by J. D. Robb
Fergus, close beside her, heard his wife’s hiss of annoyance and turned to her before saying to his brother, “Then perhaps you’d allow me to lead an army against the barbarians while you…grow soft in your pleasures.”
Con’s eyes narrowed, the only sign of annoyance. “We will speak no more of war this night. Have you forgotten that this is a time of celebration?”
“I forget nothing.” Fergus glanced over his shoulder at a serving girl offering a basket of bread still warm from the oven, and scones drizzled with honey.
Filling his own plate and that of his wife, Fergus turned away from Laurel and bent to Dulcie. The two spoke in low tones, and though Laurel couldn’t hear the words, she had the sense that their voices bore traces of anger.
Throughout the meal, tankards were filled again and again. The more the crowd drank, the louder grew their laughter. And the bolder became the villagers, as one after another of the men got to his feet to sing the praises of the lady Laurel, and to drink to her health.
At one point, Con signaled for Brinna to approach.
At his whispered command, she touched Donovan on the shoulder. “I’ll take you to your chambers now.”
The boy turned to his father. “Do I have to leave?”
“Aye. A young warrior needs his sleep.”
“But I’ll miss the rest of the speeches.”
Con laughed. “When you’ve heard one, lad, you’ve heard enough. Go now.”
The boy obediently nodded, before bending to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Good night, Mother. I’ll come to your chambers on the morrow.”
Laurel watched as he followed the serving girl from the hall, and wondered at the curious warmth around her heart. Though he wasn’t really hers, she felt a glow just looking at him.
“We’ve raised a fine son.” Con’s voice rang with pride.
Again, that sudden warmth, though she knew she had no right to this man’s praise.
After some urging by Dulcie, Fergus stumbled to his feet. At once a hush fell over the crowd.
Fergus turned to his brother and the woman beside him. His words were halting at first, and it was clear that he felt awkward speaking to the crowd. “Let us drink to the laird, who was inconsolable at the loss of his beloved wife.”
The crowd was on its feet, shouting and draining their tankards, while servants scurried about, refilling them.
“And let us drink to the lady Laurel, who has returned to her rightful place beside her husband, and has restored the laird’s happiness.”
Again there was much shouting and drinking.
Con leaned around Laurel to clasp his brother’s hand. “I thank you, Fergus. It warms my heart to know that you share my happiness.”
Fergus looked glum. “’Twas Dulcie’s suggestion. For me, the happiness is clouded by the knowledge that the invaders go free, while we make merry in this place.”
“There is time enough to make war, my brother.” Con closed a hand over his brother’s clenched fist. “We will speak again on the morrow. But for tonight…” He stood, and the crowd fell silent. Catching Laurel’s hand, he drew her up to stand beside him. “I am thankful to the gods who have restored my heart to me. My wife and I are thankful for your love and loyalty. Now we retire to our chambers.”
There was much laughter and knowing looks.
Con held up his hands for silence. “As for the rest of you, let the feasting continue through the night.”
The crowd gave a roar of approval. Amid much clapping and stomping of feet, he led Laurel down the steps and through the great hall until, when the massive doors closed behind them, the sound of the crowd became little more than a low rumble.
Together they climbed the stairs to their chambers. As they stepped through the doorway and closed the door, Laurel found herself nearly trembling with the raw emotions assaulting her.
Most troubling to her was the knowledge that she wished, more than anything in this world, that she could give in and enjoy the pleasures this man was planning.
This man, who was another woman’s husband.
It was a thought that greatly troubled her even while the man himself was more tempting than anyone she’d ever known in this world.
Or in the world she’d left far behind.
Six
A fire burned in the hearth. It was the only light in the room, sending flickering shadows dancing across the walls and ceiling. The fragrance of evergreen and wood smoke perfumed the air.
Con took Laurel’s hand and led her through their chambers and past a closed door into a room beyond, where a figure lay amid a tangle of animal hides.
Staring down at the sleeping lad, Con squeezed her hand. “Each time I behold what you and I made together, my love, my heart is filled to overflowing. Is he not perfect?”
Too overcome to speak, Laurel merely nodded. How many times had she had just such a vision in her mind? A vision of standing, hand in hand with a man and staring at the face of their sleeping child. How often had she wondered what it would feel like to be a mother? To have a special someone who would love her unconditionally? The sight of Donovan, hair tousled, face angelic, stirred her heart as nothing else ever had.
“Poor Donovan suffered the loss of you as much as I did. But I was too lost in my own grief to give him the comfort he deserved.”
Laurel touched a finger to Con’s lips to silence him. “Don’t punish yourself so harshly, Conal. The boy loves you so much that the only thing he wants is to be like you in every way.”
