MacLean's Passion: A Highland Pride Novel

by Sharon Cullen

  “There was some feeling between the two of you before you were wed?”

  “No. Well. Maybe. I liked his kisses.” She dipped her head so Eleanor couldn’t see her heated face.

  “Kisses are nice, are they not?”

  What an odd conversation this was. She’d never talked to anyone about kissing before.

  “I was wed to an English soldier before I married Brice,” Eleanor said.

  Maggie glanced up at her in surprise, not able to picture this Englishwoman, who seemed more Scottish, married to a damn redcoat.

  “He was a fine gentleman, perfect in every way, according to my father. Handpicked just for me. But there was no…spark. He was nice enough and polite enough and he treated me well and we suited well enough, I suppose.”

  “Ye did no’ love him?”

  “Not at first. I didn’t even like him all that much because I didn’t know him well. But I learned to like him, and eventually, we loved each other.” Eleanor turned to Maggie. “You and Colin have a better start than Charles and I ever had. Yes, you were forced into a marriage, but I think there were feelings present before that. Definitely on your part and probably on Colin’s part. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Maggie paused, considering. “And how does he look at me?”

  “With…longing. And confusion.”

  Maggie snorted.

  “He’s confused,” Eleanor said. “But once he figures it all out in his head, I think he will realize that you two are suited very well.”

  “That’s all well and good, but he still won’ let me help him fight for his home.”

  Eleanor patted Maggie’s knee. “I have to admit that I think he is right in this.” She held up her hand when Maggie was about to protest. “However, I understand why you want to go with him, and I understand that it is a matter of pride to you just as much as it’s a matter of pride to him.” Eleanor smiled mischievously. “I wish I could be a mouse in the room to see the row that is about to happen.”

  —

  Later that afternoon Maggie was still thinking of Eleanor’s words when she met with Colin, Sutherland, and Campbell in the great hall.

  Maggie’s first instinct was to initiate the row that Eleanor spoke of, to go on the offensive and attack with the element of surprise. But she was beginning to think that might not be the right approach. Funny, that. Maggie Sinclair—correction, Maggie MacLean—thinking that arguing wasn’t the way to solve a problem.

  She’d also thought a lot about their discussion concerning his smuggling business. She knew that he thought she would be scandalized and even maybe turn away from him. Some women, probably most women, would be, but Maggie wasn’t. She found that she respected him more. He did what he needed to do, and she had to admit that if she could have, and if Evan would have let her, she would have happily been involved in a subversive business such as that.

  Damn it, she wanted to help Colin.

  The men were bent over a crudely drawn picture of the MacLean holding, their fists planted on a table as they studied the picture.

  “Storming the holding won’t get you anywhere,” Campbell said. “You need stealth.”

  Since the men had all but ignored her, Maggie had time to study Campbell, who was still a mystery to her. Colin was convinced the man was a traitor. Sutherland wasn’t sure. Maggie was in Sutherland’s camp. Campbell had freed them from the English prison. He’d brought the news of Colin’s home. And Maggie had heard that he’d helped Eleanor face her tormentor and been key in having him arrested. Those weren’t the actions of a traitor.

  “There’s a hidden passageway here.” Colin ran his finger to the northwest corner. “And one here. We can enter at either of these points.”

  “If the English have no’ found the passageways,” Sutherland said.

  Maggie noticed that Campbell spoke very little. He was more apt to observe and listen, and when he did speak, even Colin listened.

  “By boat?” Sutherland asked.

  “The waves would slam any watercraft against the rocks and kill anyone who attempted it. ’Tis the reason the structure was built there.”

  The men fell silent, each deep in thought.

  “Go through the front entrance,” Maggie said.

  Three pairs of eyes looked at her in disbelief.

  “The front entrance?” Colin asked. “And be killed right away?”

  “No’ if ye do it right.”

  Campbell leaned back and considered her. “What are you thinking?”

  “Walk right in under their noses. Would serve the bastards right.”

