Beauty and the Barbarian

by Amy Jarecki

  He grasped her bare breasts between his hands and suckled. More than a mouthful, he buried his face between them and melted. He had never been so hard, so aroused or so ready to pleasure a woman—and pleasure her he would. Merrin would have no question of his love for her by the time he finished with her.

  Still thinking she was in command, Merrin slid her hands around his waist and ran her hands up his chest. Ian growled. She pulled his mouth to hers. He parted Merrin’s lips with his hungry tongue and devoured her, pressing his cock against her abdomen. She rubbed against him, side to side.

  Unable to wait a moment longer, he cradled her naked body in his arms and carried her to the pallet. His fingers strayed to her womanhood and she moaned. Gently, he caressed her wet treasure until he rested her on the hay.

  Kneeling between her legs, he smoothed his fingers over her sex. “Are ye sore?”

  “Mayhap a little—’tis no’ bad.”

  “I want to taste ye.”

  She gasped and rose up on her elbows. “Can ye do that?”

  “Aye. But first I want to kiss ye again.” He slid up to her face and kissed her, his tongue searching, his hand finding her breast. He flickered kisses down to her nipple and circled his tongue around her sensitive bud.

  “Please.”

  He chuckled. “’Tis my turn to make ye squirm.” He changed his attention to the twin, that pink, erect nipple. Merrin’s back arched, her moans already increasing. On the edge of control, Ian forced himself to keep his head. He swirled his tongue around Merrin’s belly button and continued down.

  She closed her legs tight and he met her gaze. “Open.”

  Wide-eyed, she gasped and shook her head.

  “Open,” he demanded, shouldering her knees apart. God help him, she smelled of an entire field of wildflowers laced with woman. He slipped out his tongue and licked her. Sweet mead of the gods.

  Merrin bucked. “Merciful Father.”

  He chuckled and tasted her again, kissing her with languid strokes of his tongue. She rocked against him. He thrust his tongue inside her.

  “Higher.”

  “Ye like this better?” He licked her tiny nub.

  “Aye.” She swirled her hips. “It…feels so…good.”

  She moved hypnotically against him, her mewling cries filling Ian with desire. Ian relentlessly suckled her womanhood, watching Merrin come undone. With a gasp, her entire body went rigid, and then her thighs shuddered. Merrin tried to catch her breath as Ian ran his tongue up her body until it found her mouth.

  He pushed between her legs and slid his cock across her womanhood in languid strokes until her moans showed him she was ready. He positioned himself at her entrance and slid inside until his head was covered. It took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to thrust all the way to her womb. Her body yielded to him so much more easily this time. But he still wanted to be careful. Exercising as much control as possible, he let her guide him with her hands on his buttocks and gradually filled her.

  Ian arched his back. He wouldn’t last long. Merrin drew up her knees and dug her fingers into his buttocks. “Come for me, Ian.”

  He moaned, leaking his seed. She moved in tempo with him, gazing into his eyes. A woman had never before looked as beautiful. Her locks glistened in the lamplight, her eyes focused only on him. He thrust harder. His cry caught in his throat. On the ragged edge, his seed burst, pulsing into her. Blinded by ecstasy, he thrust with each surge as Merrin arched against him and cried out, her silken flesh rippling around him.

  Ian dropped to his elbows and nuzzled into her neck. He would never tire of the heavenly fragrance that defined her. “I shall love ye forever, Merrin.”

  “As I will you.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Merrin stood on the deck of the galley and stared up at the cliff-top fortress of Brochel Castle. Though Niall had described the enormity of the stronghold, it still shocked her to see it. The keep was even grander than Eilean Donan.

  Ian stepped behind her, his body molding to Merrin’s back. He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve no’ seen the keep since I was a lad.”

  “Is it as grand as ye remember?”

  “Aye—nearly as big as Stornoway. If there’s one thing the MacLeods are known for, ’tis the size of their keeps. As long as Ye’re putting stone to mortar, ye may as well build the biggest fortress ye can afford.”

  Built atop the natural rock crag, the tower loomed over the beach. Merrin craned her neck to see the top—so high, it nearly touched the clouds. Ian pointed. “Ye see the window, second down from the top?”

