Forbidden Vow

by Cosby, Diana

  At her moan, at how her body trembled beneath his touch, he slowed, took his time, his hands caressing, stroking, wanting to discover her body’s every secret.

  As he moved his hands to cup her hips, like a temptress, she began to rock against his hard length with slow, mind-destroying strokes.

  At the wicked smile in her eyes, Aiden realized she knew exactly what she was doing to him. “Lass,” he groaned, “you are driving me mad.”

  “Nay,” she said with a smoky laugh. “This”—her hand loosened his garb, she freed him, and then lowered until her soft breath spilled over his hard length. Her eyes locked on his—“is what I do if I want to drive you mad.” Her tongue flicked over his sensitive tip.

  Sensation exploded, and his body trembled as her mouth continued its wondrous foray. He gasped for air. “Lass, I dinna think—”

  “’Tis what I planned.” Gwendolyn slid her lips over his full length, her tongue doing magical things as her mouth possessed him, went deeper.

  With a groan, Aiden caught her hair, torn between giving her free rein and taking charge. Or, with her expertly licking him, sucking his hardness as her fingers joined in their sensual assault, did he have a chance of such.

  Gwendolyn’s throaty purr assured him she enjoyed this sensual command. The swirl of sensation grew, built. On edge, Aiden rolled her over, pinned her beneath his body, and gritted his teeth against a wave of heat threatening to shatter his control.

  “I thought you liked that?” she asked with feigned innocence.

  Liked that? An understatement. It had taken the last fragment of his will not to allow her to finish. “Aye,” he rasped, “too much. A moment more and…”

  She chuckled.

  The lass was enjoying herself, not that he didn’t appreciate her skill. Aye, later he would allow her to touch him as she chose, and would well enjoy her clever hands. For now… “We will see who is laughing.”

  After discarding the remainder of his garb, he took his time exposing her to his view, touching her, enjoying the way her body arched, how her fingers skimmed over his flesh. Their breaths merged, entwined, and he savored her each gasp, delighted in learning what pleased her, astounded by the sensations her touch ignited.

  Aiden linked his fingers with hers as he poised himself at her slick entrance, lifted her hands over her head. “I love you, Gwendolyn.”

  * * * *

  Gwendolyn’s heart pounded as Aiden stared down at her, humbled she’d found a man of such compassion, a stalwart warrior who had won her heart. “I love you, Aiden,” she replied on a whisper.

  Heat filled his eyes as he moved his lips over hers, and she took, gave, savored the slide of their bodies, and his whispered words as his mouth worshiped her skin. Candlelight flickered against the walls in a sultry sway as she enjoyed his touch, explored his hard curves.

  Sighs melded into gasps, the magnitude of what he could make her feel, of what he had given her leaving her humbled. Never had she believed she could care for a man with such intensity, much less love him and want him with her forever.

  Until Aiden, she had never truly understood how a man could transform her life, not only bringing her hope but heart-felt happiness.

  Gwendolyn welcomed him into her slick warmth. Ecstasy filled her as she met his every thrust, wanting him, wanting their children, and wanting their life together. Pressure built, and an explosion of intense pleasure blurred her thoughts. Then she was floating, caught in a whirlwind, slowly drifting back.

  Aiden’s cry of release joined hers, then he rolled to his side and cradled her against his chest.

  Breath coming fast, her body glistening within the glow of firelight, she snuggled against him, never so happy in her life. Emotion swelled in her throat, and she damned the morning, but hours away.

  Brows narrowed, he lifted her chin. “What is wrong?”

  Emotion clogging her throat, she damned the passage of time, wished they could remain here forever. “I dinna want you to go.”

  Fierce eyes held hers. “Neither do I want to leave you, but I will return, that I swear.”

  Pushing back the tears, refusing to mar the beauty of this night with sadness, Gwendolyn lay her hand on her stomach, prayed they had created life. “Mayhap I am carrying our child.”

