by Mary Wine
She wanted to take issue with him, but her thoughts scattered like a broken strand of pearls as he teased her clitoris. The pleasure was so intense that she cried out, and then didn’t stop because there was no way to keep it all contained inside herself.
Rolfe wasn’t content with merely fingering her. He leaned down and licked the same spot, pushing her into a new realm of twisting need. She was poised on the pinnacle, suspended there between a hunger so intense she thought it might drive her insane and the pleasure that would break her in two. She was straining toward him, desperate for release, one he denied her.
“Damn you…” she hissed when he held her in place for more torment.
“A damnation we will share, Kat.”
He was suddenly rising up, giving her a glance of his hard body, his member stiff and jutting out from it. She shuddered at the sight, reminded of how much she craved his strength. He came over her, granting her that wish at last, settling between her thighs as he thrust into her body.
It was a smooth motion but a hard one. One of them grunted, or perhaps it was both. In that moment, they seemed to unite in a common goal. She craved him; he hungered for her. The bed rocked as he thrust into her, riding her as hard as she’d demanded.
But it wasn’t enough. She sank her nails into his shoulders and then drew them down his arms. He growled and caught her wrists, pinning them once more to the surface of the bed. They were both rushing toward completion, the hunger building, growing hotter, and driving them past thinking. There were only the cravings left when pleasure tore through her. She arched up, grinding herself against him as he came down in a thrust that buried his member to the hilt.
That moment seemed to last forever. She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t do anything but feel the pleasure blossoming inside her body. His seed was pumping into her, adding to the moment, until it flung them both back into reality as though those brief moments were all the paradise mortals deserved.
It was enough.
And yet she found herself realizing that it might have to be exactly that—enough. The uncertain future ahead of them tormented her, but she was too spent to stay awake and think of ways to fend it off. Sleep dragged her into its embrace, as Rolfe’s breathing near her ear eased her concerns.
* * *
He meant to leave her before dawn.
Katherine watched Rolfe pleating his kilt while the sun was just breaking night’s hold. She stayed still, wanting to soak up those moments, dreading the coming parting.
He smoothed the wool with sure motions, confident ones. There was no valet to dress him, such as she recalled her father needing.
Of course not. He was a Scot, and a Highlander at that. In her father’s house, they would have labeled him a savage.
She loved everything about him.
“The sooner I go, the sooner I shall return.”
Rolfe proved he was aware of her, even when she thought she’d managed to remain still. He looked up at her, sending her that arrogant grin before he lay down on the pleats and pulled his belt around his trim waist to buckle it.
She sat up, bundling the bedding around herself as he stood and the wool fell down to cover his legs. The pleats in the back were longer, so he might raise them up to cover his head if it rained because the belt was across the center of the fabric. He reached for a second belt and secured it over the folded wool and then looked toward her.
Satisfaction lit his eyes and curved his lips. “Do nae move, Kat. I want to remember ye exactly as ye are, warm and tousled, and in me bed.”
She reached up to smooth her hair back, earning a chuckle from him. He came close, leaning over into the bed to kiss her. Determination flickered in his eyes when he withdrew. She knew the expression, and there was no arguing with it.
“I will return to ye.”
He believed it, or at least he would not allow himself to show her doubt.
It didn’t matter if he maintained his confidence. Her belly was still knotting with dread because she knew firsthand the sort of monster he was riding out to meet.
Rolfe paused at the door, looking back at her a final time before he slipped into the passageway like the night shadows dissipating in the light of day.
He might have been no more than a figment of her imagination.
Except for the tears that stung her eyes and the ache that twisted her heart.
She loved him.
In that moment, there was only that feeling and the knowledge that she was fortunate beyond words to have encountered a man who filled her with such emotion.
But it also filled her with determination to ensure he did not suffer a dire fate due to having met her.
She crawled from the bedding and moved with solid purpose toward the vanity, where she plucked a comb from its surface.
A hellion she might be, but today, that would serve her very well indeed.
* * *
Marcus let out a foul curse. Duncan looked up from the bed in Katherine’s chamber. “Well, ye’re the one who raised her.”
“I know it.” Marcus rubbed a hand down his face. When he was finished, he looked at the maid who had been sleeping in the chamber. “Ye should have refused her.”
The maid was not young. She looked back at him with the steady confidence of a woman. “I did it willingly and do nae regret it.”
“I can remedy that, mistress,” Duncan informed her with thick promise in his tone.
The maid merely lowered herself before her laird and rose again to face them. “If she had stayed and let him shelter her at the expense of his own suffering, there would never have been any acceptance for her in the Highlands. When she told me that, I agreed, because everyone must earn their place. English or not, I respect her for it.”
Duncan drew in a stiff breath. “Go on with ye.” His tone was soft when he spoke because he realized that he could not argue with her.
“I’m riding up to fetch Symon Grant.”
Duncan looked at Marcus. “And then what? Morton likely has a good memory of the way ye and Symon’s sister duped him.”
