Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance)

by Dawn Halliday

  Aileen screamed against the gag. She would not move. They would have to force her.

  A man prodded her back, but she cringed away, holding her ground.

  With a hearty sigh, one of the men lifted her by her waist and slung her over his shoulder, clamping a steely arm behind her thighs so she couldn’t move.

  As they filed out of her bedchamber, Gilbert leaned down to whisper into her ear. “You are mine, Aileen. And I’m never going to let you forget it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A stream of morning light blazed over Aileen’s cheek. Tentatively, she cracked open one eye. She lay on the bed of a wagon, on layers of plaids that didn’t do anything to keep her from feeling the jolt every time they hit a pothole or a bump. Every inch of Aileen’s body ached. Her movement was restricted to a few inches because her wrists were lashed to a cleat on the side of the wagon.

  She blinked at the morning sun. By its position, she determined they were headed south, most likely toward Castle Aird, a modern castle Gilbert’s mother’s family had built, at Beauly.

  She struggled to sit upright.

  “She’s awake!” a man called.

  The wagon groaned to a halt. Clomping hooves signaled a horse’s approach and she looked up to meet Gilbert’s eyes.

  He looked resplendent this morning, high on his sidestepping gelding, dressed in black and haloed by the sun.

  Oh how she despised him.

  “Good morning, Lady Aileen. It is a pleasant one, is it not? I suppose we have come far enough south for that blasted Highland fog to clear.”

  If Niall were here, would he defend her? Would he kill Gilbert to free her from his clutches?

  But he wasn’t here, was he?

  Blinking hard, Aileen pressed her back against the side of the wagon. “Why have you taken me from Ellandonan?”

  Gilbert’s hand flew to his mouth in mock offense. “No sweet words for your future husband? Your future lord and master? Now that is rather rude, Aileen.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You are neither my lord nor my master, Gilbert.”

  Gilbert chuckled. “But I shall be, and very shortly.”

  “I ask you again, why have you kidnapped me? We aren’t to leave Ellandonan until our wedding.”

  “You haven’t heard?” Gilbert rubbed his chin. “Now that is rather shocking. I thought he would have told you first. I imagine he would have enjoyed seeing your tears of gratitude.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why, Aileen, the laird has dissolved our betrothal.”

  If she hadn’t been trussed to a wagon heading toward her enemy’s lair, she would have sobbed with relief. Instead, she merely stared at him, dry-eyed and angry.

  Gilbert stroked the black mane of his horse and smiled down at her. “But I think it is for the best, Aileen. I really do. For who knows how long our good laird would have made us wait before we married? This way, we can be wedded—and bedded—within a matter of days.”

  “I will never allow you to bed me, Gilbert Dunbar,” she whispered. “Never.”

  The sound of his laughter tore along her nerves like a deadly sharp claw. “Oh honestly, Aileen. I was not aware you were so naive. After all, it’s really not a matter of ‘allowing,’ is it? I will take. Whether or not you choose to give.”

  He spurred his horse and moved ahead, still laughing.

  Aileen watched him go, quelling her instinct to struggle against her bonds, to scream for help, to use any means to try to escape.

  Now wasn’t the time. Her temper could make everything worse. Whatever happened, Gilbert must not discover the presence of her dirk.

  There was no way she’d get away from this many men with just her legs and her tiny weapon. But she’d keep the blade close, and hidden.

  She’d strike when he least expected it.

  ***

  Dim light filtered through the closed window shutters, but Aileen couldn’t estimate the time—morning and afternoon blurred into long hours of solitude. The air in this tiny tower chamber reeked of mold. Lashed behind her, her bruised wrists ached, her fingers stiff from so long bound in the same awkward position.

  How long had it been? Her mind calculated sluggishly. Five, maybe six days by now. She thought the journey had taken three days, but she had been bound to the wagon the entire time, and it had rattled her mind so thoroughly, she couldn’t remember exactly how long had passed since they arrived at the castle.