  His eyes softened with emotion. With reverence, he threaded his fingers through hers. “I pray so; ’twould be the greatest gift,” Aiden said as he rolled her onto her back with a teasing smile, “nor am I a man who leaves naught to chance.” Catching her mouth in a fierce kiss, he again drove deep inside her.

  Epilogue

  Encircled within Aiden’s arms, Gwendolyn leaned against his chest. She looked down upon their sons, asleep in their crib, thankful for Aiden’s return. Tears burned her eyes at the precious memory of him holding Hughe and Ihon in his arms, and of the astonishment and love on his war-hardened face. ’Twas a memory she would cherish forever.

  Pride filled Aiden’s eyes. “They are handsome lads.”

  “Like their father.”

  He turned her in his arms and lifted a brow. “Indeed?”

  “Very much so.” She exhaled with a contented sigh. “After you seized Thorburn Castle, King Robert was generous to allow you to return instead of continuing with his men.”

  Aiden grunted. “A decision based on need. With Latharn Castle recaptured and news of Lord Comyn’s need to keep a firm presence in the Highlands, our sovereign wants to ensure the Templar stronghold remains safe.”

  “Regardless the reason, I am thankful you are here,” she said. “It seemed like forever until you returned.”

  “Each day I was gone, I missed you desperately.” He cupped her chin. “Gwendolyn, I love you; forever you will have my heart.”

  “I love you as well,” she whispered.

  Pride filled his gaze. “I am still astonished that we have two sons.”

  She arched a playful brow. “Did I not tell you twins have been known in my family?”

  “Something you omitted. But”—he tilted her head and claimed her mouth, slow, with possession until she shuddered against him—“I believe they need sisters.”

  Heat searing her, she pressed her body against his. “Do you, now?”

  “I do.” Aiden lifted her in his arms and strode toward their bedchamber. “And I am a man who finishes what he starts.”

  Gwendolyn’s laughter filled the room as he lay her on their bed, loving his playfulness, the inherent gentleness, the warrior who from the first had swept her off her feet. “I am counting on that, my lord.”

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest appreciation to Dick and Ann Brandt for sharing how, during World War II, if a soldier already had someone to write to, they would pass a letter requesting to be a pen pal to someone without one. This intriguing fact was my inspiration for Aiden and Gwendolyn’s story.

  My sincere thanks to Cameron John Morrison, Kathryn Warner, and Jody Allen for answering numerous questions about medieval Scotland and England. I would also like to thank The National Trust for Scotland, which acts as guardian of Scotland’s magnificent heritage of architectural, scenic, and historic treasures. In addition, I am thankful for the immense support from my husband, parents, family, and friends. My deepest wish is that everyone is as blessed when they pursue their dreams.

  My sincere thanks to my editor, Esi Sogah; my agent, Holly Root; production editor Rebecca Cremonese; copy editor Randy Ladenheim-Gil; and my critique partners, Cindy Nord and Michelle Hancock, for helping Aiden and Gwendolyn’s story come to life. A huge thanks to the Roving Lunatics (Mary Beth Shortt and Sandra Hughes), Nancy Bessler, and The Wild Writers for their friendship and support over the years!

  *A very special thanks to Sulay Hernandez for believing in me from the start.

  Meet the Author

  A retired Navy Chief, AGC (AW), Diana Cosby is a
n international bestselling author of Scottish medieval romantic suspense. Diana has spoken at the Library of Congress, appeared at Lady Jane’s Salon NYC, in Woman’s Day, on Texoma Living! Magazine, USA Today’s romance blog, “Happily Ever After,” and MSN.com.

  After retiring from the navy, Diana dove into her passion—writing romance novels. With thirty-four moves behind her, she was anxious to create characters who reflected the amazing cultures and people she’s met throughout the world. Diana looks forward to the years ahead of writing and meeting the amazing people who will share this journey.

  Diana Cosby, International Bestselling Author

  www.dianacosby.com

  Forbidden Alliance

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next romance in the Forbidden series

  Coming soon from Diana Cosby and Lyrical Books!

  Chapter 1

  Scotland, November 1308

  Snow pelted Elspet McReynolds as she clutched her dagger, her gaze riveted on the two roughly dressed men paces away.

