The Laird's Return: A Highland Festive Romance Novella (The Immortal Highland Centurions)

by Jayne Castel

  Women’s work was her ken now, the bigger decisions were not.

  “This is a good supper,” Robert offered when silence stretched out once more. “Ye have no idea how I missed Scottish fare.”

  “Was English food vile, Da?” Robbie asked, his gaze widening.

  Robert pulled a face. “The food they served me was, at least.”

  “We’re having spit-roasted venison for the Yuletide banquet,” Robbie replied, “followed by honey cakes and clotted cream.”

  Robert rolled his eyes, flashing his son a grin. “Then I shall have to be careful not to gorge myself.” His gaze flicked to Elizabeth then. “I have happy memories of Yule, Robbie … yer mother and I were wed just before it.”

  Robbie swallowed a large mouthful. “Really?”

  “Aye … yer Ma had mistletoe in her hair, I remember … and wore a pale blue gown. She was beautiful. She still is.”

  Robbie paused eating, his attention shifting to Elizabeth. “Ye are blushing Ma,” he observed with a cheeky smile.

  “It’s warm in here.” Elizabeth muttered, reaching for her own goblet of wine.

  They all knew she was lying though—the heat in her cheeks had more to do with her husband’s honeyed words.

  I can’t believe I’m so easily flattered.

  Elizabeth focused on her supper then, aware that Robert was watching her. Truthfully, it had been years since she’d felt beautiful.

  She’d worn widow’s black for a long while after Robert’s capture. After that, she’d focused on running Dunnottar. Her busy life had left her little time for herself. As laird, she’d held a position of respect.

  Men didn’t flirt with her anymore.

  Not until tonight.

  They finished their meal—with Robbie’s lively chatter providing a bridge between them. Elizabeth had never seen the lad so animated. However, when he went off to bed once supper had concluded, his parents were left alone.

  Servants came and went, collecting the empty dishes and replenishing the bramble wine. Seated by the fire in high-backed wooden chairs, facing each other, Robert and Elizabeth lapsed into a drawn-out silence.

  “I wasn’t merely flattering ye earlier,” Robert spoke up eventually. “It’s the truth. I’d forgotten just how bonny ye are, Liz.”

  Elizabeth glanced up, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “I’m no longer the lass ye wed,” she said softly. Sadness enveloped her then. “The years have taken too much from me.”

  “They’ve also given ye something.” He replied, his tone firming. “Yer beauty shines stronger than I remember.”

  Elizabeth’s breathing hitched. Part of her wished he wouldn’t say such things—but another part of her craved to hear the words.

  The urge to deny his compliment rose within her, but she shoved it down.

  She wouldn’t let bitterness ruin this moment.

  “I missed ye so much,” she finally whispered. “For a while, I hoped … and then after David tried to kill Longshanks that flame died within me.” She lifted her goblet to her lips and took a gulp of spicy wine. “I’ve been harsh since ye returned, and I’m sorry for it … it’s just seeing ye alive, after I’d long told myself ye were dead, is taking some time to get used to.”

  He huffed a laugh, his gaze meeting hers. “It’s a shock to me as well … being back here again after so long. I feel like an imposter.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “This is where ye belong, Rob … even if the sweet woman ye remember has turned into a blade-tongued harpy.”

  He laughed, and the warm sound rolled over her, making the tension in Elizabeth’s shoulders ease just a little. “Ye were never biddable, Liz … and just as well, for I never wanted a wife who had nothing to say for herself.”

  He set his wine aside and rose to his feet, crossing to her.

  Elizabeth stopped breathing as he gently took her wine and placed it on the mantelpiece. He then took hold of her hands and drew her to her feet.

  “Ye have done well as laird,” he murmured. “Donnan showed me the books … they are healthier than I remember.”

  Her mouth quirked. “Is that surprise I hear in yer voice, Rob? Ye didn’t believe a woman could manage this castle and its lands?”

