Her Highland Protector (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 2)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Brogan Covell,” she said, eyes dancing. “I don’t know whether I should be pleased or horrified. How could you do that to my hay?”

  He laughed. “It was a good distraction, but I’m sorry about the hay.”

  She grinned. “Clovis must still be bewailing it.”

  He smiled at that wicked smile and they both started to laugh.

  “Come on, then,” she said. “Not much further.”

  Feeling like two naughty children in a world of hostile adults, he cautiously traversed the hill behind her, heading to a stone wall.

  She nodded to him to stay back, and knocked on a low door. When a bent-backed woman answered it, she went inside. Brogan felt himself start to worry. What was going on? What was Irmengarde up to? Could whoever that was be trusted? He had no way of knowing.

  Perhaps ten minutes later, he heard footsteps over the leaf mold. Irmengarde came over, a big smile on her face.

  “Here,” she said. She tossed him a bundle. He caught it, frowning. Then he gasped.

  “A robe! Where did you get it?”

  She grinned. “Wait before we’re in the tree line before you put it on.”

  He stared as, hidden by the trees, she donned the coarse brown robe. Belted around her slim waist, it bagged out a little, making her look like a gaunt itinerant preacher. She balled up a cloak and stuffed it down her front, giving herself a paunch that hid the outline of her womanly body.

  “That’s remarkable,” he admitted. With the hood down, she could have been anyone.

  She flipped the hood back over one shoulder, grinning up at him. “You don’t look bad either.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  They both laughed.

  “But,” he asked, as they trudged back the way they’d come, “how did you find this?”

  She shrugged. “My friend Mrs. McNeal is the healer around here, and I’d visited this cottage with her. The woman there’s a mender. She mends the priest’s robes. She always has a few about.”

  Brogan stared. “That’s brilliant!”

  She laughed, and he stared at her. Even framed in the dark cowl, her face was stunningly beautiful.

  “Thanks. Now, what about breakfast? I’m starving.”

  They didn’t need to make a plan, as luck would have it. A passing carter, on his way to his home in the hills, laden with cheese, gave them a lift.

  “As far as the abbey?” he asked.

  Brogan nodded, swallowing. “Yes.” His mouth was full of cheese. He glanced at Irmengarde, who was munching heartily. There was a dirty mark on the tip of her nose and she looked irresistible. He had to fight the almost unstoppable urge to reach across and cover her with kisses.

  “Not too long, then,” the carter agreed. “We’ll get there by nightfall.”

  “Thank you, my son.”

  They did. About an hour after the dusk had settled on the woodlands, Brogan saw the familiar outline of the abbey on the hillside. His heart almost stopped.

  “Thank you,” he called to the carter, as he jumped off. His heart soared. “Blessings be upon you!”

  “Thanks, Father!” the carter called back. They heard the grate of wheels on stone clatter into the distance. Brogan turned to Irmengarde. He could barely speak.

  “Shall we go in?”

  “Yes.”

  Their eyes held. He knocked on the door. Brother Matthias opened it. He let his hood fall back and the brother gasped, but opened the gate for them. They came inside.

  “Father, please, take us to the abbot,” he whispered. “We have something we need to ask him.”

  WEDDING NIGHT

  Irmengarde licked her lips nervously as they stood in the church. It was dark in there, the only light coming from the candles lit upon the altar. She blinked and looked across at the gaunt face of the abbot.

  “You do realize that we have to wait?” he said sternly. “Annulments take time.”

  “Yes, Father,” she whispered back. “I know.”

  He nodded. “That being said, I will send our fastest rider directly to the bishop at Edinburgh. He will be able to deal with the matter accordingly. And, given the information you have given me, I feel no reason to doubt the eventual outcome.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  She tried to read his face, but it was inscrutable. All she could see for certain was that, though his expression was stern, his eyes smiled.

  “So,” he said. “While I cannot actually give you two any hope, I can use the powers invested in me to, say…absolve you of whatever sin you may have committed?”

  She felt Brogan’s hand reach for hers and bit back a smile, clearing her throat. “Um…could you do that?”

  He raised a brow. “Absolution is something I am authorized to grant, yes.”

  “Um, well…could you give it to us tomorrow?”

  Brogan stared at her. The priest stared at her. She felt a sudden wash of shame and looked down. The next thing she was aware of was the priest, laughing.

  “More than anything, I admire those who tell the truth. Come to me for your absolution, and I will grant it. But I must ask you not to spend the night within our walls.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  She felt her tummy turn over as Brogan took her hand. His grip was strong and warm. She heard his cough.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Bless you, my son.”

  Feeling dazed, she walked out of the room with Brogan.

  They went to the barn. It was dark in there, but Brother Matthias, or somebody, had left a lamp burning in the tack room. They went there. There was hay stored in the one side, of the room, making a soft carpet on the floor. She felt Brogan step up behind her as she hesitated there. His arms wrapped around her waist.

  Sighing, she leaned against him. She felt her body start to heat up. She could feel his muscled arms tightening their grip, his hard chest against her back. She turned around.

