Evelyn reached up to clutch his broad shoulders, whimpering against his mouth, her pleasure building until it reached a crescendo, and her entire body quaked as her orgasm claimed her.
“Aye,” he murmured, tearing his mouth away from hers as she threw her head back to let out a strangled cry. “Come for me, my beauty. My lioness.”
The room seemed to shake around her, her body quivering her release, and when she stilled, Latharn rested his forehead on hers, his intense dark eyes focused on her face.
“While ye’re here in this time,” he whispered. “Ye're the only woman for me. Ye're mine. As I’m yers.”
Chapter 21
“Clan Creagach welcomes ye, Latharn MacUisdean, true chieftain of Clan MacUisdean. We are happy tae ally with ye,” Modan said, beaming at Latharn. “Now that ye are tae wed my daughter, ye’ll be a son tae me. Family. And I’ll fight for ye as my family.”
The nobles who flanked Modan let out shouts of agreement; Latharn had to suppress his guilt. He met the eyes of Ros, who stood next to her father in the great hall where they’d gathered to officially announce their betrothal and alliance to the clan nobles. She paled slightly but kept a forced smile on her face. He knew she was nervous about their subterfuge, but it was necessary for the time being.
“My nobles have been sworn tae secrecy. There are some who still need convincing tae join yer side, but I’ll make certain they do,” Modan continued. “Padraig willnae ken that we are allies; he'll believe that we’re still on his side. But from this day forward, our allegiance will lie with ye, Laird MacUisdean. Tonight, we celebrate with a feast. Ye and yer top men are welcome tae stay here in the castle; we already have guest chambers set aside.”
“I thank ye for yer generosity, Chieftain Creagach,” Latharn said. “I look forward tae our alliance.”
And for appearance’s sake, he stepped forward to take Ros’s hands, raising them to his lips. He met her eyes, communicating his gratitude for her assistance with this farce, and she gave him a subtle nod of her head.
Modan looked pleased by his gesture, grinning as Latharn and his men were escorted from the great hall by a servant.
“Ye did well,” Gormal said, giving him a look of pride as they trailed the servant to their guest chambers.
Latharn said nothing, merely nodding his head. No one besides Evelyn, Ros and his brother knew of his true plans, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.
He spent the rest of his day meeting with Modan’s nobles and his own men. He didn’t see Evelyn until that night’s feast, which was grand, the tables of the great hall heaped with succulent meats, wine and ale.
Latharn was seated at the head table next to Ros, but his eyes kept straying to Evelyn, who sat at the opposite end of the hall in between his brother and Tulach, not meeting his eyes.
“Is that yer lass?” Ros whispered in his ear, and he stiffened. He’d tried not to be obvious with his stares. “I can see why ye’re taken with her,” she continued at his nod, her eyes straying to Evelyn. “She’s quite bonnie.”
Evelyn looked even lovelier tonight in a gown of sapphire blue, her flame-red hair flowing loose around her shoulders. Her eyes met his for a brief second, darkening as they slid to Ros, before she turned away to focus on his brother.
“She looks like she wants tae pierce me with an arrow,” Ros murmured with a chuckle.
Latharn smiled. He knew that his lioness’s jealousy shouldn’t please him, but it did. He liked that she was as possessive of him as he was of her.
“And the man ye love?” he asked in a low voice. Ros hadn’t told him the name of her paramour, only that he was lowborn. “Is he here?”
“No,” she whispered, pain flickering across her face. “He didnae want tae see me with ye, even though I told him it was only for appearances.”
“This will be over soon,” he murmured, giving her a look of sympathy. “And ye have my word; I’ll try tae persuade yer father tae let ye marry the man ye love.”
“Ye’re not like other nobles,” Ros said after a moment, studying him closely. “Any other man would have told my father my secret and then imprisoned me in their manor.”
“Ye forget I’m not yet a laird. I spent my whole life as—" He nodded toward a servant who was taking cups and refilling them.
“I cannae imagine not kenning who ye truly are. Tell me about yer time as a servant,” she said, looking genuinely intrigued.