  “How do ye propose to do that?” Colin asked.

  She shrugged. “Ye said ye were a smuggler.”

  Colin appeared uneasy and Maggie realized she’d made an error.

  Campbell waved a lazy hand in the air. “I’m aware” was all he said. “Please continue.”

  She glanced at Colin, who nodded at her to proceed.

  “I’m assuming the operation is still in existence?” she asked.

  “I’m nearly positive Duff has kept it running in my absence.”

  Maggie thought for a moment. “Do ye have some of yer contraband put away for, say, a rainy day?”

  “Aye.”

  “French wine?”

  “Aye.”

  “Fine French wine?”

  Colin looked offended. “I smuggle only fine French wine.”

  She screwed her lips to the side, then nodded at Campbell. “Would ye be willing to walk into the MacLean holding as a friend to the English?”

  Campbell raised a surprised brow.

  “Ye want to use an English sympathizer to walk into my home and befriend the bloody English soldiers sleeping in my beds and eating my food?” Colin asked incredulously.

  “Oh, please,” Maggie said. “If ye truly thought Campbell was an English sympathizer, ye would not have him here listening to yer plans.”

  “He’s right,” Campbell said. “You shouldn’t trust me.”

  “That’s shite,” Sutherland said.

  “It’s not shite,” Campbell said. “You’ve all heard the rumors. They’re not completely false.”

  “Ye helped my Eleanor,” Sutherland said.

  “Lady Sutherland was unjustly imprisoned. I found the entire scenario repulsive. Besides, we made a bargain, and you still owe me payment.”

  “Ye helped Maggie and me escape,” Colin said.

  “As a favor to Sutherland.”

  It was as if they were trying to convince themselves that their suspicions of Campbell were wrong.

  “If ye’re an enemy of the MacLeans and the Sutherlands, then ye best get out now,” Maggie said softly.

  “Maggie—” Colin warned.

  “She’s right,” Campbell said. “I should go.”

  Campbell’s boots rang loudly as he walked out of the hall and through the front door. Even the servants were arrested by the scene.

  “Well, then,” Sutherland said into the sudden silence.

  “I knew we could no’ trust him,” Colin said. “Bloody hell, but he knows what our plans are.”

  “I do no’ think it matters,” Maggie said, still looking at the door that Campbell had walked through. Iain Campbell was up to something. He was playing a deep game that Maggie instinctively knew she wanted no part of. She had a feeling that he’d left not only to protect them but to protect himself as well. Was it because he didn’t want to have to tell the English what the MacLeans and Sutherlands were up to?

  She turned back to the men, who appeared stunned. “We can still do it,” she said. “We can take the MacLean holding and lands back without Campbell’s help.”

  “Ye’re damn right we can,” Colin said.

  Maggie’s plan was simple: Offer the illegal wine to the English interlopers. The doctored wine. “Once they’ve had their fill, we can enter through the secret passageways. Hell, we can enter through the front gates if we want.”

  “We?” Colin raised a brow
.

  Maggie stared back impassively. She wasn’t going to argue now. There was time for that later.

  “And how do ye propose we offer them all of my fine French wine?” Colin asked, apparently willing to put aside that argument for the moment.

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet. I was hoping Campbell would do it for us. It would be easy for him to get in.” She had a feeling that Campbell had guessed her plan and that was one of the reasons he’d walked away. It was one thing to help them plan; it was another to be such a large part of that plan. She was certain Campbell was playing his own games and was unwilling to compromise them.

  “We canno’ knock on the front gates and offer them wine. We’d be arrested at best and killed at worst,” Colin said.

  They all looked at one another, at a loss as to how to breach the security of Colin’s home.

  Chapter 32

  Colin stood in the middle of the bedchamber and stared into the glowing embers of the fire. The voices of his dead brothers and parents rang in his head, reaffirming everything they had said in life.

  He’d lost his home to the English. His home, his people, his way of life. But that wasn’t all. To twist the knife further into his gut, the one to take his home was none other than Abbott, the man who’d been his nemesis for years.