  “You asked for absolution,” he whispered. His eyes shone. She stared into them, her hands on his chest.

  “Yes.”

  He smiled and his lips moved over hers. Their touch was so sweet, now that she knew there was no resistance between them. She held him close and his tongue thrust between her lips, but gently, so that it was a sweet, exciting thing.

  She felt her body tingle and held him closer, shifting her grip so that she pressed against him. Her arms tightened and his lips plied hers. She sighed and let him lean against her, the cold stone wall against her back. His hands were at the small of her back, fingers tracing her spine, over and over.

  “I wish I could offer you a bed,” he whispered into her hair.

  She looked up into his eyes and grinned. “I need nothing, but you.”

  He smiled, the expression setting wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. She sighed and held him tight, her body melting into his as he kissed her again.

  “The straw looks soft,” he whispered.

  “We can try,” she whispered back.

  He laughed and pushed her back onto the straw.

  She felt his weight on her, his hands hard and strong as they reached for the buttons at her collar and started to undo them down her back. She turned around, and let him reach them, her body starting to shake. She wanted him so much!

  “Milady,” he whispered, kissing her neck.

  “Brogan,” she said softly. “You needn’t call me that.”

  “Irmengarde.”

  She closed her eyes, loving the way her name sounded on his lips. He said it with such love, making every syllable of it an embrace. She felt her tummy tingle with longing and rolled onto her back and reached for him.

  He kissed her, the longing making his kisses more intense and deeper as he pulled her to him. His hands stroked her again and again. He was thrusting his hips against hers and she started to move hers, amazed by the intensity of her longing. He stroked his hands down her back, drawing the dress down over her hips. Under it, she wore only a shift of fine linen.

>   He stared down at her in longing. She saw the way his eyes devoured her curves and she blushed, feeling shy and proud at the same time. She lay there, letting his gaze wonder from her feet to her head, lingering at her breasts.

  Then, making her gasp, he bent down and kissed the side of her neck, his hands moving to her breasts. He squeezed and kneaded them, then moved his mouth to her nipple. She gasped. The intensity of feeling was so much that she couldn’t contain it a second longer.

  His hands traced their way down her belly to her thighs and she let him part them gently, stroking her through the folds of fabric. She gasped as he touched her there, the longing so intense it made her want to weep.

  She wriggled, reaching for the ties of her shift. He yanked it off her body, leaving her naked in the straw.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  She blushed.

  He bent down and covered her body with the touch of his lips, starting at her chest and moving down, pausing at her belly. She started to feel an impossible intensity of longing.

  When he buried his face at the parting of her thighs, she cried aloud in wonder. His lips touched her there, clinging and sucking. She started to pant, the intensity of feeling like nothing she had ever felt before. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything.

  He was gasping too, and he stood and took off his clothes, shrugging the shirt over his head and letting his trews fall to the ground. She stared.

  I have never seen anything so beautiful.

  His body was hard and lean, every muscle wiry and flat with years of work. The shadows rippled down his biceps and his thighs were corded with sinew.

  She reached for him as he knelt beside her and laughed as he wrapped her in his arms.

  He knelt between her thighs and she was amazed by how much she wanted him. He entered her. She gasped.

  It felt like everything she had ever wanted had entered her body, filling her with a joy she had never thought to experience. It was like a homecoming.

  She gasped as he withdrew and thrust in again, starting to move with a rhythm that was so perfect for her, so right for her body. She wrapped her legs around him and held him to her and he groaned and started to move faster.

  She gritted her teeth, feeling something she had never felt start to well up inside her. A trembling, tingling, impossible feeling that was growing and building and intensifying. She had no idea what it was, but she wanted it to go on, and on…

  She cried out, half in horror and half in surprise as the feeling crested inside her, reaching a point of intensity so great she thought she might actually die. Then…a haze of sweetness so wonderful, so blissful, flowed through her.

  She collapsed on her back in the straw.

  Inside her, Brogan was still moving fast, his body seeming to move of its own directive as he gasped and cried out. He had his eyes closed and then he grunted and cried out, much as she had done. As he collapsed, he kissed her on the mouth.

  She held him close and knew that she had never, ever, felt like this before.

  ABSOLUTION

  Brogan rolled over. He was lying on one side, his left arm numb. In his arms was a warm presence that smelled of hay and skin. He smiled.

  The dawn light filtered in through the chinks in the woodwork. He lay there in the gray dawn and held Irmengarde, the sound of her breathing soft in the silence. He smiled.

  I have never felt anything like this in my life before.

  He held her close, trying to fight the urge to kiss her again. She looked so beautiful where she lay sleeping that he didn’t want to disturb her. In his arms, she stirred. He felt her breathing change as she came awake.

  “Good morning,” he whispered. He kissed her.

  She smiled and twisted around, so that she lay on her other side, facing him. Her arms twined around him. “Good morning,” she whispered back.

  He kissed her, loving the taste of her mouth on his, the feeling of her hair as he stroked her head. He looked into her eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  She grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she retorted, still grinning.

