Love with a Scottish Outlaw

by Gayle Callen

  Holding himself still, he asked. “Are ye all right?”

  She nodded. “I was led to believe it could be worse.”

  He smiled, that rare smile that made her see how he could have been if his life had been easier, a man who’d never take happiness for granted.

  “I’ll make it even better,” he promised.

  He slid partially out, then back inside, and those feelings that had just subsided now rose up again.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  And then he was riding her, sliding against her, and she gradually changed from awkward to graceful as she learned how to move with him. In the shadowy darkness of the box bed, hidden away from the world, only he existed with her, his hard body that was made to bring her pleasure, his groans that told her she was all he needed, the damp heat of his skin, the salty way he tasted when she kissed his chest. The climax swept over her again, sudden and swift and welcome.

  When he suddenly pulled out of her and thrust against her belly several more times, she wasn’t sure what was happening. He went still, braced on his elbows so he didn’t crush her, his chest heaving against hers. He rolled off, grabbed something off the floor and wiped her stomach.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Using my shirt to clean ye. Unlike some, I packed supplies for this journey and brought an extra,” he added.

  The hint of amusement was rare, and made her smile. Then she frowned. “Clean me of what?”

  “My seed. I didn’t spend it inside ye.”

  Her eyes went wide, but he only lay on his back, forearm across his eyes, his chest still rising and falling. A baby. He’d thought to protect her from that scandal, but she hadn’t thought of anything except desire, so overpowering that even now she wanted more of it.

  Coming up on her elbow, she looked down at herself, glistening with perspiration, with faint pink spots from passion. Yet instead of exhausted, she felt rejuvenated, aware of her body and the wonderful secrets it had been holding all this time. Then she turned to look at Duncan, and the firelight danced across the beautiful muscles that made up his form.

  He peered out from beneath his arm. “Aye?”

  A feeling of shyness swept over her—they were completely naked. She’d given in to passion, lost her virginity. She should feel upset and guilty, but didn’t. What would happen when they left this cottage, she didn’t know, but right at that moment, she didn’t want to think about any of it.

  “Ye must be cold,” he said at last, then rose up to tend the fire.

  That was when she saw the scars crisscrossing his back, and couldn’t help her gasp. But squatting down before the fire, he hadn’t heard her, and she was able to watch him move with grace, with power under control. She’d never imagined a man’s body could be so beautiful to her.

  But those scars . . . surely he’d gotten them in gaol, and her father had helped put him there. How would she feel, what would she do, if someone had done such a thing, harmed innocent children, almost destroyed an entire clan?

  Duncan’s faint smile faded as he came back to the bed and saw her expression.

  “Your back,” she whispered.

  He lay down on the bed, then pulled her up to rest within the crook of his arm, his shoulder pillowing her head.

  “’Tis the past,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t matter between us.”

  “Everything matters, Duncan. All of it is how I came to be living at the cave.”

  His heart beat strong and sure beneath her hand.

  “The first time I tried to escape the thieves’ hole, they caught and punished me. Let us not talk of it now. Tell me of your girlhood.”

  “What?” She tilted her head up so she could see his face. “Ye want to discuss something so unimportant?”

  “It formed ye. How can it be unimportant?”

  Those dark eyes were serious upon her, and his fingers began to comb through her hair. The gentle tug, the occasional brush of his fingers on her back or shoulder, were strangely comforting.

  “Ye know who my father is,” she said softly. “He could be a monster to others, but he was not to me.”

  “I am glad for that.”

  “Truly?” she whispered. “It makes me feel . . . spoiled, useless, this precious object on his shelf.”

  “It makes me glad to know ye were happy, that ye had the best your father could provide.”

  Her throat was tight. “I never understood how he treated those who weren’t family. Oh, he was brusque with the servants, but Mother assured me he was only busy thinking about the weighty matters of the world. I was able to travel in fine carriages, dress in the best clothing, socialize in Edinburgh or London, and I thought I had the pick of men for my husband.” She gave a sad laugh. “It turned out that Father was manipulating me from the moment of my birth. I was betrothed to the heir of the McCallum clan when I was but a babe, but he never told me.”