  His hand curled into a fist and he pressed it against his thigh.

  Abbott.

  Good God, Abbott was in his home.

  Colin had let them all down, his family and his people.

  The door opened and his wife crept in.

  “Go away,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t want to see her now. He didn’t want to talk about how she insisted on accompanying him, and he especially didn’t want her to see him like this. He was so raw that he didn’t have the energy to conceal his emotions.

  She hesitated by the door. “Colin—”

  “Go away, Maggie. I can no’ speak to ye now.”

  “I’m no’ leaving,” she said quietly.

  “Do ye ever do what ye’re told?”

  “Rarely.”

  He closed his eyes, the flames of the fire dancing behind his lids.

  “We will find a way,” she said softly.

  He huffed out a breath that was supposed to be a laugh, but he had no energy for laughing nor for pretending. For so long he’d played the part of the brother who took nothing seriously, who could make jokes in even the direst of situations. He didn’t have that in him this time. “We?”

  “I know ye do no’ want me to help.” She took a step closer and he was surprised to see that everything had been stripped from her as well. She wasn’t the cocky, swaggering braggart who argued about everything and had an answer to every question. There was grief in her eyes, and pity, and he hated that he’d put both of those emotions there.

  “This is my home as well,” she said. “And my people. I want to take it back from the English. From Abbott. I want to help ye take it back from Abbott.”

  “What if there is nothing to take back? What then?”

  “Then we rebuild.”

  He laughed. “Ye have no idea what we’re facing, Maggie. I do no’ even know if there are people willing to help us take back the castle, let alone help us rebuild. And what if we do take it back? Abbott will no’ go away. He’ll arrest me for escaping.”

  She didn’t flinch from his harsh words or the even harsher reality. “Yer people will help,” she said with a confidence that he wished like hell he felt, too.

  “Don’ ye understand? Don’ ye see? I left them to fend for themselves. I left them undefended against my enemy, and my enemy walked in and took everything. Hell, I’m no’ even angry at him. I would have done the same.” He turned back to the fire. “Ye should go back to yer brother.”

  “Nae. Ye are my family now.”

  “Ah, Maggie, lass. Ye got the bad end of that deal, I fear.”

  “I do no’ think so.”

  “I failed them all.”

  “Maybe.” She moved to stand beside him. “But I’m willing to stand by yer side and make the best of it.”

  A small smile touched her lips, and he had an overwhelming desire to kiss that rosy mouth. She wanted so badly to act and dress like a man, but her smile and those eyes were all woman.

  Maggie scooted behind him, wrapped her slim arms around his waist, and rested her head against his back. He covered her clasped hands with his and breathed deep, closing his eyes against the sensation and the comfort of her touch.

  “I have nothing for ye,” he said.

  “I do no’ need much,” she whispered back.

  “Why?” Why couldn’t he accept that she wanted him? He who had no home and probably no people to lead. He, the most unreliable chief in all of Scotland.

  He felt her shrug against his back. “I do no’ know,” she admitted. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

  At least she was honest. He admired her for that.

  Without unclasping her hands, she shuffled around him until she was facing him. They were pressed together from the hips down, and he was a man, a man who had urges, and his urges were making themselves known.

  He kissed her and she stood on her toes to kiss him back.

  “I canno’ be gentle. No’ now.”

  “Do I look like I want gentle?”

  He groaned. “I do no’ deserve ye.” The words slipped out, but his haze of need was so great that he didn’t care.

  Maggie gently cupped his face between her small but capable hands to stare into his eyes. “Don’ ever say that again,” she said softly, but with steel behind the words.

  “I canno’ promise that. I canno’ promise ye anything at this point.”

  Her fierce look softened. “Ah, Colin, someday ye’ll think better of yerself.”

