“When I first saw you, all I could do was stare. You enthralled me.” He ran his touch upward to cup her breast. He brushed his thumb over the tip.
She covered his hold. “You made my heart race. I thought I was scared of you, but I only wanted to be with you. I still do.” She pulled off his plaid, and then ripped his leine over his head.
Buried beneath the turmoil of sensations, he knew she had to be with Eacharn. But she loved him…this bastard-born. He was being selfish wanting her for himself. To hell with all he risked.
“Now we’re both naked.”
“Good.” She took his hand and led him to the one place he wanted to spend this night. She intertwined their fingers and perched on the bed. She started to lean back.
“Not yet.” He picked up the bunched end of her braid. He untied the flimsy swathe of fabric and freed her hair. He combed out the strands about her shoulders. The fine locks fell about her like a gossamer veil. Her right nipple peeked out. “You look rumpled, but not yet sated.”
Rowen slid her hands around his waist. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. He took control of the kiss to a languid tempo, hitching his need and hers. He rested in the cradle of her legs. He cupped her womanhood.
“You’re wet.”
“And you’re hard.” She curled her hand around the tip.
He gripped the linens. His head fell forward as he lost himself in her soft stroke, running up and down. His blood rushed to the very tip. “Keep doing that”—he gulped—“I won’t be hard for long.”
He grasped her beneath her knees and tossed her on her back. Keeping her legs spread, he bent his head. He felt her heat before he sampled the sweet dew drenching her. He lapped once, and then again. Her moan urged him on. He found her nub and suckled. Beneath his tongue, he felt her tighten. Her legs fell apart. She squirmed against his mouth. The nub pulsated. She buried her face in the linens and burst apart in his mouth.
Lachlan lifted his head. Over the mound of her golden curls, he watched little tremors rack her. Her breast shook as the tremors still racked her. He licked his lips and flooded his mouth with her dulcet flavor. He replaced his mouth with his hand. He slipped in one finger. She was so tight. Untouched. A maiden. His.
He dipped in another one. He stretched her. Her wetness drenched him. She watched him through her heavy-lidded eyes. She shook under his touch. Lachlan was so hard. He might explode before he was tucked in her walls.
Not able to withhold himself away any longer, he climbed atop her. He rested his right hand by her head. “Touch me.” She rested her hands on his waist. For now, that was enough for him. He inched forward. The veil of her womanhood halted him. He gritted his teeth and plunged within her.
Rowen hissed and pushed at him even as she contracted around him. He started to shake and sent a thank you as the pain faded away. “Look at me, Rowen.”
He waited, ignoring the strain of his body. He clenched his jaw. Between the heat of her body and his own, a sweat broke out across his forehead. Her eyes opened. He slipped out, and then back. His eyes closed, wanting to lose himself in the supple feel of her. He felt her desire more than saw it. She arched against him. Passion overtook her, freeing her so she caressed him, holding him to her. She raised her bent legs up, bringing him deeper.
“Lachlan,” she cried out.
“Not yet, my love.”
Her scorching walls coiled. “Not yet, my love,” he panted, repeating himself in prayer and gratefulness. He pumped into her, shallow strokes.
Then she fell apart, sucking him in her waves. He spilled his seed and crumpled in boneless mess atop her. He buried his head in her neck. He luxuriated in the scent of sex that clung to her and seeped into her pores.
His bones solidified and he rolled off her. He tucked her tight to him. Drying sweat stuck their skin together. He should have snuck away before being discovered. He found he couldn’t leave.
When he got breath back in his chest, he whispered sweet Gaelic words. Ones that he always yearned to say, but could not risk it. This night, he planned to say all that was in his heart. He had broken his vow never to lay with her and risked everything he had earned to be with her.
“Stay with me.”
“We could be discovered, and I do not want to ruin your life.”
“Just for the night. Stay.”
“That is the problem I want more than a night…but if that is all I can have, then I shall.”
