The Highlander's Bride

by Donna Fletcher

  She licked her sensually swollen lips, her narrow tongue driving him wild as it slowly circled her mouth. “And got to like kissing me.”

  “I very much like kissing you,” he admitted, then stole a few more, ranging from hot and hungry to soft and slow.

  “I like kissing you,” she admitted when he stopped.

  He leaned in to steal another kiss. “Then let’s kiss some more.”

  Sara wiggled out of his reach and away from him. “I’d like to reach my home before nightfall.”

  “Last chance, Sara,” he warned, holding out his hand.

  She stood then, and stared at him, and he knew she debated with herself. He remained with his hand stretched, inviting her to rejoin him on the blanket, and he watched as her face softened, her eyes lost their fight and her body its stiffness.

  She was about to surrender.

  Suddenly, a strong wind whipped across the land, the branches of the trees bending and swaying, at first as if in dance and then reaching out as though shooing them away, wanting them gone.

  Sara jumped, startled as a branch swept near her face.

  “We should leave,” she said and hurried to the horses.

  Cullen mumbled beneath his breath, cursing the damn wind as he got to his feet and rushed to gather up everything. She had near capitulated. One moment more and she would have been in his arms, and then they both would have been lost in a haze of passion.

  Now they would reach her home by this evening and his chance would be…

  He grinned. His chance would just be beginning, he realized. He’d be sleeping every night in a bed with her. It wouldn’t take long for things to turn intimate.

  But first he’d learn the whereabouts of his son.

  Chapter 21

  Dusk claimed the land when Sara and Cullen entered Clan McHern village. After her two-year absence, Sara was quick to see that the place hadn’t changed all that much. A new storage house, which her father had spoken of building before she left, and fresh roof thatching on several of the cottages, but all in all the village looked much as it had when she’d left, prosperous and healthy.

  Only a few villagers were out at this hour, and those who were stared at her in disbelief before scurrying off to spread the news of her return.

  Cullen wasted no time in letting everyone know they were husband and wife. He had reached out, taken firm hold of her hand and smiled at her like a newly-wed man eager for his wedding night.

  Which, of course, had Sara wondering what he was up to, but she had little time to dwell on it. They arrived at the keep soon enough, situated at the end of the village and tucked between two hills. Word had obviously already reached her father, his big-framed body running down the steps followed by a few of his anxious servants and a slew of his warriors.

  “This best be your husband that’s bringing you home, lass, or it’s back to the abbey for you,” he announced sternly after stopping in front of their horses and crossing his massive arms over his barrel chest.

  Cullen dismounted and immediately went to Sara. He reached up, gripped her around the waist and swung her off her mare, planting a firm kiss on her lips before he hugged her close.

  “Sara is my wife right and proper, and proud I am that she is,” he boasted, and held out his hand to her father. “Cullen Longton.”

  Even though Sara knew he simply played his part and his remark was meaningless, her heart still swelled with the sheer joy of seeing her father’s surprised yet pleased expression.

  “Donald McHern, chieftain of the Clan McHern,” her father said, giving his hand a firm shake. “And how do I know that you’re wed good and proper to my daughter?”

  Cullen left Sara’s side to retrieve their marriage paper from the satchel and present it to her father. “Sealed and signed by the Abbess herself,” he said, handing the rolled-up document to the clan chieftain.

  Donald McHern made a fuss of unrolling it and scanning the page, his eyes growing wide along with his smile as he silently read the words.

  Watching her father, Sara noticed that he had aged during her absence. More wrinkles claimed the corners of his eyes, numerous lines had deepened and spread across his face, and his hair, which matched hers in color, was now sprinkled with gray. His eyes, however, so like hers, had not changed a bit. One could still detect a hint of kindness in their depths.

  “Welcome, son,” her father finally said, and throwing his huge arms around Cullen, squeezed before releasing him with a hardy slap on the back. He then turned to Sara. “Looks like you finally did good.” He turned back to Cullen. “Come, there’s food and ale aplenty.”

  Cullen turned, extending his hand to Sara. “Not without my wife. I want her by my side at all times.”

  Donald McHern laughed as he slapped Cullen on the back again. “That will change fast enough.”

  “The four horses are for you,” Cullen said with a nod to her father before they reached the door. “In appreciation for your daughter.”

  Donald McHern nodded slowly at his daughter. “Very good.”

  The horses were left to a young lad to stable while everyone entered the great hall.

  Unlike many keeps, her father kept no special place on a dais for himself. He favored a long table framed by two benches in front of the fire, where his men usually joined him.

  Tonight, Sara sat at his favorite table for the very first time, beside her husband, who sat across from her father, and she felt honored by the position.

  Cullen placed his hand over hers, resting on the table, every now and again bringing it to his lips for a kiss, and he made certain he sat leaning against her, their shoulders rubbing. To all, they appeared a loving couple, and for the moment she felt a loving wife.

  She reminded herself to enjoy it. It wouldn’t last forever. But then, nothing did.

  Cullen and her father found conversation easy, and Sara barely was able to sneak a word or two in. Cullen handled her father well, playing into his every word while sharing food off her plate or popping a morsel into her mouth, insisting she try the delicious fare.

