Devon was flabbergasted. She could not remember the last time she knew the freedom of a ride across the moors. To be precise it had been four years earlier. The day before her first wedding was the last day she had her freedom. "Would you mind father?" she asked. "I know I would slow your pace, but it has been so long…."
"Mayhaps another time, Devon, when we are less hurried."
"Aye, so, Father," Devon murmured.
Liam watched his wife. Her disappointment was palpable. "I'm sure your father will reconsider," Liam said, looking expectantly at Malcolm.
Malcolm looked surprised. "The decision rests with you and your husband."
"'Tis settled then," Liam said. "Go and change, we'll wait."
Devon fairly leapt from the table and started for the steps. "I shan't be long, I promise."
Liam smiled as he watched her exit from the room. "What magic have you worked on my daughter?" Malcolm asked when his clansmen departed. "Already I see hope of her old self returning."
"Just some careful tending," Liam responded. "I need to know more of her marriage to Frazer. Did the man abuse her?"
"Do you think I would have allowed him to keep his life if he hurt her?" Malcolm bellowed.
Liam's face grew stern. "Well I am convinced he did unspeakable things to her, whether she confided in you or not."
"What makes you say that?"
Liam opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he caught sight of his wife out of the corner of his eye. She wore a crisp, white kirtle covered with a jade green, velvet surcoat. The gown had a matching cape to ward off the chill. Under his observation, she struggled to cover her face adequately with a small, veiled hat. Black netting secured her hair at the nape of her neck and layers of black lace hung from the green, plumed hat covering her neck.
"We'll continue this later," Liam told his father-in-law. "It appears Devon is back already.
Devon felt like a child again as she picked her mount and rode out of the castle gates. Now her new husband and father protected her. The gray-green mountains that rose before her gave her a feeling of awe and freedom she had not felt in years. The smell of pine mingled with the clear, fresh air that blew across the fields.
They rode over the property and Malcolm pointed out the specific benefits and uses of each part of his holdings. Surprisingly at ease, Devon joined in the conversation to add her own opinions about the land.
"This area looks best suited for pasture. Too rocky for much else," Liam mused. They rode through towering, stone outcroppings.
"I always thought it might be suited for a small settlement. 'Tis so near the firth," Devon interjected.
"Devon," Malcolm admonished. "Please dinna interrupt."
Liam scowled at Malcolm and turned to her. "Devon, tell me why you think we should construct a settlement here?"
Smiling to herself, she kneed her horse closer to Liam's horse. "I'll show you," she said. With a swift kick, she urged her mount to a dead run across the rugged field rounding a mountainous outcropping and disappearing from Liam and her father’s line of view.
She could hear the thundering hoof beats of Liam's mount as he followed. He pulled up beside her and they gazed across the blue waters that stretched as far as the eye could see.
He turned to her. “'Tis beautiful!" he declared.
"The Firth of Lorn," Devon said. "I've been trying to get father to make an anchorage here for trading. 'Tis the gateway to the world. Do you see the potential? There could be a town and tradesmen and sailing ships."
"An ambitious project."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "Mayhaps we could begin with a cottage where one could escape the duties of everyday life and find ease by the sea," she suggested.
Liam leaned across and lifted her veil enough to find her soft lips with his. He kissed her thoroughly, teasing her to response, until she dropped her reins and clung to him filled with the excitement of her freedom and the fire he nurtured so well.
She heard Malcolm's horse come up beside them, but her husband's kiss was so entrancing she continued a bit longer before she pulled away breathlessly. Her father smiled at them through misty eyes. "You look so like your mother in that outfit," Malcolm said gruffly.
"I shall take that as the highest of compliments," she replied. Her heart soared at his wide grin. Devon's horse pranced nervously. She took up her reins and quickly brought the animal under control. Liam gazed at her. She still felt the heat of his bold caress coursing through her.
"You're a woman of vision, love," he told her. "And I promise we'll discuss this piece of ground at length later."
