Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1)

by Madelyn Hill

  Strange how the idea didn’t put the fear of God in him. In fact, he looked forward to the event and it wasn’t just because he’d be sharing the laird’s chamber with Hope.

  He was going to be where he belonged. Where it had been determined his da was to rule, where his father longed for Aidan to be—to rule.

  Aye, Aidan felt contentment ease the tautness of his shoulders and set him to be ready for another day of games, dancing, and drink.

  He moved through the main hall, still in the midst of revelry and many deep in their cups and talking loudly. He leaned against the wall, crossed his left foot over his right ankle, and watched.

  A couple stood and began dancing to the music of laughter and chatter. They ignored him for the main part, although a few glanced his way. He’d thought he was making strides with the clan, camaraderie with the men, an easy rapport with the women. He was weary of being an outsider. Weary of being alone while in a clan.

  Aidan wondered for a moment if he’d always be an outsider. Was he fooling himself to think when he revealed his identity, told all of the ruse, they’d accept him? And what of Hope? Certainly she’d never allow him to touch her, kiss her, make love to her.

  He sighed, a bone-rattling sigh, that made him feel nearly as old as Liam.

  Aidan wanted to see her and he prayed Nora had left her chamber. He quickly smoothed back his hair and checked his kilt to ensure ’twas neat. He kenned how she liked the clan’s kilt to have sharp plaits. He tapped on her door.

  “You may enter.”

  With a quick smile, he shoved the door open and entered.

  “Och, MacKerry,” Hope said in surprise. “I thought you were Nora.”

  “Luckily for me, I’m not Nora.” He paced forward as he watched her.

  “The woman is trying to hide from me.”

  “Why?” He tipped his head to the side as he watched her. She was still in evening dress and was standing before the fire. The glow of the flames lapped around her, highlighting her hair and casting her skin in a golden glow. The flames flickered as if they were licking along her décolletage with a closeness Aidan envied. All he had to do was reach out and touch her, grasp her arm, and pull her into him.

  “She kens something, Aidan. She has information that will help me, us, with the council and clan.”

  “Where is she?”

  Hope sighed. “She promised to be right back after she wet some tea.”

  He chuckled. “Aye, well it appears as if your maid has tricked you, m’laird.”

  She pitched her brows downward. “Did you have a need, MacKerry?”

  If he told her of his needs, she’d run from the chamber and Nora would skin his hide. He inhaled. “I wanted to see how you were fairing after the discussion with Liam.”

  “Aye, well, ’tis his opinion, which means naught to me.” She moved away from the fire, but the heated glow still warmed her skin to a pink flush. A tiny drop of sweat trickled down her neck and he moved to touch it. Then she sat, ruining the opportunity.

  “And are you considering postponing the wedding?”

  She shook her head as roses blossomed further on her cheeks.

  He repeatedly clenched his fist so not to touch her. “We’re in agreement.”

  “Aye.” She smiled coyly. “What do you make of Liam’s request?”

  “Request? I believe he feels he can order us around as if he were laird.”

  “’Tis his way of things. My father had a way with him. Mother too,” she said with such longing in her voice.

  “And I think we’ll need a way to work with him as well. He has a tie to the clan, the elders and young. I’ve seen him charm the woman and men.”

  “And will you let him charm you?”

  He pulled up. Hadn’t he let Liam pull the strings, lead him around as if he hadn’t a mind of his own? “Nay.”

  She laughed and he let it fall over him like a welcome rainstorm. Whisper light, but cool and inviting.

  “You surprise me, MacKerry. You’re an honest man.”

  It felt as if he’d been punched square in the gut. She’d unmanned him with two words. Honest man.

  Aidan angrily shoved guilt aside. Aye, he’d lied to her. Still lied to her. But Hope had no right to foist it upon him. He deserved to be laird and he had to resist the urge to tell her all. “I wanted to say goodnight.” He pecked her cheek, ignored the look of confusion creasing her brow, then left the chamber.

