Scot on Her Trail

by Lee, Caroline

  Far too little time had passed before he felt her stir, and her brother cleared his throat. Reluctantly, Duncan allowed her to straighten and pull away from him, although he kept one arm around her.

  With her tucked up next to his side, they both turned to Stewart, who was looking more than a little bewildered.

  “Ye just challenged my brother-in-law to battle in my great hall,” he murmured, raking Duncan with a confused glance. “And Skye, how did ye ken…?”

  Under Duncan’s arm, she shrugged and hefted the bag of coins. Seemed as if she wasn’t going to admit her highwaywomaning to her brother willingly either.

  “Allison has been stealing from us for a while, brother,” was all she said.

  All three of them looked at the pregnant woman, who still sat slumped on the bench. While they watched, one of her eyes peeked open, and as she saw their gazes, she hurried to moan and slam her eyes shut again.

  Stewart snorted softly, then straightened his shoulders. Raising his voice, he spoke to Skye, but no one doubted his words were mostly for Allison’s benefit.

  “Well, I appreciate learning of this perfidy, for certes. My wife will have some explaining to do. She might be my people’s mistress and carrying my heir, but she is accountable to me and God, and I can promise ye, she’ll no’ have any more access to MacIan coin.”

  From her spot beside the wall, Allison gave a pitiful little whimper, but Skye was beaming at her brother.

  “Then I suppose I should return this to ye.”

  She lobbed him the coin purse, which he easily caught. When he opened it, Duncan could see the glint of gold from inside.

  “I will be taking charge of the books myself from now on. This might no’ restore us to where we were, but losing this much would’ve made things so much more difficult to recover from.” He inclined his head to his sister. “Thank ye, Skye.”

  Skye stood a little straighter and looked up to smile at Duncan. “Dunc was the man who stopped Harold, Brother.”

  “Ah, aye.” Stewart tucked the pouch into his belt, then shifted his weight as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And now, about what ye said earlier…”

  Duncan was busy wracking his brain, trying to figure out what she’d said, when Skye chuckled.

  “Ye mean, when I told ye I loved Duncan and plan on marrying him?”

  “Aye, that part. Right before ye rudely demanded I ‘shut my mouth’ and listen to a smith.” This time, the gaze he raked Duncan with was very much one from a man debating another man’s worth. “Ye want to marry a smith, Sister?”

  Before Skye could do more than bristle, Duncan bent and placed one arm behind her knees. She squealed as he lifted her into the air, but wrapped her arms around his neck.

  They didn’t have the time or need for this blathering. Duncan and Skye would be together, and the sooner Stewart got that through his head, the better.

  Besides, he couldn’t wait much longer to get her clothing off and show her exactly how much she meant to him.

  But first…

  He pierced her brother with a confident grin. “I’m no’ just a smith, but the best goldsmith between Inverness and Lairg. My offer of marriage comes with a sizable enough bride price to replace most of what yer wife stole from ye.” As Stewart’s brows went up, Duncan nodded firmly. “So ye best get it into yer head; Skye will be my wife, with or without yer permission.”

  “Ye cannae just declare—”

  But Duncan was already stalking toward the stairs, his love in his arms.

  Behind him, Stewart called out, “Where are ye going?”

  “To take off all of yer sister’s clothes and kiss every inch of her,” Duncan called back, without stopping.

  He didn’t hear The MacIan’s response, because he was too busy chuckling when Skye let out an excited whoop.

  “Turn right to get to my chambers!”

  And the knowledge she was his, and would be his forever, had his cock jumping in anticipation. He increased his pace, ready to have her.

  Always.

  * * *

  “God in Heaven, that was remarkable,” Skye panted, as Duncan rolled off her with a groan.

  They were both breathing heavily, their releases coming fast and furious, after they’d torn each other’s clothing off.

  “Remarkable?” he teased; his eyes closed. “That’s the best ye can say?”

  She was smiling when she propped her elbow on the bed and rolled to face him. He was nude, a thin sheen of sweat covering his chest, which still heaved from the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

  “ ’Twas no’ bad at all, I suppose.”