She smiled; a smile he couldn't see she remembered. So why did she wish he could? "Thank you," she murmured. "'Tis refreshing to be with a man who listens to my ideas."
Her father harrumphed and Devon laughed—twice in one day. What magic spell had Liam MacLean cast upon her?
Devon was sorry when her father insisted they return to the protection of the castle. "'Tis getting too dark," he argued. She knew she'd lost the fight when Liam agreed.
"We can ride as often as you like, love," he promised, "but 'tis time to go back now." He gave her a cajoling look, a look that told her he desired her agreement, not demanded it. Her new husband was an interesting man.
"Aye, so," she agreed. Liam smiled.
***
When they reached the stable, some of the men detained Liam, so Devon excused herself and made her way back to the great hall. Finding the cook, she gave directions about what kind of meal she wished to serve her father and husband. "Roast venison, brown bread, and cabbage," she repeated. "And perhaps some turnips for father." The cook seemed surprised at first and then genuinely pleased by her attention.
In the years since Devon's marriage to Frazer Forbes, she had become a recluse, but now she lent her direction to the larders as if she had never paused in this duty. It was a welcome change she decided.
Satisfied dinner was underway, Devon headed for her room to change. She actually found herself humming as she hurried through the hallway. Bryce Forbes stepped out of his room in front of her, interrupting her light-heartedness. "There you are, you conniving little bitch," he growled, grabbing Devon's arm and pushing her against the wall. "I waited so long to see beneath this damnable covering, I'll not wait another minute." He snatched the hat and tried to jerk it off her head. Devon screamed in pain as the hatpins that secured it in place ripped her hair. A large hand fell on Bryce's grip, squeezing his wrist until he released her.
Liam whipped his enemy around and punched him hard in the belly. Grabbing Bryce from the floor, he jerked him up to eye level.
"If you ever touch my wife again, I'll kill you," Liam grated. The man's wide-eyed expression convinced Liam his message had gotten through. He released Bryce, who ducked back to the safety of his chamber.
Leaning breathlessly against the wall, Devon struggled to regain her composure. Liam walked over and pulled her into his welcoming arms. She buried herself there until she found her breath again. She leaned back away from the heat of him and looked up into his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.
A lazy grin spread across his face. "I told you I always protect what's mine. Come, I'll walk you to our chamber."
Comforted by the fact her husband sat in the master's chamber just beyond her door, Devon dressed for dinner. When she presented herself in his room, he took her arm and they went down to join Malcolm for dinner.
Devon felt Liam watching her eat. She was sure her mastery of eating with the veil in place bothered him, but he didn't comment on it.
One of the servants came to Liam. "Milord, there is a messenger here from your cousin. Should I show him in?"
"Of course," Liam replied.
A burly, red-haired man wearing the MacLean plaid blew into the room and ran to Liam for a quick embrace.
"You bring news from Dunbocan?"
The man didn't answer Liam, but stood back and grinned. "I'll not give you my message until you introd
uce me to your wife," he said cheekily.
"Devon, may I present my clansman, Ross MacLean. Ross this is my wife, Devon Dunsmore MacLean."
Devon invited Ross to have a plate of supper with them. Seated and eating, he finally made his announcement.
"Laird Jared and Lady Asilinn are on their way here for a visit," Ross said with a wide grin. "Lady Asilinn insisted; said there was a matter she needed to attend to here. She foresaw it." Ross raised his eyebrows up and down and laughed.
Taken aback, Devon digested the news. "Foresaw it?" she questioned.
"Lady Asilinn has visions that come to pass," Liam explained. "'Tis a gift."
A deep breath escaped Devon's chest as she relaxed back in her chair. "Then she is not a witch?" she inquired.
"They tried to burn her at the stake, but my cousin wouldna allow it. He proved her innocent of the charges."
"I see," Devon said slowly. She really didn't see at all. Would this mystical Asilinn take one look at Devon and know her dark secret? Was this the task she came to perform?