  “Sara, the women will attend you in the second floor chambers,” her father said to her. “Go, I wish to talk with your husband.”

  “They can attend me later,” she said, not wanting to leave Cullen and her father alone.

  “You will take your leave now,” her father said with stern firmness.

  Sara braced her arms on the table. “I’m not ready to leave.”

  Donald McHern shook his head. “You’ll lose a good husband soon enough unless you learn to obey a man’s order.”

  “It’s my orders she needs to obey, not yours,” Cullen said, his strong voice slicing through the air like a sharp knife.

  “Then see that she obeys her husband,” McHern challenged with a sharp glint.

  Cullen turned to Sara and tucked one of her unruly curls behind her ear. “Go and enjoy. I won’t be long.”

  Sara wanted to kiss him, and she did, to the shock of her father and all those around her. Then she slipped off the bench and walked with her chin high out of the hall. Cullen had managed to have her keep her dignity and show his strength by letting her father know he’d give him only so much time and then join his wife.

  Yes, she had chosen a very good husband. She just wished he were hers to keep.

  Sara stripped herself bare and almost jumped into the large tin tub the women had generously filled with hot water from the caldrons brewing in the fireplace. There wasn’t sufficient room to stretch out her long legs, but she didn’t care, she just wanted the heat of the water to soak into every aching muscle of her tired body.

  She dunked her head and washed it quickly with the lavender soap kept stocked in the keep. When her hair was rinsed and sweetly scented, she rested her head on the tub rim and closed her eyes to enjoy the heat before the water cooled.

  It was good to be home. She had many loving memories here and many sad ones, those starting with her mother’s death, when she was twelve.
It happened so fast, her mother sick but a couple of days before she died, and along with her, a part of her father.

  They had been an inseparable pair, falling in love from when they were young and allowing nothing to stand in the way of that love. She had hoped to find such an enduring love, but time, or luck, hadn’t been on her side.

  Though that wasn’t entirely true, she thought now. She’d met Cullen, a good man and a man she could easily love. He treated her with respect, cared about her safety, and was true to his word.

  She sighed softly. What good did it do thinking on what could never be? It only served to upset her, and she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. She had to attend to her bargain with Cullen and see him and his son reunited and then safely out of here. She would adjust to life once he left. After all, they’d spent only a week together and would probably not know each other more than two months. And yet she felt as if she’d known him her entire life.

  There were things she wanted to learn and experience, and she would fill her days with adventure so that at night she would fall exhausted into bed and sleep. Then she would be too busy to think of Cullen and how she missed him beside her.

  She was grateful that he’d been wrapped around her the night she suffered her nightmare. His embrace had been like a loving cocoon that she could snuggle within, knowing she was protected from all harm. She had felt safe and secure, and it hurt to know that she would never know that endearing contentment again.

  A sprinkle of water dusted her face.

  “The water cools. You’ll chill.”

  Sara’s eyes sprang open wide and she near popped out of the tub until she remembered that she was completely naked, with Cullen hunched down beside her. Not that her nakedness was concealed, which she tried to rectify with flaying arms and hands and little success.

  Cullen chuckled. “I’m your husband,” he reminded her, “and from what I can see between your useless attempts to hide from me, you have a beautiful body.”

  Sara froze in shock. Either she hadn’t heard him correctly or he was simply trying to impress, but then, she hadn’t known him to lie.

  She hugged herself, concealing her breasts as best she could and crossing her legs while gooseflesh rushed over her body, reminding her the water had cooled considerably.

  “We need not be that familiar with each other,” she said.

  “I beg to differ,” he said, and reaching out, took hold of a large towel on a nearby stool. “You could have a mark since birth your father would know of, and what if I don’t? Or perhaps a scar or—”

  “I possess no such marks or scars you need know of.”

  He stood draping the large towel in front of him. “Perhaps I should see for myself.”

  Sara scrambled to her feet, sloshing water out of the tub in her hurry to reach for the towel, not caring that gooseflesh still prickled her chilled skin, being more concerned in concealing her nakedness from her husband.

  Cullen didn’t relinquish the towel, but he wrapped it around her, encasing her in it and drawing her into his arms. “You need warming.”

  Her shivering body betrayed the protest that died on her lips.

  Cullen rubbed her back, firm yet slow, his fingers kneading every inch all the way down her to backside. Warmth spread throughout her body, slowly at first, then turning to liquid fire and igniting her flesh.

  She hadn’t realized that Cullen was nuzzling her neck until she felt herself melt against him, lost in his magical touch.

  “You smell heavenly,” he whispered, burying his nose in her damp hair. “And taste delicious.” He nibbled along her ear to her neck, making her shudder and sigh all at once.

  Before she could gather her senses, he walked her over to the bed while continually feasting at her neck, his hands meanwhile working their magic along her body, stroking up and down, heating her flesh even more.

  He lowered her to the bed, going down with her, gently kissing every inch of her face before landing on her lips, to dance across them in teasing whispers.

  Trapped beneath him, cocooned in the towel, her passion rising, her surrender near, she didn’t know where she got the courage to say, “Stop.”

