Highlander's Honor (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

  “Can you afford to send one of your men to my father?” she asked. “He must be told I am no longer with John Saul and safe as soon as possible.”

  Ranulf nodded. “Aye.”

  He walked away toward a cluster of his clansmen as Catrin lifted the saddle to the stallion’s back. Camp broke up quickly with a cold breakfast eaten, fires doused and mounts saddled. She took one of the outlaws’ former animals, a big bay, for her own and climbed into the saddle. Pulling Ranulf’s stallion in beside her, she watched as a man at arms trotted out of the camp and down the steep hill.

  Ranulf returned to her leading a grey. “We hae to ride slow,” he said. “Or we kill these animals.”

  His clansmen mounted the freshest horses and led the rest, making their way down to the moors below. Ranulf set a pace that the exhausted horses could maintain, walking and trotting with frequent stops to rest and graze. His rearguard reported no one following, and Catrin breathed easier with every mile that took them further north.

  They reached the Dunbury Castle, home of the MacCreedy clan, just before sunset. Leaving Catrin in the midst of his men, Ranulf cantered close to the castle’s walls to yell to the guards.

  “I be Ranulf Thorburn,” he called, “seekin’ shelter from laird Osric MacCreedy.”

  As they had no doubt been seen from the castle’s battlements as they approached, the laird of Clan MacCreedy already strode from the castle to greet him. Ranulf dismounted, and Catrin watched as the two men met and clasped arms. Turning, Ranulf beckoned to them.

  Riding forward, Catrin found Osric MacCreedy to be an older man with grey running rampant through his shaggy red hair. His mustache drooped to their side of his mouth, and his bright blue eyes sized her up as she dismounted to curtsey.

  “I hae the honor tae meet yer da, Me Lady,” he said, offering her a short bow. “Guid man.”

  “Thank you.”

  Osric clapped Ranulf on the shoulder and gestured toward his castle. “Be welcome here and stay as long as ye like. Me grooms wi’ care fer yer beasts.”

  “We wi’ stay only a day or two,” Ranulf said as they walked toward the castle. He took Catrin’s hand and held it. “Thank ye fer yer hospitality.”

  “I be sorry fer yer loss, Ranulf,” Osric said. “How be yer da?”

  “Nae guid, Osric,” Ranulf replied. “His mind be broken, delusional. He dae think Kyle be alive and oan a journey.”

  “Ach, ‘tis a right shame.”

  Catrin caught the speculative glance the clan lord sent her, and she did not have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. Why would she, the daughter of the man who hanged Kyle Thorburn, be so obviously close to Ranulf? But he did not speak his thoughts aloud, and instead invited them to supper.

  The great hall was filled with the lord’s vassal and clansmen as Osric seated Ranulf at his right hand, Catrin on his left. Over the meal of venison and roast mutton, fried fish, bread and hard cheese, Osric told them of the rumors of war spreading across Scotland.

  “The Duke ‘o Whitewood be gathering his allies,” he said, “the Duke ‘o Breedmont be wi’ him.”

  Catrin’s mouth went dry. “Are you sure it is with Scotland he plans this war?” she asked. “The Earl of Hargrove also threatened to attack my father. Perhaps that is what is happening.”

  Osric shook his head. “Nay, Me Lady. King Edward ‘o England also be gatherin’ his allies, I be told.”

  “What ‘o King Robert?” Ranulf asked.

  Osric nodded. “He also be marchin’ from Edinburgh, Me Lady.”

  Catrin swung to Ranulf, near panic. “Did we start this? Did we? When you took me, Ranulf?”

  Osric rested his hand on hers, gazing at her with sympathy in his eyes, his expression. “Nae ye, Me Lady. Yer da. When he hung Kyle Thorburn. We nae tolerate a Sassenach Duke hanging one ‘o uir own.”

  “We have to find a way to stop it,” Catrin said wildly. “We cannot go to war again. Not over this.”

  “How can we?” Osric asked. “It begun.”

  “We hae tae find who killed Henry ‘o Whitewood,” Ranulf replied. “We can make peace wi’ yer da if we dae.”

  ***

  Shown to a spacious and comfortable room in Osric’s castle, and given clean clothes by the lord’s daughter, Catrin paced restlessly around, unable to sleep. The threat of impending war between Scotland and England kept her awake, worried. Needing Ranulf, she threw a light cloak over her shoulders and left her chamber.

  He had been given a room just down the corridor from hers and swung the door open at her light knock. Bare chested, he wore only his trousers and boots, the sight of him so scantily clad made her heart beat faster. He grinned, opening the door wider to permit her to enter.

  “Ye be a fair sight at me door,” he said, closing it behind her.

  “I could not sleep,” Catrin said, walking around his chamber, realizing she had put herself into a vulnerable position by entering his room at night. But she could not bring herself to care. She loved him, she needed the comfort of his arms around her. “We have to stop this war, Ranulf.”

  “It may be tae late fer that.”

  Turning, she found him silhouetted by the light of the hearth fire, his shoulders impossibly broad, his face in shadow. Drawn to him, she craved his touch, his kiss. Pacing the short distance between them, Catrin tilted her head up to his. Caressing his chest, she marveled at the silky texture of his skin, the hard muscles beneath her hands.