  He stiffened. “Ye’re betrothed?”

  “Nay, it ended this past summer.”

  He let out a breath.

  “Do ye think I’d have done this with ye if I was promised to another man?”

  He met her gaze. “Nay, I assumed ye’d have told me something so important when your mind cleared. But to hear the words on your lips . . .”

  She gave him a gentle bite on the chest. “Ye deserved it.”

  He nodded. “Your father was thoughtless and cruel. Betrothals often happen to repair clan ties, but to not tell ye . . .”

  “Do ye know how I found out?” she whispered, her throat tight. “When my betrothed, Hugh McCallum, came to meet me in York, Father refused him, sent me out of town oblivious, put my dear cousin Riona in my place, and manipulated Hugh into kidnapping her. And it worked.”

  His chest lifted in a great sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “Poor Riona must have been so frightened. Hugh thought he was only doing what he’d been forced to by my father. Riona and I have the same name, Catriona—our fathers were competitive in everything—so Hugh thought Riona was trying to elude the marriage, just like my father had done.”

  “I did not hear of a scandal.”

  “Nay, ye didn’t, because they fell in love and married. My brother Owen agreed to wed a McCallum to keep the contract between our two families whole. He and Hugh’s sister Maggie were lucky enough to fall in love, too. Everyone is happily married, bairns on the way. I thought it was my turn to find my own life, my own happiness. ’Tis why I left for Glasgow.”

  “And then I kidnapped ye,” he said, his voice flat, yet with undercurrents of anger and frustration.

  Cat boosted herself up on one arm and looked down at him gravely. “Aye, it was an awful thing, using me to punish my father. He used me, too. I don’t know if I can ever forget what ye did.”

  It was a strange conversation to have when they were utterly naked, their legs touching. But without clothes, after such an intimate act, there seemed to be no barriers between them and facing what he’d done to her.

  “I trusted ye, Duncan. Ye’d saved me. I thought ye were so noble.”

  “I have no claims to nobility,” he said hoarsely. “At first, I thought I was justified—not that it makes what I did right. Guilt about what had been done to my clan was its own powerful weapon that let me deceive myself, that let me ignore that ye weren’t your father, that I was punishing ye.”

  “And when ye discovered my father was dead, when your plan no longer mattered? Ye didn’t take me back.”

  “I couldn’t,” he said hoarsely. “Ye mattered too much to me. And in my selfishness, I still kept the truth hidden from ye, as if I could find a magic potion to make it all work out.”

  “But instead ye lost me, Duncan.” Her words were solemn.

  “I knew that, and yet it did not stop me from seducing ye, another wrong I have done to ye.”

  She stiffened. “Nay, not that. I wanted this as much as you.”

  He sat up on the edge of the bed, his profile somber. “I’ve kidnap
ped and then taken the innocence of an earl’s sister. I have no life to offer in a cave, though honor demands I wed ye.”

  She moved away so they weren’t touching. “I don’t want to marry ye, Duncan. I went off to search for a man I trust—and you can never be that man.”

  He said nothing, because it was her choice, not his.

  “As for why I offered myself to ye . . .” She looked away. “It was passion, not love, a fire that burns quickly, and just as easily burns out.”

  He nodded silently.

  “But, Duncan, the whisky smuggling—it has to stop, for the safety of both our clans, or it’ll only worsen the feud.”

  Now he looked at her from beneath lowered brows. “When the children are safe, and my people can earn their living without fear, then it’ll stop.”

  “We’ll just have to make it all happen then,” she said briskly. “Ye’ll capture the sheriff, then we’ll take him to my brother, who’ll see that true justice is done.”

  He eyed her. “We’ll do that? Did I not just have a discussion with ye about putting yourself in danger?”

