Highlander's Wicked Game: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Novel

by Fiona Faris

  Opening her eyes, she turned her face up to study his features, so strong and masculine. Dark hair framed his face, setting off his high cheek bones and chiseled jaw. Dark lashes lay upon his sun kissed cheeks. The whiskers on his chin gently scratched her forehead as she laid her head back down upon his chest. She watched his torso rise and fall with every breath, the muscles rippling through his shirt beneath her hand. Remembering his wounded leg, she sat up and gently moved his kilt up his thigh to inspect the gash. She gasped in sympathy at the angry red line marring the muscled perfection beneath.

  “See anythin’ ye like?” his deep voice rumbled with amusement from behind her. Startled and embarrassed, she dropped his kilt back down upon his legs and turned to face him.

  “I did no’ mean tae wake ye,” she apologized for her intrusion of his person. “I simply wished tae ensure that ye were well and would heal properly.”

  “Aye, Idonea is a fair hand with the needle and thread.” He pulled her back down to lie upon his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her.

  They lay there in silence for a time as Duncan soothingly caressed her hair in long smooth strokes. Marra lazily drew invisible circles on his chest with her fingertips, loving the feel of his shirt against her skin. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then lay back against the hay once more. “I could remain here just like this forever,” she whispered.

  Duncan’s hand stopped caressing her hair and pulled her body even closer to his own. His other hand came around and lifted her chin up, meeting her lips with a tender kiss. “As could I,” he breathed against the tender flesh of her lower lip.

  Desire flooded her senses, and she found herself seeking his lips once more with such fervor she surprised even herself. “Oh, Marra,” he moaned, pulling her atop his outstretched body. His hard shaft nestled between her legs with only his kilt and her skirt between them. Marra moved against him unable to stop herself.

  “Och, lass, would I could take ye here and now,” he groaned flipping her onto her back and covering her body with his own. He moved his hips against hers and growled deep inside his throat.

  “Oh, Duncan,” Marra cried out, clutching him to her as she raised her legs to encircle him.

  Duncan clenched his jaw as if he were in pain and stopped moving. Concerned, Marra looked up into his eyes. “What is wrong? Have I hurt ye?”

  “Nae, lass, but ye will be the death o’ me I have nae doubt,” he ground out through his teeth. “I cannae resist ye,” he groaned lowering his lips down to hers.

  Lost in a frenzied passion, Marra moved her hips against him, moaning as her hands roamed over every part of his body she could reach. Duncan’s hands moved down her body to the hem of her skirt and slid beneath it to warm flesh beneath. His hand traveled up her thigh and grasped her buttock lifting her up opening her hips to him. Marra frantically pulled at the belt of his kilt and jerked it free, the plaid falling away, leaving him exposed to her. Duncan’s lips moved down to her neck, then down to her breasts still concealed beneath her bodice. He pulled down hard on the fabric exposing her nipples to the air. Duncan bent his head and took each of the hardened buds into this mouth lathing them with his tongue in turn.

  “Oh, Duncan!” Marra threaded her fingers through his hair, clasping him to her. Her body exploded with sensations she had never felt before. He lifted his head, moving back up to her lips, his hand coming up to stroke her breasts. She felt the head of his shaft brush against her nether lips pressing against her opening poised for entry. One move is all it would take, and she would be a virgin no more. One move and she would be his forever. Duncan paused breathing heavily. “Dinnae stop,” Marra begged, panting with need, pressing her hands against his backside to pull him into her.

  “I cannae,” Duncan groaned, every muscle in his body taught with tension. “I promised ye that I would no’ take ye until we were wed.” He lay atop her perfectly still as if he were afraid to move.

  “Please, Duncan,” Marra whimpered, her need for him becoming painful in its intensity.

  “I cannae,” he growled, then flung himself off of her with such force it was as if his very life had depended upon it. Grabbing his plaid, Duncan disappeared down the ladder into the stables, leaving Marra lying exposed in the hay alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marra had never been more embarrassed in her entire life. She lay there panting and humiliated, her most private places lay open for all to see. She was grateful that there was no one present to witness her shame. Hearing a noise below she scrambled to cover herself before she was discovered. She stood and brushed the hay and straw from her dress and hair. An inquisitive groomsman’s head appeared at the ladder. “Oh, ‘tis ye, My Lady. I heard someone movin’ about. My apologies for disturbin’ ye.” The groomsman’s head disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her alone once more.