  He huffed another laugh. “If I did, I stand corrected now.” He paused then, gazing down at her. “I don’t want to fight ye,” he murmured. “I’ve come home … but I won’t truly belong here until ye and I are no longer strangers.”

  Elizabeth let out the shaky breath she’d been holding. “Why do I feel like a nervous bride?” she whispered.

  His mouth curved. “Because we’re starting afresh ye and I.”

  He reached out, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

  A soft sigh gusted out of Elizabeth. Even after all these years, his touch still had a visceral effect on her. The feel of his skin on hers made it difficult to think, let alone respond to him.

  “Will ye lie with me tonight, Liz?” he finally asked. “Can we put the angry words of the past two days behind us and start again?”

  “Aye,” she breathed. His nearness, the heat of his body, enveloped her like a warming winter mantle. Before she even realized what she was doing, Elizabeth swayed toward him.

  Robert’s mouth slanted across hers then, his arms clasping about her.

  Elizabeth melted into him. Her lips parted, and she hungrily welcomed his tongue. An instant later, her arms went up and entwined about his neck.

  The kiss deepened, their bodies flush now.

  A fevered heat rushed through Elizabeth, unleashing wildness.

  Lord, it’s been so long.

  She’d forgotten how good he tasted, how strong and masculine his body felt pressed against her.

  She clutched at his shoulders, clinging to him now as the kiss grew deeper, hotter. She wanted to crawl inside him, to forget all those long years of grief and loneliness.

  An instant later, Robert pulled back from her, swept Elizabeth up in his arms, and made for the door that led into his bed-chamber. Heart thundering in her ears, Elizabeth sank against the wall of his chest, need pulsing through her now.

  The laird’s bed-chamber was a large, starkly-masculine space—a room that Elizabeth rarely ventured into, especially since Robert’s departure.

  However, it seemed fitting that he’d take her in here. In many ways, she did feel like a new bride. She suddenly ached for Robert to make her his, to let herself go completely.

  He set her down on the deerskin rug before the fire, his mouth claiming hers once more.

  They devoured each other now, their hands ripping at each other’s clothing. Elizabeth was desperate to rid him of the layers of linen, wool, and leather that separated them.

  A chill draft from the shuttered window feathered down her naked back when he stripped her lèine from her, but Elizabeth barely noticed—her attention was upon her husband’s hard-muscled body.

  Even though he was leaner than she remembered, he exuded a virility, a masculinity that made her lower belly catch aflame. And the sight of his shaft, rigid and swollen, made her heart leap against her ribs.

  She wanted him buried deep inside her.

  They sank down onto the deerskin rug then, their mouths fused, not even bothering to move to the bed. The softness of the deerskin brushed against Elizabeth’s sensitized skin as she reached for Robert, pulling his naked body flush against hers.

  A cry of joy escaped her when he parted her thighs and thrust into her, seating himself fully.

  How she’d missed this, how she ached for him.

  IX

  COMING HOME

  ROBERT WAS LOST. The feel of being buried deep inside his wife nearly sent him over the edge.

  He was being consumed, driven to madness with wanting.

  His mouth branded hers before tracing a path down her jaw and throat. She tasted so sweet, and the softness of her lush body under his felt as if he held heaven in his hands.

  For so many years, he�
�d dreamed of this, longed for this—and then finally, in the last years of his imprisonment, he’d thought he’d never again lie with his wife.

  He’d lost hope.

  But here they were.

  Robert withdrew from her—something that required a great act of will—and moved down, grasping her breasts and pushing them up into his face. He suckled them hard, feasting on their fullness while Elizabeth writhed beneath him.

  She was making soft mewling noises, her eyes closed, and a look of intense rapture on her face.

  It was too much—he had to be inside her again. Now.

  Robert plunged into Elizabeth, holding himself up above his wife as he took her in deep, hard strokes. She cried out, arching up to meet each thrust. Reaching up, she clutched at his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin.

  He continued to thrust into her, the wet sounds of their coupling filling the chamber. When Robert’s climax finally slammed into him, it caught him with such force that his vision dimmed for an instant. He was vaguely aware of Elizabeth’s cries, the shudders that wracked her body—as he arched back, a ragged shout tearing from his throat.