  He laughed. Blushing, he kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  She rolled over and sat up. There was hay caught in her hair. Her pale naked body was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, outlined against the dark wood of the barn wall. As he watched, she turned around and smiled at him.

  “We should dress, and find breakfast.”

  He grinned. “I suppose.” He sat up too, reaching for her hand. “Though I would much rather spend the morning here.”

  She raised a brow. “Brogan Covell,” she said. “We have much to do.”

  He nodded. “I know. But…”

  She smiled as he reached for her, those lovely eyes half-closed as he took her in his arms. He felt her body melting against his and held her tight, his hands around her waist, her breasts pressed to his naked chest.

  “No buts,” she whispered.

  He sighed and pushed her back against the straw. He wanted her so badly. How could he not use this wonderful, impossible moment to the full? He didn’t want it to ever end.

  She gasped, laughing, as he put his knee between hers, his lips descending on her mouth. Her lips were so plump and soft! He had never felt their like.

  It was another hour before, giggling and naked, they stood and started to dress.

  “Will they let us back in, do you think?” Brogan asked Irmengarde, as she shrugged on the long brown dress she wore.

  She shook her head. “Best if we find the abbot. He’d want to absolve us before we go near the precincts.”

  He grinned. “No place for sinners, eh?”

  She frowned. “Best if we go to see the abbot.”

  He shrugged on his shirt and followed her into the grounds. The abbot was walking in the herb arbor. He looked up and nodded.

  “Join me in the chapel,” he said. “This won’t take long.”

  It didn’t. Brogan had no understanding of Latin, but the words the priest mumbled over them made him feel better. He glanced sideways at Irmengarde, wondering if – like her knowledge of maps – she understood Latin, too. After a few minutes, the priest stopped.

  “Well, then,” he said in the local tongue. “Come on. There’s fresh bread in the refectory.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Brogan walked behind Irmengarde, still feeling dazed. He went into the refectory to fetch the bread while she waited outside. When he joined her, a napkin containing a loaf and cheese under his arm, he frowned at her.

  “Do ye understand Latin, lass?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Really?” He felt surprised.

  “Really.”

  “The nobles di nae understand it either?”

  “No. I don’t think anybody does.”

  “Oh.”

  Still feeling surprised, he followed her back toward the orchard. There, she gestured to a bench. They sat down together, side by side, under a fruit tree. The branches were bare now, but in the shelter of the wall it wasn’t particularly cold.

  “Breakfast,” he said.

  “Good! I’m starving.”

  He nodded, chuckling. “Me, too.”

  They sat and ate the breakfast. A bird called from the tree. Somewhere, somebody chopped with a shovel, digging a new garden bed. He closed his eyes, tasting the sweet taste of freshly baked bread and smelling her scent and wondering if he had ever been so happy.

  “You mentioned plans?” he asked, reaching for the cheese. Salty and hard, it was densely textured and delicious.

  “We should ride to Edinburgh,” she said. “If we reach the bishop, we can throw ourselves on his justice before Clovis has a chance to get to him.”

  “We could,” Brogan nodded. “You think your husband would…”

  “I know there is nothing I would say was too evil for Clovis.”

  Brogan nodded, and continued eating in silenc
e. How was it that she’d lived with that evil-minded man for so many years? He shook his head, awed again by her courage.

  “We will need to ride fast, and far,” he observed.

  “And pray that we outrun Clovis. Yes,” Irmengarde nodded.

  “Yes.” Brogan felt sobered. He ate a bit more, but his stomach had tightened up at the thought of what they would have to do.

  “We should set out soon.”

  They set out after breakfast. With the saddle bags full of provisions for the journey, two borrowed horses ready for a long journey carrying them, Brogan felt happy. A bird called in the leafless tree top. He whistled, feeling his spirits soar.

  “I would offer to race you,” she grinned. “Save that we need to spare the horses.”

  “Mayhap later,” he said. “When we reach Edinburgh.”

  “When we reach freedom,” she agreed.

  “Yes. And that.”

  They rode on into the morning. It took two days to reach the valley near Tysdale. They took the journey at a pleasant pace, stopping often and keeping off the road. It felt safer that way.

  “We could stop at the inn in Lexley,” Brogan suggested. “I don’t think the baron would think of looking there.”

  “Never underestimate Clovis.”

  “No.”

  That sobered Brogan somewhat. As they rode through the bottom of the valley, he felt his skin tingle. He looked around nervously. They rode on until nightfall.

  The next morning, the mist had descended again. Brogan woke stiff and cold, to a feeling that something was terribly wrong. He shot to his feet and realized what it was. Irmengarde wasn’t there.

  “Irmengarde?” he called, heart thudding. The horses were nearby, shifting and stamping in the morning chill. They hadn’t left the circle of the firelight either. Brogan looked around, trying to spot her. “Irmengarde?”

  No answer. The horses snorted. Brogan looked around in terror. The mist cloaked everything. He had no idea where she might be.

  He called her again, loud and urgent. His voice echoed back through the trees. Or was it an echo? Was it her, calling back to him?

  “Irmengarde!” He yelled. “Irmengarde!”