Winning the Highlander's Heart

by Terry Spear

  She laughed. “I have already told ye I love you. Think you I do not?”

  “Nay, I just need to hear you say it, lass.” He dipped the cloth lower. She leaned against him, but he quickly shifted to ease the agony.

  “From the moment I saw ye, I knew you to be the one. Then I worried you were married.” She switched the cloth to his other knee, stirring his loins with her affectionate touch.

  “No’ like ye, four times betrothed, lass.”

  She chuckled. “Only on paper. Queen Matilda said you wouldna be satisfied unless you had an English bride.”

  He groaned, irritated that her cousin had infected her with this idea. “Is that where you have had this notion all along?”

  “Do not you say you have no’ wanted one, Malcolm MacNeill.”

  He reached around her arms and ran the cloth over her breasts. Her blushing nipples begged for his kisses, as he wondered how he’d ever wanted an English bride.

  “The Earl of Northampton mentioned it as well. Even his steward made the mistake of thinking me English. Do not tell me you havena been trying to find one.”

  He sighed deeply. “Aye, you are right, but you should have heard my brothers when we were at Arundel. As soon as I saw ye, they knew I had fallen for ye, nay matter how I tried to tell myself it was not so.”

  “Why did you tell yourself that?”

  “Foolishness, pure and simple, Anice. When it came to the meal, though, I had already had an audience with the king and was told the circumstances of your plight at Brecken, I did not have to sit by ye. But I wanted to. When I caused you to faint and you came down for the evening meal, you do not know how anxious I was when you hesitated to sit by me.”

  “There were nay other seats for me.”

  He squeezed her breasts playfully, the soft mounds filling his large hands, the urge to quit the bath as quickly as he could, consuming him. Yet, he reigned in the notion, wanting to enjoy every new experience with her to the fullest. Leaning forward, he nibbled her ear. “There were plenty of seats, but you chose to sit by me. Had you no’ I would have moved to sit by ye.”

  “If there were nay seats by me?”

  He growled. “I would have forced someone to move. So Anice, ye have no regrets?”

  “I love ye, Malcolm. But I worry about the—”

  He lifted her legs on top of his. When he ran his cloth between her legs, she squealed. “What are you doing, Malcolm?”

  “Washing ye.” He swept the soft fabric up and down. But not being able to feel her folds like he wished, he dispensed with the cloth. Stroking her swollen nub with his fingers, he elicited a deep-throated moan from her. His own body ached to enter her.

  Leaning against him, she arched toward his hand. His erection throbbed against her back. Didn’t she realize how much agony he was in?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Anice, lass, do you no’ know how much a man pains when he cannot fulfill his commitment to the lady he loves?” Malcolm asked, his voice husky.

  She started to pull away from him. “Then we must stop this at once so you will not be in pain.”

  He held her tightly. ‘Twas not the reaction he expected. “Nay, lass. I will suffer.”

  She chuckled. “I would not wish you to.”

  Trying not to send the water splashing overmuch, or seem too eager, he climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and offered his hand to pull Anice from the water. “Time for ye to fulfill your promise.”

  “A back rub.”

  He’d never last.

  “Afterwards, love,” he said, drying every curve of her body, his hands lingering overlong on her breasts.

  She touched his cheek, and smiling said, “They are dry, milaird.”

  He grinned, towel dried her hair, then dropped the wet towel on the floor. ‘Twas her turn next, and in her teasing vixen way, she dried his chest, letting the edge of the towel dangle against his erection. Gritting his teeth, he ran his fingers through her damp hair, trying to ignore the way her touch sizzled against his skin. “Enough!” he growled when she tried to dry his shaft.

  He would lose his seed if he allowed her to touch him any further.

  Lifting her in his arms, he stalked toward the bed, the bonny lass the greatest victory he’d ever won. Her pink skin shimmered in the soft glow of candlelight, and she smelled like a bit of flowery heaven.

  She’d never need look any further for her Highland hero, and he was damned pleased she’d chosen him. Though he still couldn’t believe he’d have considered anyone else, once he’d caught the vixen dangling from the Arundel keep.

