by Paula Quinn
“Do not dare say it, oaf,” she warned, staring right back at him. “I can take care of myself. I have done so many times before. I promise ye, my enemies never see me coming.”
Oh hell, he hoped she was speaking of her subtle skills at interrogation and not something more nefarious, like her slashing her blades at men in the cover of night.
“Let me break things down fer ye, Mairi. I love ye. I have always loved ye, and I will never love anyone after ye. If ye were hurt or…” He paused, unable to speak the words, and pulled her close into his arms. “Ye would set me on a rampage that neither England nor Scotland could withstand. Do ye want that?”
She shook her head no and blinked back the moisture that made her eyes glitter like the misty mountains surrounding Camlochlin.
“But I must find out why he spoke about my enemies, Connor.”
Damn her, she was stubborn. “Ye said he may have taken note of yer interest while ye were speaking to Queensberry.”
She shook her head. “Nae, there is something else. I know there is, but I canna’ tell ye what ’tis, fer I dinna’ know myself. Something that nags at me. Something I should know. I know he cares fer me and it has created quite a dilemma that I must soon address.”
“What dilemma is that?” he asked her, trying to sound unfazed now that he knew she wasn’t thinking about him in a romantic way.
“I have to tell him that I dinna’ feel the same way.”
“I will tell him fer ye.”
“Och.” She gave his arm a playful slap. “Ye will leave him be.”
Like hell he would.
“I will tell him myself after ye return me to the palace.”
“That isn’t going to be anytime soon.”
“I am sore.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“Liar.” She laughed and nestled under his arm.
Connor watched her a few moments later when her even breaths proved that she had fallen asleep. If he lived to be fifty, he would never forget her words to him last night. I was lost without ye, Connor. As he had been without her. They had wasted so much time. No more. He drew her in closer and kissed her head while she slept. She was his, his from the day she told him she loved him through her toothless smile and sealed his nine-year-old heart to her forever. He would never let anything separate them again.
Especially Henry de Vere.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mairi woke a short while later and looked up into Connor’s tender gaze. Hell, had he been watching her while she slept? She hoped she had not been snoring and felt for any drool around her mouth. She didn’t usually nap during the day. Clashing blades earlier must have drained her… along with making love to the magnificent Highlander in her arms.
“Do ye remember when we fell asleep in that cave above the braes of Sgurr Na Stri?” he asked, his thick burr purring across her ears.
How could she forget? It was two days after he had first made love to her. She stretched and then smiled when he moved over her, covering her body with his.
“Yer mother was frantic with worry because we’d been missing fer six hours.”
“I thought my faither was going to kill ye when he found us locked in each other’s arms.”
“Aye.” He laughed down at her, making her question again if he was real. “We were fortunate to be fully dressed.”
She nodded, remembering. “We were even more fortunate that ye did not leave me with a babe.” A wistful sigh parted her lips and she touched her fingers to his dimples. “Although, ten and five is not too young to become a mother. I heard that Lady Hollingsworth was ten and two when her father promised her to Lord Hollingsworth.”
“Aye?” He kissed her lips, her nose, her eyes with excruciating tenderness. “Do ye want to carry my bairns then?”
“Aye,” she told him, unable to hide the truth from him… or from herself any longer. Her muscles tightened sharply when he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her nipple, bringing it to life. “As many as we can stand making. But…”
His kisses paused and he stared into her eyes. “What?”
She did not want to put it to him. She was too afraid of what he might say. His love did not come with a chain he would ever allow himself to be led by. He had already proven to her that he could live for many years without her. He may have wanted her, loved her during that time, but he had not allowed himself to succumb to the indignity of begging for her back. If he loved England and he wanted to remain here, he would do so, with or without her. What if he asked her to stay here with him? Could she give up Scotland, the Highlands for him? Could she live in England?
She didn’t want to think on that now and smiled at him instead while he kissed her chin.
“Are ye trying to make up fer seven years in one day?”
“What am I supposed to do when ye’re lying here snoring and driving me mad?” He traced the soft curve of her inner thigh with his fingers. His touch tickled and she laughed against him.
“I love yer hair,” he told her, catching handfuls of it where it fell down her arms. He brought a lock to his nose and inhaled. “ ’Tis filled with yer scent.”
“And what is my scent?” she purred beneath him.
He thought about it for a moment and then crooked one end of his mouth upward. “Like the moors after a storm and mountain air blowing through the heather.
“I love yer breasts.” He lowered his head and kissed each in turn. “And how they react to my touch. How they taste in my mouth.”
She gazed down at him and felt her heart swell and threaten to burst within. Only he could tame her with that tongue. He wielded it with power and dominance when she came against him, and with the beauty of his praises when she did not. She took his face in her palms to look at him. When she did, so close that she could feel his breath on her chin, she almost wept.
“I love ye, Connor.”
“I know.”
She waited, and then waited a little longer, before she glared at him. He laughed, obviously quite pleased with himself for teasing her. She pinched him hard with her right hand and then again with her left. She did not do it a third time though. He clasped both her wrists in one hand and pulled them over her head.