  She pulled his face forward, still cupping his cheeks, and kissed him hard, enflaming his already heated need for her. He’d never wanted another woman like he wanted Maggie. It was different, this need and desire he had for her. He couldn’t put his finger on how it was different. Deeper, maybe. There was a fellow clansman back in the day when his da was chief. His name was Kenneth, and he liked the drink so much that it was all he thought about, all he cared about, and all he did. Colin feared his need for Maggie was like the drink was to Kenneth: An addiction that could easily get out of control and take over his life. He didn’t want it to be that way, and yet he ached for her, needed her almost more than he needed air to breathe.

  “It will no’ be nice,” he warned. Good God, his cock had never hurt this badly. If he didn’t know better, he’d fear he’d been cursed by the resident witch and his manhood was about to fall off.

  Maggie rubbed her thin, lithe body against his, and he almost lost his control.

  “Nae,” he said between clenched teeth, speaking more to his cock than to her.

  She paused, looking at him in concern.

  With a growl, Colin picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he threw her down. She bounced on the soft mattress and smiled up at him, her eyes alight with excitement. He yanked on her breeches, popping the buttons. With little pings, they landed on the hard floor.

  He crawled on top of her, lifted his kilt, and shoved himself inside, knowing he was the worst sort of beast, rutting with her in the basest of ways. But she raised her hips, accepting him, and to his surprise he slid right in, her passage so wet that he met no resistance.

  He gasped. His body shuddered, nearly losing control. He refused to let it, wanting more but also knowing that he couldn’t hold out much longer.

  The stroke of his cock inside her warm, moist channel was excruciating and exhilarating. Beneath him, Maggie had closed her eyes, grasped his hips, and was lifting her own hips until the only things touching the bed were her shoulders and her heels. He clutched her buttocks and buried himself as far in as he could get. He couldn’t stop his body from trembling with the greatest need he’d ever felt in his life.

  Maggie was moaning, taking all of him in e
asily. A tiny line developed between her brows as if she were concentrating hard on something. Her passageway tightened around him and he panted, trying to control his release.

  “Come for me, mo gradh.” He clenched his teeth. If she didn’t find her release soon, he would find his, and he didn’t want to come before she did.

  She opened her glazed eyes, whimpering and panting, and he nodded to her, unable to form words. He couldn’t wait anymore. He felt his bollocks tighten in preparation, and suddenly, his release was racing through him.

  A long, deep guttural moan escaped from Maggie, and her inner muscles clutched his cock as her hips thrust upward. His vision went dark, and he shot his seed into her with such power that he was dizzy with it.

  —

  “Ye’re no’ a bad man, Colin MacLean.” Maggie turned to face him, snuggling her warm, tight body to his. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

  “Why, thank ye, Maggie MacLean.” He deliberately misunderstood her words, wriggling his brows at her and giving her a raunchy grin.

  She laughed and playfully slapped at his shoulder. “That’s no’ what I meant. I meant that I know ye think ye’re a bad person for not protecting yer people, but ye’re no’. Bad, that is.”

  His laughter died, and the heavy weight of his guilt returned to settle over him. “All my life, I’ve been told that I would end up no good. And now it has come to pass.”

  “I do no’ believe that.”

  He propped his head on his hand and leisurely trailed his fingers up the side of her thigh, not willing to let their conversation diminish the intimacy quite yet.

  “I was a horrible son,” he said, concentrating on his fingers trailing over her body, yet needing to tell her his story so she could understand. He well knew that this story was coming far too late, that he should have told it before their marriage so she had a chance to walk away.

  “My mother said that from the time I could toddle around, I would run away from her. Then I’d run from my nurse and eventually from my tutors. I would hide, causing an uproar in the castle, as everyone had to stop what they were doing and look for me. When I got older, I simply walked away from any responsibility. I had two older brothers. My father did no’ need me, and he sure as hell did no’ think all that highly of me. No’ that I blame him. I nurtured the belief that I was up to no good, until I became what everyone said I would. No good. I got involved in the local smuggling operation, and eventually, I became the leader.”