Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

“’Tis pleasant, is it not?”

  She huffed and turned her gaze back to the fire, but did not pull away. “’Tis nothing at all, but amuse yourself, if it pleases you.”

  He chuckled at her transparent lie and caught up her other foot, leaning back and resting it against his thighs. Those knees of hers were clamped together, but he’d make her relax yet, and soon he’d delve between them. His chest filled with want. If she moved her foot an inch to the left, she’d know with every certainty how she affected him. As if she didn’t know now. She was not so very innocent.

  He rubbed her feet another moment, then moved his hands to her ankles and slowly caressed his way up the back of her calves until his fingers caught behind her knees. He leaned up then and pressed against her shins.

  She sighed and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The look she turned his way was full of indecision. ’Twas a far cry from her forbidding frowns of days past. He was halfway home.

  He eased her nightgown up another inch or two, over the bend of her legs, but she caught the hem and held it steady.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  He was too close. His hands burned like cinders as he trailed them forward along her linen-covered thighs and brought them to rest at her waist. Even through her nightgown, she felt the heat, as if there were no barrier between them at all. He leaned forward until his face was a mere breath from hers.

  She clutched at her hem and felt the muscles of his stomach flex against her hand. With her other, she pressed against his shoulder, as if trying to nudge a mountain from her path.

  “’Tis enough,” she said, but the quiver in her voice be trayed her.

  He gave a tiny shake of his head. “No, my love, ’tis not nearly enough.”

  Her heart trembled at the endearment, though she knew it to be false. He did not love her, no more than she loved him. ’Twas instinct, nothing more. But when he lowered his head and ran his cheek against one breast, making it peak and swell and lift to him, she could not stop herself. She caught the back of his head and pressed it more firmly against her. He groaned and opened his mouth against her, moistening the fabric of her nightgown and branding her flesh.

  His hands were fast, much too fast for her thoughts to react. His one arm reached around her waist and pulled her forward while the other hand slid past that hem and up along the outside of her thigh until his hand cupped her bare bottom and squeezed.

  She cried out at that, dismayed at her unwitting concession and yet wanting nothing more than to arch against him and move her legs so he might reach between them.

  His mouth traveled upward, toward the column of her throat, leaving a hot, moist trail. Her mind called out for him to cease and leave her be, but nothing came forth from her lips save wanton sighs. God, she was a helpless traitor. As useless to her clan as a sparrow.

  He ran his lips along her jaw and paused, hovering over her own lips. She looked at him then, all dark and shadows in the dim light. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She could barely breathe for its erratic pace.

  “Ask me,” he whispered, nuzzling the side of her mouth with his own.

  She turned her head away, not daring to speak, for nothing but permission would surely come forth.

  He turned her face back toward him. “I am your husband, Fiona. Ask me, and I will show you such pleasure.”

  She licked her lips. She had one last arrow in her arsenal. “You are my enemy. I want nothing from you.” But the words tasted bitter and sounded false.

  He pulled her closer. “You’re a liar.”

  She sighed at his accusation and could not deny it any more than she could deny him. She wove her hands into his hair and stared at him another moment. Then she kissed him, full and with abandon, welcoming the intensity of his desire.

  His arm was steel around her, a welcome prison, and his other hand kneaded at her bottom. She gave in to it, to all of it. Her clan and her brothers be damned.

  For delicious moments, they pressed and swayed within the confines of the chair, relief and tension building, two sides of the same coin. Myles pulled her to the edge of the seat and trailed his hand around to tease at the juncture of her legs. She pressed against his hand and felt a tremor build within.

  He kissed her throat, tugging her nightgown aside with impatience, exposing her shoulder. The fabric caught on her necklace. He chuckled deep, running a finger along the gold. “God, Fiona,” he sighed, “I would have given you this jewelry days ago had I known how it would melt your defenses.”

  His words penetrated the fog of her desire, dousing her ardor like the sting of autumn rain. She shoved against him and jerked back in the chair. Is that what he had done? Baited her with shiny baubles to sway her compliance?

  “Melt my defenses?”