  “Hand over the sack!” the stocky one demanded, a jagged scar across his cheek.

  His partner with a scraggly beard narrowed his eyes.

  Heart pounding, she tightened her grip. God in heaven, how had her simple plan gone so horribly wrong? She’d despised robbing these strangers, a contemptable action forced by the Earl of Dalkirk’s treachery.

  Horrific images of the day before stormed her mind. The grizzly death of her mother and step-father, her step-brother Blar’s screams as he was dragged away by the murdering bastard’s men, and how the earl had hauled her to his chamber.

  Nausea welled in her gut at memories of her vicious fight for freedom. How dare the arrogant bastard believe that she would ever willingly share his bed. Had the noble not deflected her dagger, she would have driven the sgian dubh deep into his vile heart. She found grim satisfaction that her blade had left a long gash across his cheek.

  With the noble howling in pain and demanding that she be captured and killed, she’d fled Tiran Castle. However much she yearned to leave Dalkirk land, she couldn’t leave her step-brother to die in the earl’s dungeon.

  Terrified for Blar’s life, she’d begged her family’s longtime friends to help her discover if he was alive. They’d agreed. But once they’d thought her asleep, she’d overheard them planning to turn her in to gain favor in the earl’s eyes.

  Devastated by their betrayal, she’d slipped from their home.

  Earlier today she’d found a castle guard who’d sworn that her stepbrother still lived. For a pound he’d agreed to help Blar escape. This, on her mind when she’d stumbled across their camp in the woods and had seen both strangers at the river, propelled her to foolishly try and rob them.

  A brief search had revealed where the travelers kept their coin. Except, before she could slip away, they’d spotted her and given chase.

  Body trembling, she glared at the angry faces of the furious men, damned she hadn’t stolen one of their horses and ridden away. With the earl calling for her death, she had naught to lose.

  Another snow-drenched gust whipped past blinding her from her ill-chosen victims. Too aware of the steep slope behind her, the harsh landscape typical of the Highlands, she edged to her left. If only she could reach the trees a short sprint away she might lose them in the dense woods.

  The man with the scraggly beard stepped closer. “Hand it over!”

  Her blade trembled in her hand. She must find a way to distract them. “Stay back.”

  “Nay one steals from me!” Teeth barred, the scarred man moved to the side and cornered her against the dangerous incline.

  Fear a bitter slide in her throat, the icy ground crunched beneath Elspet as she edged back. “I am sorry. I needed but a few coins, I—”

  The scarred man lunged.

  With a scream she slashed her blade.

  A thin line of blood streaked his chin. “You bloody bitch!” With a snarl, he caught her arms. After twisting both behind her back, he seized the bag of coins.

  Panicking, she struggled to break free. “You have your money, release me!”

  With a grunt, the thickset man stowed the leather sack. “Nay, lass, you have earned naught but punishment for your thievery.” He wrenched open her cape. “Penance,” he said as his eyes darkened, “I shall enjoy delivering.”

  His friend gave a cruel laugh. “A comely wench indeed.”

  “Nay!” Fresh terror building in her chest, and she drove her foot against her captor’s thigh.

  With a curse, the stocky man fisted his hand, swung.

  Pain exploded in Elspet’s head, and she collapsed onto the snow-covered ground.

  * * * *

  At a woman’s scream, Sir Cailin MacHugh reined his war horse to a stop. Gaze narrowed, he scanned the area.

  Another shriek rang out.

  Jaw tight, he whirled his destrier toward the sound, and kicked him into a gallop.

  Through the break in the trees ahead, a burly man stood over a slender woman garbed in a torn, pale green gown. At his side leered a man with a scraggly beard, as raggedly dressed as the first.

  Fury exploded in Cailin’s mind at memories of a woman he’d cared for deeply who had sought his protection after she’d been badly beaten. As he’d held her bruised and bloody body in his arms, prayed for her to live, she’d drawn her last breath. From that moment he’d sworn that never again would he allow a man to harm a lass.

