Enticed by the Highlander: The Moriag Series

by Hildie McQueen

  “Allow me.” Analise climbed out to gather the pitchers of clean water and poured it over Carrick to rinse him. Then she stood still while he did the same to her.

  Wrapped in drying cloths, they sat by the fireplace. Ever thoughtful, Erin had left bread and some wine for them. While they ate, Analise racked her brain for something to say to him. She wanted to ask so many questions. Understand him. Know his thoughts.

  “Carrick, why do you not live here?”

  His noncommittal shrug made her want to shake him. Instead, she waited for him to speak.

  “I am not like Father and Declan. I find I prefer a simpler life away from all this. You see, now my father is poisoned. The life of a laird can be perilous. Once one rises to power, people want your position.”

  “I am sure there are good things about it.” Her eyes lingered on his wide chest as the towel slipped to land around his waist.

  “Aye, if given the opportunity, there are many things I would like to change.”

  Analise frowned. “Why would you not have the opportunity? You are the next in line as your father’s first born.”

  “If whoever is attempting to kill my father doesn’t poison me first.” The corner of his mouth lifted at his words. It was almost as if he cared little for his own life.

  “I hope not.” Analise started at a knock on the door.

  Erin opened the door and looked to them. “Milord. Milady. I came to see about the bath being removed.”

  “Of course,” Carrick replied, not seeming at all bothered by his nudity.

  She, on the other hand, was not so bold and rushed to wrap a dressing gown around herself. The lads entered and went about emptying the tub and taking it out.

  Once they were alone again, she found Carrick standing by the fireplace. He contemplated the flames with severe intensity.

  She was no longer in the room with him, it was evident his thoughts were somewhere else. Analise went to the bed and slid under the covers.

  Perhaps one day she’d understand her husband better. If she was blessed with a child, she yearned for closeness between them so their son or daughter would be raised in a loving and caring family.

  The bed dipped under his weight and she turned to find him on his side toward her.

  Analise reached for his face, to cup his jaw, but he angled it away so she’d not touch the scar. “I want to touch all of you. Kiss all of you.”

  “Why?” Brows furrowed and his mouth in a straight line, he was genuinely curious. “You are already my wife. The wife of the future laird. You have nothing more to gain by doing something unpleasant.”

  “What if I wish to gain your caring?” She sat up and glared down at him. “What if I want more?”

  Carrick pulled her to him and rolled, covering her with his heavier body. “Be mine again.” His tongue pushed into her mouth at the same time he prodded at her entrance.

  She reached between them and curled her fingers around his sex. When he bucked into her hand, she squeezed it and worked her hand from the tip to the base over and over. His hips moved in the opposite direction creating a rhythm that he found more suitable. His neck muscles stood out in contrast to the smooth surrounding skin as she continued to pleasure her husband.

  “Let me inside you,” he grunted and held still when she guided him.

  “Ah.” He slid into her and took her by the hips, lifting her bottom from the bed. “Come with me, Beauty.”

  Carrick released any semblance of control, his body slamming against hers, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. Analise threw her head back onto the bed, her hands cupping his butt as she tried to keep him seated deep within her.

  His entire body glistened with the exertion of their lovemaking and yet he continued. Drove in and out of her until, once again, she cried out in release and then a second time. Finally, he could no longer continue and thrust into her to the hilt. His shoulders and thighs quivering, he spilled into her and collapsed.

  Analise kissed his temples and caressed his back, waiting for his breathing to become normal.

  Moments later, he lifted, his now flaccid member slipping from her.

  “We will need to bathe again,” he mumbled and kissed her lips before rolling to his side and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Carrick didn’t know whom to trust. Who poisoned his father? Were Declan and Gritzel involved?

  He thought back to the night before. Why had Analise said those words the night before? Did she really wish to gain his caring? He’d made love to her not just because he desired her like no other, but also to avoid the conversation. It would be too hard, false words would ruin the closeness he’d felt between them.

  The great room was deserted except for the lads who cleaned up and a dog that ran around them in circles, its tail wagging. Carrick motioned for one of the lads to come near. Miles, the dark-haired lad who would soon be ten and three, neared. “Aye, milord?”

  “Why are you two doing such chores here? This household has more than enough staff.”

  Miles gave his brother a questioning look. “Me brother, he asked for this chore, milord. He says ’tis a good way to keep an eye on what happens. Ensure you and your lady wife are kept from harm.”

  Nobody, it seemed, was at ease at Gordon Keep. “I thank both of ye then. Go and see about my horse and the lady’s as well. Do not overtax yourselves.”

  “Aye, milord.” The boy bowed and returned to his job.

  Declan entered and stopped short upon spotting him, his eyes darting about the room. “I was looking for you.” Lie. “I wondered if we could speak regarding your wife’s accusations.”

  “Ah, so Gritzel told you?” Carrick motioned forward a serving wench who entered. “I would like to break my fast. My wife will be here shortly as well. Please inform Erin.” He met the lighter-haired lad’s gaze and the boy followed the wench to the kitchen.

  Declan clapped and laughed. “You go to great measures to insult this household. One that I might remind you, will be yours when father dies.”