He did so, trying not to cast glances across the hall at Evelyn as he did so. Whenever he did manage to catch her eyes, she looked at him with a coldness that made his heart ache, and his amusement over her jealousy faded. Had she already forgotten his words to her—that she was the only woman for him? Didn’t she understand that he was only doing this for appearances’ sake? He and Ros needed to look content with their betrothal to make Modan happy. He wanted nothing more than to sit at Evelyn’s side, to listen to her musical laughter, to take in the loveliness of her countenance.
The musicians began to play, and Modan turned to look at him and Ros with an expectant smile. He reluctantly got to his feet, taking Ros’ hand and moving to the center of the hall.
Though Ros was a fine dancer, he felt nothing as they moved together, and he had to force a smile as they danced. She seemed just as uncomfortable, and when the musicians switched to a different song, she leaned in close.
“We’re expected tae switch partners. Go dance with yer lady love.”
He gave her a grateful smile and stepped back as Ros began to dance with another clan noble. He looked around, scowling when he saw that Evelyn was dancing with his brother. Gritting his teeth, he approached and glowered at Crisdean. Crisdean stepped away from Evelyn, giving Latharn a mischievous wink and a deep bow.
When he took Evelyn into his arms, she stood stiffly, and for a moment he feared she’d refuse him, before she finally relaxed. The feel of her in his arms was night and day from holding Ros; a firestorm of heat flared to life within his belly, and his cock stirred. If Evelyn noticed his arousal, she gave no indication, looking anywhere else but at him as they danced.
“Are you enjoying your time with your betrothed?” she asked stiffly.
“’Tis for appearances only,” he murmured. “Ye ken this, Evelyn.”
“It looked like you were enjoying keeping up appearances,” she returned, raising her golden eyes to clash with his.
“I’ll have ye ken,” he said, pulling her even closer, “that we were discussing ye and how bonnie ye are.”
Evelyn looked at him with openmouthed surprise. Grinning, he leaned in close, his lips fanning against her ear.
“Ros is a kind and bonnie lass—yet she leaves me cold. But ye, lioness,” he whispered, “set every part of me aflame. I’ve barely been able tae keep my eyes off ye. Yer jealousy is unwarranted. ’Tis I who should be furious—ye were dancing quite close tae my brother. Do ye want me tae murder my own brother?”
“It would be fitting,” she returned, but her mouth twitched in a smile. “I want to murder your betrothed.”
“Instead of murdering anyone,” he murmured, his eyes dancing with amusement, “come tae my bed tonight after the castle is sleeping.”
The song ended, and he forced himself to step back from her, giving her a respectful nod. He made his way to Ros, escorting her back to their table, his senses still humming with desire for Evelyn.
When the feast came to an end, he escorted Ros from the hall, while Evelyn shot daggers at them with her eyes.
“Ye should spend time with yer beloved tonight,” Ros said, once they left the hall. “I think she needs assurances as tae yer affections. And,” she added, lowering her voice, “there are no guards posted on yer side of the castle late at night.”
Latharn looked at her in surprise. Giving him a knowing smile, Ros disappeared down the corridor to her chamber. Ros Creagach wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. He wondered if she had clandestine meetings with her lover under the cover of night.
He waited until the castle was utterly silent before slipping from his chamber to go to Evelyn’s.
She was awake, standing by the window. She whirled as he entered, distress marring her lovely features.
“I’m know my jealousy is unreasonable—and selfish,” she said, as he approached. “Your betrothal shouldn’t be for show—it should be in truth, Latharn. You need this alliance. I’m the one who doesn’t belong, who isn’t even from this time.”
“I donnae care what time ye’re from—I’m glad ye’re here now, with me. I told ye before, I intend tae savor every moment I have with ye.”
“But Latharn—"
“I donnae want tae hear anymore,” he interrupted. “Ye were the loveliest lass in the hall tonight. I need ye, Evelyn.”
He lifted her in his arms, carrying her over to the bed. He started to remove her underdress, but she stopped him. He froze; was she refusing him? But there was only hunger in her eyes.
“Let me,” she whispered.
