The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  He faltered.

  She was too tight.

  His body shuddered as he eased his finger from her slick warmth and rested his head against her quivering body.

  “Please, don’t stop,” she cried, the same pain that was shooting through his body echoed in her cry.

  He took a deep breath, fighting to bring his own body back under control. Then his touch returned to the heat of her, stroking her, savoring the renewed sound of her soft moans. When she cried out, her body shuddered in wave after sweet wave around his touch.

  “Rory,” she cried as soft pants escaped her lips. “That was…I’ve never…”

  “Hush, lass,” he crooned in her ear. “Catch yer breath.”

  He held her close, savoring the feel of her body in his arms. His own body still throbbed with need. He fought the desire to lay her on the ground and bring her once again to the heights of passion, but then her hands came to life. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her full lips claiming his.

  “Nay,” he said, setting her at arms-length. He took the torch from the sconce and gestured deeper into the cave. “Ye go that way, and I’ll return the way we came.”

  “But Rory—”

  “Nay,” he said. Then he kissed her once more before taking several steps back. “Ye’ve saved yer maidenhead for yer husband.” He took another step back. “It will be yer husband who takes it. Go now.”

  She hesitated another moment before she turned and hastened toward the keep. He watched her until she dipped from sight around the bend.

  “And yer husband will be me,” he whispered aloud.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, Alex walked onto the high dais and softly gasped. Rory stood in the rear of the great hall clad as promised in naught but the MacKenzie plaid. She drank in the sight of his muscular arms and his broad, bare chest, which only hours before she had touched, tasted. Warmth flooded her core. She wet her lips, remembering the force of his kiss, his hot breath on her neck, and the agonizing pleasure of his touch. He smiled slowly, sensually. Overcome with desire, she lifted the hem of her tunic and dashed down the stairs, but the creaking hinges of the great door shortened her flight. Heart pounding, she masked her hunger behind a welcoming smile.

  “Good morrow,” she said to Michael and her three unknowing suitors.

  A bruise framed the bridge of Adam’s nose and darkened the skin around his eyes. He did not return her greeting. Instead, he glared at Rory. Robert, on the other hand, dipped his head in a respectful bow, but his smile did not reach his eyes. Michael also appeared tense. Timothy alone received her with genuine goodwill. Unfortunately, Timothy wanted to be a priest. She expelled a long breath. Her pursuit of a husband was not going well.

  Rory crossed to her side then, his close proximity instantly stealing her breath.

  “What are ye doing?” she whispered.

  He offered her his arm. “Taking ye to church.”

  Her heart started to pound. Only Rory could say that in a way that made it sound like a sin.

  “Sir Adam will escort Lady Alexandria to Mass,” Michael announced, putting emphasis on Adam’s title. “Rory, I need ye in another capacity.”

  Alex bristled, scowling at Michael. For a moment, she hoped Rory might deny her steward, but in the end, he dipped his head in acquiescence and turned to follow Michael from the hall.

  “Rory,” she called out to him before realizing she had yet to invent an excuse to do so. She searched her mind, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on her.

  “This is what ye’re looking for.” He reached into his new sporran and withdrew her broken chain. “I fixed it for ye.”

  Her hand flew to her throat and felt her talisman beside his silver cross. “Thank ye,” she said, taking her old chain from his hand. “That is very good of ye.”

  He started to turn. She grabbed his arm. “I hope to see ye after Mass.”

  His sky-blue eyes alone spoke his promise before he dipped his head, his lips curved in a soft smile.

  She tore her eyes away, dreading the awkwardness of her waiting company, but to her immense relief, Mary suddenly appeared from behind the screen.

  “Cousin,” Alex exclaimed as she crossed the hall and took Mary’s arm. Then, instead of rejoining the noblemen, she hastened toward the doors to the courtyard, calling out for the men to follow, thereby avoiding an offer of escort to the chapel. Although more than likely such an offer would not have been forthcoming. Both Adam and Robert were still clearly upset with her—not that she blamed them. Her conduct at the festival had been outlandish at best. But the sight of Alison in Rory’s arms had driven her mad with jealously. Doubtless, her behavior had not escaped Michael’s notice, which would explain his dismissal of Rory. Still, she was lady of Luthmore. How dare Michael admonish her in public? Worst yet, how could he send Rory away against her obvious wishes?