  “I do not wish to insult the house, but it is the inhabitants I do not trust.” Carrick accepted a tankard brought back by the lad and drank from it. “I suggest you take caution as well, brother.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Declan sat on a chair across from him, “is why you worry about Father. You hate him.”

  “It is he who hates me.” Carrick exhaled, tired of the distance between him and his family. “He has always disliked me and I gave up attempting to understand why. It is of no importance now.”

  Declan chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious? He loved our mother and you have the audacity to look exactly like her.” His brother shrugged. “But like you said, it is of little importance.”

  He’d never considered the reason for his father’s hatred. It just was as far as he was concerned. The ever-growing ire for what seemed no apparent good reason.

  Why would his resemblance to the woman his father loved garner him the man’s hatred? It made little sense, but then again, what did it matter?

  “Why would Gritzel complain to you?” Carrick waited while the lad returned with his breakfast. “Are you confidants or more?”

  Color rose from Declan’s neck to his face. He leaned forward with nostrils flared. “You hold yourself above reproach. The honorable Carrick Gordon. Future laird.” He stood and waved his arms. “Soon all of this will be yours. As the firstborn, whether rightfully or not, all of this is yours. So now you feel free to look down upon me for what I do to gain something?”

  “You have known where you stand your entire life. I do not understand why you are so bitter now.” Carrick pushed his tankard toward the lad for refilling. “Yes, I will be laird and you, brother, will remain as my second if you wish. Unless I find you plan to kill me.” Carrick sat back in his chair channeling a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

  “If I wanted you dead, you would be by now.” Declan stopped talking when Analise walked in.
She kept her head straight and looked to Declan, who gave her a curt nod. “Lady Gordon. I hear you have come to some conclusions regarding Father.”

  “I have,” Analise replied and lowered to the chair beside him. Carrick wondered how much she’d overheard. By her impassive expression it was hard to tell. “There is already a noted improvement in your father’s visage this morning. His face has color.”

  Declan’s eyes widened, but he quickly gained his composure. “I will go see him then. Or will your guard keep me from entering?” He glared at Carrick who stood as well.

  “I will go with you.” He looked to Analise. “I apologize for my retreat. But I need to see for myself how the laird fares.”

  Her clear eyes met his and she gave him a soft nod. “Of course.”

  They entered their father’s chambers and Carrick was astounded at the difference. Angus Gordon was propped up with pillows and being fed by Erin. His father’s eyes darted from Declan to him and he waved Erin away. “I must speak to you both in private.” He heaved a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhausted from the few words.

  They approached and stood next to the bed. The laird kept his gaze lowered as if examining his words. “I am being poisoned. See that every morsel is watched over before being brought to me.” He closed his eyes once again, and then slowly opened them.

  Carrick looked to Declan, who watched their father with keen interest. “It seems to be true. Analise had seen it before, she noticed the purpling of your lips and sweet smell of your breath.”

  “Declan, send the entire kitchen staff away. Hire all new people.”

  “Father,” Carrick interrupted, “what if the food or water was poisoned after it left the kitchen? You cannot get rid of everyone in the keep. I think it best to proceed by having someone trustworthy watch over the preparation of the food and drink.”

  “And I see you deem your men and maids as those you consider trustworthy,” Declan said through clenched teeth. “How appropriate to take advantage of the situation to ascertain your position.”

  “If I wanted the position of laird sooner, would I not have allowed things to progress as they have been? Why would I go through all this?” Carrick glared at Declan. He looked to his father. “Who do you suspect, Father?”

  “My wife. I believe she has a lover who may be helping her.” It confirmed Carrick’s suspicions. The laird coughed and tightened his fingers on the linens.

  Declan regarded him. “It can’t be. She isn’t brave enough.”

  The laird cleared his throat and looked to Carrick. “In spite of my actions, you have grown to be a strong man. Be a good leader to this clan.” His voice became lower, barely a whisper. “Declan. Serve your brother.”

  The laird’s head lolled to the side. Carrick rushed to feel his pulse. His father was dead.

  “How can it be?” Carrick rushed to the hallway and sent the guard for Analise. “He looked so much better.”

  Moments later, Analise rushed in, Erin right behind her. She went to the bed and inspected the dead man. “I should have known. It was too late, the poison was in his bloodstream and it was only a matter of time for it to reach his heart.”

  A tear slid down her face and Carrick reached her just as she slumped against him. “I am so sorry.”

  “It has been three weeks, Carrick. Surely it is time to hold hearings with the clanspeople. There is much to make decisions on.” Declan paced the study, his hands clasped behind his back. “I have offered to sit in for you and you refuse. Something must be done. There are many in the great room waiting to have their time with the laird.”

  “Leave me be, Declan.” Carrick slammed his fist on the top of the large table. “I need time to go over everything. Where is Jules? Was he not Father’s advisor? Where has he gone?” Nothing made sense, Jules Donovan, his father’s advisor and accountant, was absent, the ledgers with him. Every account of debts to the lairdship—nonexistent. He knew Declan had something to do with the muddled affairs. His father had many shortcomings, but he kept a keen eye on clan affairs and accounts.

