Highland Storm

by Ranae Rose

  “Let me take ye upstairs.”

  “I wish to stay.”

  “Ye look like ye need rest, and I didnae mean to subject ye to this.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry. I would never hae brought him in here if I’d kent who he was.”

  She shook her head. “I willnae be able to rest knowing he’s here. Let me stay, and I’ll finish this batch of scones.” She looked for the first time since the men’s arrival to the bowl of batter she’d been mixing. Food now seemed the least of her concerns, but she could hardly sleep knowing her father was only a staircase away, about to be forcibly escorted from her life forever.

  Alexander frowned, a curious expression in his blue eyes as they searched hers. “If ye insist. But promise me ye’ll go and lie down after I leave with him.”

  She nodded, picking up the spoon from where she’d dropped it on the countertop. Her hand trembled as she dipped it back into the bowl and began to mash the butter into the dry flour mixture.

  Mrs Mary finished her stitching just as Isla dropped the last scone onto the hot griddle. As the aroma drifted through the kitchen, her father, who’d limited himself to a few select muttered curses as his wound was sewn, discovered something new to complain about.

  “My knives! Ye’ve stolen my knives!” he cried indignantly, patting his tartan in apparent search of the missing weapons.

  It was Will who replied. “We havnae touched ye, save for to drag your sorry arse from the pond and carry ye here. No one’s had their hand up your kilt in search of your knives.”

  “Like hell ye haven’t!”

  Whether her father had lost his weapons during his tumble into the pond or drunkenly forgotten them altogether in the first place, Isla gave a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t have them. Though he’d been thoroughly overpowered by the time he’d come to consciousness, the thought of him facing Alexander with blades hidden on his person sent a pang of worry through her heart, mostly for her husband, but also for her father. She prayed that Alexander would be able to escort him from the property and start him on his way home without any bloodshed…

  The scones sizzled on the griddle, the cheery sound at odds with the men’s arguing voices.

  “They must have sunken to the bottom of the pond when ye fell in,” Will was saying, much to her father’s indignation.

  “Enough,” Alexander interrupted. “I’ll give ye a quarter of an hour to fish your knives from the pond if they’re there, and God help ye if ye try to stick me with one.” He turned to face his two tenants. “Bring him. I’ll fetch his nag from the stable.” As they left, Isla heard Alexander mumble something about not saving her father’s arse from drowning if he fell into the pond again.

  Chapter Seven

  The bedroom door creaked as it opened, jarring Isla from slumber. She lay still for a moment as the fog of dreams cleared from her mind and the day’s events came back to her. Her heart skipped a beat and sped as she sat up in bed, greeting Alexander with a wild look.

  “Sorry,” he said from the doorway. “I didnae realise ye were asleep.”

  She shook her head in an effort to clear the last of the stupor from her mind. “I didnae mean to be.” She’d meant to wait by the window, watching for Alexander’s return, but exhaustion had crept up on her after she’d retired to their bedroom as she’d promised she would. She glanced at the window, relieved to find it was still light out. “How long have ye been gone?”

  “A couple of hours. I saw your father safely on his way, as I promised.” Though his voice hardened only slightly, it was obviously a struggle for him to remain calm.

  “I’m glad,” she said softly. “Thank ye, Alexander.”

  He nodded briefly before changing the subject. “I brought ye a present.” The grim expression disappeared from his face, replaced by a grin.

  “A present?” Isla pushed an errant lock of hair from her eyes, intrigued.

  “Aye.” He stepped aside and out of the doorway, admitting a small, white something that streaked over the threshold and into the room.

  “Och,” Isla said, leaning over the edge of the bed, “a pup!”

  A little white fluff-ball stared up at her with dark eyes, so round it was barely recognisable as a canine. It gave a joyous yip, revealing a tiny pink tongue that it wriggled in Isla’s direction, eventually finding her hand. She reached down and scooped up the puppy, depositing it onto the bed where it half-tumbled into her lap and rolled over onto its back, exposing a fluffy belly. She gave it a rub and grinned.

