The Highland Chief

by Dana D'Angelo

  “Rory,” she moaned, reaching to place her palms on his shoulders.

  The sound of his name caused his bollocks to tighten and his cock to jump.

  He growled, moving up to capture her lips. Raising her leg, he wrapped it around his waist, making it potently clear that he wanted her. His hand dropped down to cup her buttocks, lifting her until her sex cradled his erection. He groaned at the exquisite softness and circled his hips, wanting to get closer to her, in her.

  Rory started to tug up her gown when he paused. Frantic shouts and flying hooves outside the stable filled his ears and instantly cooled his ardor.

  He allowed the fabric to drop and pulled Darra away from the stable wall. Her eyes fluttered open, and in the dim light of the stable, it glittered with confusion.

  “Someone’s calling out your name, lass,” he said.

  ***

  Darra blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright light outside of the stable. A rider along with a horse and cart was careening toward the keep. The horseman twisted his head and saw them standing at the stable. Jerking at his reins, he caused the horse to lean back on its hind legs, its front legs pawing in the air. The horse’s whinny filled the courtyard. When the animal settled its hooves back onto the ground, the rider whirled the beast around, urging it toward the wooden structure. The horse and cart behind him made a wide circle, following the rider in his new course.

  She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and as the horseman came closer, she said in surprise, “Why, ‘tis Cailean.”

  Before long, Cailean halted in front of them and scrambled down from the horse. “’Tis fortunate that we dinnae have tae search for ye in the keep,” he said, his breath coming out harshly. He gestured to the cart behind him. “There’s been an accident.”

  The horse and cart came to an abrupt stop.

  Darra shifted to the side to get a clear view of the transport. As the man in the driver’s seat looked down at her, she recognized him. It was Duff, the man who had ridiculed her at the harvest festival. But there was no animosity in his regard, only desperation. Before she could question why he was here, she heard a woman weeping at the back of the cart.

  Darra moved quickly to the wooden contraption while Cailean and Rory trailed after her.

  The woman glanced up at her approach, her face streaked with tears. A child about four years old lay in her lap, his small arms cradling his stomach.

  “Please, milady,” the woman said, a sob in her voice. “Help us. He’s all that we have.”

  She nodded. “I will need my healing basket,” she said.

  “I’ll get it for ye,” Cailean said. Jumping back onto the horse, he raced toward the keep to retrieve her supplies.

  “I will need to know what happened,” she said, turning to assess the boy’s demeanor. His skin was flushed, and soft mewling cries escaped intermittently from his lips.

  “I went tae get some food from the sharing table when I heard yelling,” the woman replied. “When I spun around tae see what all the commotion was about, Duff was carrying my wee Allie tae me.” She let out a loud sniff. Reaching into a pouch that hung at her belt, she pulled out three bright red berries. “Some bairns said that they saw the lad eating these.”

  Darra’s blood ran cold as she peered at the yew berries in the other woman’s hand. The ruby flesh were edible, but the seeds inside were potent enough to kill a grown man.

  She bent down and touched the boy’s burning forehead. “How many berries did you eat, Allie?”

  “One,” he said, lifting up a small finger.

  “Aye,” Duff confirmed, coming to stand next to his wife and child. “The other bairns said the lad tried tae eat another berry, but they knocked it out of his hands.”

  “You will be fine,” Darra said, patting Allie gently on the head. Straightening up, she looked at his parents. “One fruit will not kill him. Do you know if he retched after eating it?”

  “Aye,” the woman said, hope filling her eyes. “He did a wee bit at the ceilidh.”

  “Is this significant?” Duff reached down to hold his wife’s hand, the same hope reflected on his rough countenance.

  “’Tis good that he vomited the poison, however we need to make certain that all of it is removed from his gut,” she explained.

  The rumble of hooves sounded off in the distance. Cailean had returned with her supplies. He reared his horse and quickly dismounted.

  “Here ye go,” he said, panting as he handed her the medicinal basket.

