by Nicole Locke
Murmuring approval, he continued lower, widening his thighs and spreading hers. She was exposed, and he was more than ready to taste her.
Then, and only then did he release her hands and lift her to his mouth.
Her sounds of confusion turned to gasps of pleasure. Her hands caressed his head, his shoulders. His hunger, temporarily assuaged, only increased as he kissed her and kissed her more. He knew he wouldn’t last.
But he needed her desire to bond with his, knowing he was on that cliff and it was imperative she was there with him.
Mairead couldn’t catch her breath. Caird’s hands and kisses were skimming across her bared skin. He was everywhere she needed, even as she craved more of his touch.
Then with his body brimming with need and pain, he stopped.
He was curved between her thighs and his arms embraced her hips. His forehead rested on her stomach, where his hair fanned out and covered what he had brought her to.
A precipice.
Her body clenched, and ached. It was nothing like before; it was more.
But if she was at the edge, Caird was still climbing the rocky crags.
His back and arms glistened with sweat that highlighted healing wounds and raised scars.
He whispered, too. Whispered as he gave a slow steady shake of his head. Answering or denying a question only he could hear.
She didn’t know what to do; didn’t know the way of any of it. Only, knowing his pain distressed her. With both hands she cupped his head, which stilled, and she caressed his hair, which clung to her fingers.
When she got to the ends, he raised his head.
She had never seen his eyes like this. It was as if he’d reached the top of the cliff, his battered hands on the ledge where she stood. A few loose rocks and he’d plummet, his control shattered—utter vulnerability and utter masculine power.
‘Your response,’ he whispered, his voice broken. His hands on the cliff, trembling.
‘Give me your response, Mairead. Before I claim you. Tell me you have nae doubts. Give me your trust.’
Looking into his eyes, her body poised on the edge, she gave the only answer she could. ‘Aye.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Aye.’
His breathing changed, his eyes changed, his body, if possible, became larger, more indomitable, more there.
A quick shake of his head. ‘In this.’ His mouth descended. A kiss below her navel, reverent and branding just as his hands slid along her sides, his thumbs wide cupping and caressing under her breasts before returning to her hips.
Head raised again, eyes searing, he demanded, ‘Or. In. More.’
Greedy Colquhoun. Still never assuming, still never jumping to conclusions.
Still hanging on the cliff.
Then she understood only she had the power to lift him. That here, now, he gave her that power.
Licking her lips again, conscious of how open she was to him. How bared she was to his gaze, to his kisses. She knew her answer. She had doubts still, but not about Caird. Lying here now, with him, she wondered how she ever doubted.
Then she remembered...he was Colquhoun, and she was Buchanan. So because it was him, she answered the only way she could.
‘In this...’ she began.
Grey eyes swirling green, swirling surprise, vulnerability, pain and doubt.
‘In more,’ she continued, keeping her eyes steady on his. Willing him to understand more than her words. ‘In. All.’
Caird’s head fell to her stomach, his breath harsh bursts across her thighs, his fingers flexed at her hips.
She smiled. Because a Buchanan had bested a Colquhoun.
Again.
Caird wanted to roar at the feeling of victory and rapture that swept through him.
Victory. But his body didn’t think so. His body was still in torture. He was right. Earning her trust this way nearly did kill him. If she had denied them, he had vowed he wouldn’t claim her.
The risk was great and too dear. It was more than any battle he had ever fought. Mairead had to have understood this. Had to have known. Yet she had tortured him more.
Deceitful, clever Buchanan.
He should have expected that, but she’d given her answer.
Adjusting himself higher, he gloried in the dark mischievous light of her eyes, just as he knew he’d have them glazed again. And he would glory in that more.
‘I have to have you ready,’ he promised. His mouth descended, his hands caressing.
A kiss for every pulse she gave, until he again adjusted between her thighs. His hands lifting her, his mouth and tongue and heat and breath shredding her understanding of desire. A sharp kiss, a gasp of sound. She was almost...there.
Breaking the kiss, his lifted his head. ‘Soon,’ he said, a plea, a vow.
His eyes on hers, then on his finger that slowly, agonisingly teased her entrance where she ached the most.
‘I have to claim you now,’ he said. ‘Here, do you understand?’
She stilled, she watched, she felt.
‘When I do, it will hurt.’ Another finger replaced his first. A little deeper, a little wider. ‘But like this, you’ll give yourself, you’ll follow me.’
His eyes remained riveted on his fingers. He released his touch, but not his eyes. By using his fingers to prepare her for him, she knew he would soon take her maidenhead and it would hurt.
But it could be nothing to the torrents of pain flowing over Caird’s entire body. His face was drawn, his cheeks were hollowed, his breaths were ragged.
She knew that pain would only go away if she followed, if she gave. Because it was him, she did. With both hands she caressed his jaw until he looked at her.
‘You need to take, Colquhoun.’ She brushed her fingers delicately against his lips. ‘I want you to take.’
She cupped his face and brought his lips to hers.