  Niall. Her heart cried out for him in a constant, mournful wail. But he wouldn’t come to save her. He was far away in Edinburgh. He had left her, knowing she was destined for Gilbert Dunbar.

  She would never forgive him for that. Never.

  She clenched her jaw, hating her heart for its weakness. For now, she must rely on herself—she must save herself.

  Sliding her elbow over the ridge of the hilt of her dirk, Aileen’s lip curled. It would happen. Soon.

  But to use her weapon, her hands would have to be untied. And for Gilbert to untie her hands, he’d have to trust her not to do anything rash.

  Perhaps it might happen today.

  The lock scraped. Aileen jerked her head up, expecting the friendly face of Mary, the maid who came in to bring her food and empty her chamber pot several times a day. Mary seemed sympathetic but, as every other servant in this place, lived in fear of her master and would do nothing to help Aileen.

  But it wasn’t Mary. It was Aileen’s enemy.

  Gilbert sauntered in, splendidly clad in a rich green jacket and fine wool breeches. Two of his men flanked him, their angry scowls firmly in place.

  Aileen struggled to rise and then, using her feet, pushed herself backward, as far away from him as the little pallet would allow.

  “Good morning, my dear.”

  The small smile of victory on his face made her pulse flutter desperately, like a butterfly trying to escape the confines of her chest. Something was wrong. Something terrible was about to happen. And she only had one guess as to what it might be.

  “Has the laird come for me yet?” Aileen already knew the answer to that question, but she asked anyway in a desperate attempt to buy time. Gilbert planned to touch her today—she saw it in the glint of anticipation in his eyes as they raked over her body. The mere thought of Gilbert’s hands on her body made her want to scream.

  Gilbert waved his hand in the air. “We’ve been over this, woman. Both you and I know he won’t pursue you. Nor will that guardsman you seem to admire so much. You aren’t valuable enough.”

  “I am the laird’s sister!”

  Gilbert lifted a shoulder. “A half sister, if you remember. Born of a stepmother he despised.”

  She tried not to flinch at that. It wasn’t personal, but she’d never been close to John. He was fifteen years older than her, and he and her mother had hated each other. Her mother had kept them separated as much as she could throughout Aileen’s childhood.

  “He will come for me,” she said stubbornly. In truth, she had no idea whether he would come. What Gilbert said was true—her value to John had decreased to almost nothing once she announced her pregnancy. But she still shared the bond of blood with the laird. She was still his sister, for heaven’s sake. Surely that meant something.

  Gilbert smiled and held out his hand. “Come,” he said gently. “The priest awaits. It is time for us to be married.”

  “Never!” she shouted. And for the first time since the night of her capture, Aileen lost control.

  ***

  In the morning after he returned to Ellandonan with Lady Margaret, Niall strode into the laird’s private chambers. The summons was no surprise, but he didn’t know what to expect. He did know one thing—no matter what the laird’s reaction to the demise of his men and the rescue of his daughter, Niall was determined to make his intentions in regards to Aileen crystal clear.

  The laird faced away from him, staring out the arrow-slit window at a cloudless blue sky. Once past the threshold, Niall stopped,
clasping his hands behind his back. “You called for me, sir?”

  Mackenzie turned from the window, strode toward Niall, clutched his shoulders and pulled him into a firm embrace. Niall’s jaw dropped open at the sight of silvery tears streaking the laird’s face.

  “Thank you for saving her,” Mackenzie murmured. “Margaret is the daughter of my heart.”

  Awkwardly, Niall patted the other man’s shoulder. The display of fatherly affection constricted his heart. Would he ever have a child of his own to love?

  It didn’t matter. If he had Aileen, it would be enough—more than enough.

  “How is the lass?” The journey back to Ellandonan had been difficult. Nightmares had plagued her. Niall had employed a woman to chaperone her, but Margaret would have nothing to do with her. She panicked every time Niall left her sight. She only allowed him to leave her when her old nursemaid had come to comfort her last night, and even then, she had been reluctant to let him go.