  Breathing hard, he collapsed, before propping himself up on his elbows, lest he crushed her. Likewise, Elizabeth panted, sweat gleaming upon her naked skin, illuminated by the fire’s warm glow.

  Their gazes met and held—a long, silent moment passing between them.

  A moment that Robert was loath to fill with words.

  Elizabeth reached up, her fingertips tracing the line of her husband’s face.

  In the firelight, he looked younger, more vulnerable.

  It was the face of the man she’d fallen in love with fifteen years earlier.

  The man she thought she’d lost forever.

  He was still buried inside her, and she never wanted him to leave—never wanted this feeling of completeness to end. She’d thought their first time together after so many years would be awkward: two strangers pretending they were still a couple, despite the gulf between them.

  Yet the evening had brought clarity.

  Perhaps the conflict between them had been necessary after all, for it had eventually led them here.

  “Am I still a stranger to ye?” Robert eventually asked, his smile tentative, boyish even.

  Elizabeth smiled back, her fingers trailing down to his chest, where she traced the whorls of crisp hair. “Perhaps not,” she murmured, suddenly feeling as shy as a maid at her first dance.

  “We fit together even better than I remember,” he continued, his voice lowering to a sultry rumble.

  “Aye, we do,” she whispered.

  He reached out then, his fingers tangling in her thick dark-blonde hair, which was spread out on the deerskin. “Ye always brought out the best in me,” he continued, his throat bobbing. “I fear that without ye … I’d let bitterness and anger consume me.”

  She heaved in a deep breath. “I’m not surprised.” Elizabeth paused there, searching his face. “Were they cruel to ye?”

  Their gazes fused, and then his mouth quirked. “I was given a good beating when I arrived at Warkworth, and another when I kicked one of the guards in the cods … but after I learned my place, my English captors left me alone.” He broke off there, his face turning somber. “The loneliness was the worst,” he said finally. “It wears down on ye … makes yer mind turn against ye.” He paused there, his gaze shadowing. “And when I never heard from ye, my imagination ran away with me.”

  “Ye know Edward refused to tell me where ye were imprisoned?” Elizabeth asked, her fingers clasping around his. “I was convinced that Longshanks would kill ye in retribution for what David did.”

  The words hung between them, a reminder of how fortunate Robert was not to have been hanged.

  A moment later, Robert’s mouth curved. “Lucky for me, Longshanks had more pressing issues to attend to at the time.”

  His gaze turned limpid then, and he raised Elizabeth’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. “Life has given me a second chance, Liz … and I don’t intend to waste it.”

  Heat spread across Elizabeth’s chest at these words, at the huskiness in his voice.

  She gasped then, as she felt him stiffen inside her—and a delicious ache started to pulse in her lower belly. She wanted him again, wanted to chase away all the dark memories, all the loneliness that had plagued them both.

  She lifted her hips to him, undulating them in a slow and sensual roll that dragged a deep groan from her husband.

  Then Robert’s mouth crushed down on hers, and all rational thought fled.

  “It’s a fine day for a ride,” Cassian Gaius announced, squinting up at the hard blue sky … just keep away from the cliffs.”

  Robert snorted at the warning. He’d grown up at Dunnottar, and knew just how perilous some areas could be when covered in snow. “We’ll ride to the oakwood, west of Stonehaven,” he replied, swinging up onto the saddle. This morning he sat astride a bay courser, while Robbie perched atop Hunter, his shaggy garron.

  The Highland pony tossed its head, eager to be off. After days being cooped up, Hunter longed to stretch his legs.

  Robert met his son’s gaze. “Ready, lad?”

  Robbie nodded, excitement glinting in his eyes.

  Reining his horse around, Robert urged it toward the gates. “We’ll be back mid-afternoon at the latest,” he called over his shoulder. “In time for the first ladles of mulled wine.”

