Laird of Darkness

by Nicole North

  “Duncan?” she moaned.

  “Aye, Alana. You taste like honey.” He pushed two fingers deep into her, his fingertips stroking the inner walls of her passage while he lapped at those delectable cunny lips. Enjoying the way they grew firmer with each flick of his tongue. The way her juices drenched his fingers.

  She lifted her hips off the bed, squirming and crying out. He licked harder and faster. Her breath halted, then she cried out, her whole body tightening. Duncan had never seen anything so beautiful as her coming. He wished he could bring her to the peak of pleasure a dozen more times before the sun came up.

  When she relaxed, breathing hard, he slid off the high bed, and pulled her to the edge. He must have her now. He placed her legs around his waist and skimmed the tip of his cock along her wet slit. He then prodded the head just inside, teasing her. She was so lush. He felt his release hovering, but forced himself to retain control.

  “Mmm, Duncan.” She wiggled her hips.

  Pushing in farther, he watched for her reaction—a thrust of her hips. He drove deeper.

  “Och. I love being inside you, lass.”

  “More,” she moaned.

  Lifting her ankles on his shoulders, he hammered against her, thrusting deep and hard. Those female sounds of ecstasy propelled him. He must make her climax again. More than anything, he enjoyed watching her pleasure.

  She fisted her hands in the blankets and, shuddering, she screamed. He drove deep into her tight passage, her muscles squeezing and caressing his cock. Relaxing his rigid control, he allowed his own release to crash over him in pleasurable waves. This was heaven, surely.

  And to let her go would be hell.

  Standing by the narrow window in the early morning sunlight, Kinnon MacClaren reread the missive from his damnable half brother.

  I have your lovely bride, Alana. If you want her back, send the Dealanach to me by the two men who brought you this. Send no one else. Once I have the bow and quiver, I shall release your bride and her party.

  MacDougall

  “Bastard!” Kinnon crumpled the parchment and stomped across the great hall toward the two men who’d failed to deliver his bride. “Why the devil did you go onto his land?”

  “’Twas MacPherson land,” his sword bearer, Murdock, replied.

  “Well, that didn’t matter, did it now?”

  “Nay, m’laird.” His men lowered their eyes before him.

  Damn Duncan MacDougall and his conniving ways. An exchange was out of the question. Kinnon must have his bride, but giving up his magical bow would ruin him. ’Twas his one protection against evil, the only thing his mother left him before she was taken hostage by Duncan’s father. History was repeating itself and the innocent lass, Alana, was caught in the midst of the debacle.

  When he’d been a wee lad of three or four summers, his mother had warned him to never be without his bow, especially at night. He remembered the stories she’d told him when she tucked him into bed—adventurous tales of a faerie princess who’d escaped Otherworld and come to this world to find true love. But when she was needed in Otherworld once again, her people sent horrid creatures to bring her and her children back. The bow she’d had fashioned by a wizard was her only protection. She’d given it to him, and a few months later she was kidnapped by Duncan’s father, because of her great beauty it was said. Kinnon never saw his beloved mother again. He couldn’t imagine what she must have suffered at that blackguard’s hand. When Kinnon’s father had attempted to rescue her, he’d been killed in battle. The MacDougalls were the devil’s spawn and Duncan now chief among them.

  Duncan had an even more terrible and malicious reputation than his father because of his Fae powers, but Kinnon did not fear him.

  After retrieving the bow from the locked chest in his bedchamber, he climbed the narrow steps to the ramparts of Castle Claren. With his keen eyesight, he gazed across the loch to Duncan MacDougall’s keep on a rocky promontory in the distance.

  They were half brothers, aye, but they’d never spoken face-to-face. All communication was sent through messengers or missives. At times he did wish he had a true brother and friend. Someone who was like him, half Fae. But, knowing the two clans’ violent history of feuding, their mother had placed a spell upon them to keep them from killing each other. He could not tread on Duncan’s land and Duncan could not step on his. To do so was certain death, according to the withered wise woman his mother had entrusted her secret to. His men could enter MacDougall territory, and Duncan’s men could come onto MacClaren lands. But since the loch divided the territories, invasion was difficult.