  “She is well. Recovering from the ordeal.” The laird’s lips twisted. “If the Earl of Dolphinton still wants her, he’ll have to come fetch her himself. And he’ll have to bring an army of Lowlanders with him for my daughter’s protection.”

  Niall breathed a sigh of relief. “I am glad to hear she is recovering. She is a good lass, sir—she’ll make an earl a fine wife, I daresay.”

  “Thank you.” The laird pulled back but still gripped Niall’s shoulders. “I shudder to think of what might have happened had you not come…”

  “I only did what any honorable man would have done,” Niall said. Though he wasn’t a man of honor, not for the betrayal of his oath he was prepared to commit.

  He looked into the laird’s eyes. They were light blue, like his daughter’s, and at the moment, as earnest as he’d ever seen them.

  “Sir, before we continue, I have something I must tell you—”

  The laird raised his hand to stop him from saying more. “Anything,” he said. “You may have whatever holding, whatever amount of money that you desire. As long as you don’t bankrupt me. Think on it carefully, Niall, for this is the only time I will make this offer.”

  Niall’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in a single, convulsive movement.

  “Aileen Munro.”

  The laird didn’t appear surprised. He released Niall’s shoulders and returned to the window, where he looked out at the clear morning sky, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “This has naught to do with Dornoch or her lands, does it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “If she had not a shilling to her name?”

  “Then I would still want her.”

  “You love my sister.”

  “I do, sir.”

  “You would care for her, no matter what?”

  “I would with all my heart. I know you have legally betrothed her to another, but—”

  The laird held up his hand to stop him. “No, I haven’t. I destroyed the betrothal documents. I didn’t trust the man with Aileen. She wasn’t safe with Gilbert Dunbar. I sensed…a shadow of evil within him.”

  Niall released a long breath of relief. Thank God. Thank God Mackenzie hadn’t married her to such a man—again—and thank God that she was free.

  “Will your decision jeopardize your contract with the Earl of Dolphinton, sir?”

  “I doubt it. Dunbar was instrumental in the beginning of the negotiations, but Dolphinton and I have an understanding. I think he trusts Dunbar about as much as I do.” His lips twisted. “No farther than I can throw him.”

  Niall moved closer to the laird. “I will never let Aileen come to harm. I will protect her. Always.”

  The laird sighed. “I believe you.”

  Niall tensed. The resignation in the Mackenzie’s tone was impossible to miss.

  “I would summon the priest right now…if I could,” Mackenzie continued. “But she is gone.”

  “Gone? Where?” Niall didn’t understand. Why would she have returned to Dornoch?

  “Gilbert Dunbar.” The laird’s features hardened. “He took her from Ellandonan beneath my very nose.”

  “He…?”

  “He kidnapped her.”

  Every inch of Niall’s body went still. “When?” he bit out.

  “Five days ago.”

  “Where did he take her?”

  “I’d wager he took her to the Lowlands. He controls Castle Aird, just north of Beauly.”

  Primal fury threatened to cloud his reason. Niall clenched his fists, fighting the sweeping, overpowering rage.

  “I will find her, sir.”

  The corner of John’s mouth quirked upward. “Aye, Niall. I imagine you will.”

  “If I may take my leave—”

  “Of course.”

  Niall sprinted into action. Within the hour, he was headed away from Ellandonan, a small army of men at his back.

  Only then did he realize it had been too easy. His men had awaited him in the bailey, armored and ready. His squire had already saddled his horse, who stood at the gate, chomping at the bit.

  It dawned on Niall that if he hadn’t arrived to take charge, the laird would have led the army to rescue Aileen himself.

  Grimly, Niall spurred his mount, heading southeast—the direction he’d arrived from only yesterday. This time, though, he had an army of men with him.

  He wouldn’t fail her this time.