  “Aye.”

  “’Twas me chamber. I spent many an afternoon gazing across the sound, waiting for me da to come home.”

  “Ye were no’ afraid to be up so high?”

  “Nay.” He batted the air. “I was born to it.” He pointed to an enormous ship moored in the bay. “Ye see the galleon there?”

  “Aye.”

  “I won many a race climbing its rigging.” He pointed to the castle curtain. “I used to chase me brother around the wall-walk with no fear.”

  Merrin nestled into his chest. “I think I’d be afraid to be up so high.”

  The bailey walls surrounded the fortress, notched by crenels for archers and cannons. The beach was covered with smooth stones like the beaches on Skye. Ian sailed the boat at a slow tack into the cove until the galley’s hull stopped with a resounding scrape.

  Ian took her hand. “Welcome to Brochel, m’lady.”

  Merrin hesitated. “Do ye think I should wait here whilst ye go find your brother?”

  “I want ye with me.” Ian straightened the cloth around her neck. “Ye look fine.”

  She giggled. “Do ye think they’ll have a gathering tonight?”

  “Of course.” He hopped over the side and reached for her. “If Alexander does no’ order a feast, me ma will see to it.”

  Ian carried Merrin to the edge of the beach and set her down. He pointed straight up to a thatched roof building outside the bailey walls. “That’s Sir Bran’s cottage—he’s Alexander’s henchman.”

  “’Tis big compared to me home on Fladda.”

  Ian pulled her hand. “’Tis about the size of the laird’s chamber in the castle. Come, I want ye to meet me mother.”

  People poured out the gate, filing down the zigzag path. Women, warriors, children. Merrin had never seen anything like it. “So many.”

  Friar Pat stood at the top of the hill and waved. Merrin’s heart skipped a beat—a familiar face. She flapped both hands. “’Tis the friar!”

  Ian released her hand and broke into a run, straight into the outstretched arms of a large redheaded man. “Brother. Och, ’tis good to see ye.”

  Alexander. The chieftain, laird of this land. Merrin clutched her hand to her throat. Perspiration stung her underarms.

  Alexander shook Ian’s shoulders. “I feared I’d never see ye again.”

  “Did ye doubt me?”

  “No’ you. But Rewan outnumbered ye by far—we must talk.”

  Ian waved, beckoning to Merrin. “But first I want ye to meet the woman who rescued me from the brink of death.”

  Alexander’s eyes widened when he looked her way. “A warrior woman?”

  Heat crawled up her face. “Nay, a healer.”

  “Ah. Welcome to Raasay.” He bowed and kissed her hand. “Any friend to my brother is a friend of mine.”

  Merrin bit her lip. Would the laird be as cordial once he discovered her true identity?

  Alexander shepherded them up the hill. The crowd closed in on them, everyone asking a barrage of questions. Merrin’s head spun. She clutched Ian’s hand as he pulled her alongside him. He pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ve got ye. Relax.”

  Easy for him to say.

  They neared the top of the hill, where stood a beautiful woman, dressed in the finest cloth Merrin had ever seen, her head covered with a veil of golden silk. She stepped forward so gracefully, Merrin co
uld have sworn she was floating. “Son. I am ever so happy to see you.” Her English accent took Merrin off guard. And though Niall had told her Lady Anne was the daughter of an English earl, Merrin hadn’t expected her to look like a queen.

  Ian took the fragile lady’s hands and kissed her cheek. “Mother, Ye’re as beautiful as ever.” He pulled Merrin to his side. “I’d like ye to meet Merrin. Without her, I’d no’ be standing here today.”

  Merrin curtsied deeply and bowed her head. Her heart fluttered. She’d always dreamt of curtsying before nobility. “M’lady.”

  Lady Anne clasped Merrin’s shoulders and smiled. “My, you are lovely.” She fingered a strand of Merrin’s hair. “I have the perfect veil to match your gown. You must come above stairs with me.”

  Her warm smile made Merrin feel as if she’d known Lady Anne all her life.

  Friar Pat stepped in and wrapped his arm around Merrin’s shoulders and gave Lady Anne a wink. “I see ye’ve already grown a fondness for this bonny lassie.”