  “No’ bad?” He opened one eye and glared at her.

  “For the first round,” she clarified with a straight face. “I assume we’ll get better with practice.

  He groaned and threw a forearm across his eyes. “Love, if we get any better, I’ll probably die.”

  The urge to tickle him was fierce, especially with how pitiful he looked, believing her words. Instead, she dragged her fingertips down his chest.

  “Die?” she murmured.

  “My heart will explode. Or my cock will. One of the two.”

  She burst into chuckles.

  With a growl, he erupted into motion, grabbing her and rolling once more, so she was pinned underneath him. Their bodies were sticky from their previous exertions, and she wouldn’t mind a bath later—ooh, a bath with him!—but for now, she was delighted to have him close to her again.

  “Are ye trying to kill me, lass?”

  “And make myself a widow before I’m a bride? Never.”

  The reminder sobered him, and his dark eyes caressed her face. “Ye really are willing to marry me, Skye?”

  She blinked. “Of course. Ye overcame the impediments quite nicely, ye ken. Now that Allison will no’ be stealing from my clan, I dinnae feel like I have to be here.”

  “And the highwaywomaning?”

  He was becoming heavy, and when she squirmed underneath him, he took the hint. He pushed himself up on his elbow, and she let out a breath as she rolled as well, until she was sitting cross-legged beside him.

  It was time to speak of the future.

  “Ye want me to settle down. To be a wife in yer cozy little blacksmith cottage. To learn to cook and sew and—”

  She bit off her words with a gasp when he abruptly sat up, rolling to his heels there beside her on her bed.

  Good God, but he was glorious, all naked skin and firm muscles, and who would’ve thought she’d have a thing for such nicely toned forearms?

  …What had she been saying?

  Whatever it was, it went right out of her head when he leaned to one side and swiped something off the table.

  When he moved again, she realized it was the braided gold ring he’d made, and she’d worn for the last sennight. In their frantic haste to disrobe, she’d tossed it onto the table for safekeeping.

  Now she watched him untie the silk ribbon which held it and drop the simple piece of jewelry into his palm.

  When he took her hand and slipped the ring on her third finger, she sucked in a breath, surprised by how warm the gold was against her finger. Then he placed a kiss on the band.

  “I love ye the way ye are, Skye MacIan,” he said, in that gravelly voice she loved, while holding her gaze intently. “I love yer wild impulsiveness. I dinnae want ye to settle. All I’m asking is fer ye to give up yer lawbreaking. I cannae spend my life worrying for ye.”

  She snorted. “Worrying for me? I’m no’ the one who attacked a known brigand today, with a sword he claims he doesnae ken how to use.”

  Duncan sat back, his lips twisting wryly. “I ken how to use it; I just dinnae like to use it. We cannae all be swordswomen, love.”

  “Good, because ye’d look silly in a gown.” She reached out and tweaked one of his nipples.

  Playfully slapping her hand down, he then trapped it against his chest. “Ye were worried for me?”

  Under his ski
n, she could feel his heart beating strongly, and reminded herself it was beating for her. He was safe, and he was hers.

  And would be forever.

  “I love ye, Dunc,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “I’ll always worry for ye.”

  “Then ye ken how I felt when I saw ye sneaking up on Harold with yer dagger out. St. Simon’s eyeteeth, lass, ye scared the piss out of me!”

  Her eyes widened. It honestly hadn’t occurred to Skye he would worry over her.

  He began to chuckle. “Aye, it works both ways. If we’re to be married, I’ll worry for ye, the same as ye’ll worry for me. And we both need to agree to do our best no’ to worry the other. Deal?”

  It was simple. “If ye mean me giving up my highwaywomaning, aye. Deal. I was only doing it for my clan, and although we’re good at it, the lads will be pleased to give it up as well.”

  “Fergus struck me as a bit of a worrier himself.”

  She chuckled, and under his hand, began to move her fingers in small circles against his nipple. “Aye, he’s been trying to talk me into quitting for a while now. Bean will go along with whatever we decide. Rabbie—that’s Fergus’s nephew—”

  “The weaselly looking one?” Duncan interrupted.