  During Mass, she struggled to block out Robert’s strangled crooning all the while her tongue sharpened and her agitation with Michael grew.

  After everyone had filed out into the courtyard, she charged at Michael who sat in wait with the stable master. “We must speak.”

  Michael nodded curtly and led Alex out of the courtyard. Together, they circled the outer wall. When they reached the far side, she laid into him.

  “Where is Rory?”

  “I put him to work in the fields as is his station.”

  “Ye sent him to labor in the fields? What is the matter with ye? He is our guest!”

  Michael’s eyes flashed. “What of yer duty? Is that not the more pressing question?”

  Fury pulsed through her. She snatched the veil from her head, then turned her back on him. “My laces if ye please,” she snapped.

  “Alex—” Michael began.

  “My laces if ye please!”

  She felt Michael fumble with the laces of her fine surcote. Finally, it loosened and fell about her waist. She pushed it down and stepped free from the thick embroidered fabric. Then she picked it up and tossed it at him before storming away.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “To make the rounds,” she shouted back over her shoulders.

  “And to venture to the fields, no doubt.”

  She whirled around. “What is it to ye?”

  Michael closed the distance between them. “I like Rory too. There is much to admire in his character, but ye can’t marry him.”

  Alex crossed her arms over her chest. “I have said nothing of the kind.”

  “Ye didn’t have to say it. Yer eyes have done all the talking for ye. For pity’s sake, Alex, think of the people. Yer heart cannot be yer guide. The MacLeod will never forgive the insult if ye were to choose a peasant over him. Ye know this. ‘Tis why ye wrote to Abbot Matthew in the first place, instead of choosing a husband from one of our own warriors.”

  She stiffened. Michael was right, and no amount of wishing on her part could change that. A weight settled over her, pressing down on her heart until she could hardly draw breath. Rory made her knees weak, her heart pound. He made her happy. Still, she had no business falling for him. Marrying for love was not a privilege enjoyed by noblewomen. A prudent marriage would strengthen their borders. She gripped her mother’s trinity knot and remembered. The wellbeing of the people comes first, always. She had no words. An ache like a steel cage enclosed her heart. Numbly, she walked away.

  The noontide sun shone down, though she did not feel its warmth. She felt cold and empty, as if her heart was being hollowed out. Childish laughter drew her eyes from the bracken-covered earth. She looked up to see a blur of limbs and big smiles racing off toward the woods, wee ones with only a year or two left to enjoy the freedom of childhood before they would take up their place within the clan, planting seed, cooking, and harvesting. She crossed a small wooden bridge that cast its shadow over a swiftly moving stream just before the road came to a fork. Right would lead her to the fields and Rory. Left meandered down to the village where her people awai
ted her care. Her heart thudded in her ears, not the racing heart of desire. It was the drum of doom. With a sigh, she chose left and hurried to Helen’s cottage, bursting in without first knocking.

  Helen’s eyes widened for a moment. “Alex, are ye alright?”

  Alex closed the door gently behind her. “Sorry, Helen. I…I…” She sighed. “I just missed ye.”

  Helen pressed her hand to her chest. “Ye sweep in here like a banshee crossing the moors. My heart’s still pounding.” Then she motioned to the small table in the center of the room. “Sit, love, and I’ll pour ye some ale.”

  Alex scooped Cassie up in her arms on the way and sat down, cuddling the wee lass.

  “Yer heart is heavy,” Helen said.

  Alex shook her head. “Nay, all is well—”

  But Helen was quick to interrupt. “Don’t ye try that with me. Mayhap ye can fool the rest of the world, but not me. Now, out with it. What’s on yer mind?”