  They’d always had conflict, a remnant from their fathers’ and grandfathers’ time, and a long history of revenge and retaliation. But Duncan had gone too far this time. Never had he taken any of the MacClaren clan hostage before. And Kinnon certainly considered his bride a part of his clan. Duncan had simply become greedy and power hungry, coveting the magical bow.

  With his enhanced eyesight, Kinnon watched the MacDougall guards on the distant castle battlements, the wall walk and even some on the ground. In which room was his betrothed imprisoned?

  The two men who’d escorted her had told him Alana was breathtakingly beautiful, with pale golden hair and vivid blue eyes. His coloring was similar to hers, and he could well imagine the blond, blue-eyed children they would have someday. He wished he could but lay eyes upon her and witness her beauty for himself.

  He should’ve been the one to go and fetch her from her home—he could’ve protected her—but clan business had prevented it. He’d trusted his men and hers to deliver her safely. Clearly, he’d underestimated Duncan MacDougall’s nefarious ways.

  A movement in the faraway tower caught his attention. Wooden shutters opened and there in the window stood a golden goddess. Saints! It had to be Alana. Her hair was down and loose, hanging to her waist. The skin of her face like fine ivory. Her eyes, bright as the bluest sky. One of her maids stood beside her, gazing out over the landscape.

  “By the saints, she is mine,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  He strode down the stone steps quickly and entered the great hall, his footfalls echoing off the lofty ceiling. “Ian,” he said to his cousin. “Have all the soldiers assemble here forthwith. Tell them to make haste.”

  A quarter hour later, all his most skilled fighting men stood before him.

  “We’ll march along the loch a mile or two and cross by boat onto MacPherson land,” Kinnon said. “As you know, I cannot set foot on MacDougall property or certain death will follow. So you must rescue my bride from that devil’s spawn. I want her! Unharmed and in perfect health. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, m’laird,” several of his men replied.

  “What does she look like?” Ian asked.

  “She is the most beautiful lass I have yet laid eyes upon. With golden hair, eyes bluer than the sky and skin smooth and pale as milk.”

  The two men who’d escorted her nodded. “That she is.”

  “At the moment, that knave has her imprisoned in the westernmost tower.”

  “I shall bring her to you, m’laird.” Ian bowed. “And if Duncan MacDougall should stand in my way, I shall cut him down.”

  Chapter Six

  Though the oat bread, leek soup and grouse were fresh and tasty, Alana should’ve never agreed to eat a meal sitting beside Duncan at high table. Surely, a chief would not normally invite his hostage to sit in such a place of honor. Though, of course, she knew naught of hostage situations.

  What bothered her most were the furtive glances cast her way, from Duncan’s people and her own. Her men and her maids all sat at tables in the center of the hall, where everyone else could guard them. She caught her maids giving her curious looks and whispering amongst themselves. What were they saying?

  “Are you not hungry?” Duncan asked in a low voice.

  Her gaze flew to him. His hair, black and glossy as a raven’s wing, and his dark eyes were even more dramatic in the bright
light of midday that sliced through the narrow windows.

  “Not overmuch. But the food is delicious.” She took another bite of bread, thinking it might please him.

  His expression lightened, and she suspected he almost smiled. But he turned his attention back to his own food.

  She was daft, wanting to please him. He was her captor and she should hate him. But she didn’t. He was a wonderful lover, the kind she’d always dreamed of.

  Simply remembering what they’d shared, she felt overheated and flushed all over…and craved him again. The feel of his hot skin against hers had been pure indulgence.

  She was ashamed she had become so fond of sensual pursuits, but could not help herself. Duncan was highly skilled in the bedchamber. When she remembered the way he slid his cock into her, she shivered. His forceful thrusting had created unimaginable pleasure within her. But the thing that most touched her about him was the connection they shared: they both feared the darkness but had to hide it from everyone else. They understood each other. Alana might not share such a connection with MacClaren.