“True,” Marcus replied. “But the man also wants the Highland lairds to support him. Since we can nae be obedient to him, I suggest we gather enough of us together to make him think our opinion is worth something.”
“He might just hang ye all and have yer sons raised at court.”
“In that case,” Marcus reached out and slapped Duncan on the shoulder, “be thankful ye do nae have a son.”
“Aye,” Duncan grumbled as they left the chamber and made their way down to the hall. Marcus wasted no time in gathering the MacPhersons and heading into the yard. They were racing against time now, and every man among them knew it.
Duncan might have refused to go, but part of him was impressed with the way Katherine had managed to earn the respect and love of the MacPhersons. It was evident in the way they followed Marcus. Men might be ordered to ride, but a wise leader learned to read their body language. These retainers didn’t hesitate or drag their feet. They were off to help one of their own.
So he’d be going along, too.
Morton was about to learn that he’d been successful in ending the feuding in the Highlands, and that meant the man would be facing them all as a united force.
Duncan was going to enjoy seeing the look on the man’s face.
* * *
“Finished at last?”
Katherine didn’t take offense. She was too tired to care what the men around her said. They enjoyed teasing her, thinking her a young lad. It served her purpose well, because they gave her more chores, since they felt their age granted them the authority.
She took the duties without complaint because it took her away from them. Hiding her face, she let the dirt build up on her skin, forbidding herself to wash it away. Rolfe had keen eyes. Staying out of his sight was th
e only way she would succeed.
So she did all of the work her companions heaped upon her and collapsed into an exhausted sleep well after dark every night. The days were longer with summer upon them, and they rode at a pace that covered ground quickly.
As they came into the Lowlands, there were more people on the road. More towns as well, and ones that were larger, with two-story buildings and paved roads. The horses’ hooves made a clip-clop sound on those streets while they rode past curious Scots who wore pants instead of kilts and peered at them suspiciously.
The barbarians of the north.
There were times when the Lowlanders were pleased to see Highlanders on their streets, such as when the English were roaming on Scottish land. Now, mothers hustled their children off the streets and peeked out of windows while they rode by.
At least the feeling was mutual.
None of the McTavishes or Lindseys cared to be there. Rolfe was riding for the stronghold where young King James was. Few ever saw the king because he was still being tutored and raised to adulthood. The Earl of Morton ran the country, and many whispered that he would continue to do so until he was forced to give power back to the king.
Of course, with the way it was at court, there would be men willing to help the young king wrest control from Morton’s hands. Such help would come at a price, though. As they rode through the gates, Kat looked around and wondered who was there to position themselves for the coming power struggle.
It would be soon. James was fourteen and approaching an age when he would no longer accept being treated like a child.
In fact, she would have sworn she felt the tension in the air. There were men watching everything and everyone, looking like wolves contemplating their next meal.
A chill was taking root inside her as she found herself back in the courtyard and dismounted. Years before, she’d dressed in Helen Grant’s worn clothing and escaped while Brenda Grant took her place. The gamble had landed Brenda in dire circumstances because she had been the one left to face the Earl of Morton’s fury.
Katherine risked a glance toward Rolfe. Determination was etched into his face, along with a sternness that she recognized as the way men held themselves when they were about to do something for all of the right reasons.
Such as duty.
Honor.
And noble intentions.
She loved him more for it, even though he might never forgive her for disobeying him. She looked back at the horse, working on the saddle as she accepted the fact that Rolfe was pure Highlander. He might jest about enjoying her being a hellion, but the reality was, he wouldn’t take help from his wife.
Not when it came to business matters.
Which was why she was there. She pulled her bundle from the saddle and pushed her bonnet low on her forehead. Her choice had been made, and there was no way she was going to allow Rolfe to suffer for her.
The only thing left to do was pray that God might decide to grant them both freedom. The only problem was that she doubted Morton answered to God.
* * *
“Marcus MacPherson,” Symon Grant bellowed. “It’s good to see ye, man.”
Marcus made a brisk path toward his friend. Symon’s grin faded as Marcus closed the gap.
“Ye look half dead.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow in response. “I’ve more strength in me than that.”
“Glad to hear it,” Symon responded. “But the look in yer eyes tells me I am no’ going to like the reason ye seem to be riding yer horse into an early grave.”
“Ye aren’t, and that’s a fact,” Marcus confirmed. “We need yer help to deal with Morton.”
Symon’s expression darkened as he listened.
* * *
The Earl of Morton had a great number of people waiting to see him.
Rolfe discovered himself among other lairds and ambassadors outside two large doors that were only opened when the Douglas retainers allowed them to be. Inside, the earl sat in a throne on a raised platform, with tapestries draped behind him.
In the main court, men clustered together in their clans, while women looked on. Tension filled the air, as each man waited for his name to be called.
“Just what we need.” Adwin spat on the floor. “Gordons.”