  “What do ye think?” Alexander asked.

  “He’s lovely!” Isla cried. “Where did ye get him?”

  “Will’s bitch threw a litter a couple months ago. I picked the comeliest one for ye today while I was at his cottage. I thought ye might like a friend to keep ye company during the day while I’m away from ye.”

  Isla pulled the puppy to her chest and stroked its soft ears as it squirmed against her, snapping happily at locks of her hair. The little bundle of fur was impossible not to like, but in truth she was more impressed by Alexander’s thoughtfulness. “That was kind of ye,” she said earnestly.

  He settled onto the bed beside her and tucked the hair the puppy had pushed into her face behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

  “Is something wrong?” Isla asked. His gaze was serious and searching, and his expression belied his happy words.

  “Nae,” he said. “It’s only that I’m still feelin’ sorry for makin’ ye face your father again. ‘Twas foolish of me to bring him into the house.”

  She clutched the puppy snugly against her chest and shook her head. “Dinnae fash yourself. It isnae your fault he was foolish enough to come here. Ye were only tryin’ to help a stranger.”

  “Aye, but I saw how it pained ye to see him again.”

  She couldn’t deny that. “I cannae bring myself to hate him, though I’ve tried many a time. He’s all that’s left of my family, and he wasnae so bad before my mother and my brother died.”

  Alexander grunted wordlessly and settled onto the bed beside her, his gaze dark as he considered her words. “Perhaps we shouldnae speak of him. I’m afraid I cannae keep from hatin’ him. Tell me instead about your mother, and your brother Hamish. What were they like?”

  Isla’s throat tightened as a vision of her mother and brother’s double graves flashed before her mind’s eye, but she swallowed the lump that had formed there and searched her mind instead for earlier memories, from when they’d been alive.

  “I dinnae remember much of mother. I was hardly more than a bairn when she died. But I recall her chestnut hair, and the way she smelt—of baking, and of washed linen.” She searched her memory for more, letting the remembered scents guide her thoughts and take her back. “Her skin was soft, and so was her hair. I used to like to watch her brush it, and then I’d sit on her knee while she brushed mine.” She’d all but forgotten about that ritual, and it came back now in surprising clarity. She swallowed the lump that’d formed again in her throat.

  Alexander reached out and took a lock of her hair, winding it around a finger and releasing it. “Aye, and what about your brother?” He smoothed a few rebellious waves out of her eyes.

  “Well, I dinnae have any trouble remembering him, of course. He was born just two years before me, though I always thought he seemed older. He had chestnut hair like my mother, but my father’s eyes. He was kind to me, and brave.” Always. Kind and brave enough to die for her, although she didn’t say that out loud. The last thing she wanted was to rekindle Alexander’s thoughts of duelling Alpin to avenge her injury and her brother’s death. “After he died, I felt verra lonely without him.” A familiar ache flared somewhere beneath her ribs.

  “It seems ye were a happy family, before their deaths.” His voice was soft enough, but there was something odd about his expression.

  “Aye, we were.”

  Was he still angry, thinking of her father? Or could it be that the discussion reminded him that he’
d never known his mother, and that his own brother was a hateful coward? Her heartache deepened. Before, it had been a selfish pain. Now that she thought about it, a whole family didn’t necessarily mean happiness. At least she’d known her mother and brother, and the memories she did have were cherished ones.

  “Is somethin’ troubling ye, Alexander?”

  He hadn’t stopped frowning.

  “Troublin’ me? Nae. It’s only that this talk of family has reminded me of somethin’ else I wanted to ask ye, though it may only be my own fancy that planted the idea in my head.”

  The puppy wriggled out of Isla’s grasp and began to attack a corner of the quilt.

  “What is it?” she asked, pulling the blanket from its mouth before it could be damaged.

  Alexander took a deep breath and grabbed the puppy by the scruff of its neck, pulling it from where it had begun to chew the coverlet once again and into his lap. It wriggled out within moments, and hopped spryly down onto the floor where it proceeded to explore the room, particularly the shadows beneath the wardrobe.

