Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1)

by Adamina Young

  Rob immediately pulled away from her, sitting up and catching her traitorous hips in his hands, that lopsided smile now so full of knowing. His grip shifted down to her thighs, and he leaned forward to drop a few kisses there before he slowly separated them, moving his body so that he was now between her legs, leaning forward to press himself against her, his firmness threatening entry, yet denying it at the same time. It was a taunt, a temptation, a torment.

  “Kenna, ye have to say it,” he said, though surely he knew the answer.

  He had to know the answer. He had to feel it in the moisture that was gathering and see it in her eyes as she stared at him with lust and fury. But the bastard wouldn’t let it go unspoken.

  She tried to squirm away from him, to relieve the torturous press against her, but he held her fast, leaning over her to continue his campaign of perfectly placed kisses and nibbles as he pushed even more firmly against her, making her release more sounds that she had never heard before. Then he groaned, the heat of his breath tickling her skin and shaking each of her senses. Her body was now begging her lips to form the words, to release the rest of her from this purgatory.

  “Please,” Kenna moaned, the deepness of her voice enough to almost set her skin on fire, “I’m begging ye.”

  His mouth descended upon hers again, holding her in place. His hands pulled from her body, and she heard the soft jingle of a belt being undone before the rough wool of his kilt was suddenly pulled away.

  “It will only hurt fer a moment, I swear it,” Rob said as he brushed gentle kisses across her face as his hand guided his manhood to her folds.

  With slow ease, he pushed his way into her, just far enough for her to finally feel him there, a ripple of relief echoing through her before he pulled himself from her nearly completely. Before Kenna or her body could object, he pushed into her once more, this time deeper than before. She let her muscles relax and shift to accommodate him. Kenna’s hips tried to follow him this time when he pulled away, to absorb him within her, but Rob’s hands dug greedily into her buttocks as his mouth hungrily found hers, his tongue issuing a fierce warning. She shivered as he went in again, and this time she felt him find a barrier, tapping it gently with his tip. Kenna prepared herself for his exit, but instead, he gave one powerful thrust, forcing himself through the barrier and burying himself completely inside of her.

  Kenna cried out against Rob’s lips, not sure if it was in pain or pleasure, as Rob’s hands moved to roam her, kneading her thighs and stomach before moving up to her breasts. She still felt him inside of her, filling her, unmoving while her body stretched around him, the pain of the moment slowly melting into her growing need for more. He seemed to sense the change, and so he began to move.

  It was such a simple beat, the thrusting in and out, yet Kenna had never encountered a tune that agreed with her more than this one. His arms enveloped her, guiding her to move with him, to meet each of his movements with one of her own, forming a symphony between them that made her nerves quiver and her body arch toward him even further. Her fingers pulled from his shoulders and up into his hair, entangling themselves in his soft red locks.

  He groaned, his breath hot on her neck. Somewhere beyond them, so far that it hardly could have mattered, Kenna heard a loud knock, but her mind forced her ears away from it, to Rob, so she heard only him. She wanted to absorb each groan and sigh as he thrust into her again and again, the movements now becoming so fast that each crash was immediately followed by the next. She felt lost in it, overpowered by a slow-rising sensation of pressure that she would not be able to contain.

  Then there was a heavy thud as the door to their little room was forced open, and a pair of men entered the room with their swords raised, their face full of mockery and disdain. All carnal pleasure was now fear, the sweat slicked against her body now cool.

  Rob moved quickly, pulling away from her with curses under his breath as he reached toward the floor.

  “That will not be necessary,” the guard said, lowering his blade so that it was positioned between Rob’s hand and the place where he had earlier abandoned his sword on the floor. “Mary, Queen of Scots, wishes to see ye both at once.”

  9

  “Hurry it up,” the guard called to them, prodding Rob’s back with the wooden end of his spear.

  The second guard reached out to shove Kenna forward, but Rob was quicker, grabbing the man by the wrist and pushing his arm back and away from her.

