The Sins of the Sire: Dark Highland Passions, #1

by Emily Royal

  The deep rumble of the wind rushed between the rocks—the song of the Highlands, pagan gods calling to her. The earth spoke to her, a deep connection within her bones. The wind tearing through her hair only invigorated her, carrying her cares until they tumbled away over the summit.

  The rays of the setting sun cast a pink glow across the landscape. Small crystals danced within the rocks as if faerie spirits beckoned to her, flickering in the sunlight as she reached out to touch them. The rock was warm, as if the heartbeat of the living, breathing earth, pulsed the lifeblood of the land into the stone.

  She dropped to the ground and stretched out on the heather. The scent of peat brought forth images of the flickering firelight in Tavish’s chamber.

  Always her thoughts turned to him. What would he do when he discovered she was with child? Would he send her away? Had Isla told him, despite her assurances to the contrary? She had yearned for escape, but now, when her release seemed imminent, she had no wish to leave. Many of the servants had begun to accept her and Alice as individuals—not as objects of hatred.

  Even Tavish. For some inexplicable reason, he had, only a few days before, issued orders for Conall to be given a chamber of his own—one near to hers. Until then he had only shown his compassion at night when the peat-fuelled fires smoked and blazed in his chamber when there were none to witness it. Was his heart softening?

  A sharp cry made her sit up. An eagle soared overhead. Vivid rays of pink and orange bled across the sky, lighting up the clouds as if a fire burned within them. The sun began to dip below the horizon, bathing the land in a soft pink glow. Even the tips of the fir trees on the hillside below her glowed as if lit by a flame.

  The raw, natural earth—how she loved it! What right did her kinsmen have to assert their authority over the people here? The Highlanders living on the earth did not own the land—they belonged to it. As she did. The land spoke to her at a visceral level, her body reacting to the sights and sounds of the Highlands. A home was not defined by birth, but by life. Here, with a child growing inside her, with the respect of the people she toiled with, this could be her home… were it not for one thing. She was de Montford’s daughter.

  “If only I were anything but English!” she cried into the wind. “This land is beyond beautiful! I wish it were my home!”

  “You are more beautiful than the land, Elyssia.” A deep voice made her skin tighten with recognition.

  Tavish stood behind her.

  Her stomach rolled in fear. Did he know? Had he come to tell her it was time to leave?

  She tried to stand, but he put out a warning hand.

  “Stay.”

  Her body obeyed the command before her mind even registered it, the deep timbre of his voice sending ripples across her skin. He sat beside her.

  “I’ve been looking for you. You should not have left the building.” Though he spoke quietly, his voice held an undertone of anger.

  “You should know by now I would not attempt to leave, not without my sister—or my brother,” she replied bitterly, “or do you seek to restrict my freedom even further?”

  He shook his head. “I understand that, but ‘tis not safe here. Men, wolves… You’re foolish to venture out alone.”

  “Can I not be granted a moment’s peace?”

  He lifted a hand to her face, tracing a fingertip across the scar, regret clouding his eyes.

  “What do you want of me, Tavish?”

  His eyes widened at her question. Did he know she carried his child?

  “I came looking for you,” he replied, “but instead found a pagan goddess among the heather, lit up by the flame of the sun as if she were part of the sun herself. A goddess who I am unworthy of, yet I would worship her.”

  Cupping her face in his hands, he drew her to him. His lips were warm and soft against her skin.

  “Elyssia…” He ran his tongue along her lips before begging entrance. Her Highlander. He only had to ask, and she would give. Opening her mouth, she welcomed him inside, their tongues curling together in a loving embrace.

  A deep growl rumbled in his chest, and he withdrew before pushing her back against the springy bed of heather, his hands fumbling at the laces of her gown. She drew in a sharp breath at the cold air against her bare chest before a hot, wet mouth covered her breast, the soft downy hair of his red locks tickling her skin. His tongue, at first so gentle, became urgent and insistent, drifting round her breast in circles which spiralled inwards until he reached her nipple. With a deep pull, he drew it into his mouth.