  As Aidan paced toward his own chamber, he thought about the future, the impact of his presence on the clan and Hope.

  He also thought of his father and mother and how in his grasp was a means to change what the past had wrought them.

  And of the young lad who lost his life. Such a mystery, yet the clan seemed not to care. Who was he? Why was he in the bailey? And, dear God, why was he killed?

  He entered his chamber and looked out the small window that allowed for a view of the rear of the keep. A few milled about, but he assumed most had found their beds or companionship for the evening. A hunched figure stopped, looked up, and then proceeded toward the palisade.

  ’Twas obvious that the figure preferred to remain anonymous. But why? The strange happenings at Wild Thistle worried him as it would worry any laird.

  But he wasn’t laird. Yet.

  Just a few more feet. That’s all it ’twould take to reach the gate and find some privacy.

  Liam held back a cough, lest he drew the attention of the guards. Fever gripped him like a madness as he stumbled past the gate and toward the river. Cold water ’twas the answer. Cold water to run over his sweaty, withering body and rid it of sickness.

  It took such drastic measures, but he was resigned to the fact he must steal away in the middle of the night to treat himself. Mayhap he should have been killed instead of the lad. But then, he wouldn’t have the privilege of seeing Hope lose the lairdship to MacKerry.

  Ah, MacKerry, he thought as he tossed his tartan aside and walked into the water. He hissed in shock as the frigid water proved colder than he remembered. As he waded further into the icy depths, he cooled.

  Further he went. He stepped down on a mossy rock and lost his footing. Arms grappling for anything to latch onto, Liam slammed into the water. He gasped for air. Water flooded his mouth and lungs. They burned as he continued to cling to the surface. The river wasn’t deep, he kenned, but he couldn’t find the bottom as he flailed about.

  Liam kicked his legs and grasped for the edge.

  “Hold still, auld man,” a loud voice told him. “I’ve got you.”

  He struggled to view his rescuer, but the dark of night hindered his attempts. The man swung him over his shoulder and walked from the water as if it were a mere puddle.

  “Let me go, ye oaf.”

  “What? No thanks?”

  MacKerry. The devil take him!

  He swatted away MacKerry’s attempts to steady him. “I’ll see to meself.” Liam felt the younger man’s smirk.

  “Why did you go for a swim so late at night?” MacKerry gripped his elbow and led him back toward the palisade.

  I must hold my own counsel, Liam thought. “Just wanted a dip.”

  MacKerry laughed. “Aye, and I’m Nora in a tartan.”

  Despite himself, Liam chuckled. “’Twould be an ugly sight, to be sure.” He stopped walking and turned toward MacKerry. “Thank ye, lad. For saving me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  MacKerry didn’t pry, but he’d tipped his head as if regarding Liam in a different light. Liam felt the man had questions, but thankfully didn’t ask them. There was a hint of honor in the man. Not that MacKerry didn’t have secrets, but he was a man’s man and Liam respected him. How he differed from MacKerry’s parents. They fled when Liam kenned if MacKerry had b
een of age, he’d have stayed and fought for his rightful place.

  And if he’d done that, all would be different this day. Hope—blast her hide—and Catriona changed it all.

  MacKerry slapped him on the shoulders, a wee bit bone-rattling, but Liam held his own. “Do you need help to your chamber?”

  “Nay. I’ll manage.”

  Liam waited until MacKerry entered the keep before he exhaled. Would he be able to trust the younger man? With a grimace, he continued to stride toward his chambers so he could think unhindered by the fear of being discovered once again. Liam didn’t hold to being suspicious, but ’twas a tricky time within the clan and he didn’t ken who was truly friend or foe.

  Och, with all that had happened of late, his memories faded in and out and his goals waved before him like a whipping flag. Bollocks. He needed to focus. Remain focused.

  Or all would be lost to him.