This kiss was forgiveness and desire. Grateful because he did take then. Just as he kissed her, and kept on kissing her until her body moved beneath his, and he adjusted his body to hers. She felt the pressure, a slight pain, but then—wonder.
When he moved, she moved with him. Giving him the trust and the care he had shown her. She gave because it was him and it was all she could do.
His lips released from hers and his movements increased. Until their sounds and strength and need bonded and he surged within her, taking and giving with everything he was. And she did what he asked her to do.
She followed him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘I still believe it was deceitful of you to get me to agree to this,’ Mairead argued. Again.
She was making a mistake. But this time Mairead knew the enormity of her mistake and still she made it.
She couldn’t seem to stop herself.
However, for this last mistake she made, the Colquhoun was partly to blame. He just needed to agree with her.
Yet, Caird remained silent. As was his lifetime habit of control.
They’d travelled for days now, so she’d asked him about his need for silence and she understood now. Accepted it because she knew he couldn’t remain silent.
And she liked that she was responsible.
What she didn’t like was agreeing to take the jewel to Caird’s brother, Bram, the Laird of Clan Colquhoun, only to be told he wasn’t on Colquhoun land. That he was, in fact, on Fergusson land. Which was miles south. It would take a sennight or more to reach it.
As a result, she was only getting further away from her family. Her distress seemed to pain him, which she accepted as a partial apology. But he wouldn’t be swayed in letting her go.
In truth, she was beginning to believe if Caird was burdened with the jewel, she would be, too. That wasn’t all his fault. She also wanted the je
wel’s mystery solved.
So they travelled south. At least now they had ample supplies, and were well rested. But as long as they travelled, they remained vulnerable. Caird never said, but he continued to sharpen swords and his eyes constantly scanned the terrain.
Yet, for every moment he watched, there were other moments where he touched. One horse carried the supplies, while they rode the other. Caird took every opportunity to caress, to kiss. Her body and skin were so sensitive, that only his look would send her blushing and wanting again.
Since that day in the village, she’d only encouraged their frequent stops.
‘I’m beginning to think you’ve been deceitful in other ways as well,’ she continued, trying to keep her thoughts together, something which wouldn’t happen if she thought about Caird’s caresses.
She felt him tense at her observation. He might not talk much, but he was a good listener.
‘In what ways?’ he asked.
‘You have too many secrets.’
‘Secrets?’
‘Aye, like the one where you said the wedding celebrations were for your sister, Gaira, but you wouldn’t tell me her husband’s name or why the celebrations were weeks after the wedding or why the celebrations weren’t on Colquhoun land.’
She straightened, warming up to her point in this conversation. ‘You also won’t tell me why Bram is on Fergusson land, or why he wasn’t attending the celebrations with you.’
They were getting close to Fergusson keep. She was running out of time for answers.
She wanted answers and she was reflecting again. Which meant she’d spent too much time with this Colquhoun.
She exhaled, knowing she had to say the last bit again. Had to make him understand. ‘And it’s a secret you keep from me about why your family hates Buchanans so much. Why Malcolm hates me in particular.’
That secret hatred was the reason she knew her travelling with Caird was a mistake. She would always be Buchanan and Caird’s family could never accept her. Although she and Caird shared something wondrous, she couldn’t see them sharing a life together.
Caird stopped the horse and she felt his fingers skim down her jaw and lift her eyes to him. She liked it when he did that. She didn’t like the doubt in his eyes.
‘We’re different, Mairead. This is different,’ he said. ‘I thought there was trust and...care between us.’
‘There is,’ she agreed. It was wondrous and overwhelming at the same time.
‘Then trust in this. They are not my stories to tell. They are Gaira’s and Malcolm’s, and I cannot tell you without them agreeing.’
Mairead heard the pain in his voice. She knew Caird hadn’t kept all his secrets. Since they’d left the village, he had told her how his sister, Irvette, had died during the English massacre at Doonhill. He hadn’t been there and none of his family could prevent it. She still had many questions but he couldn’t talk of it more.
Now, he asked her to go in to the unknown and trust him. But her trusting him didn’t stop her reflecting and worrying. And her not doubting him didn’t mean she didn’t still doubt herself.
‘I doona know the way of this,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me something? So that—’
He sighed. ‘It pains me not to tell you. But there were promises. I can answer some of your questions, but not all. Gaira’s wedding occurred in April before Dunbar. There wasn’t time to celebrate. Since Bram had...concerns on Fergusson land and because of their loss, the Graham clan requested to hold the celebrations there.’
This was more than he’d given her before, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t know what Bram’s concerns were and she didn’t know who Gaira had married or why it was a secret. But if Caird was answering some of her questions, she had to ask the most important.
‘What of Malcolm?’
Caird stayed quiet and she felt him weigh her words. When his left thumb flexed she knew he’d decided.
‘Know that what happened to Malcolm and my family happened many years ago,’ he said. ‘It was permanent.’