  ***

  It all went by in a blur. Keeping her wrists bound, three men held a struggling Aileen upright as the priest—a round man with bulging eyes—stuttered through the vows. Though the man seemed to have some sympathy for her plight, given the claymore pointed at his throat, he had no choice but to bless the union.

  By sundown, Aileen was legally married to Gilbert Dunbar.

  Gilbert himself had been the only calm person present, a beatific smile spread over his features as he promised to love and cherish her until death did they part.

  She refused to acknowledge the priest or speak the vows. Instead she spat at the men who held her and only laughed bitterly when one of them threatened her with disembowelment. Gilbert wouldn’t have her disemboweled. He wanted her to live, and to suffer.

  When the priest pronounced them man and wife, a deadly calm settled over Aileen.

  She was married again, to another boor—this one far worse than the last.

  With one last pitying look at her, the priest departed, leaving Aileen with Gilbert and his men, more exhausted, drained and alone than she’d ever felt in her life. The scratches on her arms and chest burned and her limbs ached with bruises. A line of blood trickled down the back of her arm.

  Please, God, she prayed. I don’t care about these superficial wounds. Just let my bairn survive…

  Gilbert finally came to within touching distance of her. He grabbed her chin between hard fingers and forced her to look into his dark, angry eyes. “You know what comes next, wife.”

  As much as her pride demanded that she spit in his face, she let her defeat show in her slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.

  “Aye.”

  His voice was rough—with anger or passion, Aileen couldn’t tell. “Munro was too weak to tame you. MacRae is an imbecile. But I am neither weak nor stupid.”

  She didn’t answer this time.

  He moved close—too close. She smelled his minty breath as it washed over her face, and her stomach heaved.

  “I can hardly wait,” he whispered.

  Aileen swallowed down her nausea. Tears were easy enough to conjure, and she let them flow freely. Very well, let him think her a weak, defeated female.

  “There is naught I can do to stop you.” She looked back up into his cold, cruel eyes. “Husband.”

  Gilbert Dunbar smiled.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fury at his wife’s stubborn behavior had nearly overcome Gilbert during the marriage ceremony. It was almost impossible to allow his men to subdue Aileen when all he wanted was to pummel her into submission. But Rufus’
s hand on his arm reminded him to be calm, and he’d somehow maintained a peaceful facade and forged his way through it.

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter. All that truly mattered was that she was finally his. All his. Every part of her.

  The best part was that Gilbert had literally watched the fight drain out of Aileen as the priest blessed their union. They were finally married under God. She knew as well as he did that nothing could tear that asunder—not even the laird. Nothing but death could separate them now.

  They dined beside each other, and for the first time since her capture, he agreed to loosen the bonds confining her wrists. Seemingly grateful for this new freedom, Aileen ate with apparent gusto. She didn’t meet his eyes or speak, but she sat beside him docilely, oozing what he would like to imagine as a state of wary contentment. And as the hours passed and wine lightened the mood of the dining hall, her mood seemed to lighten as well.

  She seemed to have accepted her fate.

  Tossing back his cup of whisky, Gilbert slid a long glance at her. Tonight would end it all. The years of painful longing. Of torture. She was finally his. He wanted to sing it, shout it to the rafters.

  He couldn’t wait to fuck her, to complete the bond he had forged by marrying her. The bond he’d always intended to forge. His prick had been rigid with anticipation almost constantly since he’d called for the priest this morning. Now it was past midnight, and he was ready for her again.

  It was time.

  Rising abruptly, he announced that he and his wife would now retire. Amidst cheers and catcalls, he nodded at one of his guards to follow them from the hall. Walking into his chamber, he turned in time to watch his man push her over the threshold and follow her inside, gripping her arm roughly.

  She stood before him, as meek as a kitten. For once, she did not sneer with superiority nor strain and fight against the man who held her. Finally, Gilbert had the chance to look her over from head to toe. Could it be true? Had she actually resigned herself to her fate? Gilbert couldn’t help but be a little surprised—he hadn’t expected to conquer her so completely so soon.