  Chapter 18

  Hope paced the battlements trying to sort through the ideas and worries crowding her mind. ’Twas puzzling to say the least and she didn’t understand how so much deception managed to make its way into the clan’s dealings. Blast if Nora never returned and when she’d sent a serving girl to look for her the lass came back stating she couldn’t find the woman. No doubt she feared Hope would make her talk, share the secret she guarded by hiding about the keep. Was it about her father, mother, or both? Or the lad?

  Why had the lad died? She’d traced all clues, none to her satisfaction. One fact still festered. The lad wore a MacAlister tartan, but he wasn’t a MacAlister. They’d been free of war and skirmishes for quite a while. But threats lingered with Clan Mungo itching to conquer MacAlister territory.

  She leaned against the stone wall and cast a glance out to the sound. The bay was quiet this evening. Yet, she knew the tempestuous water could begin churning at any instant, but, at this moment, the slow lapping of the waves proved to be placating.

  Quite unlike the day her father died. Those ghastly memories forever etched into her mind with a clarity age wouldn’t blur. She always thought of that day as a pivotal point of bleakness in her life. Every moment before filled with fun and innocence. Every moment after filled with apprehension, duty, and the stifling fear of failure.

  Hope tipped her head back, allowing the wind to ruffle her hair, infuse the battlements with the scent of salt water and loam.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Ah, he’d found her.

  A tremor of excitement as well as nerves riveted through her no matter how she tried to appear disinterested.

  “Hope,” came the voice that felt like silk against her skin. How did he manage to make her nearly forget she was laird and make her feel like a woman?

  “Aye,” she answered despite the reservations still plaguing her. “Do you have need of me?”

  Aidan came before her, blocking the view of the water. “It seems as if I do.” He leaned in, braced his hands on each side of her as if locking her in from a quick escape. His gaze, damn him, absorbed all wit from her tongue. Aidan’s eyes probed as the gray swirled to a charcoal and desire banked within their depths.

  His lips curled into a half-grin and he inhaled a swift breath before he nuzzled along her jaw and down her neck. When he reached the hollow of her neck, she could resist no longer.

  On a whim of their own, her arms eased around his broad back and pulled him closer. The wall and Aidan MacKerry proved a formidable prison. Both hard, unrelenting. Yet Aidan was hot, sizzling and the planes of his body didn’t cut into her, they fit, cradled, and tantalized.

  Each trace of his lips set her mind into a tizzy of incomprehensible thoughts and desires. How did he manage? Ohhh, by Saint Valentine, she thought as his hand skimmed along her breasts, gently caressing and plucking at her nipples. How . . .?

  He captured her mouth, sucked on her tongue, and twirled his throughout the hot, moist cavity. She tilted her hips toward him, aching with a need that was as foreign as stitching embroidery in the solar.

  She cried out when he pressed his manhood against her, grinding his hips in a rhythm that enticed her. Heat, liquid heat, dripped from her as he moved his hands over her body, caressing, touching . . . Oh, God, he lifted up her tartan and slipped his hand beneath. Nay, he couldn’t, but he did.

  Aidan slipped his fingers into her curls, damp with desire and then, then his fingers entered her, his hand moving in a way that had her arching toward him wantonly.

  “That’s it, my sweet,” he whispered against her lips, his breath hot and ragged. “Does this pleasure you?”

  She nodded, unable to speak. The flash of lust, desire, and need infused within her as pleasure mounted to a nearly unbearable peak. Rolling over her, surging through her veins and the inner most part of her womanhood. Hope cried out as she exploded and flashes of light burst before her eyes. She panted, trying to catch her breath, then she sagged, depleted of energy.

  Aidan caught her. “Easy, my sweet.” He cradled her against him, slipped an arm beneath her legs, and carried her toward her bedchamber.

  Still mute, Hope rested her head against his shoulder as she traced the vee of his shirt. His heart beat wildly against her hand as she flattened it against the brawn of his chest. Aye, he was as affected as her. A satisfied smile tugged at her mouth.

  He kissed the top of her head and inhaled. They quietly entered her chamber and with a swift kick, Aidan shut the door.