She tossed a leg over him and rested her head on his chest. Her hair brushed against his nose and lips and he loved it. Her feminine, supple weight lulled him into slumber. He fought it. Tonight, he refused to miss a moment of holding her. He listened as she fell asleep.
With Rowen in his arms, he’d risk all. The land he rented out. The standing he held with MacLean and Caelen even the war that might rage if the events of this night were unearthed.
This was their night. The night when two worlds lost the boundaries between love and duty. He curled the other arm around her and held her.
Perhaps, he’d steal her away. He could hire out his sword.
Chapter Four
Rowen bunched her leine’s hem about her knees and ran. Her life was in danger. She peeked over her shoulder. They were catching up to her. Connor led his band of warriors that included his little brother, a couple of the castle’s children, and the castle hounds.
Between the barks and cries of excitement, she heard the thump of Connor’s bare feet. His leine reached his knees and revealed his legs pumping to match her long stride.
“You shall not get me.”
She darted in the opposite direction and added her screams with the children’s one bouncing off the hall’s walls.
That she was running about when she felt sore only proved how wonderful she felt. She couldn’t stop grinning, and playing with the children gave her an excuse for it. She couldn’t tell anyone that Lachlan had slept at her side and when sun broke over the mountains, she rose with him, stealing another kiss. As much as it stung her after he left her chamber, she sighed with pleasure. Lachlan loved her. She had given him her virginity and part of her that she wished to share only with him. Eacharn would learn of her deception on her wedding night and she couldn’t care.
She wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged herself tightly. Lachlan’s manly scent seemed to have seeped into her pores. She still smelled him on her.
She stopped short, flaying her arms about as one of the hounds jumped up on her. Connor grabbed handfuls of her skirts. She plopped down on the floor.
Connor aimed his wooden sword at her. “You’re my prisoner.”
Rowen held up her arms. “I surrender, my good sir.”
The children jumped up and down, cheering.
“What will you ransom her for?” Ailsa bounced Sioda on her hip.
“A thousand rubies,” Connor held his sword aloft.
“What do you say to some treats? Mrs. MacBheath has some apple tarts. After you have eaten your ransom, perhaps the rain has stopped and you can run about the courtyard.”
Connor and his bloodthirsty band sprinted toward the kitchen.
Rowen rose. As she dusted off her clothing, she asked, “Is there anything for us to do to waste away the hours?”
“I have seen to the meal. I have helped prepare the meat for the winter stores. The ale and wine are accounted for. The children are eating, so there shall be some quiet for a while. I have mending that needs to be seen to and garrison rolls requiring attention.”
As if hearing the Lairdess, servants entered and began setting up table for the midday meal.
“Do you think the men will return from their hunt?”
“So you can have something besides mending to divert your attention?”
“You have found me out. Lead me to it.”
Fate had taken pity on Rowen and Father Murray entered the great hall. Rain dripped from his holy garments and a puddle spread about his feet. The poor man resembled a sparrow after a ba
th. A twinge twisted Rowen’s chest. She wished for the kind man to be anywhere but within these stonewalls. His presence blared a reminder that she was to marry in days.
“Oh, Father, please warm yourself. I will see to your chamber.” Ailsa shoved Sioda in Rowen’s arms, and then hurried to see to his needs.
Father Murray stood before the fire. He rubbed his hands together, and then held them out so the warmth would return to his extremities. Rowen poured the man usige beatha and handed it to him.
He accepted it with a grateful nod and raised it to his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed.
The kind priest smiled at her. His avuncular eyes landed on Rowen. “You appear happy.” Father Murray shook his arms, sending water flying off the wool.
“Aye, I do appear as such.”
He turned his benevolent face upon her. Rowen busied herself by bouncing Sioda on her knee. Sioda smiled, revealing her pink gums as drool spilled from her mouth.
“Then you shall be.”
Rowen nodded since he seemed to be waiting for a reply, or at the very least an acknowledgement. She lowered her head to hide her innermost thoughts, fearful Father Murray could see into her. He was not an ignorant man. He knew of the love between Lachlan and herself. And she was in no mood to hear another speak to her of duty. She knew her duty—wed, be fruitful, and raise the family’s position.