  Stroking his fingers down her cheek, Ranulf asked, his voice low and husky, “Ye want me, Catrin? Dinnae touch me unless ye dae.”

  Breathing deep, she felt the tingling in her belly grow as her hands traveled up over his shoulders and down his muscular arms. She heard him suck in his breath, felt his arms under her hands tighten. Gazing up into his eyes, Catrin nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want you.”

  He bent his face to hers, their noses touching lightly. “There be nae goin’ back from this.”

  Sliding her hands up around his neck, Catrin kissed him, her tongue pushing past his lips. “I do not care,” she breathed.

  His hands on her lower back pulled her in closer as Ranulf kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers, licking the inside of her mouth. The tingling in her belly turned to a deep throbbing ache as his chest pressed against her breasts, his hands traveling lower to cup her buttocks.

  Pulling her hips in to meet his, Ranulf slowly rubbed the hardness in his trousers against her. Startled by it, Catrin nonetheless liked the feeling it brought her, the dull aching need within her burning brighter, hotter. His hands leaving her rear, he took her hands in his and pressed them against the bulge in his front.

  “Ye feel how I want ye?” he breathed in her ear. “Ye set me oan fire, ye did.”

  His lips nibbled her throat, her cheeks, his hand roaming over her belly to climb upward and caress her breast. Catrin moaned as his thumb flicked over her nipple, the sensation arousing her even through the cloth. The throbbing need settled between her legs, moisture gathering in her small clothes.

  In an effortless move, Ranulf picked her up in his arms and carried her toward the bed. Laying her upon the furs and quilts, he stood over her, gazing down. With tender care and love, he untied the lacings that held her gown together, baring her breasts to his eyes and hands. Catrin closed her eyes to better feel his light touch, his fingers exploring her body.

  Lifting her hips, she helped him slide her dress and kirtle off, taking her small clothes with them. Utterly naked, fully exposed to him, Catrin gazed up into his eyes as Ranulf stripped himself of his boots and trousers. He stood before her, backlit by the fire, as handsome as a living god. Having never seen a man’s organ before, Catrin reached out to touch him.

  Long, thick and very hard, it still felt velvety soft beneath her fingers. It stuck straight out from his thick patch of hair, his balls hanging down behind it. Catrin explored its helmet, feeling the thick droplet that fell from its slit into her hand. “You put that
in me?” she whispered.

  “Aye.”

  Ranulf lay down beside her, his hand caressing her from her breasts to her hips. Though feeling slightly nervous about her first experience with a man, the touch of his hand on her body aroused her, the flame within her building higher. When his fingers probed between her legs, into her private woman’s place, Catrin jumped involuntarily.

  “Easy, lass,” he murmured, his breath on her cheek. “I wi’ nae hurt ye.”

  “I heard it hurts the first time.”

  “Dae ye trust me?”

  Catrin nodded, his hazel eyes so close to hers. “I do.”

  Kissing her eyelids closed, Ranulf whispered, “I be gentle wi’ ye.”

  His hand between her legs encouraged her to spread them, his finger toying with her slit, arousing her to new heights. Catrin gasped as a wave of pleasure poured through her, and her legs parted, granting him access. Never before had she experienced such heat washing through her body, such ecstasy. Reaching for him, her hand stroked his shaft, cupping his balls. She listened to his swift, intake of breath, and knew what she had done brought him pleasure, too.

  Ranulf rolled atop her body, his knees spreading her legs wider. He kissed her slowly, deeply, his tongue in her mouth arousing her as much as his fingers had. “I be gentle,” he promised.

  Catrin gasped against his mouth as his manhood probed the entrance to her woman’s spot. He teased her, pushing in slowly, then backing out, giving her body time to get used to him. Over and over he stroked into her, opening her wider with each gentle thrust. Catrin’s tunnel burned with a pain mixed with sheer pleasure as his hardness opened her wider, then wider still.

  At last, he penetrated her all the way, his organ buried deep inside her. Ranulf kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her throat, sucking and nibbling. “Ye be mine noo,” he whispered.

  Picking up his pace, he thrust into and out of her, his manhood burning, taking her, building up the flames of her desire. Catrin moaned as his hard driving shaft found her pleasure center, making her clutch him harder to her, her fingernails raking his bare back, his buttocks.

  Wrapping her legs around his thighs, she gave him deeper access, his pounding shaft possessing her, making her his. Her pleasure mounted, building, climbing, as her body thrummed under his weight. His hot gasping in her ear, his breathing burning her neck, she felt her climax growing with every thrust inside her.

  Her woman’s tunnel of fire, Catrin moaned, digging her nails into his back. Feeling her pleasure climb, her inner body quaked, quivering under the strength of her orgasm. Ecstasy poured through her body, her tunnel undulating, clamping down on Ranulf’s driving organ. She gave a long shuddering moan, her teeth biting into his shoulder as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through her.