  Anne turned to another beautiful woman behind her. “What say you, Lady Enya? Shall we take Miss Merrin above stairs?”

  “Aye.” Enya stepped forward with a huge grin. “A blue veil will make her eyes shine like precious stones.”

  Merrin shot a panicked look toward Ian. “I do no’ think—”

  Ian touched her shoulder. “Go with me mother. She cannot resist an opportunity to primp. I’ll be along after I meet with Alex.”

  Merrin nodded and looked at Pat. “Do ye want to come with us, friar?”

  He sputtered. “Me? In a lady’s chamber? I think not.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “But I’ll be in the garden should ye need me.”

  Lady Anne clapped her hands. “’Tis settled, then. Come with me, Miss Merrin. I do think we shall have a grand gathering tonight. It is not often my youngest graces me with his presence. We must celebrate.”

  ***

  Ian followed his brother to the laird’s solar. Alexander had grown serious since Ian last saw him. He’d hardened, his face weathered. He wore his red beard long, ending in a point. Alex closed the door and moved to the sideboard.

  Ian watched him pour two tots of whisky. “I hear ye have a son.”

  “Aye, Malcolm. He’s nearly a year old.”

  “A fine lad, I have no doubt.”

  Coughing, Alexander handed Ian a cup. “He has the MacLeod coloring.”

  Ian sipped. “And how is Ilysa?”

  “Bossy. It appears birthing the laird’s son gives a woman unmitigated confidence.” He gestured to a chair. “Now sit. We’ve much to discuss.”

  Ian complied and looked straight into his brother’s hawk-like stare.

  “Ye crossed Ruairi,” Alexander blurted with a frown.

  Nothing like moving straight to the point. Ian kept his back straight. “He beat her.”

  Alexander eased into his red upholstered chair. “But it was no’ your place to interfere.”

  Ian swirled the amber liquid in his glass. It was important to choose his words carefully, though he wanted to slam his fist on the table and roar. “As a man of honor, I had nay choice but to protect a mistreated woman. She’s with her kin now.”

  “I wanted to blast Rewan and his galley out of the water with me cannons, but it would have meant ruination for the clan. I feared Rewan would kill ye for certain.”

  Ian sipped, savoring the fine spirit. “He nearly did.”

  “What happened?”

  Ian relayed the story of Rewan’s relentless pursuit. “…I had him under the knife and made him promise to leave me be. He took me dirk back to our uncle as proof of me death.”

  “Ye mean to say ye let him live?”

  “And why no’? Before this mess with Janet, Rewan was me friend.” Ian drained his whisky. “Besides, Ruairi’s found another woman. She’ll keep his mind off trivial matters such as me whereabouts.”

  “If ye stay here, he’ll eventually find out Ye’re alive—and ye’ll put the whole clan at risk from Ruairi’s cannons.”

  “I’m no’ planning to stay. I came to ask for supplies so I can take Merrin and rebuild her cottage on Fladda.”

  Alexander leaned forward, one hand braced on his armrest. “Ye mean to say Merrin is the witch from Fladda? Niall’s cursed bairn?”

  Ian held up his hands. “Merrin is no’ the devil’s spawn. She’s—”

  Alex shoved his chair back and paced, coughing with every other step. “I cannot believe ye would bring her here. The elders still tell tales about her mother’s death—all because the bairn was marked.”

  Ian stared at his hands. He hated superstition in a man, but he loathed seeing it in his brother. “I need some wood to rebuild the cottage. We need grain and food stores. We’ve nary a piece of furniture. Everything was burned. Merrin can weave, but her loom was lost. Anything ye can spare, I’d be obliged and we’ll be on our way.”

  Alexander grasped the flagon from the sideboard. “Her da came to Brochel for supplies—had something going with a widow. He’d trade tinctures and herbs. But he never brought her with him.”

  Ian held up his cup and Alex filled it. “I’m no’ asking for much. And ye ken ye have me sword. I faced down Rewan and all his men. I can bear your arms. On that ye have me pledge of fealty.”

  Alexander sipped and moved to the window. “Ye can use your old chamber this night. On the morrow, I’ll see what supplies we can spare.” He coughed.

  Ian stood and bowed. “Thank ye, brother.”