  Aidan laid her upon the bed and in quick motions rid himself of his tartan and shirt.

  He was magnificent.

  All hard bunches of muscles forming a man of strength and beauty. Broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs. Her gaze eased over him, languishing in his manliness. A dark down covered his chest, legs, and . . . manhood.

  “Like what you see?” he asked gruffly.

  “Aye,” she said a little breathlessly and without tearing her gaze from the juncture of his thighs.

  His muscled flexed beneath her scrutiny and he bent toward her, removed her laird brooch. With infinite care which touched her heart, Aidan placed the brooch upon the chest of drawers.

  She admired his backside, hard, muscular. He returned to her side and once again, she was taken aback by the sheer magnitude of him, the greatness and power.

  He removed her tartan without a hint of urgency, although she wished he’d hurry.

  They weren’t wed, but ’twas merely a formality. Hope wanted Aidan MacKerry like nothing else she’d experienced. She wanted him to lie upon her, feel his brawn, the soft whisper of his dark hair against her skin, and the fullness of his manhood within her.

  Just the thought had her aching, pulsing with longing deep in the pit of her womb.

  Aidan looked at her, his eyes darkened and his breath hitched in his throat. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he lowered his head and kissed along her torso, his breath tickled the side of her breasts, and then, dear God, he suckled her nipple. Tugging, lapping, all sweetly torturous. A soft whimper of pleasure slipped past her lips.

  Hope raised her hips, lavished in the feel of his manhood pressing and pulsing against her. Tremors of anticipation fueled her excitement as heat consumed her body as if it flowed from Aidan and pumped through her blood.

  “Easy,” he managed with a chuckle.

  But she didn’t want to go easy. She’d tread lightly for too long and now, she just wanted to react, feel, explore. Hope tickled her fingers along Aidan, tracing the tip of his manhood, loving the silky smoothness of his shaft, the quick intake of his breath. She smiled when it flexed in response.

  Aidan hissed. “You’ll kill me, lass.”

  Hope laughed, heady with power.

  He looked at her, tipped her chin up and said, “Are you certain you want this.” His voice was deep, rough, so incredibly intense.

  “Aye.” />
  With her permission, Aidan nestled his tip at the apex of her womanhood, eased in gently, and gasped as she grabbed hold of his hips and forced his entry.

  Ah. ’Twasn’t as bad as she expected. A quick, sharp pain. Nora had surely exaggerated the pain of making love.

  Aidan stilled. “Are you well?”

  She exhaled. “Aye.” Hope squirmed beneath him. Slowly, he began to move and sweet merciful heaven, the sensations she experienced earlier came back. He thrust back and forth, the fullness of him stretching her with each movement.

  “’Tis wonderful,” she said before she could stop herself.

  Aidan gave a hearty chuckle. “Aye, ’tis.”

  He brought his attention upon her, kissing, licking, and nuzzling along her neck and breasts. Wave after wave of pleasure wafted over her in such amazing frequency that she lost herself to him. Gave freely, without pretense of being laird, just being a woman.

  As he trailed kisses along the scar on her shoulder, Hope clung to him, kneaded his muscles, pushed upward in order to sheath him within her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Aye, lass. Take your pleasure.”

  And she did. With each thrust, she countered in an innate, erotically-choreographed dance. They tangled their limbs as well as their tongues. He flicked his thumb across her nipple, striking an unbelievable cord within her as flashes of light ruptured through her mind.

  It seemed no matter how much they touched, they pushed to get closer and closer. The intimacy bonding them lip-to-lip, flesh-to-flesh.

  Hope explored Aidan’s scorching skin, her fingers memorizing each dip, hard plane, and granite muscle. He growled and nestled her ear, nipped the soft flesh of her lobe.

  Just as she thought she could bear no more, Aidan cupped her bottom, shifted her hips, and plunged.

  A cacophony of sensations, bold, striking, blasted through her body as she climaxed over and over again.