  “Was it a discussion?” she asked primly. “I seem to remember being yelled at.”

  He harrumphed, but didn’t look away. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, their words outlining the reality of their relationship—their lack of one. But they were still naked, and his gaze seemed to go all hot as he looked at her. That gaze drifted down her body—

  He stood up. “I’ll fetch ye some water to wash before we leave.”

  As he reached the door, she said, “Ye’ll go out without clothes?”

  “Who’s to see me? And then I’ll go for a swim.”

  “A swim!” she repeated, shocked. “Duncan, it’s freezing.”

  “Good.”

  Confused, she could only stare at the door as it closed behind him.

  Chapter 20

  Duncan rode silently beside Cat the entire way home, and thought of the words she’d used to condemn him. I went off to search for a man I trust—and you can never be that man. She was right. Over the several-hour ride home, every time he glanced at her, she looked nothing but calm, even serene.

  Those emotions would forever elude him. He had to end an injustice to his people, and then afterward . . . he’d have to return Cat to her brother and face the consequences. No punishment could be as severe as losing her. He hadn’t realized how much he counted on seeing her lovely face each day, watching her interact with his people, never seeming above them. And then there was how she was with Finn. She would make a fine mother, and make a husband proud.

  But not him.

  They reached the cave after sunset, when the few men not out patrolling were gathered around the fires to relax. Maeve rushed toward them, her expression filled with relief.

  “We were so worried, Catherine,” she said, taking both of Cat’s hands in her own and squeezing them. “But we realized ye’d taken yer favorite horse, and since none of the patrols had seen ye, we hoped that meant ye were well.”

  “I went after Himself to ride with him, and never thought to let anyone know. Forgive me.”

  Maeve waved a hand. “’Tis good ye got away from this damp old cave. Come, I’ve saved ye some supper.”

  Duncan had Cat precede him to a table. After Sheena studied the two of them, her shoulders drooped, and she turned away. Much as he knew Cat would never make it obvious that they’d been intimate, it was better that Sheena understood that he was not drawn to her.

  Their homecoming obviously made Cat nervous. She sat on the opposite side of a table, down a bit from him, though they were the only two people there. She didn’t meet his gaze, and talked pointedly to Maeve as she brought them roasted plovers, carrots, and cheese. Duncan didn’t want to make Cat feel uneasy—didn’t want her to have any regrets. He had enough for them both.

  Ivor proved a good distraction as he updated Duncan about the patrols searching the southwestern Highlands. Another child had gone missing, and his every instinct told him that the sheriff was going to try another run to the coast, with less children this time, in hopes of slipping through the web of Duncan’s men. One by one Duncan had incapacitated the sheriff’s men, leaving less to do his bidding. The people of the countryside had risen as well, searching high and low for the children. He felt like he was so close to ending this scourge on his people, to proving he could keep them safe at last—to catching the sheriff at his evil deeds.

  He retreated to his chamber after the meal, not so much for Cat’s benefit as his own. Looking at her made him feel a mixture of pleasure and pain, all of which had to remain hidden behind his usual somber façade. He’d never thought it was difficult to project strength, command, and certainty to his people; he was their chief, and confidence was a duty he owed them. He’d learned to hide his more conflicted feelings since childhood.

  But not Cat. From the moment she’d arrived, her sweet face projected her every emotion, at first fear, then gratitude and contentment, then even the happiness of helping the lost children. And this day, when she’d lain beneath him in bed, her face had been a reflection of wonder and desire, urgency and fulfillment.

  But not love. She would never love him. And he didn’t think it fair to her to make her suffer through this evening struggling to hide whatever she felt: shame, guilt, or perhaps even regret. Much as she’d insisted the choice had been hers, she could be regretting it now.

  Duncan ran a hand through his hair, uncertain what he should do. He’d thought making love to her might have cured him of his desperate need, but it only seemed worse now that he knew what he’d miss for the rest of his days. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the wild way she’d thrown her head back in exultation, her dark hair cascading across the bedding. He relived the eager and unashamed way she’d touched him, and the feel of her soft, sweet skin beneath his mouth, the hard little nipples, the sensitive, wet folds of her womanhood.