“Father,”—she glanced about the hall—“what if I am not happy? What if I do my duty and have no earthly reward?”
He set the empty cup down on a stool. “Rowen, it may seem as if you do not have a choice, but you do. You can make the most of your life and seek out those moments of happiness instead of spending your days pondering a life that is not what the Lord has set for you.”
“Do you truly believe it to be so simple?”
“Only you shall make it a hardship. Temptation makes life difficult, showing you another life, but if that choice was meant for you, then it would come to be.”
“If I were…”
“At the risk of many lives. You are not that selfish.”
Ailsa swept in. “Father, your chamber is ready.” She escorted him to the castle stairs. “A fire is roaring and I have some nice usige beatha to warm your bones.”
A gust of wind blew in from the opening of the great hall’s door. Laird MacLean and Murray came in, followed by Caelen and Eacharn. Their jovial voices rose as they spoke over each other, adding to the events of the hunt. Lachlan wasn’t there.
“How went the hunt?”
Eacharn hurried to her. Rain dripped from his hair and ran down his face, where it dripped off the tip of his nose. He hunched down and wagged a thick finger at Sioda. “It was a triumph. There is enough meat to have a dozen feasts. I wish you had joined us. How was your day?”
She caught the scent of blood, mud, and wet wool. “It was filled with excitement. I was captured and ransomed for apple tarts. It was that or a thousand rubies.”
“Rubies…hmm, are the apple tarts delicious?” His mouth twitched.
“Aye, there are the best on this earth.” For some reason, she fell under his easy spell. He was a kind man and she had an easy interaction with him. She hated it. It made her feel as if she were a liar and betrayer. To who? Both Lachlan and Eacharn.
“I would have chosen the tarts as well.”
“I commend you on your choice.”
He took Rowen’s hand. “It warmed me to arrive and see you before the fire with a bairn on your lap. I wish to come home to a scene such as this.”
“That sounds divine. I must warn you, the grains foretold that I would have five children.”
“Five. Good thing we shall be married within days. We must get started on that.”
Both looked up as Lachlan strolled in. Rain caught on the ends of his russet brown hair and beaded on his plaid. For across the hall, she saw the stiffening of his shoulders and the shallow rise and fall of his chest from his building anger.
She peeked at Eacharn. He wore a polite visage. He knew the truth and chose to ignore it, pretending what he witnessed, what hung thickly between them and blended with the smoke from the hearth, somehow did not exist.
Rowen swore to herself that he was a good man. That she was not hurting him since he bore her no tenderness. She chose to hold on to that falsehood. It eased her guilt. As she looked around, she noticed the others pretending not to notice, but each acutely aware of it, for it pulsed in the air.
Lachlan joined the men. Caelen raised his brows at Lachlan, sending him a silent message. One he chose to ignore as he turned away from it.
“Let me pour you a drink to banish the chill and celebrate your kill.”
“Aye.” Eacharn took Sioda from her.
She went to the table and poured him a cup. She took great interest in the liquid swirling about the cup. She held it with two hands as she brought it to Eacharn. For a moment, she could fool herself into thinking she was with her family. But for the looming presence of Lachlan hovering behind her, ready to tap her on the shoulder and demand her attention. She hadn’t done her duty. Her maidenhead was meant for her husband.
Duncan’s shadow fell over her and jolted her. “Here is my bonny lass.” Sioda stretched out her pudgy arms and shook her dimpled hands at her father. Duncan took her and threw her into the air, earning her squeals of delight.
Mrs. MacBheath came in to hall. “I am in need of the Lairdess. One of the kitchen maids burned herself.”
“She is still seeing to Father Murray. I can help.” Rowen followed Mrs. MacBheath to the kitchen. She found the kitchen maid clutching her hand and tears on her lashes. Rowen quickly set to caring for the young lass. It was not the first time she had been burned, and working in the kitchen surely meant that it would not be the last. Rowen warned her to be more cautious after instructing her on how to care for her injury.