  “We’re moving,” he said, sparks of anger erupting between them. “Ye canna make us move faster than this.”

  Kenna had been shaking since the men broke down their door, but the tremors were becoming more and more violent as they moved closer and closer to the center of town. Rob wasn’t sure if it was fear or the chill of the night. If she hadn’t still been wearing her shift, just needing to pull it down over her, the guards might have dragged her from the room completely naked. Rob had intervened, arguing with them so that Kenna could lace up her boots and pull her dusty riding cloak over her shoulders before they were forced from the room.

  As little time as they had afforded Kenna to dress, they had given Rob even less. A shirt and a kilt were all he managed to put on before they shoved him from the room, and he was fairly certain that he was only granted the shirt because he had gone for it before the kilt. Rob had shoved his feet into the boots left discarded by the door while the guards’ glares were directed at Kenna as she knotted the cloak around her neck, but even after a few minutes of walking, his feet hadn’t worked their way all the way into them, giving his gait a strange wobble as he navigated his way through the streets in the flickering light of the torch.

  Queen Mary had taken up residence in a large stone home in what was nearly the very center of town, a home owned by some noble hoping to elicit a bit of favor. Though the rest of the homes on the street were dark, light poured from every window of the Queen’s, accompanied by a steady stream of voices that were each competing for superiority.

  Rob cocked his ears, trying to pick up a few of the voices, but the few words he could distinguish gave nothing away.

  Kenna ran a few trembling fingers through her curls, smoothing them a bit as the guard knocked on the heavy oak door. One of the Queen’s ladies opened it, looking past the guard to Rob and Kenna with a disapproving raise of her brow, and Kenna quickly pulled the cloak even more tightly around her to conceal the shift.

  “Come in,” the maid said with a sigh, spinning on her heels and waiting for them to follow.

  Distant voices were coming from deep within the house, but the maid had barely let them in the door before she gestured to a small seating area at the front of the house, filled with plush couches and intricately woven rugs. A couple of ladies were already sitting in the room, gossiping in hushed voices over their cups. They paled when they saw the couple and quickly slipped past them and disappeared into the house’s depths, where only the privileged, it would seem, were allowed entry.

  “Sit. The Queen will join ye when she is able.”

  Rob gestured for Kenna to sit first before he joined her, absently placing his arm around her while she continued to tremble.

  There was only one reason for the Queen to have ripped them from their bed, and with such miserable timing. Something must have happened. Something with the Earl of Huntly and his rebellion. Something that traced straight back to Kenna.

  “Kenna,” he whispered, “I need ye to tell me what ye did.”

  “What?” Her head snapped up to face him, her trembling suddenly stilled.

  “I’ll not say anything to them, I swear it.”

  Kenna’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

  He winced. “I canna help if ye don’t tell me—”

  “Rise for the Queen,” a guard called.

  Queen Mary swept into the room, her usual legion of advisors close behind her. Her hair was pulled back tight, and her woolen dress was covered by a leather doublet that was studded along the seams with bits of poli
shed brass. It was as close to armor as a queen would ever wear.

  Rob and Kenna rose and quickly dropped into a formal bow and curtsey.

  “Sit. We have so much to discuss,” Queen Mary said, though she continued to pace in front of them.

  “Earlier this evening, a group of sentries captured a man attempting to flee the city with this.” The Queen lifted a small piece of folded parchment, the unmarked seal already broken. “‘Tis a letter fer the Earl of Huntly. There are many fascinating details in the letter. I shall summarize them fer ye, Mr. Fraser. Listed were the names of the lairds who have gathered to lend their support to the crown, as well as our current position here in Aberdeen, and a few assumptions about where we shall go next. Finally, there was a beautifully written paragraph, detailing the writer’s enthusiasm for assisting the Earl of Huntly in these matters fer, and now I quote, ‘The bonds of family must never be forgotten.’”