  Easing her onto the bed, he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her blushing cheeks, and full lips. She grabbed handfuls of his tangled hair and held on tight when he deepened his kiss, her tongue mating with his in a nubile dance, teasing, caressing, commanding him. He smiled, loving the way his wife felt, the sweetness of her kisses, the way her body arched, seeking fulfillment, the way her eyes gazed at him with adoration.

  She sighed, the sound music to his ears. Her fingers released his hair and drifted over his shoulders, down his arms, heating the skin wherever she touched.

  Leaning over, he brushed kisses along her jaw, down to the hollow of her neck, lower still to the fullness of her breast. He ran his tongue over her taut nipple, took it in his mouth, and gently suckled.

  “Make love to me,” she pleaded.

  He smiled. “I am, lass. Ye are much too impatient.” Moving his hand to the juncture between her legs, he felt the heated moisture pooled there, dampening her curls. Rubbing her swollen nub, he brought her panting and arching, her fingers dug into his shoulders, her legs parting further, inviting him in.

  Crying out his name, the sound of her voice echoed off the stone walls. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

  Malcolm laughed out loud. Before she came down from her peak, he penetrated her heated sheath and did her bidding, made love to her as a Highland husband would, with deep, thorough thrusts, filling her narrow chasm, stretching her to take his size.

  ‘Twas not the same as making love to the lass in the Caledonian Forest with the smell of pine needles scenting the air with only blankets to cover the spongy forest floor. But the fragrance of flowers scattered in the bedding and of the lass’s soap-scented skin, made for just as wondrous an experience as he made love to her against the straw mattress.

  Anice wrapped her legs around him again, digging her heels against his arse, spurring him to thrust harder, deeper. Her body trembled again with completion, her body clenching his shaft with fine tremors. He quickly followed, releasing his warm seed deep inside her. She was like no other woman, his bonny lass, and he would give her up to no man.

  When he kissed her lips, swollen and well loved, he felt her tense. “Lass?”

  A pounding at the door forced his heart to jump. He covered Anice with the blanket and assumed it was trouble or no one would dare interrupt them. Had Anice sensed the difficulty already? “Aye?” he called out, his voice irritated.

  “We have trouble, Malcolm,” Dougald said.

  “I’ll send your maids in to help you to dress,” Malcolm said to Anice, then grabbed his trewes. “What’s happening, Dougald?”

  “Fontenot is here, blazing mad.”

  Malcolm hastened to dress, then hurried out of the chamber, shutting the door behind him.

  Anice grabbed her bliaut, threw it on, then dashed out of the chamber. “Malcolm!”

  He was halfway down the stairs with Dougald, but whipped around and stalked back to her. “You need to be more dressed, lass,” he said, his voice lighthearted. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips with tenderness. “More tonight, love.”

  “Be careful, Malcolm.” Anice couldn’t help worrying things could get out of hand as quickly as an arrow sought its mark.

  “Aye, lass.” He glanced down at her feet and tsked. “Where are your hose and shoes?”

  She wiggled her toes. “By the bath where I left
them.”

  “Do you even have your shift on?”

  Her cheeks grew hot and his eyes rounded. He gathered her in his arms and carried her back to her chamber. “I will send your maids to ye. Do not leave here until you are properly dressed. No’ unless we are alone together. Then the less you wear the better.” He grinned at her, then kissed her lips again. “Dinna worry about me. We will be fine.”

  “I dinna want to lose my first real husband.”

  “I have more unfinished business with ye. You will no’ get rid of me that easily.”

  “Malcolm, make the baron wait.” She touched his tunic. “Let me dress before you go.”

  Nola hurried into the room. “Beg your pardon, milaird, milady, but Laird Dougald wished me to help milady dress.”

  “Aye. She is missing a few articles of clothing.” He swept his finger down Anice’s cheek. “I will see you at the meal shortly, and we will retire early.” He grinned at her, then kissed her cheek and hurried out of the room.