  “Laird.” Alexander pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and launched into a coughing fit. “Blast this cough. It grows worse by the day.”

  Ian poured him another tot of whisky. “I could ask Merrin to make ye a tonic.”

  His brother snatched the cup and threw the brew down. “Nay,” he barked. “The only person who’ll tend me is Friar Pat.” He slammed the cup on the table. “I’ll see ye in the hall for supper.”

  ***

  Merrin sat, mesmerized, in an incredibly comfortable armchair while Lady Anne and Lady Enya flitted around an upstairs solar Anne called her craft room. The dowager lady threw open the lid of one of the many trunks that lined the wall and pulled out a brilliant blue gown.

  Lady Enya grasped the skirts and held them up to the light. “This is perfect.”

  Anne tossed the gown on the table, which sat in the center of the room, then dug in the trunk, silks and woolens flying everywhere. “There’s a matching coronet and veil in here somewhere.”

  “But I cannot wear your things,” Merrin said. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  Anne chuckled. “I could wear these dresses before my sons were born.” She shook her finger. “And I blame Ian for thickening my waistline the most.”

  Enya found a lovely silk scarf. “This will perfectly match your kirtle.”

  Merrin puzzled. The younger woman sounded different, not as formal as Lady Anne. “Where do ye hail from, Lady Enya?”

  She smiled. “I’m the daughter of Lord Ross of Renfrewshire.”

  Merrin fanned herself. “My, ’tis a bit overwhelming to be amongst such nobility.”

  Anne grasped the scarf from Enya’s fingers. “Hogwash. You are our guest, and welcome.” She pulled a wooden stool in front of Merrin and sat. “Let me remove that rag from around your neck.”

  Merrin clutched her neck and recoiled into the cushions. Her hands trembled like a sapling in the wind. “Nay, I cannot take it off.”

  Anne lowered her hands and cleared her throat. A most serene expression crossed her face. “Merrin. You have the look of your mother.”

  Gooseflesh spread across her skin. “Ye knew her?”

  “Yes. And ’tis the reason why I sent the servants away. Tonight only Lady Enya and I will attend you.”

  Enya sat on a stool by the table and leaned her chin into her hand, as if she was settling in to listen to a good yarn.

  Anne glanced back at Lord Ross’s daughter. “What I’m about to say shan’t be repeated by
anyone. Agreed?”

  Enya offered an eager nod. Merrin lowered her hands to her lap and folded them.

  “You were a beautiful babe, born with a full head of dark curls. My dear friend Mara and I attended your mother through the long and difficult birth. When she died of childbed fever, a few superstitious members of the clan shouted for you to be burned on account of the little pink mark you had on your neck.”

  Merrin slapped her hand around her throat. “’Tis no’ so little anymore.”

  Anne wound the blue silk around her hand. “My husband, Laird Calum, had to do something, and quickly. Your mother was well liked, beautiful, full of life. But I could not bring myself to believe an innocent child had anything to do with her death. I asked Calum to send you and your father to Fladda, where he could hide you away from the naysayers.”

  “Ye did that?”

  “Neither Calum nor I could stand by and watch an innocent soul be shunned by the clan. They called for you to be…” She cleared her throat. “Our biggest fear was that someone might murder you in the dark of night.” Lady Anne patted Merrin’s hand. “You see, I understand how important it is to keep your neck covered.”

  Merrin untied the tattered cloth around her neck and slowly pulled it away, her hands trembling.

  Lady Anne examined it closely—her face expressing concern, but no fear. “’Tis not all that bad, and it does nothing to detract from your beauty.” She set the scarf on the table and stood. “Tonight we shall celebrate my son’s return. You shall wear the sapphire gown. It has a fashionably tall neck and the lace will frame the slim lines of your jaw superbly.”

  Lady Anne held up a dress of such exquisite beauty, Merrin had never seen the likes. The ornate embroidery on the flat stomacher must have taken months to sew, and the sleeves puffed at the shoulders, with white silk pulled through diamond-shaped openings.

  Merrin didn’t know what to say. “I…I cannot.”

  Enya pulled her arm. “Come. It will be fun, and tonight Ian shall not even recognize you when you glide down the stairs to the great hall.”