“Since ye were six if I’m not mistaken.”
Arrogant scoundrel! She tried to pretend insult but she couldn’t help but shine her full smile on him. “Say it!” she demanded. “Say ye were a bloody fool fer leaving me.”
His right dimple twinkled. “I needed a rest from all the years I spent with ye, Mairi.”
When her mouth opened to form a belligerent O, he kissed it closed. “I was a bloody fool fer leaving ye. Ye are my stars, my sun, my world. I love ye. Are ye satisfied?”
When she nodded happily, he muttered the word “wench” and let go of her wrists to score a trail of wet, hungry kisses down the column of her neck. He paused at her pulse to feel it quicken, over the peaks of her breasts, dragging the breath from her lips. He licked the soft hollows of her belly and gave her hip a gentle bite.
She watched him move slowly, wickedly down her body with no idea of where he meant to finish.
Her hooded gaze followed him, lavishing in the sight of him rising up on his knees, taking her calf with him. He blazed a path with his mouth, from her curling toes to her inner thigh. She almost giggled at the squeak he pulled from her. Och, was he going to kiss her there? She groaned at the wickedness of it. Then another thought occurred to her. How did he know to kiss her there? Was this something men did often? When he dipped his head between her legs, she did not care how he knew. He flicked his tongue over her scalding bud and light exploded behind her eyes in a dozen different shades of red. She squirmed and groaned under his tender ministrations, begging him to take her and satisfy this dreadful need to be claimed by him again and again.
She almost cried out with anticipation when he moved up her body and pushed her legs apart with his knees. She looked up at him hovering above her, his muscles trembling with a hunger that had not ye
t been satisfied. His shaft was iron hard and aimed at the heavens, ready to take her. Och, but she was ready to be taken.
Holding her legs apart, he dipped his hips and watched his thick head penetrate her. His smile, when he set it on her, was hotter than the molten steel searing its way into her body. Saints have mercy on her, the size of him hurt! He moved slowly, gently, as he had promised, caressing and kissing her calf while his plunges grew a wee bit deeper. He was too big, but the sight of him drenched her with desire.
She arched her back, inviting him, wanting him to fill her. When he released her legs she coiled them around him and pulled him closer. He licked her mouth. She bit his lip softly in return and their joy at being together again overflowed into laughter. Soon though, they grew serious again as pleasure flowed like a deluge through their veins, quickening their dance, tightening their muscles.
“My wildcat.” He took her by the hands and pulled them over her head. “Our victories approach.”
She moved wildly beneath him, taking him in to the hilt and then out, almost to the tip, again and again until he grunted something sinful and held her down hard while they found their release together.
Mairi opened her eyes when she was certain by Connor’s slow, even breaths that he was asleep. It would be dark soon and she wanted to look around the inside of the house, alone before the sun took its light. She had never been inside a manor house before, so she had no recollection to compare with what Connor had built.
“I’ll build ye a home, Mairi, one ye’ll love as much as Camlochlin.”
Her eyes burned at the memory of his promise. He had kept it. Was the inside as fine as the outside?
So far, she could attest to only one thing for certain. The mattress beneath her was as soft and luxurious as hell. Even more comfortable than her bed at the palace. She supposed the king saved his best goose down for his finer friends.
She sat up slowly, careful not to wake Connor, and looked around the bedroom. She wouldn’t call the interior cavernous, though the rich wood-paneled walls likely made it feel smaller, infinitely cozy.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stepped down onto a woven carpet instead of plaited rushes. Not that the room needed either one to warm the feet, for there was no draft at all seeping through the walls. Two mullioned windows made of clear glass allowed golden light to stream in panels across the opposite wall, where stood a large bookcase of gilded wood. It was exquisite. Had Connor carved it? She went to it and her gaze perused the many titles neatly placed upon its shelves. There were books on philosophy, astronomy and navigation, as well as older volumes penned by poets and playwrights.
Something in the corner of the room caught her eye and she moved toward it next. The chessboard rested on a table made of solid walnut with carved branders, a single chair, upholstered in burgundy fabric, pushed beneath it.
She touched her fingers to the knight, carved as smooth as glass. She lifted it and smiled, recognizing it to be their uncle Robert’s set. She wondered what his wife, the gentle Lady Anne, would have thought of her favored nephew if she saw him now, a proud Stuart, fighting for his kin.
Och, why hadn’t she seen it this way before? The king, whatever religion he practiced, was his kin. She would have done no less for her own.
“There is a dining room and a parlor below stairs.”
Mairi turned to him and smiled. “Did I wake ye?”
He nodded, coming toward her. “I heard ye sniffling.”
She hastily swiped at her cheek. “Ridiculous. I dinna’ sniffle.” She looked away from him and down at the knight.
“I think about him at times,” Connor said, reaching her and covering her hands with his.
“So do I.”
“He was a good man.”
“Aye,” she said softly, fondly remembering her mother’s late brother. “He is still missed at home.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Home?”