  A ruckus arose outside. Shouts. A horn blasted.

  “’Tis time. MacClaren’s men have come.” Duncan arose, shoving his chair back, and took her hand. “Come, lass.”

  As his warriors charged out of the castle, Duncan rushed her up the steps to his chamber.

  Breathing hard, she faced him. Was this the last time she would see him privately? There was much she wished to say, but her throat ached. Nary a word would emerge.

  “You will be safe here,” he murmured.

  “Do you think he sent the bow?” she whispered.

  Duncan shrugged. “I know not.” He looked deeply into her eyes with a troubled expression, as if he might be having regrets. “But if he sent any men beyond your two escorts, no exchange will be made. My terms were clear.”

  She could not believe he would exchange her after what they’d shared last night. She stared at the floor and couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

  “Och.” He stepped forward and lifted her chin. “Don’t cry, Alana.”

  His whisper only made her want to cry harder. She pressed her eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “I shall miss you.” She forced the words out.

  After he brushed her tears away, his hot lips captured hers in a decadent kiss. Her heart sang and her body heated instantly.

  With a growled curse, he released her and disappeared out the door. A lock clicked. Damn him. He cared so little for her that he would still trade her for a weapon.

  Loud clangs of swords, men’s angry yells and horses’ neighing echoed upward.

  Alana ran to the window and peered through the crack in the shutters. This was not an exchange. A battle raged just outside the walls. Had MacClaren launched an attack? She wanted no bloodshed because of her.

  “Oh, Duncan, have a care,” she whispered, wishing he would stay within the castle walls, but knowing he wouldn’t. Even if he was an outlaw, she didn’t want to see him killed.

  A scream reached her ears from somewhere nearby. Was that one of the clan’s women or one of her maids? She rushed to the door, but as always it was locked.

  Sophie’s voice shouted German words in the corridor.

  “Sophie,” Alana yelled.

  Nay! She was Alana’s favorite maid and her friend. She prayed someone wasn’t raping her.

  The muffled screams then echoed from the walled barmkin outside. Had they gagged her? Alana darted to the window and peered down through the crack. MacClaren’s men had Sophie trussed up, bound, with a sack over her head. They loaded her onto a horse with one of the men. All Duncan’s men were outside the walls, fighting.

  “Release her, you knaves,” Alana yelled down amid all the noise. “Where are you taking her?”

  They ignored her and galloped away with Sophie.

  Did they think she was Alana? They both possessed blond hair and blue eyes. ’Haps the men had confused them. At least Sophie would be safe if they took her to Kinnon MacClaren. He was said to be fair and honorable. ’Haps she would even be safer there than here.

  Would someone rescue Alana? Did she even want to be rescued? Either way, she would not remain a prisoner.

  Hearing quick footsteps in the corridor, Alana spun from the window. The lock rattled, and Duncan shoved the bedchamber door open, a severe scowl upon his face. Thank the saints he was unharmed. But his clothing was spattered with blood and mud.

  “You are well?” she asked.

  “Aye, but one of my best men, a good friend, is dying from a battle wound. You are a healer, are you not?”

  “Indeed.”

  Sorrow glinted in his eyes. “Neill is near death with a severe gash from a sword. He has lost much blood. I doubt anyone could save his life now. But I thought ’haps you could do it.”

  This was her opportunity, her chance for freedom. “I shall try…if you promise to release me.”

  He frowned. “I’ll release you from this room but not from the castle.”

  “Do you want your friend to live?”

  “Aye, of course,” he growled.

  “Then choose.” It pained her to force this decision on him, but he had to see that keeping her prisoner was wrong. She was a human being, not a thing to be bargained with. And he had brought all this violence upon his clan by kidnapping her.

  His eyes narrowed as if she’d betrayed him. “Very well. I’ll grant your freedom if you heal him and he lives at least five days.”

  “You will allow me, my maids and my clansmen to go to MacClaren at the end of five days?”