  Jaw set, he leaned low and urged his horse faster.

  The attacker hauled her up, drew his fist back to land another blow.

  Blade drawn, with a roar, Cailin jumped his steed over a fallen log and into the clearing. “Release her!”

  Her attacker whirled. Outraged eyes shifted to fear as they locked on his broadsword. “You bloody want her,” he snarled, “here!” He shoved the lass down the steep incline. “Run!”

  Brush snapped as both men bolted to their horses and galloped away.

  Instinct urged Cailin to give chase; lost against his need to protect. He kicked his mount to the edge.

  Like a broken doll, fingers splayed against the snow-covered ground, the woman lay at the bottom of the hill.

  An icy burst of wind howled past as he dismounted, then hurried down the slope.

  Half-frozen rocks loosened, clattered ahead of him.

  With a curse, he shifted to the right to avoid any falling debris hitting the unconscious woman.

  Finally at the bottom, he knelt by her side. Chestnut brown hair dusted with the fall of snow framed her angelic face. A gash creased her right brow, and a bruise darkened her cheek, both in stark contrast to her pale skin.

  With a prayer she was alive, Cailin gently touched her shoulder. Once, twice. “Lass.”

  Eyes the color of water drenched moss flickered open and focused on him. Their depth, intensity, stole his breath.

  On a gasp she rolled away and then stumbled to her feet. Favoring her ankle, she backed up.

  Cailin slowly stood. “Dinna be afraid,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “I am here to help you.”

  A shiver wracked her body, then another. With a grimace of pain, she tugged her cape together, then glanced upwards toward the knoll where one of the attackers had seized her moments before. Her gaze narrowed on him. “Wh-who are you?”

  “Sir Cailin.” Though years had passed since he’d ridden on Dalkirk land, he couldn’t risk her recognizing his surname and warning his uncle, let alone the rest of the earl’s reprobates, of his return. “And your name?”

  The beautiful woman hesitated, her eyes dark with distrust. “Kenzie.”

  By her proper speech and the quality of her ruined gown, he suspected she was a woman of noble birth. The lass’s reason for keeping her status a secret could be endless and as worthy as his own. With the brief time they would remain tog
ether, nor would he seek an answer.

  “Does your family live nearby?” he asked.

  She angled her chin. “Does yours?”

  Blast it. Was her family of nobility within Dalkirk or had they given the earl their fealty?

  “Do you know the men who attacked me?” she asked, suspicion raw in her words.

  He shook his head. The combination of her physical struggle and swelling jaw made his gut twist. By God he’d catch the scoundrels. He gestured to her leg. “’Twas a nasty fall. You are injured.”

  Face taut, she shrugged. “Only bruised.”

  He grunted. “That I doubt. Let me carry you. You are favoring your ankle, you canna climb back up on your own.”

  Defiance blazed in her eyes. “I can make it without your help.”

  Regardless of the pain, if he let her, no doubt she’d try. “Aye, but ’tis rest and a warm fire you would be needing, not climbing up the brae, and,” Cailin said with emphasis, “in pain.”

  In a calmer setting he would have lingered in speculation at her bold manner. Except with her injury, the snow falling at an increasing rate, and the howl of bitter wind, they needed to find shelter.

  Scraping her teeth over her lower lip, she scoured the surroundings then stilled

  He followed her gaze.

  A step to his left, half buried in snow, lay her sgian dubh, a smear of blood across the blade.

  Before she could move, he retrieved the knife and wiped it clean. Handle facing her, he offered her the dagger.

  Eyes wary, she accepted her weapon. “Why are you helping me?”

  “You were in danger.”

  Kenzie sheathed her blade. “As simple as that?”

  He held out his hand. “Aye. We must go before the weather makes travel impossible.”

  After a brief hesitation, during which her gaze seemed to pierce his and evaluate his trustworthiness, she placed her hand upon his open palm.

  At the silkiness of her skin against his, Cailin smothered the flare of awareness. Irritated by the desire she stirred, he lifted her in his arms.