  Darra nodded her thanks, and sifted through the contents. Her fingers closed around a small flask of wine and a satchel of fig tree ash. Pulling the items out, she carefully dropped some of the ash into the liquid and closed the lid.

  “He will need to drink this medicine,” she said, shaking the bottle to mix it. “It will help him expel the rest of the poison.”

  “He disnae like tae drink much of anything, but I will make him take it,” Duff said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  Darra gave him a reassuring smile and shook her head. “’Tis not necessary,” she said, and turned her focus back to the young boy. He was a healthy lad, and after he emptied his stomach of all traces of the poison, he would recover quickly. Without a doubt he would be running around in the town square with his friends within the next day or so.

  “Allie, I need your help,” she said.

  The boy looked at her warily. “Help ye with what?”

  “I need you to show your Chief and your da how brave you are,” she paused. “Do you think you can you do that?”

  “Aye,” he rubbed his belly and whimpered. “But it hurts.”

  “I know it does.” She showed him the bottle. “Do you see this? This medicine will not taste very good, and it will make you a little ill, but if you take it, you will feel better. Do you want to feel better, Allie?”

  He nodded again although this time his response was much slower.

  “That is a fine lad,” she said smiling. “Now sit up and open your mouth.”

  The boy’s gaze flicked from his father to Rory, and then he reluctantly opened his jaw. Seizing the moment before he changed his mind, she tipped a portion of the concoction into his mouth and he dutifully swallowed it.

  A few seconds later, he began to cough, and the rest of the contents of his stomach emptied.

  When the boy was finished, he nestled against his mother and went to sleep. Soon his breathing was even and steady.

  Darra touched his forehead again, and while she found it warm, it wasn’t burning as before. Dropping her hand to her side, she said, “The fever should be gone by the time he wakes up.”

  The woman lifted her fingers to wipe at the dampness on her cheeks. “Thank ye, milady. Ye are an angel, a blessing.”

  “Aye, thank ye milady.” Duff pulled at his collar and his face reddened slightly. “I’m sorry for saying those things at the ceilidh…”

  “’Tis of no consequence,” she waved her hand, dismissing his words. “I have already forgotten it.”

  Relief flooded his face and he gave her a broad grin. “Unlike the village hag, ye ken what ye are doing,” he said. “Now we have someone we can rely on.” He clapped Rory on the back. “’Tis a guid thing that ye brought the lass here.”

  Rory placed an arm over her shoulder and smiled down at her. “Aye, the lass is a boon tae us.”

  She brushed at the strand of hair that fell across her forehead, embarrassed and pleased at being the focus of attention. The boy was going to be all right, and she had a hand in making that possible. Darra prided herself in understanding how to combine the power of herbs and roots, and assisting people with their healing. She loved to help people. But then in the next moment her elation deflated, and she recalled she had yet to heal one person — Eanruing MacGregon.

  Chapter 15

  Rory leaned against the old oak tree, his arms folded over his chest as he watched Darra crouched at the ground, digging for Gaiaroot. He knew that h
e should offer to help her, but he was loathed to leave his post. At the moment, he had a good view of the slopes of her breasts, and he rather enjoyed the angle.

  She looked up. “Thank you for bringing me here, Rory,” she said, sending him a sunny smile.

  The smile hit him in the solar plexus. “Ye are welcome,” he said.

  The sight of her captivating visage made the air catch in his gullet. Her oval face was so perfectly formed, her eyes as blue as the deep ocean. And her pink lips were as alluring as the day that he first he saw them. He felt the familiar urge to kiss her. Since their night in the woods, he dreamed of her, yearning to feel, touch and taste her sweet body. Then there was that moment in the stables yesterday. If they weren’t interrupted, they would have enjoyed a passionate spell in each other’s arms.

  Darra lifted a hand and wiped at her brow. She happily surveyed the flowering heather which spanned the horizon.