  Rob felt all warmth leave his body. He wanted to look at Kenna, look into her blue eyes so he could know whether or not it was true.

  “The writer even signed it with a ‘K’.” The Queen scoffed as she tossed the paper down to the floor, where Rob scooped it up and scanned it for himself.

  Sure enough, at the bottom of the page was a loopy letter ‘K’. The rest of the information was written as the queen described. Rob felt Kenna’s glance shift to it, and he looked to her. Her expression was stern, unreadable. He was reminded of their wedding feast, of the cold barriers she had pulled around her to keep her and everyone else safely away. But he needed the lass that was hidden inside, the lass with the spirit of a warrior and a wit that could fell any opponent with its sharpness.

  Fight back, Rob silently urged. Fight back if ye ken that ye are not responsible.

  But Kenna remained silent, her lips pressed together, her eyes slowly leaving the letter to focus on some spot on the wall ahead.

  “The word fer these actions,” one of the Queen’s advisors said with an unmistakable bit of glee, “is treason.”

  “Did the messenger name her?” Rob asked.

  “Not yet,” the queen replied, disappointed, “but he is still being questioned.”

  “Then ye’ll forgive me if I refuse to accept a single letter as enough evidence to be convicted of something as serious as treason. There are many Gordons in the world, in this city even, and I am sure there is a fair number who share the letter ‘K’ with my wife.”

  “Sir! Ye must be reasonable!” the advisor cried in exasperation.

  “Laird Lockhart,” the Queen said, her voice quiet but firm, “please speak only if ye have something worth saying.”

  Laird Lockhart quieted with a pale face, sinking a step back as if hoping to hide amongst the tapestries adorning the walls.

  “I agree, one letter is not the evidence required. Stay here, both of ye, and we will continue to have the messenger questioned, as well as a few others, until the path forward becomes clear,” the Queen said before she spun and left the room.

  She wanted them dead, and she wanted them dead soon; it was easy to see. But she couldn’t do it without proper evidence, not with Rob’s threat from a few days prior still lingering in her memory. No, she needed overwhelming evidence if she wanted to see them dead and maintain control of the Fraser army.

  The advisors flocked behind her, Lockhart taking up the rear in his shame, and once more Rob and Kenna were alone.

  Rib waited for his wife’s thanks, for her apology for putting them in this situation again, but every glance of hers that he managed to steal seemed to be spiked with poison rather than regret.

  They sat there for hours; Kenna was practically a statue. Rob was the opposite, moving here and there, standing to pace and then collapsing back onto the couch as he tried to think of fresh arguments that would free them.

  The woman could at least speak to ye, he thought.

  He preferred her spark, her anger, her words that tore into him like a knife; he preferred anything over this wall of silence.

  Queen Mary returned at dawn, her face pale and lines of exhaustion creasing her face. Her advisors looked as if they had just come off of a battlefield. Their clothes were all rumpled, their faces ashen and downcast. They had discarded their finery, no longer dripping in golden chains and gem-studded rings. They were ordinary men, beaten and lost.

  Rob took that as a good sign.

  “The messenger has not revealed a name,” the Queen announced. “At least not yet.”

  “But ‘tis highly improbable that it was someone other than Lady Kenna who wrote this,” Laird Lockhart said, having apparently risen back to the Queen’s favor at some point in the past few hours, though he still looked as downtrodden as the rest.

  “There is still—” Rob started, but he was interrupted by the entrance of another, one of the Queen’s maids who was shaking ever so slightly with fear.

  “Please forgive my interruption, my Queen, but Lady Florence Fraser has arrived,” the maid announced softly, with a nervous glance toward the Queen.

  Florence swept into the room in a bright yellow dress, the skirts stuffed so full of petticoats that she required a large berth. Despite the early hour, her red hair had been twisted back into an ornate bun, a bit of hair still loose to sweep down over her shoulders.