His mouth went dry as she removed her underdress, revealing her delectable body to his needy gaze. She reached out and disrobed him, removing his kilt and tunic before reaching out to clasp his buttocks, her golden eyes rising to meet his as she wrapped her lips around his cock.
“Evelyn . . .” he groaned, as she took him into her mouth, stroking him with her tongue.
A powerful ache rose within him; he knew he wouldn’t last long, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop her, throwing his head back as she moaned around him. The sound of her moan undid him, and he shuddered, spilling his release into her mouth.
He stumbled back, his chest heaving, as Evelyn looked up at him with a mischievous smile. Just the image of her, nude and on her knees before him, made his cock stir once more.
“My lioness,” he growled, reaching down to pull her onto the bed. He seized one of her breasts, laving the rosy nipple with his tongue before settling over her, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he buried himself inside her.
“Latharn,” she cried out, wrapping her legs around him as he rode her. He suckled at the base of her throat, her jaw, her lips.
“Look at me, Evelyn,” he ordered, and she obliged, meeting his eyes as he gripped her buttocks, continuing to thrust inside her. “Ye are the only lass I see, lioness. The only one I crave. Ye’ve seared yerself into me, branded me as yer own. I never have—nor will I ever—long for a lass as I long for ye.”
Emotion flared in her eyes, her golden eyes glistening as she gripped his shoulders.
“And I you,” she whispered. “Latharn . . . Latharn, I—” she faltered, closing her eyes as a shudder of pleasure claimed her.
“What?” he asked, slowing his strokes, his eyes locked on hers. “Talk tae me, lioness.”
“I—” She met his eyes, a tumult of emotion in her own, before she closed them once more. “I need you to give me my release. Please.”
He suspected there was something more she wasn’t telling him, something she was holding back, but when she began to undulate against him, his desire seized every one of his senses until he could no longer think, and he let out a groan as their mutual release claimed them.
“What were ye going tae tell me, lass?” he asked, when the world righted itself around him again, and he’d caught his breath.
“Just what I told you,” she said, giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That I needed my release. And you gave it to me.”
When she nipped at his ear, whispering that she wanted him to take her again, his desire for her quelled his unease that she might be hiding something, and his body once again stirred to life as he claimed her mouth with his.
Chapter 22
Evelyn had come dangerously close to telling Latharn she loved him last night. She was glad she’d held her tongue; she had to remind herself that her confession of love would have only complicated things. Instead, she'd communicated her feelings for him with her body. Latharn had made love to her once more before leaving her chamber, as she shuddered and quaked in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
As she made her way to the great hall the next morning, her hand floated to her mouth; her lips still felt swollen from Latharn's kisses. She flushed; it would be difficult to remain stone-faced around him today.
“Eibhlin.”
Evelyn turned, stiffening with surprise as Ros approached her. Latharn’s betrothed was lovely in a fine crimson gown, her dark hair tied up in decorative plaits, adorned with white ribbons. She looked every inch the fourteenth-century Scottish noblewoman Latharn needed to marry: nothing like her, a twenty-first century American time traveler who didn’t belong here. Her giddy thoughts of last night vanished as that familiar swell of jealousy arose in her chest. She believed that Latharn bore no true affection toward the other woman, but her love for him made it difficult to see reason.
“My lady,” Evelyn forced herself to say, giving her a respectful nod.
But Ros waved away the formality, giving her a warm smile.
“Please, call me Ros. Will ye walk with me?”
Evelyn bit her lip, debating offering some excuse. But she finally relented; it would look suspicious if she displayed any ill will toward Latharn's betrothed. Ros beamed, and together they made their way out to the courtyard.
“I wanted ye tae ken, there is nothing between Latharn and I,” Ros said, when they were yards away from the castle, speaking in a low tone. “There is another man I love, and I ken Latharn loves ye.”
Evelyn looked at her in surprise. She hadn’t allowed herself to hope that Latharn returned her feelings. She knew he desired her, but he’d never expressed deeper feelings than that.