  “I know it’s only been a fortnight since we first laid together,” he continued, “but do ye think… Well, could ye be with child?”

  Isla resisted the urge to press her hand to her belly and buried a tooth in her lower lip. She’d expected her courses to start a few days after her arrival at Benstrath, but they’d never come. They’d never been late before, and naturally her thoughts had turned towards the possibility that she could be carrying Alexander’s child. She’d thought of it often during the past week, wondering if she really could be pregnant. Then yesterday, she’d nearly been overcome by a wave of nausea as she’d climbed out of bed, and the sensation had returned often since. Was it just nerves that had her stomach roiling, or something more?

  “In the kitchen,” Alexander continued, “I saw ye press your hand to your belly when ye feared your father might strike ye, and I thought…”

  “I dinnae ken if I’m truly with child,” she admitted, “but I think I might be. I havnae had my courses, and I havnae been feeling my best these past few days. I wasnae going to say anything until I kent it for sure.” But God, it felt good to share her anxious thoughts with someone else. Especially him.

  The briefest of smiles curled one corner of his mouth, and he reached out and smoothed her hair. “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling ill, but…” He smiled in earnest, pulling her against him. “Well, I cannae say I amnae pleased.”

  Isla was unable to resist beaming in return as his words settled over her, sparking a warm glow somewhere in her middle. The warmth flared when he kissed her, and she gasped when it ended.

  “I dinnae ken for sure,” she reminded him, reluctant to raise his spirits so and risk disappointing him.

  “Aye? Well, then, in case you’re not…”

  He pulled her tighter against him and slipped his hand beneath her skirts, caressing her thigh. Her body’s response was immediate and strong, sending dampness creeping from her core. The day had been trying, and she wanted nothing more than to lie in his arms and let him fill her. If there was anything that could make her forget her worries and feel safe, it was making love with him, her husband. She pushed a hand beneath his kilt and stroked him in turn, feeling her way up his softly fuzzed leg to where his cock throbbed, already firm.

  They undressed, helping each other, in what was perhaps record time. Only after their clothes had fallen in an untidy pile on the floor did they slow. Isla tingled from head to toe as Alexander touched her just as thoroughly, gliding his hands smoothly over her curves and pausing along the way to massage her nipples and dip into the slippery hollow between her thighs. Lying on her back beside him, she reached up, gripped his shoulders and sighed against his chest as he teased her with his fingers, circling her nub with their tips. Her nipples hardened and he pressed his mouth to one, drawing it in as he slipped first one, then two fingers inside her wet slit.

  Her core tightened automatically in response, and hints of a climax rolled through her belly. She hardly had time to marvel at the fact that she was ready to come so soon—the sensation was quickly escalating, and the searing pleasure Alexander’s touch brought left little room for any other thought. The movement of his fingers caused her core to tighten in ecstasy, making it impossible not to imagine his cock in their place, though it was currently resting hard and ready against her thigh.

  The thought sent her over the edge, and she reached down to clutch him, closing her fingers around his thick shaft as the first wave of orgasm struck. He stroked her hard, dragging his fingertips down her inner wall while drawing his tongue across her nipple and flexing his hips to press his cock more deeply into her grasp. She gasped, arching her back against the mattress. The new angle allowed him to penetrate her more deeply, and he took full advantage. She squirmed against him when he pushed his fingers back inside, touching a place that caused her to bite her lip to avoid shouting loudly enough to inform the entire estate of her intense pleasure. Her motion caused her breast to rise against his face, and the soft mound tingled as he scraped the edge of her areola ever so slightly with his teeth. Her climax continued to wash over her in waves so strong that all sensation blurred together, and when she finally emerged from the haze she found she was gasping raggedly, every inch of her body feeling as if it were burning with a smouldering, toe-curling fire.