  Marra sat back down unable to face the possibility that she might encounter Duncan again so soon after he abandoned her. Tears stung her eyes. He had refused her twice. It was now obvious to her that he cared more for her virtue than he did for her feelings. She knew that in reality, she should be glad that he was a man of honor, but his repeated rejections had hurt her, and she could not view what had transpired with such objectivity. She was not a wanton, unprincipled lass, but when he touched her, she lost all sense of reason. He was the only man that she had ever desired, and she could not resist it. She did not understand how if he felt the same for her as she did for him that he could walk away as if he had not just touched her in the most intimate way possible. Had he refused her on the grounds of her virtue, but then stayed to hold and comfort her, she might have understood. Instead he had abandoned her. He had launched himself off of her as if she had been made of poison and then walked away, leaving her naked, vulnerable, and alone.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply in an attempt to control the flood of emotions that assaulted her. Even after her father’s death she had never felt so alone. Her father’s disappointed face flashed through her mind, and his words echoed in the silence that surrounded her. Duty and honor above all else. Sobbing, she opened her eyes to find herself immersed in a golden haze. Light filtered down around her, catching on the dust that hung in the air, giving the loft an ethereal glow as if in that moment all of time stood still. “I hear ye, Faither,” she whispered and rose from the loft floor, swiping the tears from her cheeks. When she had awakened in Duncan’s arms, she had allowed her emotions to get the better of her, dictating her actions as if nothing else mattered, but other things did matter. Her people mattered. Her father’s legacy mattered.

  Descending the ladder, Marra left the stables and headed to Idonea’s croft to speak with Ian and Diana. When she arrived, she found James in deep conversation with Ian. At first she thought it was odd, but then realized that as the only two MacDonald men among people whom they considered their enemies, it made perfect sense that they would have gravitated toward one another. James seeing her approach arose and bowed, “My Lady.”

  Marra curtsied in response to the courtesy. “Please, call me Marra.” She had never been much for observing the formality of her title and only used it when necessary.

  “And ye may call me James.” He smiled and motioned for her to join them.

  Marra took a seat on a log by the door between the two men. She sat in silence for a moment, basking in the warm spring sunshine as they finished their conversation about the possibility of the MacDonalds of Skye rendering aid to the MacDonalds of Jura. James promised that his kinsmen would do all they could to aid their fellow clansmen, but that a visit to Skye to speak with his father would be in order to finalize the details.

  “I would be glad tae go once my sister has recovered enough tae return home,” Ian offered.

  “I am sure my faither would be glad o’ yer company, Ian, but it would be most beneficial if Marra were the one tae go and speak with him.”

  Marra nodded. “For my people,” she agreed.

  �
�Aye, as any leader should,” James remarked, an admiring look in his eyes.

  Ian snorted. “A lass cannae lead a clan.”

  “In that ye are most erroneous, my dear fellow. Some o’ the greatest leaders in Scottish history have been women. Surely ye have no’ forgotten yer history man?” James asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Ian grumbled under his breath for a moment then settled silently back into his seat. Diana called from inside the croft, and he arose to see to his sister. James smiled at Marra, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “A well-meaning fellow I am sure.”

  “I am sure,” Marra agreed in spite of her doubts on the matter. “I thank ye for yer words o’ support.”

  “No’ at all. I spoke only the truth.”

  “’Tis no’ often that such support is received,” Marra admitted.

  “We men are forgetful, proud creatures,” he acknowledged in good humor.

  “It would appear no’ all,” she noted, looking at him pointedly.

  “I thank ye for the compliment, My Lady.”

  She sat and quietly studied his face for a time as he watched the comings and goings of the village around them. She was sure that he knew she was examining him, but he had the good grace to pretend as if he were oblivious, allowing her the freedom to do so without embarrassment. She admired his gracious manner, and he exhibited a depth of open character that she found most intriguing. He was intelligent in a way that combined a learned education with an understanding wisdom that belied his years. His conversation with Ian about providing aid for her people had revealed a generous, compassionate spirit, with a respect for his father’s authority, as well as her own.

  His features were angular yet masculine. His pale blue eyes, which she had thought to be sharp and cold, had sparkled with such warmth and good humor as they had spoken that she had been forced to reevaluate her opinion of him. His lips were the perfect shape and fullness, not too thin or too thick, and when he smiled, two of the most charming dimples she had ever seen peeked out from the corners. He had a slight cleft in his chin accentuated by a thin layer of whiskery blonde stubble. His hair shown golden in the sunlight, giving him an almost angelic appearance.

  “Why did ye agree tae wed me when my faither asked ye tae do so? Ye did no’ ken anythin’ about me,” she asked breaking the silence.

  James turned his pale blue gaze toward her and smiled. “I had heard many a tale o’ yer grace and beauty, which tempted me greatly,” he admitted, admiration in his eyes, “but it was yer faither’s description o’ yer character that drew me the most.”

  “What did he say?” She had never known her father to be a particularly complimentary man and was curious how she had been perceived by him in the days before his death. She hoped that he had been proud of her, but she had no way of knowing as he had never told her.

  “He said that ye were kind, honorable, virtuous, well read… but it was more than just words, ye ken. He told me stories o’ yer lives together. Yer faither was a hard man and no’ well liked even among his own clansmen, but when he spoke o’ ye, Marra, there was this light of pride upon his face that was unmistakable. It was plain that he was no’ an affectionate man, but in his own way, I ken that he loved ye more than anythin’ else in his life, e’en if he ne’er said so.”

  Tears once again formed in her eyes as she listened to James’ description. Why could he no’ have said such things while he was alive? Unable to hold back, a single tear slipped down her cheek to fall onto her skirt, creating a perfect dark circle.

