the playfulness of a growing child. However, the young Laird was now involved, so things had obviously gone too far, and Rob needed to be taught a lesson.

  “So the young Laird gied ye a hidin’, did he?” Jamie Grant growled. “Well good for him ‘cause noo ye’re gaunnae get anither yin!”

  He took off the thick leather belt he was wearing, folded it in two, then had two of Rob’s friends roll him onto his stomach. Rob cried out in pain as his bruised body was moved, but when he realized what his father was about to do, he screamed for mercy, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

  Jamie Grant was a sadist. He enjoyed punishing Rob for the simple reason that he enjoyed inflicting pain. He had terrorized his family for years with his belt and his cane while quoting Scripture at them, finding the tiniest excuse to punish his children and telling them it was for their own good; he may even have believed it himself. He hid behind a cloak of piety, and to the outside world, he was a good, God-fearing man.

  Rob’s sisters had escaped by marrying, his brothers by finding work elsewhere, but he was the eldest and destined to take over the family business, so he was stuck in hell with his father. He could not fight back because he knew that Jamie would take it out on his mother, whom he loved dearly.

  The heavy leather belt came down on Rob’s naked backside a dozen times, but he did not feel the pain. He passed out after the third stroke. When he finally came around at noon the next day, he could hardly move. His mother, who had been cowering in fear upstairs, was bathing his cuts and bruises with cold water, tears leaking down her face. This time, Rob had had enough.

  “I think M’Laird and my paw deserves a taste o’ their ain medicine, Mammy,” Rob said grimly. “An’ I’m jist the doctor tae gie it tae them!”

  He hugged her and she helped him upstairs, holding his hand till he went to sleep.

  It seemed strange that after such a happy day, New Year’s night ended so badly for Tavia. She went to bed early, since she had had very little sleep the night before, and she thought about the way Blair had made her feel when he touched her. She moaned into the darkness, a long, low sound of complete pleasure. She could not wait till Blair was back so he could teach her more about how they could make each other feel so good, and she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

  The nightmare was always the same...or had been up until that night.

  * * *

  She was small again; how small she did not know, but the top of her head only reached up to her mammy’s waist. She was standing in water, very cold water that was lapping and splashing around her, rising higher and higher till it was over her nose and she breathed it in, then coughed and coughed till the water swallowed her up. She usually woke up screaming at this point, but not this time, because this time there was no Mammy in the dream, but a tall man with long brown hair where she should have been standing. He looked at her once and then he too was sucked under the water, and the last she saw of him was his hands waving above the surface, then he was gone. She felt sorry, because he had looked like such a kind man. She wanted to scream, but the water was filling her throat and she could not make a sound...

  * * *

  She sat up suddenly with a gasp and looked around herself in a panic. There was no water, no man, no Mammy. She was safe in her own room and alone in the soft darkness, but she was trembling all over. The man in the dream was Blair, and he had not been able to save her from dying
. What did it mean? Did it even have a meaning? Or did it mean that he was going to be taken from her? That would be her worst nightmare.

  She laid her head back down on the pillow and tried to get to sleep, but there was no more rest to be had that night.

  The next morning she was bleary-eyed and yawning, but did her duties as well as she could. The day seemed endless and she missed Blair. All she wanted to do was ride to Inverness to be with him, even if it was just to talk. She had often heard that aristocratic men were only interested in one thing from working-class and middle-class women, but if that were the case, Blair would have overpowered her in his bedroom, and he had not. He had taken her to a place that was tender, sensual, and exciting, but he had not been aggressive in any way. How she longed for him!

  She hoped that her strange and disturbing dream did not mean he was going to be taken away from her, for she could not bear the thought of being without him. It seemed that there had never been a time before him, and she hoped that there would never be a time after him. She wanted to be with him forever.

  Blair was feeling exactly the same way. He had been in Inverness for three days before he had the chance to write Tavia a letter. The days had been full of meetings with various suppliers, going to a trade fair to see a new breed of sheep, and endless rounds of conversation about crops, animal husbandry, and the price of land. He knew that he would have to attend a ceilidh the next day, but without Tavia, he had no wish to go. He missed her so much that it became a physical pain. He managed to find a moment to write the letter one evening after a heavy day of meeting various farmers and he was exhausted, but knew that Tavia would be worried.