  “Yer Majesty.” Florence dipped low. “I just came to pick up my brother and his wife. My father wished fer us all to break our fast together since we have been apart fer so long.”

  The advisors blanched at her boldness, and Rob felt his throat close as he looked between his fool of a sister and the already enraged queen.

  “Well, ye shall have to tell Laird Fraser that such family pleasantries must wait. A message was intercepted last night, and we believe that it was sent by Lady Kenna,” the Queen replied through gritted teeth, pulling the letter out and throwing it onto the table beside Rob in punctuation, her patience with Clan Fraser clearly now worn to the thinnest of threads.

  Florence cocked her head, confused, “‘Tis impossible. I never let the lass leave my side from the time she arrived in Aberdeen—‘til she returned to my brother’s company, that is. She was never alone long enough to pass a letter to a messenger, let alone write one.”

  With Florence making such a good point, Rob took the letter silently and opened it once more, starting to examine its contents. It was far more wrinkled than it had been a few hours before, surely from being passed through so many hands that thought they could find the “truth” of it. He was now one of the many, but he only needed to disprove one of their notions, not solve the entire mystery.

  “She could have written it while on the road, while hidden in her tent,” Laird Lockhart challenged, “and passed the letter without yer knowing.”

  Rob held up the letter, shaking it in the air as his mind forged a connection.

  “No! Whoever wrote it was in Aberdeen. There are names listed here, names of lairds who were not with us on the journey from Inverness. They took up the Queen’s call and came here instead; we hadn’t known their names, let alone their numbers, ‘til after we arrived in Aberdeen.”

  The advisors found renewed energy and began to yell and shout over one another, one coming and tearing the letter from Rob’s hands to confirm it himself.

  “Lady Florence could be lying!”

  “Lady Kenna is too conniving fer Lady Florence!”

  “Perhaps the Gordon infected the mind of the Fraser!”

  The assumptions, all deadly and dangerous, flew around the room in a frenzy. Rob caught Florence’s eye, and she gave him a small shrug, so casual for the moment.

  “Silence!” Queen Mary shouted, clutching her head. “Take her away from me!”

  “But, my Queen—” one advisor dared.

  “Take her away!” Queen Mary nearly ran from the room. Then with pounding footsteps, she returned. “She is not to leave anyone’s sight. Not fer a moment.”

  Rob didn’t hesitate; he quickly grabbed Kenna and escorted her from the roo
m.

  Florence took an extra moment to curtsey at the advisors gathered there before bidding them a good day.

  Rob would have run back to the inn if Kenna didn’t seem to be dragging her heels.

  Florence, meanwhile, glided over the cobblestones, commenting on this house and that, as if they were out for a casual morning stroll.

  Women are beyond my ken, Rob thought.

  The first floor of the inn was nearly empty, other than his father beside a couple of men, all of them talking with haste. Rob knew what the discussion was, and he needed to join it fast. But he had another thing to handle in the meantime.

  Before Rob could guide Kenna, her face still stony and silent, back into their room, Florence tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Not that this is necessarily the time, but a couple of the new things we ordered yesterday arrived, and I had them sent to yer room. I’m sure it will be nice to wear…” Florence hesitated as she gave Kenna a quick look up and down. “Well, clothes will be good.”

  “To be sure,” Kenna replied softly as she crossed the threshold. “Thank ye, Florence.”

  When Rob slammed the door behind them, he felt the long-rumbling anger start to spill over.

  “So, ye’ll talk to my sister-in-law about dresses, but ye won’t even look at me.”

  Nothing.

  “Why won’t ye speak to me?”

  Nothing.

  “Damn it, Kenna,” he yelled, picking up one of the goblets left on the table and throwing it onto the floor. “Say something!”

  Kenna looked down and then at him. “Before the Queen came into the room, ye asked me to tell ye what I did.”

  “So I could help.”

  “Ye assumed there was something to help me with.”