  James arose and knelt by her side, reaching up to brush the wet trail from her cheek with his thumb. “Dinnae fash, lass. I did no’ mean tae bring ye sorrow.”

  “Ye did no’,” Marra reassured him. “Ye have brought me great joy.”

  James smiled in understanding and sat back down upon his chair. “I am most glad o’ that.”

  “I thank ye for yer honesty, James. I only wish that I had been there tae hear it for myself.”

  “I have a feelin’ that had ye been there he would no’ have said it as the proof would have been before me in yer beauteous person.”

  “Ye flatter me.”

  “Nae, I only speak truth.”

  Marra smiled in acknowledgement of his words. Leaning back against the croft’s stone wall, she turned her gaze out toward the sea. “Tell me o’ Skye? I have ne’er been before.”

  James leaned back in his seat beside her. His voice took on a dreamy wistful tone as if he were speaking more of a lover than a piece of land. “Skye is the most beautiful island in all o’ Scotland. She is rocky, yet green as green can be. She is hard, yet gentle. She is jagged, mysterious, and gloriously wild. As ye approach her, magnificent stone cliffs tower above ye, welcomin’ ye home. Lively streams flow throughout her, turnin’ tae waterfalls that tumble down as riotous white sheets in tae crystal clear blue and green pools beneath the protective watch o’ the mountains. A path o’ stones cuts through the solid rock beneath the water’s surface as if it were the path tae heaven itself. ‘Tis unlike any other place I have e’er seen. They say that the fae folk dwell among the pools, enchanting each and every wayfarer who sojourns there.”

  “Enchanting indeed,” Marra murmured. James’ description of his home made her long to see it for herself. “Why would ye e’er agree tae leave?”

  “A far greater beauty,” he informed her, gazing into her eyes with such emotion that she blushed. “For the love o’ Helen, Paris brought about the destruction of Troy. How can a man do anythin’ less for such as ye?” Marra was stunned speechless. What did one say to such a declaration? “I ken that what our faither’s did was no’ legally bindin’, but I would verra much like it if ye would allow me the opportunity tae show ye the life we could have together, that we could build together, were ye tae accept my troth.”

  “I dinnae ken what tae say,” she stammered in uncertainty.

  “Then dinnae say anythin’. I can wait, Marra. Ye are worth a lifetime o’ waitin’ if by its end ye would but say aye.”

  “I have ne’er met anyone quite like ye, James.”

  “I will take that as a compliment,” he smiled and rose bending down to kiss her hand. “I will leave ye tae yer thoughts, my dearest Marra, and go tae prepare for our journey tae arrange goods for yer people. We will depart upon the morrow if ye are amenable?”

  “Aye, that would be best,” she agreed, not fully recovered from his declarations.

  Bowing once more, James turned, and walked toward the keep to speak with the laird. As she watched him walk away, Marra felt a myriad of conflicting emotions. Turning her gaze to the sky, she petitioned the heavens. Faither, what have ye done tae me?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Duncan barreled out of the stables as if his very life depended upon it, barely managing to belt his kilt back on before he emerged into the courtyard. He had come so close to taking Marra right there in the loft, and in so doing, he would have betrayed his vow. It had been his mother who had impressed upon him the importance of such matters for an unwed lady of noble birth. Her sister, Margaret, had fallen in love with the son of a laird and had given herself over to him in a moment of passion. She became with child, but the laird forbid the couple from wedding one another as her virtue was then in question, in spite of the fact that it had been his son who had lain with her. Their father had then cast her out in shame. Pregnant, alone, ostracized, Margaret took her own life. Duncan’s mother had never recovered from the loss of her sister or the betrayal of all those involved and had made him vow that no matter how much he might desire or love a lass he would not lay with her until they were wed or at the very least handfast.

  As they had met but days before, and in that span, she had lost her father and her home, Duncan had wished to give Marra the time to mourn before broaching the subject of courtship or betrothal. The fact that they had slept in one another’s arms after only having spoken once had created an intimacy between them that they would not have otherwise had. Since
that time there had been no discussion of where they stood in one another’s affections, but the underlying current of desire and longing had been present in every moment that they spent together. Even when Marra had attempted to put some distance between them after their argument about her returning home unprotected, Duncan had seen his own passion reflected back at him in her eyes. Everything about their relationship had been abnormal from her abduction and rescue to her being orphaned and seeking sanctuary among her enemies, not to forget her supposed illegal marriage by proxy to a total stranger.

  Duncan shook his head in exasperation of the situation they found themselves in. In the eyes of God and the law they were nothing to each other, enemies at best; but in their hearts, in Duncan’s heart, they were everything. Where do we stand? Unable to quench his desire for her, he made his way down to the water’s edge, stripped naked, and plunged into the freezing cold waters. He swam around for as long as he could bear it and then climbed back out to lie in the grass, allowing the sun to dry and warm his body. The cold water had momentarily cooled his ardor, and he was able to think more clearly about what needed to be done in the days that lay ahead.