  Ranulf’s body stiffened on top of her. His thrusting pace slowed as he pushed harder, deeper into her, groans emerging from behind his clamped teeth, shut jaw. Deep inside her, his manhood exploded, pouring his seed into her womb. Then, all at once, he relaxed, his body slumping on hers.

  Her arms around his neck, Catrin held him close as his lips kissed her throat. “I love ye,” he murmured. “Ye be mine noo, and I ne’er gie ye up.”

  Turning his face to hers, Catrin kissed him deeply. “I love you,” she breathed. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

  Chapter 28

  Henry, the Duke of Whitewood, sat at his place at the high table, feasting his allies and vassals. William, the Duke of Breedmont sat at his right hand while the Marquess of Summerland ate at his left. The Earl of Kesterton, his brother in law, also dined at the high table, and the Marquess of Ffolkshire sent a runner to inform Henry he was on his way but had not yet arrived.

  The vast hall was filled with knights, vassals and men at arms, the servants and wenches rushing to fill plates with food and cups with ale. Henry glanced around at the teeming place, then turned to his allies. “I have received word from King Edward,” he said. “We are to remain in place until he arrives.”

  “So, we are not to advance to the Scottish border?” William asked.

  “No,” Henry replied. “He does not wish to provoke King Robert yet. I am told that Robert is levying his forces in Edinburgh, sending to his vassals across Scotland to move south.”

  “War again,” said Kesterton, resigned. “Four years of peace is not long enough, I say.”

  “The Scots have my daughter.”

  William eyed him sidelong. “But the messenger from Thorburn said he rescued her from the brigand chief, and she rides with him willingly.”

  “For that I am grateful,” Henry admitted. “That John Saul threatened to send Catrin to me a piece at a time if I did not relinquish thousands of gold pieces to him.”

  “Perhaps there is still time for a peace treaty,” said Summerland gruffly, drinking from his cup. Red wine spilled into his long grey beard, and he blotted it up with his sleeve. “Demand your daughter back, and there will be no war.”

  Henry made a yea-nay gesture. “I fear it may be too late for that. I freely admit, in my grief after losing my son, perhaps I was too hasty in hanging Kyle Thorburn.”

  Kesterton nodded. “That may have been the spark that ignited this conflagration. But at the same time, was he guilty of murdering your son?”

  “Catrin believes not. Now, I am beginning to doubt it myself.”

  “Any thoughts on who may have killed him?” William asked.

  “Most likely this John Saul,” Henry said, sitting back in his chair. “Cut his throat as an example to anyone else who may owe him money.”

  “Seems logical,” Summerland replied, nodding.

  “What of the Earl of Hargrove?” Kesterton asked. “Is he not also joining his forces with ours?”

  Henry shrugged. “I have no word from him.”

  “Perhaps Edward also commanded him to remain where he is,” William said. “He will then join us for our march north.”

  Henry nodded without speaking, his thoughts returning to the rest of the information the Scottish messenger told him, and what he would not relay to his friends and allies. That Catrin and Ranulf discovered his son and heir had planned to kill him to gain his inheritance. The news shocked and angered him. He wanted to disbelieve it, but part of him knew it for the truth.

  Henry himself told me he wanted me dead. During their arguments before his son was killed, the Duke recalled his son screaming, you need to die, old man. Just die, will you? At the time, he thought his son’s anger spoke those words. Now he was certain it was not.

  His own son plotted to kill him.

  Grief nudged Henry anew as he also remembered how temperamental his son Henry was, how greedy he had been for power and money, how much he liked the gamble. Though he realized that John Saul manipulated and exploited the younger Whitewood, it did not help him to forgive his son for his treachery.

  “Excuse me? Did you hear what I said?”

  Jolted out of his thoughts, Henry discovered William looking at him, half smiling. “Uh, no, your pardon, please. I was engrossed in thinking of my son. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you had given any more thought to my proposal,” William said. “My marrying Lady Catrin?”

  Glancing around, Henry discovered all eyes at the high table on him, expectant, waiting for his answer. Clearing his throat, he said, “I have, but I have made no decision yet. I must consider other possibilities.”

  “As in letting her marry Ranulf Thorburn?”

  Mutters abounded around the table as his vassals and allies speculated among themselves. Henry nodded. “Yes. Consider our situation, my lords, my friends. We are on the brink of yet another bloody war with Scotland. Whether it be of my making or no, this is the last thing England needs.”

  He paused to gather strength, drew a deep breath, and continued. “By marrying Catrin to Thorburn, an influential clan chief, we might have the alliance we need to stop this war from happening.”

  Kesterton nodded fiercely. “I sa
y it could work. She is my niece, my blood. The Scots will not raid the lands of their blood kin. My lord Henry, this might be our salvation.”

  Summerland also nodded, thoughtfully. “It has many advantages, for both England and Scotland.”

  “Though I would be disappointed to not marry the girl,” William added with a smile. “I cannot help but give your decision my support. I prefer peace over war.”

  Relieved to find these powerful men agreeing with him, Henry inclined his head. “Thank you, my lords. As Catrin is my sole heir, you are all witnesses to my decision. In case anything happens to me before we see this matter through to its end.”