  It was a mewling, pathetic, barely audible stop, but she had gotten it out and followed it with a more forcible stop, albeit reluctantly and regrettably, but certainly necessary.

  “Why?” he asked softly.

  Was that disappointment she heard or did she merely want to hear it?

  “It’s better that way.”

  “I don’t believe so,” he said, and tinged her lips with his until they trembled.

  “I know so,” she insisted, struggling to ignore the ache to taste more of him.

  He smiled. “There’s time to convince you.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  He pushed off the bed and began stripping off his garments. “I would.”

  She loosened her arms from the towel and secured it around her breasts as she sat up, her eyes steady on him. She warned herself to ignore his actions, his unsubtle challenge, but damned if she could. “Trying to impress me?”

  “Would it help?” he asked, dropping his kilt and slipping off his shirt.

  Sara studied him, all of him, and had to admit he did impress. He was well-endowed and perfectly crafted all hard muscle and flesh. Damn, but he did impress.

  However, she simply shrugged, not trusting the croak in her throat to squeak out, stood and walked away from him.

  “I take it I impressed,” he said, striding past her to the tub.

  He had a good backside, not flat or flabby, but tight and round. His muscles stretched taut when he reached for the caldron, grabbing the handle with a thick towel to avoid burning his hand. He moved with a fluid grace, not doubting a single step or his strength, hefting the caldron to add heated water to the tub.

  “My son?” he asked after all was done and he’d settled in the tub.

  She took the opportunity to step out of sight and slip on her white linen night shift trimmed at the neck with a pale blue ribbon. Then she sat in the wooden, claw-handled chair next to the fireplace and in clear view of the tub to comb her hair.

  “I’ll take you to him tomorrow.”

  She didn’t worry that once he had his son he would leave her without so much as a good-bye. Having determined that he was an honorable man, she had no such worry. He would remain as he had promised and make their marriage seem a proper one.

  “He’s close by?” Cullen asked eagerly, and began scrubbing his head.

  Sara chuckled. “You’ll be smelling like me.”

  He winked at her. “Then you won’t be able to resist me.”

  She already couldn’t resist him. If he smelled sweet, it just might damage her resolve. She yanked hard on the comb, caught on a knot in her hair, and hoped the pain would erase the passion that still tingled her senses.

  “Alexander is less than an hour’s ride from here,” she said, forcing herself to focus on his son.

  Cullen wiped away the soap that dripped from his wet hair into his eyes. “How did he get here, close to your family?”

  Sara set the comb on the handle of the chair and drew a pitcher of water from a caldron near the fire, keeping it warm though not hot. She took it over to Cullen and poured it slowly over his head while he rinsed the soap from his hair, face, and upper torso.

  “I knew he’d be safest with those close to me, and the only way to get him here, to my home, was to pay a couple a handsome sum with the promise of more once they arrived at the destination.”

  “How did you know he arrived safely?”

  “I received confirmation.”

  “From whom?” he asked as he scrubbed his legs.

  “My sister Teresa.”

  Cullen stood with a start, water and soap dripping off him. “Your sister has my son?”

  She threw him a towel and walked over to the bed to climb beneath the thick coverlet and sit watching him. They would share this bed to
night and many nights to come, and she had to make certain that was all they did—share the bed.

  He caught the towel and roughly rubbed his wide chest and thick arms dry as he approached the bed and in turn braced each foot on the edge to dry his legs. She knew he purposely stood there naked in front of her, rubbing every inch of muscled flesh dry, to tempt her, and damned if he didn’t. However, she intended to ignore him and the tingling sensation between her legs.

  “I knew my sister Teresa would see your son safe.”

  He tossed the wet towel aside and grabbed another one from a stack on the chest near the bed to quickly rub his hair dry.

  “She often looks after strays you send her?” he asked, and climbed over her into bed, though he could have easily slipped beneath the covers from the other side.

  Sara ignored his teasing action and her thumping heart and rested her head on the soft pillow before turning to face him. “I’ve never sent her any strays.”

  “Then why accept the care of my son?” he asked.

  “Teresa thinks Alexander is my son.”

  Chapter 22

  Cullen stared at her, speechless. He knew she spoke the truth; she always did, when called for; until then, she wisely kept her counsel. The more he discovered the lengths at which she’d gone to keep his son safe, the more grateful he was to her.

  “You let your sister think you gave birth to a babe at the convent?”

  Her response also answered his next question. “Only my sister, no one else, for I knew she would treat him as her own and keep him safe without question. Everyone believes the child a stray no one wanted. Teresa has a generous heart, so no one would question her decision.”

  “That was a great risk you took,” he said, reaching out to try and tame an unruly curl at her temple, but the stubborn lock refused to obey so he tucked it behind her ear, where naturally it sprung lose as soon as he moved his hand away.

  Her hair was much like her, stubborn and unpredictable, popping up in a direction that was least expected.

  “A necessary risk,” she said frankly. “What if something would have happened to me? What then of your son? With my sister believing Alexander was mine, she would raise him as her own. I could place him only where I was certain he’d be protected regardless of what happened to me.”