  “Hurry, Nola, and help me. Where are my other ladies?”

  “You have nay shift on, milady?” Nola asked when she saw the shift lying on the bench.

  “I need a clean one from the trunk. But do hurry. You are getting to be like Mai.”

  “Kemp told us Mai stayed behind because you worried about her safety,” Nola said, but the way she spoke and the look she had, made Anice believe her half-cousin wanted to know the details.

  “Aye, I worried about her.” Despite how close she was to her, Anice had no intention of telling her the half of what had happened. Like Mai, Nola would be telling her what she should not have done when there was naught she and Malcolm could have done differently.

  Mary hurried into the chamber. “Wynne is taking care of the boy. Laird MacNeill asked me to help you dress.”

  “Thank ye. I must hurry down at once.”

  “Your hair is still wet,” Nola said, lifting the damp strands.

  “Aye, just plait it. After the meal I can dry it by the fire.”

  Nolan reached for Anice’s bliaut and began to pull it up.

  “We are supposed to be dressing her, no’ undressing her,” Mary said. She gasped when the gown was around Anice’s thighs and she wore no shift.

  “Where’s your shift, milady? And your hose and shoes?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise.

  Anice pointed to her trunk. “I hadna time to dress. Hurry, ladies. I worry about Laird MacNeill.”

  “Kemp told us the laird took the baron’s horses and scattered them to the wind.”

  The ladies giggled.

  “Aye, I hope the baron will no’ be too upset with milaird.”

  Nola pulled a shift over Anice’s head, then helped Mary with a blue bliaut. Afterwards they secured a pale blue silk girdle.

  “He told us about the baron trying to find ye,” Nola said.

  “That is why he must not know who I am.”

  “Ye are twirling your hair betwixt your fingers like ye always do when you dinna want me to know something.” Nola hurried to help Anice with her hose and shoes. “What are you no’ telling me, milady?”

  “Naught that need concern you.”

  Nola shook her head, her green eyes studying Anice’s. “I’m no’ sure everyone in the castle realizes you have wed the laird. I fear someone will make a mistake.”

  Mary didn’t say a word, just watched Anice to see what she would reveal.

  Anice took at deep breath and patted Nola’s shoulder. “We will do the best we can.”

  After she was dressed and her hair plaited, she hurried out of the chamber with her ladies.

  Most of the courtiers had already gathered for the evening meal as sconces lighted the great hall.

  As soon as she walked into the hall, everyone grew quiet. Not good. She was being treated like she was the lady of the manor. What would the baron think?

  Quickly the conversation renewed to a dull roar when her people realized their mistake.

  Nola whispered, “It will be difficult for everyone to play this ruse, milady.”

  “Aye. Milaird is not here. I do not see the baron either.”

  “Have you seen him before, then? Will he no’ recognize you, too?”

  She saw him all right...naked at the farmhouse. But she couldn’t let her ladies-in-waiting or anyone else know it, lest they discover she’d been naked with Malcolm before she was wed. “I saw him, but was lucky he did not see me in return.”

  About sixty men she didn’t recognize stood at the tables. Most likely they served as the baron’s retinue.

  Then her gaze rested on Conan, short cropped, black hair, black eyed, stockily built, speaking with another of the baron’s men, the faux bard. How in God’s teeth had he been released from the earl’s dungeon?

  Quickly she turned, but not before he caught her eye. She bolted out of the great hall.

  “Milady, what’s the matter?” Nola asked as she and Mary hurried after her.

  “A man on the baron’s staff who knows me just saw me.”

  “Then be the Lady Anice and--”

  “Nay, no’ yet. We must prove the baron...” She stopped walking when she spied Malcolm, his brothers, and the baron headed straight toward her while they made their way to the hall.

  Malcolm and his brothers saw her, but the baron had his head turned toward Malcolm as he spoke.

  She ducked into the kitchen with her ladies.

  “What are we to do, milady?”