  “Ahhh…”

  She let out a soft moan and arched her back, fisting her hands in his hair to hold him close. Two strong hands grasped her shoulders while he traced a path to her other breast, drawing the nipple into a taut peak to match its twin and she jerked her body off the ground, crying out with her need for him.

  “Lie still.” His soft whisper against her tender flesh sent another pulse of fire through her, and she squeezed her thighs together to ease the longing. The sharp scent of desire united with the earthy scent of the heather.

  Tracing a path with his lips across her breasts, he moved lower and nipped her flesh. Soft growls and grunts spoke of his desire more than words could convey. Once more the stag claimed his mate, but he took her tenderly, lovingly, assured of his welcome rather than desperately, brutally, after he had killed his rivals.

  He nudged her thighs with his hands, and she parted them, need burning within her. His lips reached their destination, and he nuzzled her damp curls before drawing in a deep breath, letting out a sigh of contentment as if his very life had depended on it.

  “You’re the air that I breathe, Elyssia.” His words, warm and tender, rumbled against her sensitive flesh and her body began to tighten, pulsing in a deep, slow rhythm, calling to her mate.

  With a sigh, he dipped in his tongue. His soft, tender administrations sent pulses of desire through her until her body burst with life and she cried out, lifting her hips in offering to him.

  Pleasure rippled through her as her body moved in an undulating dance—a pagan dance of love, worshipping the earth and the man who took her. Holding her thighs, he continued to caress her with his lips—insistent kisses, tender sighs against her quivering flesh before he circled her with his tongue, drinking from her like a man dying of thirst. Low cries from his throat spoke of his own need.

  The captor forgotten—her Highlander, the man who owned her soul, took her hands and drew her to him.

  Their eyes met, the soft moss green of his showing nothing but the love a man has for his soulmate.

  “Tavish…”

  He brushed his fingertips against her neck, sending soft tingles through her skin before he drew her to him, capturing his name in her mouth, lips caressing her own, sweet with the essence of her need for him.

  With his free hand, he drew her hand to his length. Hard as the granite rocks of the mountain yet warm, he pulsed with the lifeblood of the earth.

  “You are my life, Elyssia,” he whispered, “the warm earth, the gentle landscape, from which I draw my strength. You complete me—make me whole. I am yours; my life flows within you. As you have enslaved my heart and soul, let me take yours. I offer my life, my body, to you. Take it. Let us become one again.”

  She curled her fingers around him, and he jerked with life, moving eagerly in her hand. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as she caressed his length, culminating in a soft cry when she reached the tip, rubbing the soft, smooth skin, slick with moisture. Squeezing him gently, she drew her hand back down his length which thickened, his need turning into steel, the nest of wiry curls hot and damp. Cupping his sacs, she kissed him, running her tongue along his lips, sighing into his mouth as he opened to receive her.

  “I can wait no longer.” His voice hoarse with unsatisfied need, he pushed her back into the heather; nature’s soft, springy bed the perfect place to consummate their union. Before he had taken her as his captive, a means to an end, to secure vengeance ag
ainst her father. Now, for the first time, he openly declared his love for her with his body. Not alone in the dark, in secret so that none would know, but here, now, out in the open.

  She issued her invitation, parting her thighs to welcome him, and he eased himself into her with a sigh of contentment; claiming her as his and declaring it to the world.

  He kissed her again, his tongue becoming more insistent. His movements grew in urgency as he thrust inside her and she lifted her hips to meet him—claiming him as her own. Small pinpricks of light flashed before her—the faerie lights dancing in the granite of the earth—before her body shattered. Their twin cries echoed across the mountain. A pagan god and his goddess, their union, forged from the strongest steel—steel borne of love and sacrifice.

  With one final thrust, he plunged inside her, drawing her to him, their bodies fused together, letting the soft earth take them in its embrace, the warmth from his body enveloping her as his life essence flowed inside her.

  The shrill cry of another overhead joined the first. The eagle had found his mate—their souls circling towards the setting sun, bathed in the light.

  * * *

  The castle came into view between the trees, blurred by the twilight. The sun had set but the fire still burned within her—the need for the man who walked beside her, the scent of his desire still in the air.