  The description fit.

  “Aye,” she agreed with a chuckle. “He’s the only one who’ll really miss the work, I think, but he’ll be Stewart’s problem once I’m gone.”

  “And Pierre?”

  She shrugged. “Who kens why Pierre was even with us to begin with?”

  When he cocked his head, she suddenly remembered Duncan spoke French.

  “He said Harold killed his brother. Was it possible he joined yer band as a way to hunt him down?”

  ‘Twas likely, but Duncan had lifted her hand away from his chest and was now tracing small circles on her palm, which was making it difficult for her to focus.

  “I… Mayhap…” she murmured vaguely, her gaze dropping to where he held her hand.

  The gold ring glinted enchantingly.

  He lifted it to his lips, then brushed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

  Her pulse jumped, and she realized she was holding her breath.

  “So we’re agreed?” he murmured against her skin, brushing her fingertips across his lips. “Nae more lawbreaking for ye, and we’ll navigate this marriage thing as we go along?”

  Her gaze was locked on his lips.

  “Aye…”

  When he smiled, ‘twas as if someone had tied a string to her nipples and pulled. She gasped, jerking forward, toward him.

  And he caught her.

  “Well then, mayhap we should seal our bargain with a kiss.”

  God help her, would that delicious deep voice of his always affect her this way?

  She could feel herself growing wet for him…again!

  Instinctively, her gaze dropped to his lap, and aye, that magnificent cock of his—which she’d seen long before she’d ever touched—had grown in size.

  “A kiss?” she repeated.

  “I told yer brother I intended to kiss every inch of ye, and ‘twould be rude of me to lie to my future brother-by-marriage.”

  He sounded so solemn, it caused her gaze to snap back up to his. The twinkle in his dark eyes told her he was teasing, so she rallied.

  “Och, well, I wouldnae kick ye out of bed,” she offered with a nonchalant shrug belied by the way she was holding her breath.

  That breath was knocked out of her with a chuckle when he tackled her, pushing her into the mattress, before lowering his lips to hers.

  Her hand wrapped around his cock, guiding it to her aching entrance, and while she wrapped her legs around his hips and threw her head back in ecstasy, she vowed to be the best wife she could to Duncan.

  Because together, they were both going to be wild and perfect.

  Forever.

  Epilogue

  Another wedding.

  Rocque Oliphant stood on the outskirts of the crowded celebration in the village square, and reflected on how the festivity wasn’t so different from Finn’s recent wedding.

  St. John’s thumbs, even the bride and groom looked the same, what with Duncan and Skye being identical to Finn and Fiona.

  But no one could confuse the couples. While Finn and Fiona had celebrated their marriage in the castle, and even now wore their fine silks, Dunc and Skye had chosen to celebrate among the clan.

  Hard to blame them. The Oliphants ken how to throw a revel.

  Of course, Duncan had likely made the choice so his other family—his mam’s family—would feel comfortable celebrating with them. As Rocque watched, Dunc grabbed one of his two younger sisters and swung her around, as wee Ned bowed low in front of Skye.

  And Rocque ignored the spike of jealousy, which slid down his tongue and into his belly.

  Just as he’d been ignoring it for years.

  “Ye’re just going to stand here, glaring at everyone?”

  The snappish voice jerked him from his thoughts, and he was already shaking his head as he turned to find his great-aunt on Kiergan’s arm.

  “I’m no’ glaring, Aunt Agatha. Just admiring how much fun everyone’s having.”

  Her cane slammed against his shin, and Rocque schooled his features from letting her see how much it had hurt.

  “Ye disagree?” he asked her smartly.

  As his aunt clucked her tongue, Kiergan came to his defense. “He’s likely just watching his new men, Aunt. Ye see how Bean—‘tis the giant’s name—is laughing with Rocque’s warriors. I ken ‘twas odd Skye brought the three men with her, but they seem to be fitting in well enough.”

  “I see how the lad’s head is even thicker than Rocque’s here—”

  “Thank ye, Aunt Agatha,” Rocque murmured, used to the jibes.