"Can she read minds as well?"
Liam looked at Devon squirming in her chair and seemed amused. "Lady Asilinn has been a good friend to me. She came to my room while I was trying to decide whether to come here and fight for your hand. She told me of a vision she had of you and I together. 'Twas the deciding factor in my coming here. Asilinn has told me you shall prove to be the love of my life."
Devon sat in stunned silence. How could a true visionary be so wrong?
Chapter Seven
"Must we do this every night," Devon whispered. Her breath caught in her throat. Liam stroked his hand lightly across her breast, the heat of it piercing the thin nightgown.
He smiled; a smile that began in his dark eyes and spread across his chiseled features. "I am your husband, Devon."
"I know… but…."
Her protest stopped when his warm, moist lips invaded her privacy, moving up her neck, then fluttering the veil upwards so they caressed her mouth.
It was there again—the glowing ember deep within her—the glimmer that started every time he captured her in one of his unending kisses.
Devon knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to drive her mad. Every night he came to her, kissing, caressing, and boldly exploring her body with his hands until she told him to stop, and then he did. That was what perplexed her. He let her have power over him—let her tell him when she'd had enough… just as he was doing now.
His tongue teased her lips apart, sweeping hungrily into her mouth when she opened to admit him. Again, he tempted her to response with a tantalizing movement in and out… in and out. The warmth inside her grew with each magical flick until she mimicked his actions. A contented groan came from deep in his throat and she felt his hand open the front of her nightgown and slip inside.
The first bold stroke of his burning fingers across her breasts made her nipples go erect. He seized one excited peak between his thumb and forefinger and rotated it gently over and over in a gentle pulsating massage.
She should pull away. She could hardly breathe—why… because it felt so good. His lips freed hers, moving ever downward towards the delicate fruit he had exposed. She gasped when he reached his goal—licked the hardened tip, then began a sucking motion that made her body arch to meet him. She was quivering, moving restlessly in his arms. His hand dove lower, exploring her—touching her—no!
Devon jerked away. He looked at her, startled by her quick retreat across the bed. She held her arm up to block her head, but no blow came. "Not yet," she whispered shakily. "I'm sorry…."
Her husband sat up, his eyes still limpid pools of passion. He gazed at her from beneath the fringe of black eyelashes. "Put you arm down, Devon. I'm not going to hit you."
Slowly she lowered her arm and watched him. "I wouldna blame you if you were angry."
"Disappointed, not angry." His dark eyes watched her. "You were enjoying my touch." To verify his statement he reached across and planted his warm hands on her breasts, stroking them with a feather-light enticement.
Devon inhaled sharply. It did feel good, but she couldn't. Why didn't he understand? He was being gentle now. That would change—she knew. She gasped as his hands moved to her shoulders and slid the nightgown down around her waist. He leaned closer, pulling her bare breasts to his naked chest. His lips caressed her neck.
"A little while longer," he entreated in a seductive whisper.
Devon found herself arching her neck and pressing into him. Liam sighed and grasped her shoulders, guiding her torso back and forth across his chest in a light teasing motion. Relax, she told herself. He's so patient—so gentle… so erotic, her darker side whispered.
She closed her eyes and let herself feel each tender caress, each sensuous stroke. Then she felt his play grow more serious—his hard muscles tense when he captured her mouth in a hot insistent kiss that devoured her sanity.
She was out of control—writhing beneath his fiery hands. He was becoming more demanding—his mouth—his hands—his hard body.
The old fear rose up like a terrifying specter that sent ice water coursing through her veins. Devon ripped her lips from his. "No!" she cried, her body trembling uncontrollably.
His body went rigid. He halted his assault on her senses and loosened his grip on her. She heard him moan, and then he bowed his head and leaned it gently against hers. It seemed to take him forever to speak.
"Devon," he rasped. "Forgive my impatience. I promised you time, yet every night I accost you with my wanton desires." Liam raised his head and stared at her with passion-glazed eyes. "Are you afraid of me? I dinna want you to be afraid."