  The look on his face went from confused to remorseful. He shook his head. “’Tis not what I meant, Fiona. I phrased that poorly.”

  But she would not be fooled. “You think to pay me off, like some whore? Give me a pretty jewel and watch me fall onto my back?” God, and she’d let him. She’d opened to him without even the need for a bed. They were in a chair and very nearly about to couple on the floor like peasants.

  “I meant for the necklace to be a gift. Not a bribe. I had no expectations.” His voice was strained. Of course it was. He’d failed in his purpose.

  “Now who is the liar?” she demanded. “Can you look me in the eye and say you did not think to trade kisses for this jewelry?”

  He lifted a stern jaw. “Yes, I meant to trade you kisses. But I’d have given you the necklace either way. I have not forced you, Fiona. ’Tis my earnest desire to avoid just that which has led us to this spot. I have been patient. And I make no apologies for wanting you.”

  “’Tis the trickery you should apologize for!” She pulled her nightdress up over her shoulder and worked to tie the neckline.

  He ran a hand over his head. “I meant no trickery. If you’d be reasonable, you’d see that. Seduction isn’t deception.”

  “Not the way you do it.” She’d had one arrow more, it seemed, and this one struck its mark. He rose abruptly and turned to the fire, running a hand through his hair.

  She was a foolish girl to think he cared about her feelings. If he respected her the way he said, he’d not have baited a trap with gold and emeralds. But he was a Campbell, after all, full of desire and manipulation. She’d let herself forget. ’Tis likely how her mother was deceived and found herself alone in a glen with Cedric Campbell. Fiona would not be so gullible.

  CHAPTER 26

  A SOFT KNOCK sounded on the door early the next morning, rousing Fiona from vivid dreams full of crimson colors. In the gray light of dawn, she rubbed her eyes and opened them to see Ruby coming in, a breakfast tray balanced on one hand. The smell of warm bread and bacon wafted through the air.

  “Good morning, m’lady. I’ve brought ye—” The maid’s voice cut short as she halted near the end of the bed. “Oh, good morning to ye as well, m’lord. I dinna—” She stopped again, her eyes going wide as Myles lifted his head from the pillow.

  Still hazy from slumber, Fiona had forgotten he was there, but the night came rushing back in vivid detail. Him tumbling over the chair, the nosebleed, and the aftermath.

  But ’twas daytime now, and the maid stood gaping at her husband, her expression indicating more than just surprise at Myles’s presence. Fiona looked at him and gave a tiny gasp. He sat up and whisked a hand through his hair to smooth it. “What?” His voice rasped with sleep.

  Fiona sat up next to him and looked back to Ruby.

  “What?” he demanded once more.

  “Forgive me, m’lord. You have a bit of a blackened eye,” Ruby answered.

  “Bring me a looking glass,” he said thickly.

  Ruby scurried to set the tray upon the table and found the mirror where it had been left upon the floor. She brought it to him, her lips betraying nothing, pursed together as they were.

  Myles took the glass wit
h some hesitation. He looked at Fiona first. “Is it awful?”

  She shrugged. “Not so very awful.”

  With a sigh of resignation, he gazed into the glass and let out a huff. He ran his hand through his hair again and held the mirror higher, to see himself in better light.

  “Christ,” he muttered.

  “Come on, now,” Vivi prodded. “Tell me how you blackened my nephew’s eye. A randy scuffle twixt the sheets, yes?”

  “No, ’twas just as I explained. I left the chair in his path, and in the dark, he tripped.” She’d come to Vivienne’s solar in the hope some sewing might purge her restlessness, but the task at hand merely made her neck ache and her temples throb.

  Vivienne frowned and plucked at her mending. “Have you worn your new nightgown yet?”

  Fiona squirmed in her chair. “You are inordinately interested in my bedclothes. I should think you’d have more important things with which to occupy your mind.”

  “Well, I haven’t. I cannot find a man for myself until I’m back at court. You are my only source of entertainment.” She jabbed her needle through the fabric and straight into her finger. “Ach!” She popped the finger into her mouth and mumbled around it. “By all the saints in heaven, how I detest mending.”