Rowen had stepped beyond the kitchen’s arched threshold and was snatched back. She swallowed her yelp of surprise as she looked upon Lachlan’s face. He jerked her to the shadows and far from the eyes of the kitchen servants.
He cupped her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Well.” The word was all she needed to speak.
“I do not regret last night. It was my greatest joy.” He sealed his mouth against hers. She couldn’t think of anything and lost herself in his embrace and the firm, heady feel of his kiss. He tasted of spicy wine and of something that was just him. She snaked her arms around him and moaned.
Lachlan jerked away. Ailsa stood in the center of the light. Her eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open. The little color she possessed had washed away. She looked away before she hurried into the kitchen.
* * * *
Lachlan stood at the paddock and watched the groom run the horse through its paces. “He has the traits of his sire.”
“Aye, he’s has his spirit, too. He’ll make a fine hunter.” The groom made a few clicking sounds and the horse trotted faster, tossing his mane.
Lachlan leaned on the fence rails, hanging his arms over the edge. He didn’t need to be here. He lingered far from the castle and the lairdess. He had seen her look—shock that changed to anger. He wasn’t up to hearing a reprimanding speech from her, the same one he had been having with himself since Rowen’s arrival. Of course, Duncan would see her riled and she would tell him because she told him everything. Then Duncan would come to him.
He pushed away from the fence. He had other duties. First, he gathered the men who watched the Murray men camped outside the walls. There had been a few quarrels between MacLeans and Murrays. Good thing the MacLeans won many of them.
His men spotted him coming out the castle gates and started toward him. Jock and Lunn were flushed from too much drink, but were steady on their feet. As long as their duty was seen to, Lachlan did not care if they shared a few toasts with the Murrays.
Jock crossed his arms. “I na heard such rot in my life. I ha’e heard more aboot the length of their members than any lass on Murr
ay land.”
“I heard more aboot yer member than any lass on MacLean lands,” Lunn said.
“But the lasses ha’e seen it.”
“Ye the only one that talks aboot it.”
In the center of the Murray men milling about was Eacharn’s trusted man—Bran. He stared at Lachlan. Nay, he glared at Lachlan. His men surrounded him, shooting glances at Lachlan as Bran went on about something. Lachlan knew he was near to shouting, but the growing cold wind blew away his words. He chopped his arm in Lachlan’s direction.
“I dinna think he likes ye, Lachlan.”
Two men grabbed Bran by his shoulders. Bran shoved by them and stomped straight toward Lachlan.
“I dinna like ye.” Bran swung at Lachlan. He clipped Lachlan on his chin.
Lachlan swung off the blow with a shake of his head. His jaw throbbed. All he saw was Bran’s flaring nostrils. Lachlan punched him right on his nose. A snap sounded. Blood gushed.
Bran tottered back three steps, finally getting his stance on the fourth. “I’ll—”
Lachlan wasted no time. He punched him in the face again. His hard knuckles slammed against bones. Bran grunted but stayed on his feet. Lachlan chopped at his throat. His hand slammed into Bran’s thick forearm. With his other arm, Bran slammed his fist into Lachlan’s gut.
He grunted. Bent over, he saw Bran’s knee coming for his face. Lachlan grabbed his leg and tossed the bastard aside.
Bran rolled and sprang to his feet. He rammed into Lachlan and lifted him off his feet. Lachlan brought his fists down on his back. He hit him again. Bran’s grunts fueled him. He struck him again, roaring his rage with each strike. Then he was slammed against a building. His bones rattled and a sharp pain shot through his back. His breath went out in a gust. Bran dropped him.
Dust and dirt from the thatched roof rained down. Bran gave him the chance to recover. Fool closed his eyes against the debris. Lachlan kicked him in the knee. Bran fell to one knee and looked up at Lachlan.
Highland Scandal Page 6