  With a groan, he stumbled away from his pallet, the one she’d spent so many nights in—and saw his trunk. Cat had reminded him of his father’s letters, and he pounced on the distraction with relief. He’d read the first few before, had seen only a chief dealing with rent and taxes and farming. Duncan hadn’t gone further, for he thought his father had buried himself in the mundane details of his lands, rather than overcome the shame of his sins to be the leader his clan needed.

  This time Duncan kept reading, saw with disbelief that his father had known of the kidnappings. The man had never been a warrior, had not hoped to defeat this evil with sword and pistol, so he’d tried to use his pen and his intellect—neither of which had worked against the sheriff and the hidden support of the Earl of Aberfoyle.

  But he’d tried.

  For the first time in his life, Duncan could see through his bitterness and find a kernel of strength in his father. The man had been more than what Duncan, in his youth, had thought of him. Like his father, Duncan had done things he wasn’t proud of, but he wouldn’t abandon his people—and neither had his father, until an explosion of temper, and then guilt and shame, had worn him down.

  Duncan had let revenge wear him down, cloud his thinking, until he’d believed that holding an injured, innocent woman captive was something necessary, imperative even. He’d been such a fool. Much as he was a chief, he wasn’t God, sitting in judgment over all the world. If he wanted the respect of his clan, he had to deserve it. Cat was right—the whisky smuggling, much as it helped his clan now, would only lead to further problems. He would stop it as soon as he could.

  He couldn’t imagine a day when he would be a normal man, overseeing his clan, searching for a wife. That woman could never be Cat; she’d made that clear. Though he didn’t deserve her, he wanted to be worthy of her, wanted to earn her respect.

  But would the ache of regret and lost love ever ease enough that he could court another woman?

  “Laird Carlyle?”

  Duncan stiffened at the sound of his name. He slid open t
he curtain to find young Finn standing there, hands twisted in his coat, eyes wide, then quickly downcast.

  “Aye, Finn?”

  “Might I speak with ye, Laird Carlyle?”

  “Of course.” Duncan stepped back, and when he felt like he dominated the chamber by towering over the nervous boy, he sat down and regarded him. “What might I do for ye?”

  Finn took a deep breath, then spoke quickly, “Mistress Catherine thought I should tell ye all the truth, so I’m here to do that.”

  Duncan’s own lies felt a sword to the gut when looking at this boy’s innocent, smudged face. He frowned. “And why did ye feel the need to withhold something from me?”

  “There’s only been me to protect meself since me mum died. And if those on the streets knew the truth . . . it wouldn’t go well for me.”

  “I’m glad to have your trust then, Finn. I won’t betray it.”

  “Hope not, sir. The thing is . . .” The words trailed off, Finn closed his eyes, then said in a rush, “I’m a girl, not a boy.” Finn peered at him worriedly through narrowed, frightened eyes.

  Duncan blinked for a moment, as everything he thought about the lad—lass—rearranged itself. “I can see why ye kept that a secret on the streets of Glasgow.”

  Finn’s thin shoulders sagged. “Mistress Catherine . . . she said ye knew the truth about her, and ’twould be all right if I told ye about me. Is it, sir?”

  Duncan briefly touched the girl’s arm. “I am honored that ye shared your secret with me, Finn. What did Mistress Catherine say about her secret?”

  “About her memory comin’ back? Och, she’s worried what people’ll think about her, a rich, fine lady that she is. I think she was unhappy before. She didn’t say it,” Finn added confidently, “but I think she’s happier here.”

  “A cave is no place for a lady,” Duncan said with solemnity. “Or a young lass either.”

  “There’s other women here,” Finn insisted.

  “With their menfolk.”

  Finn sighed. “I thought sharin’ the truth with ye would make ye change yer mind about findin’ me a family.”