  Carrick went to Declan, moving until they were almost nose-to-nose. Declan’s eyes shifted toward the doorway and he stepped back but could not move any further as he was against the wall. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “So you are going to the great room, resolve disputes between your people? Are you prepared for what needs to be done?”

  “If you know anything, I suggest you tell me now, Declan.” Carrick closed the already small distance between them. “I am not going to be as easy to kill.”

  “You are mad.” Declan pushed him back and went through the doorway. He then bent at the waist and swept an arm toward the great room, his face twisted with anger. “Your people await, my laird.”

  Without a word, Carrick brushed past him to the room where people were crushed, filling the room to capacity. Those who did not have disputes were there out of curiosity. Anxious to know how the new laird would rule.

  Carrick stood at the high board. Immediately, the room was quiet as a tomb.

  One thing Declan was correct about was this. He had to face the people whether prepared or not.

  Carrick cleared his throat and every set of eyes went to him. “Welcome to Gordon Keep. As your laird, I will strive to be fair, but do not mistake that for being soft. I will be swift with punishment when needed.” He motioned to the head of the guard. “Who is first?”

  Two men shuffled forward. Each stood before Carrick. The first, who he recognized as a long-time farmer, held brown sprigs in his fist and spoke first. “Laird. This man,” he pointed to the other, who stood somewhat stooped, although younger, and kept his gaze away from the man accusing him. “His wife cursed my lands. A large portion of my crops withered before I was able to harvest. I demand justice.”

  His eyebrows went up, but Carrick attempted to keep a neutral expression. He looked to the other man. “What say you?”

  “My wife is a midwife, one who values life and cares for all living things.” He motioned to a woman who stood a few paces behind him, a cloth in her right hand and wiped at her eyes. “We have nothing to gain by killing his harvest. No reasons to wish him harm.”

  “Not even my refusal of your son’s courtship of my daughter?” the farmer shouted.

  Carrick held his hand up. “How much of your harvest was viable?”

  “Half, sire,” the farmer stated and glared at the other man. “The side closer to his portion of the land is withered.”

  “The portion that is lower and therefore receives more rain?” Carrick looked at the farmer. “We had more rain than usual and by the looks of what you hold, I would say the plantings rotted because of too much water.” He held out his hand. The farmer handed him the plantings and Carrick examined them. “Yes, I believe that is what happened. The same happened to my wheat. ’Tis a shame. I lost quite a bit as well.”

  He then looked to the stooped man and his wife. “What are your son’s intentions toward the daughter?”

  The woman lifted her head, her eyes bright. A mother defending her son. “He loves her, my laird. And she, he. They want to marry. But he…” she pointed at the farmer, “he refuses because my Amos has no portion of lands of his own. Not yet.”

  “Is that true?” Carrick eyed the first farmer. “If I remember correctly, you have no sons. A son could help you farm more land and care for the harvest. With a son to oversee, you may have not lost half your crops.”

  The farmer nodded his shoulders lowering. “Aye. You are correct, my laird. I did not consider that.”

  “Allow the courtship.” Carrick motioned to the guard. “Who is next?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Days later, Analise leaned back in her chair, forgotten mending on her lap. She studied the scene out the window. The sun was lowering in the sky, the day almost gone. Another day had passed without her seeing or talking to her husband.

  As laird, he remained busy. Whether caring to the needs of those who came seeking court with him, or
riding through the lands overseeing what needed to be done. When he was at the keep he trained with the warriors. Every night he came to their chambers exhausted. His man would help him undress and prepare for bed. Most nights he slept in the adjoining bedroom.

  She missed their short time at Moriag. Although they were never close there, at least they slept in the same bed. Now her life revolved around managing the goings-on of the much larger household.

  Gritzel kept to her rooms, still dressed in mourning clothes. She would rarely join them for meals. When she did, Analise could not help the feeling of unease. The woman could very well have been the one to poison the laird. To what end other than to stop his mistreatment of her, no one knew. If that was her reason, why did she behave so bitterly now? Her face drawn, shrewd eyes burrowing into Analise.

  Something was amiss.

  Analise decided to walk around to the other side of the second floor and see if any repairs or tidying was needed. She passed Carrick’s father’s chamber and pushed it open. The sounds of lovemaking caught her ear. She moved back, leaving a sliver of the door open so she could see who it was.

  Broad shoulders slanting to a narrow waist hovered over someone. The hair, same color as Carrick’s. Her heart began to pound and she covered her mouth to muffle her gasp. The woman cried out. Gritzel.

  Her foot caught as she stepped back and she stumbled, but managed to catch her balance. Analise ran as fast as she could toward her chamber. Thankfully, her soft slippers made no noise. Could it be? Why would Carrick share a bed with his father’s wife? She rushed to the chamber pot and became ill.

  After rinsing her mouth, she sprinted from the room and down the stairs to the great room. People were beginning to enter for the evening meal. Once she ascertained Carrick was not present, she went to the courtyard. One of the lads came to her. “Is there something wrong, milady?”

  “Where is the laird?” She scanned the courtyard not seeing him.

  The lad pointed toward the far side. “I believe he is with the guard, milady. Would you like me to find him?”