  Tears stung Alex’s eyes. She couldn’t tell Helen the truth, not without revealing her secret life. “‘Tis just that I saw some children racing into the woods only minutes ago. They were laughing and playing. It made me think of those days. Do ye remember?”

  Helen chuckled. “Of course I do. We used to wander down to the river and pick berries until our bellies were full.”

  Alex swiped her wet cheeks and smiled. “Our hands would be purple for days.”

  Helen reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Do ye remember that time Jean sent us picking so she could make tarts, but we ate all we could find?”

  Laughter bubbled up Alex’s throat. “Our faces and hands told the truth even if our tongues tried to lie.”

  “She didn’t stay mad at us for long,” Helen remembered, smiling. “She sliced us each a big piece of bread, smeared butter on it, and said she didn’t blame us one bit. That she had a sweet spot for berries too.”

  Alex sighed. “Those were good days.”

  “Aye, they certainly were, but why are ye visiting the old days? What’s happened?”

  Alex quickly scanned Helen’s sparsely furnished cottage. How could she complain about her lot in life to Helen? Helen awoke before dawn and started her fire. She made Gregor breakfast before he left to work the fields. She had five children all under the age of nine. She cooked, cleaned, and toiled from before sun-up until after dark—and she had no choice, while Alex chose to labor. She chose to make her life a service to her people. The only advantage afforded Helen’s station was that she had been lucky enough to marry for love. She had chosen Gregor while Alex certainly would never choose to marry Adam, Robert, or Timothy. Then she again remembered that Timothy longed for the priesthood, striking him from her list of suitors, which left only Robert and Adam who were both vexed with her. She cursed under her breath. Her behavior the day before had complicated an already complex situation. Mayhap she didn’t even have the luxury of a choice anymore. What if neither man would take her?

  Alex rubbed her eyes, then sat back in her chair. “I do not ken what’s wrong with me. I suppose seeing those children just made me long for those carefree days.” She finished her cup and stood up. “Anyway,” she said with forced brightness, “I will carry on with rounds and let ye get back to cooking.”

  Helen frowned. “Ye look tired. Finish yer rounds and then go take a rest.”

  “I will if ye will,” Alex said with a wink, knowing Helen would have to be near death to sleep in the middle of the day.

  She stepped back outside and lifted her face to the sky. The sun shone bright and warm and directly overhead. She chewed her lip, debating whether to return to Luthmore for the noon meal. She turned her back on the castle. Too many men awaited her there, and at that moment, there was only one man she wished to see.

  “I miss ye, Da,” she muttered under her breath.

  With so many villagers up at the keep, the naked paths beckoned her with their openness, their quiet. They promised clarity. She would have no place to hide, even from herself. She wandered the roads, imagining her father still walked at her side. As if in a dream, cottages floated past like gray, shifting clouds while her mind focused on her father’s imaginary counsel. Gently, he placed Michael’s truth deep inside her heart, his voice as soft as a feather sashaying through air. Her life was not her own; it belonged to her people.

  “Does anyone’s life belong to themselves alone?” she whispered aloud.

  Only those with no one to share it with.

  The truth was weightless in its simplicity.

  Feeling resolute, she scanned her surroundings with renewed focus. She had unknowingly wandered beyond the village outskirts. Her eyes traced the distant castle. Then shifting her feet, she drank in the sight of rugged mountains set far against the heavens. Again, she turned, but her newly claimed calm fled her soul as she gasped and stumbled forward, her eyes wide with disbelief. Thick ribbons of smoke coiled up from the roof of a distant crofter’s storehouse. An instant later, she was running. Cries for help reached her ears, and she pushed her body harder, racing against the hungry flames.

  Two feminine figures came into view. Margaret, the crofter’s wife, and her daughter, Anna, hoisted buckets of water at the blaze. Ash and smoke blackened their faces and tunics. Despite their desperate struggle, the fire yielded nothing. Alex rushed past them without stopping and dashed inside, wanting to save as many bags of seed as she could. What if disease swept through the village, or one of their neighbors attacked? They could not afford a smaller harvest. The risks were too great.