  Alexander circled her nipple with the tip of his tongue one last time before pressing his mouth to her lips instead. She yielded to him, letting his tongue dominate hers as he pulled his fingers from between her thighs and settled his hips there instead. His hips were broad in comparison to her own, powerful and hot to the touch. The rounded tip of his cock met her flesh, throbbing against her clitoris. She moaned into his mouth, and reached down to press a hand against the muscular plane of his arse, urging him to enter her. Coming once seemed to have whetted her appetite for more, and she couldn’t remember having ever felt so aroused. Need for him drove her heart to race and flooded her veins, reducing her nipples to tiny buds. The memory of his fingers inside her was vivid, the longing for his cock to fill the same place still with her.

  He pulled his mouth from hers and glided smoothly into her wet, ready body, sheathing himself to the root in one stroke. She moaned and dug her fingers into the shallow cleft between his thigh and the lower curve of his arse as her body stretched to accommodate him.

  He echoed her enthusiasm, bowing his head again and groaning as he pulled back and launched another deep stroke. He moved slowly, but her body responded quickly. Already her middle seemed to be tying itself in knots of delightful tension that wouldn’t be loosened until she came. It wouldn’t be long before she did. He slid easily in and out of the moist, tight cave of her body, and his every move brought her that much closer. “Alexander,” she gasped, burying her fingernails in his flesh.

  He pressed himself deeper inside her, straining his hips against hers and triggering an internal spasm that drove her to say his name again in the hope that he’d repeat the motion. When he did, she pulled her hand from his hips and wrapped both her arms around his neck instead.

  He lowered his head to kiss her, slipping his tongue between her lips and into the deep recesses of her mouth as he laboured below, abandoning his slow strokes in favour of quicker motions that made her squirm beneath him. She arched her back as she had the first time just as her core contracted around his cock, gripping him tightly and sending white-hot bolts of pleasure up through her belly. Abandoning restraint, he groaned as he pushed his way to his own climax. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she finished coming and he began, the hot rush of his seed filling her core. It might not matter, if she was already with child, but she liked the feeling.

  * * * *

  As the next week passed, bringing with it stronger bouts of nausea and vertigo but no sign of Isla’s courses, it seemed increasingly likely she was indeed pregnant. Still, she didn’t want the rest of the Gordons to know until she was sure bey
ond any reasonable doubt. The news would likely anger Alexander’s stepmother, not to mention Alpin. The household tension had been simmering ever since Isla’s father had made his appearance. Lady Gordon seemed furious that Alexander hadn’t returned Isla to his father’s care, and took advantage of every opportunity to express her displeasure—when her husband wasn’t around, anyway. Only when Alexander’s father retired to the house after a long day of fulfilling his laird’s responsibilities did the other inhabitants become peaceable. Even Alpin limited his baleful sulking and snide remarks when his father was present. Unfortunately, Malcolm Gordon’s attentions were in high demand across and outside the estate, and he spent little time languishing at home.

  Isla spent as much time as possible in the kitchen, where Alpin and his mother seldom ventured. Mrs Mary had finally agreed to let Isla help her with the preparation of the daily meals, and when she wasn’t busy with the next dinner she devoted herself to whipping up whatever treat struck her fancy. As a result, the kitchen had become a popular stop for any children who happened to be within scenting range, not to mention Alexander whenever he was inside. Isla didn’t mind being mobbed by Benstrath’s younger tenants, even if they did tend to leave sticky fingerprints on her apron. Their liveliness was a welcome contrast to the industrial sounds of a busy kitchen, and they reminded her of the child growing in her own belly.

  Would it be a boy or a girl? Dark like Alexander or fair and fiery as she was? Would Benstrath’s kitchen someday be filled with half a dozen of their own sticky-fingered children? The thought always made her smile, and she easily become lost in speculation over her and Alexander’s future. Imagining the house full of their own family made her feel much less of an outsider and more the future Lady of Benstrath.

  “Isla dear, will ye see if any of the wee devils are still out in the hall?” Mrs Mary asked as she laid lattice work over the top of a pie. “The slop bucket is overflowin’ with peels.”