  Tonight was the eve of Yule. Night would fall early, and then the residents of the keep would gather in the hall to set fire to the great oaken log in the hearth, drink mulled wine, and feast on the first of the Yuletide treats: game pie followed by aged cheeses. Haunches of roast venison would be served the following day.

  Leaving the walls of Dunnottar behind, Robert let his courser pick its way down the snowy defile and up the steep bank to the cliff-top opposite.

  It hadn’t snowed for a few hours now, and the snow lay in a pristine white crust for miles around. With the winter sun sparkling off it, the whiteness was blinding.

  Reaching the cliff-top, Robert drew in a deep breath of sharp, cold air.

  A smile then spread across his face.

  For the first time in days, he truly felt like he’d come home.

  Last night would forever remain etched in his memory.

  Liz, her creamy limbs spread open to receive him, her blue eyes dark with passion, and her cries filling the bed-chamber.

  And when they hadn’t been making love, they’d talked—long into the night.

  With the rising of the sun, Robert De Keith felt as if he were twenty once more. He’d told Elizabeth that, as they’d curled up together, exhausted in bed—and her mouth had curved. “Ye certainly have the lustiness of a young man,” she’d murmured.

  He’d favored her with a cheeky grin. “It’s incredible what having a beautiful woman in yer bed can do for a man.”

  Robert’s body still felt relaxed in the aftermath of that torrid night, his limbs loose. He looked forward to taking Elizabeth to his bed again tonight and exploring her delicious body once again.

  However, for now it was a brisk, bright morning, and he’d promised his son a ride.

  They rode out across the snow-covered hills, and Robert noticed that his son’s mount was indeed in high spirits. The garron side-stepped and danced, as it snorted and tossed its head. As Robert looked on, the pony bucked, nearly dislodging its rider.

  “Hunter’s a feisty one,” Robert commented. “Unusual for a garron.”

  “He’s often too sluggish,” Robbie informed him, his face tensing. He was struggling to keep his mount in check. “So I fed him half a bucket of oats last night.”

  Robert frowned at this news. “Well, that’ll do it,” he replied. “I’d say he’s got energy to burn now … let’s stretch his legs.”

  With that, he urged his courser into a canter, kicking up snow behind them. “Race ye to the woods!”

  X


  THE FADING LIGHT

  “YE ARE LOOKING pleased with yerself,” Gavina greeted Elizabeth with a knowing smile. “Ye look like a cat that’s just caught a nice fat thrush.”

  Elizabeth smiled back. “The sun is shining for the first time in days.” She motioned to the swath of blue sky out the open window she perched next to.

  It was a bit too cold to stay by the window for long—but the fresh air chased away the lingering peat smoke.

  Elizabeth was enjoying the sting of cold air on her cheeks—and she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. Happiness bathed her in warmth as if she were standing next to a roaring heath.

  Last night had been unexpected.

  Last night had been wonderful.

  She turned her attention fully to Gavina then as she approached the window. Her friend looked tired this morning, and uncomfortable. That belly of hers was quite a weight for such a small woman to carry.

  “I have my husband back,” Elizabeth said softly.

  Gavina’s cornflower-blue eyes gleamed. “It warms my heart to hear ye say that,” she replied. “Relations between ye seemed so … strained.”

  “They were … but things are different now,” Elizabeth assured her.

  Gavina grimaced then, a hand settling upon her swollen belly.

  Elizabeth frowned. “Is something amiss?”

  “No,” Gavina replied with another grimace. “I just feel like an over-stuffed sack of oats these days.”

  Elizabeth laughed, moving away from the window. “Come.” She guided Gavina over to one of the chairs flanking the hearth. “Sit down for a bit.”

  “I shouldn’t really.” Gavina muttered. “I’ve left the bairns with Draco … lord knows what mischief they’ll get up to.”

  Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow. “He’s usually the one who instigates such trouble.”

  “Aye … and he’s got them down in the kitchens with the cooks, helping make sausages for tomorrow’s banquet. I should really rescue the poor cooks.”