  Fiona smiled despite her somber mood. “I’m sorry I cannot distract you, but there is simply nothing to tell.”

  That was not entirely the truth, of course. There was much to tell, but Vivi would be disappointed it had gone so poorly. As was Fiona, for Myles had not said another word after she’d pushed him away. He’d stared into the fire for so long she’d finally returned to the bed and lain awake for near on an hour, waiting for him to come to bed. At last, she’d fallen asleep and had been surprised to see him next to her in the morning.

  “Oh, there must be something. At least tell me you’ve gotten better acquainted since your wedding night.”

  Fiona felt her cheeks burn bright. She ducked her head over her own sewing and offered a tiny shrug of her shoulders.

  “Haven’t you?” Vivi’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. Then she chuckled and fell back against her chair. “I cannot think how Myles is holding himself back. I told him to be patient, but I had no idea he’d take my advice so to heart.”

  “You told him to be patient? With me?”

  Vivi’s expression showed no remorse. “Yes, I did. And I told him to be nice as well. But it isn’t very nice of him to leave his bride chaste as a pockmarked nun. And shame on you for making him wait so long.”

  A rush of uncertainty rose within Fiona, and yet she was in no mood for a scolding. “No shame on me. I never wanted him in the first place.”

  Vivienne cocked her head. “But you’d have him now, yes?”

  Fiona’s shrug was noncommittal. That necklace had felt like a yoke when she’d thought he’d meant to bribe her with it. But when daylight came, she wondered if she’d been too hasty.

  “He’s a lovely man, Fiona,” Vivi said, “and a fine husband. Why would you not want him?”

  Fiona’s jaw tightened, even as tears puddled in her eyes. “It isn’t that, Vivi. But it’s not so simple. Do you forget who I am? And what pain his family has caused mine?”

  Vivienne twisted her mending into a thick knot and tossed it aside. “Fiona, honestly, you carry this burden too far. I know you think Cedric had something to do with your mother’s death, but I’m just as certain he did not.”

  “He is your brother-in-law. Of course you’d think the best of him.”

  “The best of him?” A delicate snort escaped Vivienne’s nose. “He has been a rogue and a knave. He broke my sister’s heart. And though he’s tried to make amends, I have not forgiven him. Still, for all his flaws, Cedric is a lover of women, not a murderer of any.”

  A tingling began at the base of Fiona’s spine and scuttled upward to the nape of her neck. She felt at once both hot and cold. “He broke Marietta’s heart? How so?”

  Vivienne stared at her, for once serious, as if she strove to choose her words with great caution. “No one is infallible, you know. Not even those we love with all our hearts.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Vivi glanced about the room, as if someone might be peeping through a crevice or listening at the door. She leaned forward in her chair, and Fiona did the same until their faces were mere inches apart.

  “If Mari knew I shared this with you, she’d burn me at the stake. But I will tell you nonetheless, if only so you might stop with all this foolishness.” She looked around once more, then locked her gaze on Fiona. “Cedric and Aislinn were lovers.”

  Fiona thumped back in her chair, frustration echoing in her chest. “Oh! That nonsense. Myles tried to ply me with the same story. They think to convince me it was my father and not the earl. ’Tis nothing more than rumor and Cedric’s way of tricking me into compliance.”

  But Vivienne grasped her wrist, hard. “’Tis a good deal more than rumor. I have proof.”

  Fiona’s breath turned to dust in her lungs. “What proof?”

  “Come with me, and I will show you.” Vivienne stood up, letting the rest of her mending fall from her lap onto the floor. She held out a hand to Fiona. “Come on, then.”

  She let Vivi pull her from the chair and out the door, down one corridor after another, until they stood outside the chapel.

  Vivienne clutched her hands and squeezed. “What I am going to show you, Fiona, is not meant to tarnish any memory you have of your mother. She was a woman, same as you and me, forced to make difficult choices.” Her voice was an earthy whisper. “My only wish is for you to be happy here at Dempsey.”