  The silhouette of a man appeared at the door.

  “Tav!”

  She started at Duncan’s voice, expecting Tavish to become, once more, her captor.

  “Duncan.” The growl in Tavish’s throat rumbled in his chest, a faint undertone of challenge in the deep timbre.

  “I was growing concerned. You’ve been gone a while, and we leave at dawn.”

  Elyssia moved away, but Tavish pulled her back and held her close. He took her hand and in full view of his friend he drew it to his lips.

  “There was naught to fear, Duncan, I found her safe and well.”

  Duncan’s eyes widened at the subtle change in Tavish’s demeanour. His body stood protectively beside her. His ownership of her had never been in doubt, but the harsh edges of the vengeful captor had softened into those of a lover and protector.

  Duncan’s gaze shifted to Elyssia, his hazel eyes softer than Tavish’s but penetrating nonetheless. She met his gaze with defiance and his mouth creased into a smile.

  “I am glad of it, Tav,” he said, “and for your sake, my lady.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, Tavish placed a kiss on her head.

  “Thank ye, Duncan. Sometimes I should heed the words of a trusted friend; more so when they reflect the call of my heart.”

  “I am glad to call you friend, Tav. Your task will be easier than you think, and I will guard you—both of you—with my body and sword.”

  He bowed to Elyssia before addressing his friend again.

  “I’ll see you with the dawn, Tav.”

  Watching Duncan’s retreating back, Tavish sighed. “My beloved friend. He always speaks such sense.”

  “What was he speaking of?”

  “You.”

  He traced an outline of her face with his fingertip until he reached her lips. He pressed his finger against them before placing it on his own lips.

  “We leave in the morning, but before we go, I would have you promise to remain here.”

  A bolt of anger surged through her. What need did he have to ask such a question when she was held captive both by lock and key and by her fear for her sister? She opened her mouth to respond, but he interrupted her, placing his finger on her lips once more.

  “I know what you must think of me, Elyssia. I have no right to ask your forgiveness for what I have done to you.”

  “Tavish, I—”

  “Please, Elyssia, I beg you. I cannot continue on this path of vengeance. You’re not my enemy. Did you not once tell me that were I to embark on the path to vengeance I would have to dig many graves, including my own? For myself, I care not, but I must stop now before it’s too late, for there is one grave I have no wish to dig. Yours.”

  He drew her to him and kissed her.

  “Stay for me, Elyssia. When I return, your life here will change. You have my word.”

  He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles before he turned his gaze to her, the unspoken plea searing her heart. The captor had gone—conquered and replaced by her Highlander, the man who asked her to stay of her own free will.

  Could she place the primal needs of her body above her duty to her sister, and remain? Could she withstand the shame of it? What of her secret—the wicked secret she kept buried in her mind, the secret Tavish must never know.

  Nodding, she sealed her fate.

  “Aye, I’ll stay.”

  He kissed her once more.

  Returning to the chamber, she shared with Alice, a faint sound of footsteps echoed behind her.

  “Who’s there?”

  The footsteps stopped.

  “Come out!”

  A shape shifted in the shadows, but as she moved, it turned and fled. Elyssia caught a glimpse of her pursuer. For a brief moment, the flame of the torch in the wall cast a ray of light across the brightly coloured fabric of a woman’s gown.

  Margaret had been following her.

  Chapter 14

  “Callum.”

  Tavish embraced his brother, his broader frame almost completely enveloping Callum’s slighter build.

  He would never be a warrior like Tavish, but he could rule Glenblane in his absence. Tavish would be gone a month, maybe two, to meet with the great William Wallace to discuss how to erase the English from his homeland.

  How Callum envied him! He loved his brother dearly—strong, just, and brave. His only weakness was the whore. She flaunted herself around the buildings with her idiot sister, fluttering her lashes at the men. All the servants had fallen under her spell. With luck, when Tavish sent her and her half-wit sister away, he would see fit to send the bastard away also—the devil child who had killed his beloved sister.