  “I must exchange clothes with someone. He cannot discover I am here. If only we could throw this Conan into the dungeon.” She wrung her hands, then turned to Nola. “Were any of the baron’s men here the night Lady Thompson died?”

  “Nay, milady.”

  Anice began to pace. “Then someone on our staff is working for the baron. He would know I am pretending to be Lady MacNeill.” She cursed inwardly.

  Angus hastened into the kitchen, his brown eyes darkened with concern. “What is going on? Malcolm says you are troubled about some—”

  “Conan! Did you no’ see him in the great hall?”

  Angus’s brown eyes darkened. “Nay, he must have left the hall after you did. Probably in search of ye.”

  “We have another problem. A traitor is amongst my people. He knows I am pretending to be Lady MacNeill.”

  “But, milady, you truly are Lady MacNeill,” Angus gently reminded her.

  “I ken, Angus,” she said, exasperated. “I am the steward’s wife and he is no’ the laird of the manor and I, the lady.”

  “I have to tell Malcolm about this, but he wanted me to find out what was wrong and escort you to the table.”

  Anice swept a loose curl away from her face. “My plan has gone awry. Escort me then, as Lady MacNeill, lady of Brecken Castle.”

  Angus grinned. “’Tis about time.” He held out his arm to her.

  “Why? Now your brother can be laird of the manor?”

  He wiggled his dark brows. “Aye, milady.”

  She shook her head. “He better no’ plan to make too many changes.”

  “He will have to find a steward.”

  “Most likely he will wish to elevate Dougald to the position.”

  “Aye, milady, as the older brother of us two. So he will have to find a new treasurer.”

  Angus walked into the hall with Anice’s hand lightly touching his sleeve. Everyone grew quiet.

  She crossed the hall to the head table, glancing where Conan had stood, but he and some of the other men were missing. Looking for her?

  Baron Fontenot stood next to Malcolm. He impressed her no more naked than now fully clothed. She curtsied to Malcolm, and he bowed to her, but the look on his face showed his concern.

  Before Malcolm could ask her what was going on, she raised her tankard. “To Laird MacNeill, our new laird of the manor.”

  Everyone stood holding their tankards in surprise, but no one responded.

  “And to Lady Anice, now Lady MacNeill,” Angus adde
d to help to explain the situation.

  Everyone from Anice’s court cheered and drank to the newly married couple.

  But the baron and his men did not.

  Anice and Malcolm sat and everyone else did, too.

  “I do not know what you are trying to pull, but His Grace gave me permission to have your hand in marriage,” Fontenot said gruffly to Anice.

  “Actually,” Malcolm said as he took Anice’s hand in his, then kissed it, “the king was considering five other Norman lairds for her hand as well.”

  “You are not Norman.”

  “Nay. My people descend from the Irish king, Niall of the Nine Hostages, therefore, I am a true Scot. When King Henry learned one of his Norman lairds murdered Anice’s uncle to obtain her hand in marriage and her properties, His Grace agreed to allow me to wed her.”

  The baron stared at Malcolm with cold hatred. “It could have been you and not a Norman lord who murdered her uncle.”

  “Because as the king verra well knows, I did not ask for the lady’s hand in marriage.”

  “Nay,” Anice said, her chin tilted up to make a point, “Laird MacNeill did not. He asked the king for an English bride and was verra sincere about it. Malcolm did not know me, was not interested in marrying me—”

  “Yet he did. Why?” the baron asked, his tone icy.

  “Why we fell in love, Baron Fontenot. He saved me from a fall from a verra high place and from then on, we could not be separated.”

  Malcolm took her hand in her lap and squeezed it as he grinned at her. Was he thinking of how he’d slipped his hand up her gown to her bare thigh at Arundel? She was.

  The baron stared at the table for a moment, then looked at Malcolm, his voice dark. “You were with her in the farmhouse.” He rose from his chair. “I should have run you through when you told me—”

  “That he wouldna move his wife who was sick from the cold away from the fire? What kind of a husband would you be if you allowed another laird to speak to you like that?” Anice asked, and tsked.