  “The Gaiaroots are so abundant here among the heather,” she explained. “Mairead brought me to this spot once to gather thyme, but I discovered these miracle plants. I never knew that they grew in the highlands.” She went back to her digging. “And ‘tis fortunate how easily I can replenish my supply.”

  Darra continued with the medicinal virtues of the root, and how it could treat fevers, wounds, sore throats, and a host of other internal ailments. But he could scarcely concentrate on the stream of information when all he wanted was to take a strand of her silky golden hair, place it under his nose and breathe in her sweet womanly perfume.

  He ached to feel her again.

  Rory pushed away from the tree and approached her.

  “My medicine book at home…” She paused in her digging, her voice trailing off as she spied his boots in front of her. Slowly she looked up, settling her regard on his visage.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked, a delicate brow raised in puzzlement.

  A streak of energy shot through him as he took her hand, pulling her up from the ground. She felt the disturbance as well because she dropped the dagger in her hand. Darra stared at him as if he had somehow hexed her. But it was really she who bewitched him.

  “There is nay one here but the two of us,” he said, reaching to touch her cheek, caressing the smooth, creamy skin. He remembered that the rest of her body was as soft, as lovely, and he wanted to plunge himself into her.

  Her eyes darkened with barely suppressed hunger, and she licked her lips nervously. “What do you —?”

  He shook his head, cutting her off. “We need tae finish what we started in the stable,” he said, his hot gaze roving over her curves.

  A flush stained her cheeks and she bent her head.

  “Nay, lass, dinnae look away from me,” he commanded softly.

  Darra dragged her eyes from the ground. But then her attention became riveted to the sizable bulge beneath his great kilt.

  When he was satisfied that he had Darra’s full attention, he lifted up his kilt to display his arousal, which was standing erect and proud. Even though she had seen him before, she allowed herself to study him with unabashed fascination. And he was as breathtaking as she remembered. Still, it was difficult to fathom how his entire shaft had entered her. But somehow it did.

  “Do ye like what ye see, lass?” he murmured. His hand gripped his cock, and he began to stroke the rigid appendage.

  At his question a streak of heat zipped through her entire frame. She wet her lips, but she was unable to speak.

  One corner of his mouth quirked at her loss for words. With his muscular legs wide apart, he continued to knead the flanged head of his cock. She didn’t know if it was her imagination, but he seemed to grow bigger the longer she ogled him.

  But then it seemed that he had enough of playing. Dropping his hand, he moved until he stood an arm’s length away. The intense heat that radiated off his muscular build made her take a step back and she bumped into the oak tree.

  Placing a hand on the tree trunk, he bent his head. “In case ye didnae notice, lass, ye drive me mad with desire for ye,” he said, his hot breath brushing across her temple.

  He brought one hand to cup her face, capturing her lips in a lush kiss that was laced with need, want, and primal hunger.

  The intensity of the contact sparked a moment of shock to her system, but then little by little, her body began to yield, to melt against his solidness. It seemed to know that this was where it belonged, where it wanted to stay.

  Darra placed her palms at the sides of his face, kissing him back. Sparks flew with every press of her lips. At first he held still, allowing her to leisurely explore his sculpted lips. But then he had enough.

  His strong arms wrapped around her hips, drawing her closer until she could feel the ridge of his erection thrusting insistently against her sex. She already knew how it felt to be pleasured by him, to have that hard, firm part of him impale her.

  A moan of pure desire purred in her chest. And an eagerness welled up in her belly. Suddenly she wanted him inside her. Now.

  “Please, Rory,” she said.

  “Please what?” he murmured.

  His hand went to her hair, brushing it aside so that he exposed her neck. He then buried his face at the curve of her neck, grazing his hot lips along the sensitive part of her skin.

  She let out a soft whimper and tilted her head, giving him greater access. His searing touch shot straight down to her stomach. That now familiar liquid fire coiled further down until it settled at her core, making her damp.