“He wants me, aye,” Evelyn said. “But—"
“I ken love when I see it,” Ros interrupted. “We’re both fortunate my father doesnae recognize such emotions. Last night, at the feast . . . it was as if there was a thread no one else could see, linking the two of ye across the great hall. I could see how much ye love him.”
Evelyn started to protest, to deny her feelings—but it was no use. Ros was clearly perceptive, and Evelyn knew that any protest she uttered would ring false.
Ros was giving her a look of genuine warmth and kindness. After the way Ros’s mother, Lady Reuda Creagach, had treated her, she’d expected the same dismissive snobbery from Ros. She now felt silly for her jealousy. She wondered if things had turned out differently and she'd lived in this time, would her path have crossed with Ros? And if so, would they have become friends? She suspected they would.
“I hope that ye get tae be with yer beloved,” Evelyn said, offering her a smile.
But Ros’s smile faded, sadness lurking in her eyes.
“Ye donnae get much choice in who ye marry when ye’re the daughter of a chieftain,” Ros said.
Evelyn’s heart softened with sympathy as she thought of the limited choices highborn women of this time had. But then she recalled Latharn’s words to her from weeks before. Ye make what ye can of yer place in life.
“Well, perhaps ye can make what ye can of yer place in life,” she said, echoing his words. “And find some way tae be with him. I ken Latharn will help if he can.”
“I hope so,” Ros murmured. “And I hope ye can be with Latharn as well.”
"Highborn men must also marry lasses of the appropriate class," Evelyn returned, with a sad smile of her own. "My father may have been a noble, but he's long dead and considered a traitor by Clan MacUisdean. I'm a mere—”
She stopped walking as a sudden thought occurred to her. Ros was the daughter of the chieftain and seemed to take a liking to her. Evelyn bit her lip as she studied Ros, wondering how she should broach the subject. Ros arched a curious brow.
"What is it, Eibhlin?"
“May I ask for yer help with something?” Evelyn asked.
* * *
Moments later, Evelyn sat opposite several noble wives in a private chamber, who studied her with barely concealed distaste.
Evelyn turne
d to Ros, who gave her an encouraging nod. She’d asked Ros to introduce her to some noble wives who were staying in the castle after last night’s feast. She’d failed with Ros’s mother, Reuda, but she wanted to sway these women to Latharn’s side.
“I thank ye for seeing me,” Evelyn said, facing the women. “I wanted tae talk tae ye—we both wanted tae talk tae ye—about yer husbands swearing fealty tae Latharn.”
She’d known it would look suspicious if she and not Latharn’s betrothed pleaded on his behalf; Ros had agreed to join her.
“I may have only kent my betrothed for a short time, but I believe he is a man of honor. Far more honorable than Padraig. We want ye tae speak tae yer husbands if they still doubt him—and assure them of this,” Ros added.
The women’s faces softened as Ros spoke, and Evelyn had to tamp down a rush of envy. It’s just for show, she told herself. She’s not really going to marry Latharn.
But wouldn’t Ros be the perfect match for him? She was compassionate and seemed to hold the respect of the other nobles. If Latharn wasn’t going through with his betrothal to Ros because of his desire for her, wasn’t she doing him more harm than good? Should she put her love for him aside, and encourage him to wed Ros before returning to her own time?
Pain tore through her at the thought, and she reminded herself that Ros was in love with another man and didn’t want to wed Latharn. And now that Evelyn knew how love felt, she couldn’t imagine being forced to wed another man when her heart belonged to another.
“We respect ye and yer father,” one of the wives was saying to Ros. “But my husband and the other nobles at least ken Padraig. My husband never kent Latharn’s father. All we ken of Latharn is that he was a servant.”
“Aye,” Evelyn interjected. “But I can tell ye what Latharn has done. He’s taken the time tae meet with the common folk tae assure them he’d be the best laird for them. He came tae rescue me and several others working for him as spies when he could have been captured and killed. He risked coming tae these lands kenning he could be killed. If he thought that Padraig was a good leader he would have stayed away, even kenning that meant giving up his rightful lands, his rightful titles. Do any of ye ken a leader who would make such a sacrifice?”
Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Page 13