  His expression darkened. “Aye.”

  “And between now and then I am not locked in this room.”

  “You will be allowed to go to other areas of the castle, but you will be guarded at all times.”

  “Agreed. Take me to him.”

  Damnation. Duncan hated being forced into this position, but he couldn’t let his friend perish. Even if he had to give up Alana and his chances of acquiring the bow to save Neill. Carrying her herb satchel, Alana followed Duncan from the room and down the stairs to the great hall where Neill lay unmoving on a pallet, his eyes closed. The gash on his abdomen was deep and bloody.

  Alana placed her finger beneath his nose for a long moment. “He is breathing, but weakly.”

  “Can you save his life?” Duncan asked.

  “’Haps. Have one of your maids bring a large bowl of boiling water.” She rose and faced him. “And take me to the kitchen garden.”

  “Why?” What was she about?

  “I cannot reveal my methods.”

  After issuing an order to one of the maids to bring boiling water, Duncan escorted Alana down the steps, through the hot kitchen, and out to a walled garden filled with vegetables and herbs.

  Turning her back to him, Alana dug into her leather satchel and removed something. Seeds? She knelt, scratched in the rich black soil with a stick and then scattered the seeds over the ground. Gazing up through the late afternoon light, she whispered ancient Gaelic words…a spell, he realized. Something sprouted from the ground. He could not believe his eyes when the plants grew a foot tall within a minute.

  “How in blazes did you do that?” Surely he was seeing things that were not there.

  “I told you I cannot reveal my methods.” She snapped off the plants at the base, took her sack and stood. “Now we return to your injured man.”

  Duncan led her back inside, marveling at what magic she possessed. His hopes were a bit more bolstered now.

  “Is that the boiling water?” she asked one of the maids in the kitchen.

  “Aye, m’lady.”

  “Bring it now, if you please. We must hurry.”

  The maid poured the water into a large wooden bowl and followed them.

  In the great hall, Alana knelt beside Neill, dropped the fresh herbs into the hot water and stirred with a wooden spoon for a minute. Two minutes. She was taking too long. He couldn’t tell i
f Neill still breathed.

  “Should you not hasten the healing?” Duncan asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

  “I require privacy. And more light,” she said.

  “Light more candles and torches!” Duncan ordered the servants. “Everyone else out.” Once the great hall was empty and light, he paced at the other end of the huge room.

  Alana murmured a spell in Gaelic, a much older dialect than he was used to hearing. She added cold water to the herb and hot water concoction. After taking a sip, she nodded, then with her fingers, dripped the tea into Neill’s wound while repeating what Duncan assumed were incantations. This she did for several minutes.

  When Neill stirred, Duncan eased forward, unable to believe what was happening before his eyes. Alana dribbled some of the tea between his parted lips. He swallowed without coughing.

  “Aye, ’tis good, Neill,” she whispered. “This will make you feel better.”

  She continued dripping the tea onto his wounds and between his lips, whispering spells until the tea was used up. Next, she threaded a needle and set about stitching the wound, which had stopped bleeding. Alana finished with a prayer and a blessing, then rose from her knees.

  Duncan approached her, amazed she had managed to wake Neill for a moment and get him to drink a bit of tea. “What is that herb?”

  “Vervain.”

  “Is he improving?”

  “His breathing is stronger and he’s starting to mend. ’Twill take several hours, or even days, depending on how much blood he lost. I can repeat the cure in the morn.”

  “Aye. You should. And I thank you.”

  She nodded, her pale eyes solemn and mystical, as if she’d just returned from a magical realm. “I’ll take my herb satchel back to the bedchamber, then examine him again in a half hour. Have one of the maids bathe him with clean water and soap, but don’t touch the wound. And cover him with a clean blanket.”

  After relaying her instructions to Rachel, a pretty maid who lingered in a doorway nearby, trying to hide her tears, Duncan motioned for Alana to precede him up the stairs to his chamber. Once inside the room, a feeling struck him. How natural this seemed, like she belonged there.