When he nodded, she took him by the hand and led him back to the bed. “Maggie is still as fiery as a hellcat on a hot day. Yer uncle Jamie still manages to love her though.”
He laughed. Och, how she loved the sound of it. Rich, infectious, comforting like returning home after an absence.
She told him all he wanted to know about how the souls at Camlochlin fared. He drank in every word like a man starving for what he had lost. He had lost it because of her. He had stopped visiting because she’d asked him to do so.
“What of ye?” he asked, lying on his back and canting his arms behind his head. “When did ye start fighting Cameronians?”
“About six years past.”
“Do ye fight them often?”
“Nae. It takes time to gather the information we need to find out who they are and where they will meet up next.”
He remained quiet for a time, staring up at the plastered ceiling. She still couldn’t believe she was confessing all to him, not because she no longer trusted him, but because she had never told anyone what she did, save for the ones who already knew.
“Do ye think ye might want to stop in the future?”
Someone rapping sharply at the front entrance halted her answer. “Hell.” She leaped from the bed and reached for her gown crumpled on the carpet. “Who can that be? Do ye have neighbors?” She hoped so. She prayed it wasn’t anyone from the palace. Namely, Graham or Claire Grant.
The knocking came again, this time accompanied by a voice on the other end.
Connor tossed her a grin over his shoulder as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “ ’Tis Edward.”
She nodded and hurried him along, praying that the young cornet hadn’t brought anyone with him.
She watched Connor lumber naked toward the door. She would have liked to watch him move about all night without the encumbrance of his clothes, but was he about to answer the bloody door that way?
“Wait!” she practically screeched at him. “Put something on!”
He looked at her, gave her an exasperated sigh, then went for his breeches. Hell, but he had nice legs, so shapely and… Edward knocked again.
Clutching the waist of his breeches in his fists, Connor pulled open the bedroom door and shouted down the stairs. “Just a bloody moment!”
He bent slightly and slipped his foot into the first hole then worked the fabric up his leg. Mairi wiped her brow. How the hell did he manage to look so sensual getting dressed? He took his time, as he did with almost everything else, and she was impressed by his ability to balance himself on one foot for so long.
“Do hurry up.”
He flashed her a glare and fit the other leg through. Did he have to stare at her like that, as if he was locking away the key to her happiness, while he laced up? He turned, his breeches tied low on his waist, and she sighed at the two dimples above his backside.
Mairi followed close at his back as he pounded down the stairs. She did her best to pat her hair into some form of neatness, but she knew as he unbolted the door and swung it open that the attempt was useless.
Edward barreled into the house when the door opened. He looked quite disheveled as Mairi peered around Connor’s back and was relieved to see his horse and no one else.
“Captain.” The cornet swallowed, paused to acknowledge Mairi while she blushed a dozen different shades of crimson, then turned his wide eyes back on Connor. “Forgive my intrusion, Captain, but the king has returned, and he is looking for you.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
The whispers of the five guests allowed audience to the king’s Presence Chamber echoed off the high gilt ceiling, upon which was written the dates of historic wars that had been made.
Connor stood with his parents, slightly to the right of the cavernous hearth, resting his elbow on the high mantel. He gave his ear to his father as Graham put a dozen different questions to him, but found his gaze returning to the window where Mairi stood, conversing with her brother, who had returned with the king. He watched her smi
le at something Colin told her and then scowl at something he kept from her. None had been given news about what had taken place during the king’s visit to Camlochlin. Instead, Colin had been given strict orders to wait for the king and queen’s arrival, when all would be revealed.
They had been waiting for over a quarter of an hour, but no one appeared impatient. Indeed, Mairi looked quite content, if not slightly frustrated by her brother’s silence on matters of home. Lord and Lady Huntley used the time to warn Connor of Henry de Vere’s insistence on speaking with the king next.
“When I told ye to take the lass back,” Graham said, a sly, knowing smile hovering about his lips, belying his careworn tone, “I didn’t mean fer ye to ride off with her fer the entire day.”
“I wanted to show her the house.” Connor shrugged, his gaze drifting back to her. Her eyes found his and they shared an intimate smile. “And to be alone with her fer a little while.”
“Things are mended between ye then?” his father asked, noting what passed between them.
“ ’Tis my hope.”
“Oxford must be dealt with,” his mother advised, trying to sound serious but barely able to conceal her joy, “He was incensed that you took her away unchaperoned for so many hours.”
“I will handle Oxford,” Connor promised glibly, then eyed Colin. “ ’Tis that one who worries me. Is that a pistol in his belt?”
A set of large doors opened and the king and his wife entered from the adjoining Private Oratory. Unlike King Charles, whom Connor had served for almost seven years, James lacked the flamboyancy, both in his attire and in his demeanor, that his brother had possessed. While he was known to sport an abundant wig of blond curls from time to time, tonight his gray regal head went bare.
On his arm, the queen granted them each a smile as delicate as her form while she and her husband waited for formal bows and curtsies to be made.
“Sit,” the king invited after he and wife settled into two heavy, high-backed chairs. “We have much to discuss. I have already sent for my finest wine.”