  “Nay, my lady, ye mustn’t,” she heard Margaret scream.

  Alex barreled out through the door, stooped over from the weight of the heavy sack on her shoulder. “Send for help!”

  “Go, Anna! Go to the keep,” Margaret cried.

  Thick smoke choked the air. Alex covered her mouth with her arm as she burrowed once again into the burning store. She reached for another bag of seed, but then above the din of splintering wood and thatch and the roaring fire, she heard the bleating of panicked sheep. Straining beneath the weight of the seed bag, she bent over and hastened toward the door and dumped it off her back when she reached the pile she had made safely beyond the destructive lick of the flames.

  Then Alex turned around. The fire had spread now across the roof and up one side. Still, the bleating sounded from within. Without hesitation, she rushed back inside.

  ~ * ~

  Rory pumped his arms, running as fast as he could toward the black smoke curling toward the sky. He could hear a woman screaming for help and the breaths of the men running just behind him. By the time they reached the long storage hut, the roof was engulfed in flames.

  “She ran inside,” the woman screamed, racing at him.

  “Who ran inside?” Rory said, grabbing her shoulders.

  “Alex,” she cried. “She’s going to save them.”

  “Alex,” he shouted, pushing past her. He pulled the plaid from his body and plunged it in the nearby trough. Then hanging the fabric over his head, he barreled through the blackened doorway. Blazing heat scorched his skin.

  “Alex,” he shouted. “Alex!”

  “Rory,” she cried. “I’m here.”

  His eyes stung as he tried to see through the smoke. He rushed in the direction of her voice, but then a creak rent the air. He looked up just as part of the ceiling gave way. He dove to escape the fiery embers.

  “Alex!”

  “I’m surrounded by fire!”

  Through licking flames and billowing smoke, he saw the shift of her silhouette. Her racking cough reached his ears. He pulled the plaid low over his head and leapt through the flames. She stood, hunched over in the corner, coughing and huddling around a cluster of sheep.

  “Where are the others?” he shouted above the roar of the flames.

  “What others?” she croaked.

  “The ones ye’re saving.”

  “Here,” she said, gesturing to the sheep.

  “For the love o
f God, Alex!” He cried. Then he threw the wet plaid over her. Heat blasted his bare flesh. He kicked against the thatch and log siding again and again until at last he made a large enough hole.

  She started to shoo the sheep through the opening.

  “Are ye mad?” he cried. “Leave them!”

  But she ignored him and scurried through the hole only after the last animal had escaped. Then he crawled through on hands and knees. He lay on his back, sputtering and coughing. An instant later, the storehouse groaned as the rest of the ceiling collapsed.

  ~ * ~

  Alex coughed into her pillow. Her throat stung. She turned to lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Ye cannot force me to lie in bed for the remainder of the evening.”

  Mary did not look up from her embroidery. “Ye fell unconscious after having to be nearly dragged from a burning building. Yer throat is clearly raw. Ye’re staying put.”

  “I had to save the sheep.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Alex prayed it was her turn to be rescued. “Come in.”

  Rory flung the door wide and stalked in, planting his feet wide at the foot of her bed. “Are ye telling me that ye raced into a fiery death trap only to save some sheep?”

  She sat up. “Nay,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Really? Then please tell me what else ye risked yer life for?”

  “Sacks of grain and seed,” she replied

  His scowl deepened. “Ye accuse me of being reckless when ye’re madder than any agent I’ve ever met. How could ye put yer life on the line like that?”

  She swung her blankets back and jumped out of bed, storming at him. “I am acting laird of this clan. The lives of my people are my responsibility and mine—” Her words were smothered by her cough.

  He threw his hands up. “But that is the point I am trying to get into that hot head of yers. The only life at risk today was yer own. Grain and seed can be replaced. A brood of sheep can be replaced. Alex MacKenzie can never be replaced. No one’s life was at stake other than yers and mine by default.”