He looked over her shoulder, but she saw the regret and grief before he hid it from her. ‘Malcolm may— It will take a long time for Malcolm to accept you. But my clan and family will accept you, on that you can trust.’
‘How do you know?’ she insisted.
Caird’s lips curved before he looked down at her. ‘They’ll accept you because of Gaira’s story.’
‘Ach! Gaira’s secret you mean.’ Mairead looked forward again and clamped down on the hornets beginning to swarm inside her. He told her much, but she didn’t know Gaira’s story, or Malcolm’s and Bram’s. She was tempted to use her elbows on the arrogant, overbearing Colquhoun. Very tempted. But then she realised something.
‘For one clan, you have many secrets,’ she said.
Caird didn’t say anything, but he started the horse again.
‘To keep these secrets, you must have to avoid telling the truth,’ she pointed out.
Caird made some sound in his throat, but she didn’t know if it was confirmation or denial.
She didn’t care. She knew the truth and she understood it very well. She was Buchanan after all.
‘Secrets, lies, deception,’ she continued. ‘I think you Colquhouns must be masters at them. Maybe you could even teach me your tricks.’
Caird gave a choked huff and she knew she surprised him. And when Caird laughed? He overwhelmed her.
Mairead settled against him with at least one reflective worry gone. Clan Colquhoun wasn’t going to be as overbearing and oppressive as she thought. ‘We need to stop for the night,’ he said, slowing the horse.
She didn’t protest. It was early yet, but they had run out of food and would need to trap more.
‘There are few trees here. Are you going to show me something new?’
‘Aye, and I think we’ll be walking far tonight.’ She heard the teasing smile in his voice.
‘I hope you’ll keep up this time,’ she retorted.
They had done this for days now. Taking walks with him showing her new ways to find trails and trap food. At first, he had taken care not to tire her, but she loved to walk Buchanan land. She wasn’t surprised to find he liked to walk as well. For her, it was a chance to keep occupied, for him, a chance for reflection. They had entered into a companionship she didn’t expect and she didn’t trust herself with.
She was being impulsive and she’d keep making mistakes. Like travelling south with this man and blindly trusting it would be fine. Caird seemed sure, but she wasn’t.
Because as much as Caird said he trusted her and cared for her, he never said he loved her. He never said what would happen once Bram decided what to do with the jewel.
Then there was Malcolm. Caird had all but admitted Malcolm might never accept her and they were close brothers.
Also, she didn’t know if by some future act she wouldn’t hurt him. She hurt everyone she loved. She didn’t, couldn’t, trust herself.
Still, she impulsively rode with him. Soon, she’d discover if it was another mistake.
* * *
The sounds of the village reached them before they crested the hill. The homes were scattered before becoming tightly packed. The single road was riddled with people and livestock. But it wasn’t the noises, the homes or the people that caught her eye. It was the contrast.
Stacked neatly around dilapidated homes and poorly clothed people were great sheets of thick thatch, bright rushes, freshly carved wooden beams and giant bolts of new wool.
The entire village looked as if a wealthy benefactor had come through and discarded much-needed supplies. Instead of using them, the villagers seemed to be going out of their way to ignore them.
Scampering children used them for their games, shepherds navigated animals around heavily laden car
ts and some villagers leaned against stacks of thatch as if they were boulders. One large-boned robust woman walked over a bolt of green wool as if it wasn’t even there. Mairead longed for a fitted gown with no holes. If it rained again, the wool could be ruined.
The keep rose in the distance, low buildings around it, many people, maybe a hundred, in front. As they approached, she saw various tents, and soldiers, who were either idling or training.
Soon it became apparent why there were people and soldiers outside. The gates were closed.
Caird had told her that Bram had concerns on Fergusson land. But if he was barred from the keep, it seemed Bram had more than a mere concern on his hands.
With no room to manoeuvre, Caird slowed the horses and helped her dismount. They had pushed the last of their journey and her legs were unsteady and sore.
Someone took their horses as Caird took her hand and led her towards the gates. She wondered at the futility of it.
‘They’re closed.’ She pulled up her gown, which only made it gape more. The villager’s gown hadn’t fit.
‘Hmm.’ Caird pointed. ‘And my brother trains before them.’
Even if Caird hadn’t pointed, there would be no missing his brother. If Caird’s hair showed slight red only in the brightest sunlight, Bram’s would show red even at night. Its intense bright colour waved down to his shoulders. For ornamentation, a small plaited strip fell far over to the middle of his chest.
He was one of the few training, but as they approached, he lowered his sword and gave them a smile. Despite his commanding presence and build, he looked tired. His fine clothing was unkempt and filthy. Bram handed his sword to a soldier, who left the crooked circle they’d made.
‘I had not expected you here so soon,’ Bram said as they reached him, ‘but I welcome the company.’
Caird returned his brother’s hug.
‘Have you heard from the north?’ Caird asked. He had left the elders in charge when he travelled to Graham land.
‘I’d received a message two days past. All’s well.’