  The vision of Flora’s beautiful face ravaged by illness and childbirth flashed across his mind, mingling with the echoes of her screams. He would never forget it—the sound of her agony as she gave birth to that monster, her body ripped to shreds, thick blood running in rivers down the passageway outside her room. Desperate to see her, he had hidden in the dark wanting to hear her sing to him. But when he saw her again, she would sing no more. Twisted and broken, her body lay on the pallet, dark red stains soaking the furs. For the first time, the passion of his people had consumed him—hatred for the English who subjected his people to such torture, and for what? So they could extend their greedy hands to plunder and rape his land.

  Tavish took his hand. “Make me proud to call you brother. Rule wisely in my stead: you’re a man now. Angus will protect you. He has pledged his sword to you.”

  “Aye, brother.”

  Tavish narrowed his eyes. “Take counsel from Margaret if you need to. A ruler must show compassion rather than cruelty. You are responsible for the welfare of everyone within these walls, brother.” He turned his eye to the Englishwoman. “Everyone. Do you understand?”

  Callum nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

  “Good.” Tavish mounted his horse, signalling the company to do the same. The party set off, puffs of dust kicked up as they cantered along the path and out of sight. He only took a small party with him and had promised to return with Ma when he’d concluded his business. Following the success of the battle at Stirling Bridge, Wallace had great plans to further his cause and stop the tide of tyranny Longshanks threatened to envelop their country with. How he wished he could meet the man! But he would soon see Ma—his mother had not visited Glenblane for over a year, choosing to retire to a convent after Da had died. All because of the English.

  All things returned to the English—and de Montford.

  There she stood, the whore. Together with the idiot and the bastard. Did Tavish think Callum a fool? He’d seen t
he look Tavish gave her.

  “Come, Callum,” a soft voice spoke at his side, “your brother will not be gone long.”

  “Aye,” he breathed, “but I’ll miss him. I want to show him I’m no longer a boy, but a man.”

  Margaret turned her soft eyes on him and smiled. “You are a man, Callum—a fine man. Tavish loves you and trusts you to do the right thing. Now is your chance to prove that you can rule the clan with a firm, strong hand. You are more than capable of undertaking the task, Callum. None shall doubt your loyalty to our people, and Tavish will reward that loyalty.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Only when he’s tested by his enemies does a ruler show his true strength. Take this opportunity, Callum. Grasp it with both hands and show Tavish you can be strong.”

  Margaret placed a kiss on his forehead before motioning to the servants to return to the building, the Englishwoman and her companions trailing in their wake.

  “Aye,” Callum whispered to himself. “I shall prove myself—to my brother and to the memory of my sister.”

  * * *

  Stealing a moment of solitude in the courtyard, Elyssia leant against the wall of an outbuilding, nibbling at the dry hunk of bread Isla had given her. Bouts of nausea had begun to afflict her almost daily. Risking Callum’s wrath, the old woman had sent her outside each morning to break her fast, insisting the fresh mountain air would soothe her constitution and strengthen the babe growing inside her.

  “The air hereabouts is the best cure for you, lass. The Lady Molly thrived after a turn outside when she carried Master Tavish in her belly. You want to be strong and healthy, do ye not? The child you carry is a MacLean, and the Highland air is always beneficial to our own.”

  A MacLean. Tavish’s child. Elyssia sighed at the memory of his parting words.

  Your life here will change.

  What did he mean? Her heart hardly dared hope that he would wish to keep her by his side, to cherish her openly during the day as he did when they were alone. Papa would not receive her now she was disgraced and sullied. Could she remain here at Glenblane? Would she be treated with kindness? If not, could she withstand their hatred? Perhaps her child would unite them. But no. The image of Conall’s thin, sad face pushed all hope to the recesses of her mind. Despite Tavish’s small acts of kindness towards the boy, Conall was still treated with suspicion. De Montford’s blood running through his veins was, to them, like the poison running through the fangs of the small snakes which nestled under the rocks in the summer. Tavish’s loyalty to his clan came first. And rightly so. For did not Elyssia herself place her loyalty to Alice first?