  As if he sensed the inviting heat from her sex, his sinewy arm tightened around her hips, drawing her close. At the same time, he dragged his mouth across her jaw line and settled his lips over hers. Her arms went up and circled his neck as she pressed herself closer to his rigid frame.

  He slipped his tongue into her mouth while another sigh gathered deep in her throat. Just then, he pushed her gently against the tree trunk, and his large palm drifted down her leg. Hoisting the hem of her gown, he drew the material to her midriff. She vaguely noted a cool breeze brushing against her scorched skin. He raised her leg and wrapped it around his waist, pressing his throbbing member against her slick heat.

  She gasped as his hips began to rock against her, the back and forth motion causing the tip of his rod to lightly stroke her moist folds. A streak of relentless anticipation coursed through her center. If it was possible, she could feel herself becoming wetter, slicker with each pass. It was pure torture. It was pure bliss.

  Leaning back against the rough bark, she savored the delicious agony of his shaft rubbing along her clitoris. She thought that she would collapse from the pleasure of it.

  But he stopped.

  Vaguely, she felt him moving away from her as he tugged down her skirt.

  “Rory?” she said as a sense of loss crashed down on her.

  “Someone’s coming,” he said, quickly adjusting his kilt.

  She looked past his shoulders, and saw Ewan riding toward them, his arm flailing in the air while he shouted Rory’s name.

  Her heart froze as reality hit her like a bucket of freezing water. If Rory was less alert, she would have been caught in an illicit act. What was it about him that made her lose all her faculties?

  A blush rose to her cheeks as she remembered her wanton behavior. The first time they made love, she merely wanted to experience rapturous passion. But now she wanted to keep experiencing it.

  Ewan jumped down from his horse and picked his way through the rocky surface, his youthful face red with exertion. When he finally reached them, he bent over at his waist, his hands braced against his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Mairead —” he gasped. He tried again. “Mairead said tae come get ye.”

  “Why?” Rory said, sharply.

  “’Tis Da,” Ewan said, taking a big gulp of air and gesturing toward Tancraig Castle. “His fever is back and raging worse than before.”

  Darra moved quickly to gather her basket. “Let us get back to the castle.�
��

  They tore across the rocky, uneven terrain, their horses’ hooves kicking up clumps of heather and dirt. All the while, her mind raced. Why was Eanruing feverish again? When she had left, his temperature was stable. She had given Mairead instruction to administer the herbal tincture every three hours. Did she forget? It didn’t make any sense that his fever was getting worse.

  Glancing over at Rory, she saw that his face was tensed. Any trace of the playful, passionate man that kissed her was gone.

  Mairead waited for them at the steps of the keep. When she saw them approaching, the worried expression on her pretty face turned to relief.

  “I was uncertain whether or nae Ewan would be able tae find ye.” She signaled for the stable hands to take the horses away.

  “Tell me what happened,” Rory said.

  Mairead gave them a recount as she led them to Eanruing’s bed chamber. Blane and the rest of Rory’s siblings were already there.

  Everyone looked at them as soon as they entered.

  “’Tis all her fault,” Blane said, pointing a finger at Darra. “I dinnae ken why ye brought her here, Rory. She cannae be trusted.”

  Her steps faltered. “But I have not —”

  “I think ye have given him poison.” Blane stared at everyone in the room. “Have ye ever considered that the “medicine” that she’s given tae Eanruing may nae contain the cure that she claims?”

  Blane glared at her as if she was a murderess, and suddenly she was filled with righteous indignation. In all her work as a healer, she had never been blamed for harming anyone. And to be so falsely accused wounded her deeply.

  “Why do you…?” Darra swallowed hard, struggling to control the anger in her voice. She tried again. “What have I ever done to make you hate me so?” she asked.

  “Ye are English.” He bent his head and spat on the ground as if that was all the explanation that he needed to give. But when he raised his head again, he sent her a frigid glare that chilled her to her marrow. “I hate the English.”

  She took a step back, feeling the blast of his enmity. “The English have also suffered,” she said. “I have seen what you Scots have done to my people.”