Rolfe turned and watched a new group enter. Diocail Gordon came to a stop as their gazes met. The man slowly grinned and turned his head, giving Rolfe a view of the side of his bonnet. Three feathers were raised high and held in place by a brooch.
“So Colum finally left the rest of us in peace,” Adwin remarked. “About time.”
Rolfe stepped toward Diocail. The men waiting in the other room moved back. The bad blood between the Gordons and the McTavishes was well known. Rolfe offered Diocail his hand, stunning their audience.
“I’ve come down to swear my allegiance to the regent.” Diocail spoke loud enough to be heard by those listening. “Colum Gordon is dead.”
“I’m glad to see the Gordon clan being led by a good man.”
Whispers rose behind them in response.
The doors opened, drawing everyone’s attention.
“McTavish,” a Douglas retainer called. “Ye are summoned.”
Katherine watched him go, hiding near the wall as the men resumed their whispered conversations.
* * *
“Are ye simple?”
The Earl of Morton was gripping the arms of his throne with hands that showed how agitated he was.
“Nae.”
The earl sat forward and glared at him. “Yer father promised me Katherine Carew.”
“Aye, he did,” Rolfe answered. “Before I wed her. Now that she is me wife, I expect ye to understand why I did nae bring her.”
“Ye…what?” The earl leaned back. “I gave no permission for that.”
Rolfe stood his ground. “Ye wanted her wed to Marcus MacPherson for the alliance it would gain. I am a better alliance.”
The earl looked at him through narrowed eyes. “That was years ago.”
“Are ye saying ye are done trying to settle the feuding in the Highlands?”
The earl slowly smiled, and there was nothing kind about the expression. The man was hard and cold at his center. Rolfe decided Morton looked very much like Colum Gordon in that moment. The only thought in the earl’s mind was how to gain the most from the situation. His desires were the only ones with merit.
“The matter at hand is one of a promise made and not upheld,” Morton said very clearly. “I want Katherine Carew, and yer father promised her to me.”
“She is me wife now,” Rolfe responded. “So ye’ll have to understand I will nae be handing her over.”
The earl drew in a deep breath and leaned forward. “Nay, McTavish. Ye and yer kind will be understanding that I am Scotland, and ye will no’ cling to yer clans before me!”
“I am here.” The response gained him a flicker of respect from the earl, but that was all.
“Because yer father ordered ye here.”
Rolfe nodded. “Honor does nae bend to personal preferences. I gave me word I would face ye, and I willingly decided to take Katherine to wife to keep her from ye. She was me prize, no’ me father’s, and I intend to keep her. If that means there will be no title, I will tell me laird so without shirking.”
“Aye,” Morton agreed. “I believe ye, son of the McTavish.”
The earl held up a thick finger. “But the difficulty remains with ye Highlanders thinking ye can decide when to obey me. Katherine Carew is the natural-born daughter of the Earl of Bedford. The man is one of Elizabeth Tudor’s closest advisors.”
“Katherine has nae seen the man in over a decade.”
“Blood is blood,” Morton shot back. “Is nae that the code ye Highlanders live by?”
He chuckled when Rolfe was forced to nod
. “Ye craved an alliance with a Highland clan. It is done with me,” Rolfe said.
The earl smiled again. “I’m tempted to take that offer, just because I suspect yer father will no’ be so pleased with the bargain ye are trying to strike with me.”
Rolfe grinned. “He’ll be furious. Me sire has no liking for the English, even one with blue blood flowing through her veins.”
“But if I did, there would be no respect for me in the Highlands.”
Morton truly had a great deal in common with Colum Gordon. Rolfe watched the way the man coddled his pride above everything else.
“Obedience…” The earl spoke loudly so his guards could hear him clearly. “That is what I will have of every Highland clan.” His eyes glittered with his temper. “Ye have defied me and will learn the error of yer ways.”
* * *
“What are ye doing here?”
Diocail kept his voice low, but Katherine heard the reprimand in it nonetheless. She kept her chin tucked, but the quick glance she chanced at the man told her he’d recognized her.
“Aye,” he confirmed as he looked out across the room. “I wondered who might be looking after Rolfe McTavish like a starving kitten.”
“And yet you do not unmask me.”
He made a low sound under his breath. “I was there to set ye free.”
She knew instantly what he spoke of. That moment when he’d stepped from the shadows and let them escape from the Gordon stronghold.
“And since I was willing to take the risk of going against me laird…” Diocail was still talking in a low voice and looking away from her, as though he were merely passing the time with someone he considered beneath him. “I will know why ye are risking yerself once again.”
“I won’t let Rolfe be harmed because of me.”
Diocail looked straight at her.
“He has a plan to deny the earl what his father promised him in exchange for a noble title,” she explained.
Anger flashed in Diocail’s eyes. “You?”
Katherine nodded. Diocail made a low sound under his breath. “Ye have a unique fate, one I do nae envy.” He swept his eyes over her, from head to toe. “Ye seem to rise to the challenge of it well enough. But if what ye say is true, ye need to leave.”