  Fiona’s heart plummeted and bounced back into her throat. She had no idea where Vivienne was leading her or what they might discover. She only knew there was no turning back.

  Vivienne eased open the wooden door and they stepped inside. The interior of the chapel was dim, smeared with blurry colors made by light shining through the stained-glass windows. Intricate carvings covered the dark paneled walls, and several rows of candles surrounded the altar. At the front hung an ornate cross with Jesus looking down on them in pity.

  They walked down the aisle of the nave and turned to the left, toward another door. Vivi knocked softly. “Father Darius?”

  Silence answered.

  She turned back and motioned for Fiona to come closer, and then she pushed the door open. “Father, ’tis Vivienne. I need a word with you. It seems I’ve sinned again.” She let out a chuckle at her joke, and still more silence answered.

  She nodded then and stepped inside Father Darius’s chamber.

  “We can’t go in there.” Fiona’s admonishment was barely above a whisper.

  “Of course we can. It’s the only way to the sacristy.”

  “The sacristy? We can’t go in there either.” What antics had Vivi pulled her into? They were treading over holy ground as if it were no more sanctified than a mucked-up stall.

  But in Vivi went, past the priest’s bed and kneeling bench and straight to yet another door. This one small and tucked into a corner. She plucked a taper from his bedside table and lit it. She looked over her shoulder, saucier still. “Stand there, and he’s likely to discover you. Follow me if you’ve no wish to be caught.”

  Fiona peered back into the chapel. It remained empty, with no sign of Father Darius. Vivi disappeared into the stairwell behind the tiny door, the meager glow of the candle lighting her way.

  With fear tapping on one shoulder and curiosity tapping the other, Fiona closed the door to the priest’s chamber and scampered along behind Myles’s aunt.

  Vivienne lit sconces along the wall as she made her way downward. It was a short staircase and opened at the bottom into a room of cupboards, some with locks as heavy as an anchor. A ring of metal keys hung on a peg, and Vivienne set down the candle and scooped them up. She fumbled for a moment until she found the one she sought.

  “They should be in here.” Vivi put the key into one of the smal
ler locks and jiggled it until the thing fell open with a scrape and click.

  Fiona jumped at the sound, for in the tiny chamber, it echoed like a slap. “I’m sure you’re not supposed to open that.”

  Vivienne cast an exasperated glance over her shoulder. “If God didn’t want me to unlock it, He’d not have left the keys where I could find them. Trust in the Lord, Fiona.”

  Fiona thought to ponder this but had not the time, for the cupboard door creaked open and Vivienne shuffled several items aside, at last pulling from the farthest recesses a dusty bundle wrapped in faded muslin. It was tied with a simple leather cord. She set the bundle on the floor and made deft work of unknotting the string.

  “I think this is it,” she said, and worked loose the last of the tie. The fabric fell to the sides, and there sat a stack of folded papers, tied with another ribbon, this one of deep crimson.

  Fiona could not breathe or swallow, for though she had yet to learn the contents of those letters, she knew beyond reason that they were about to change everything.

  “What are those?” Her voice cracked; her palms went moist.

  Vivi looked into her eyes and held up the bundle as if it were the chalice from the Last Supper. “Letters. Love letters from your mother to Cedric Campbell.”

  Fiona’s stomach rolled, and she felt dizzy and confused. So much so that Vivienne stood up fast and clutched her arm. “I told you I had proof,” she said. Still holding Fiona steady, Vivienne leaned down and grabbed the cloth and other tie. “We cannot read them here, though. Hold these. Let me lock the cabinet again, and we can take these to my chamber.”

  Dazed, Fiona accepted the bundle, and even managed to wrap the cloth around it once more as Vivienne fastened the lock and put the keys back on the peg. Then Vivienne spun her by the shoulders, turning her around and pushing her back up the stairs, blowing out the candles as they went.

  At the top, she grasped Fiona’s elbow. “Let me go first.” She stepped around and went into the priest’s chamber once more. Crossing to the other door, she opened it a crack, peeking into the chapel. She motioned for Fiona to follow and stepped through.