  “—but ‘tis that handsome aulder man—Fergus, I think his name is?—I cannae ignore. He has a nice smile, do ye no’ think?” Before either of her great nephews could do more than gape at her in shock, she continued. “That Frenchman now, I dinnae trust him. Look at the way he flirts with yer sister!”

  Kiergan didn’t seem concerned. “She doesnae understand anything he says—none of us do—and Da’s already signed her betrothal contract.”

  “Again.”

  Rocque grunted in rare agreement with his great-aunt. Poor Nessa had lost three—although it was hard to keep count—betrotheds already. Da was determined to get her wed.

  The old woman clucked her tongue again. “If she’s been hearing the drummer, yer father will have naught to say in it!”

  “This again?” Kiergan groaned under his breath.

  The ghostly drummer of Oliphant Castle was famous. Not everyone heard him, but those who did, were said to be destined for love. Kiergan didn’t believe in the legend.

  Rocque wasn’t certain how he felt about the legend himself, but he’d been hearing the cursed annoying bastard for the last year.

  Since Kiergan had helped him, Rocque distracted his aunt’s attention in return, since she was clearly about to start in on his poor brother.

  “I was watching the men. I’m glad Dunc decided to have his wedding here, where everyone could participate.” As the Oliphant commander, he took his duties—which included keeping an eye on his men—seriously. “And I was thinking how happy the bride and groom look together.”

  There. None of that was a lie.

  “Aye,” Kiergan was quick to latch on to the change in subject. “ ’Tis as I told ye, Aunt Agatha. He wasnae glaring; he was examining the revelry for signs of weakness. In case any enemies attack.”

  “Bah! Who would attack us on a summer afternoon? The lad was glaring.”

  Rocque felt his lips twitch at the old woman’s feistiness. “Thank ye so much for bringing Aunt Agatha over to say hello, Kiergan.”

  His brother dipped his head, as if he hadn’t heard the sarcasm. “The pleasure was all mine.”

  “I’m right here, ye clot-heids!” Before either of them could apologiz
e for speaking about her as if she weren’t present, she slammed the end of her cane down against the ground. “Ye two will be next, I assume? Dragging yer true loves in front of a priest?”

  Kiergan snorted, but that was to be expected. When Da had made the announcement he expected them all to marry, this rakish brother of theirs had been the only one to outright refuse.

  But since he’d spoken up for Rocque, the larger man was willing to return the favor. “I’ve considered it, Aunt,” he said mildly, knowing it would pull her attention away from his brother.

  Sure enough, her sharp gaze swung to him like a hawk…if the hawk were four and a half feet tall and armed with an oaken cane.

  “Ye’ve considered marriage?” she repeated, her intense stare a little unnerving.

  He shrugged, his gaze darting to Kiergan’s, looking for help. “Aye, well, Da says we must, and…” He shrugged again.

  Just as Aunt Agatha opened her mouth—likely to question him further—Kiergan spoke up. “Och, look! Lara finally dragged her brother away from Bean. Let us go greet them.”

  The interruption pushed Aunt Agatha off-balance, and she swung her gaze around to Kiergan. “What?”

  “Lara,” he repeated unhelpfully, jerking his chin across the square. “Over there. Way over there. Come along.”

  Dragging their protesting aunt through the revelers, Kiergan threw a wink over his shoulder at Rocque, who vowed to go easy on this brother of his, next time he was called up for guard duty.

  The square was still a riot of colors and noise as the revelers celebrated, but without Aunt Agatha at his side, Rocque felt able to relax.

  Relax…and consider her words.

  Would he be next to marry?

  Da had said they all had to marry, and the appeal of leadership was hard to deny. True, Rocque knew he wasn’t the smartest of the Oliphant bastards—that title belonged to his twin—but he’d been leading the clan’s men for a few years now and was no stranger to leadership.

  Did he want to be the next laird?

  If ye do, ye best get moving.

  In order to become laird, he’d have to present his father with a legitimate grandson. In order to sire a legitimate grandson, he needed a wife.