"I'm not," she whispered.
"You're shaking."
She nodded her acknowledgment.
"Was something I did uncomfortable for you?"
How could he ask these questions so calmly? Why did he care what she wanted? Devon didn't understand Liam MacLean. How could he remain good-humored, never raising his voice or his hand to her when she disappointed him by drawing away?
"Devon, I need to know if something I did frightened you."
She shook her head, feeling the flimsy veil flutter with the action. "’Twas fear of what was to come," she said softly. "Our union seemed so eminent… and it frightened me."
"I know you were enjoying what we did." As he spoke, he slipped her nightgown back onto her shoulders, running his hands beneath it one last time before he secured the open front.
Funny, she didn't feel offended by his last brief intimate touch. In fact, her nipples still burned where his hands and lips had scorched them. Would it have been so bad if she'd let him continue? "I'm sorry I've disappointed you yet again," she murmured.
He gave her a crooked grin and caressed her neck. "I find these nightly explorations quite exotic, like a rare perfume that requires all the senses to be fully appreciated." He caressed her through the veil. "You give me hope for the fulfillment of Asilinn’s prophecy."
"I dinna understand."
Liam nuzzled her veiled head, then rose and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. "I'd better get you settled in your bed before I try to change your mind," he said with a half laugh.
Picking her up, he carried her to her bed in the small adjoining room. He planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled the blanket over her. "Dinna forget to take that off before you fall asleep," he said, toying with the lace covering the lower part of her face.
Devon snuggled down beneath the covers watching his tall form leave the room. Each night that they went through this strange ritual made her less eager to see him leave. Tonight she actually felt disappointed.
***
It had been three days since the messenger came. Laird Jared and Lady Asilinn were due any day. Devon had taken great pains to see the hall put back in order. In the new freedom she experienced under Liam's rule, she had resumed her duties running the household. Her change of wardrobe and affectionate husband had made all the ugly rumors
disappear. All except the speculation about what her face looked like under the veil. Still, people seemed generally kinder now she walked among them again.
Perhaps she should have tried this as a widow, but her great guilt over Frazer's death and Bryce's never-ending presence had kept her from it. Her father had been absent so much trying to find a remedy for the royal petition that she had been forced to keep to her chamber most of the time, living in fear of her dead husband's brother.
Liam solved that problem for her. Bryce bowed his head and looked away when Devon passed him in the hall. She was sure her husband had taken Bryce aside after the incident in the passageway and threatened him further. The servants whispered that Liam had let Bryce know if there was one more incident he would be thrown out of Dunsmore Heath forever, whether he held a tenth share or not.
Liam had also petitioned Robert the Bruce for an impartial judge to come and oversee his division of the estate. If Liam had his way, Bryce would go build his own residence on a portion of the property. It was amazing what her husband had accomplished in such a short time.
She knew he was trying to be good to her, but she doubted any man's ability to hold his dark side in check forever. She was sure he had a dark side, every man did.
Moira came rushing up to her in the hallway. "Lady Devon, you must come at once. Yer father has taken ill."
Devon ran to her father's chamber. When she entered, she was aghast at the ashen pallor of his face. Rushing to his side, she brushed back the hair that fallen across his cheek. Glazed eyes looked into hers unseeing. He jerked away, restlessly tossing in his bed and ranting and rambling like a madman.
"Lorna!" Malcolm called out to his dead wife, raising his hand to reach for her as if she stood by his bed. A ragged sob tore from Devon's throat and she buried her head in her hands. "Lorna, wait for me," her father called, trying to rise from the bed. He was too weak and fell back moaning.
Moira stood stroking Devon's head. "Dinna cry, Milady. I'll find Fenella. Mayhaps she can help."
Fenella would be able to help. She had cured the ills of the Dunsmore clan for years. Devon raised her head. "If you see Liam on the way, please tell him what has happened."
Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02 Page 7