He surprised her by taking her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth. “That isn’t possible, for he has been shaped as much by you as by me, love. And because of you, he shall be a far better man than I. Kinder. Wiser. Stronger.”
Laurel was moved to tears. How was it that this man’s words, and the mere brush of his lips on her flesh, could have this effect?
Seeing the depth of her emotions, he led her out of the lad’s chambers and closed the door before drawing her toward the warmth of the fire.
In their sleeping chamber, which could be seen through the open doorway, the soft animal hides had been turned down on the pallet, revealing snowy white linens.
On a side table stood a decanter of pale wine and two crystal goblets.
Con filled their glasses and crossed the room to hand one to Laurel. Though she was already feeling the effects of the ale from the feast, she accepted the goblet from his hand and absorbed the heat of his touch as his fingers brushed hers.
“The villagers drank to you, my love. Now I drink to us.”
“To us.” She echoed his words and sipped, before setting aside the goblet and straightening her shoulders. “About us, Conal, there are things I have to tell you.”
“Aye, my love. And things I must tell you, as well.” He followed her lead and set his goblet beside hers. “But all the words can wait. My feelings for you cannot.”
As he reached for her she placed her hand on his chest. “You need to hear me.”
“And I shall. But first, I have to kiss you, or my poor heart will surely stop beating.” He dragged her close and covered her mouth with his, pinning her hand between them.
She could feel the pounding of his heart. Could taste the urgency as he deepened the kiss. Could sense the hunger in him as he plundered her mouth, giving her no chance to speak, or even to think.
This kiss was different from all the rest. Before, his kisses had been tempered with tenderness, gentleness. But now there was something deeper, darker. A depth of passion and need. Driving, desperate need.
Her head was spinning. The ale? Or the potency of his kisses? She wanted to be sensible. Needed to be. For she owed it to him to tell him the truth about herself, now, before all was lost.
But she was quickly losing control of the situation.
“You can’t imagine the things I was thinking as I searched the forest for you, love.” He held her a little away, staring deeply into her eyes so that she could understand.
&nbs
p; The pain she could see there left her stunned and reeling, touching a chord deep inside her soul.
“Oh, my love.” He drew her close and began pressing soft, moist kisses across her cheek, to her ear, where he nibbled and whispered, “Dear heaven, in my mind’s eye I could see you at the hands of those barbarians. Enduring pain, humiliation, death.”
“Stop, Conal. You mustn’t torture yourself with…”
He ran light, feathery kisses down her throat and across her shoulder. “You’ve no idea the images that played through my mind. They caused me greater anguish than any wound I’ve ever endured in battle. I would rather die at the hands of my enemies than have to bear the loss of you again.”
She struggled to catch her breath. Against her will her fingers curled into the plaid at his chest, drawing him closer. She had a desperate need to cling to him and never let go. She knew better than to give in to these feelings. This would surely lead to madness. But here she was, playing with fire. And welcoming the heat. His passion fueled her own, until she was drowning in needs.
She moaned as he changed the angle of the kiss and took it deeper. Her blood heated and pulsed as his hands, those strong, clever hands, moved over her, tempting and arousing. She felt a rush of pure adrenaline as his head dipped lower, to the soft swell of her breast. Despite the barrier of her wool gown, she could feel the heat of his lips as he began to nibble, to suckle.
She knew she’d allowed him to cross a line, but there was no fight left in her. She was weary of trying to hold back. Tired of fighting him, and her own desperate desire. The truth was, she wanted what he wanted. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to give in to the pleasure, and go with her feelings.
At her gasp of pleasure he lifted his head and kissed her long and slow and deep. Against her mouth he muttered, “The wound to my heart was far worse than any injury from an enemy’s sword or dirk. I know in my heart that if I hadn’t soon found you, my own life would have ended. I hadn’t the will to go on without you, Laurel.”
“We have to talk. There are things you need to know about me.” She sucked in a breath and brought her hands to his chest, hoping for one last chance to tell him everything, before she lost control.
But he was beyond listening. Beyond reason. Beyond anything except the passion that had become a beast inside him, fighting to be free.
“The time for words is past, my love.” With his mouth on hers he backed her against the wall and kissed her until they were both gasping for air.
She was hot. The flesh at the small of her back, where his hand was resting, was on fire. Even her blood had turned to molten lava, flowing hotly through her veins. She longed to be rid of the heavy clothes that only added to the heat.
As if reading her mind, he released her only long enough to take hold of her gown with both hands and tear it in two before allowing the remnants to fall to the floor. The sound of the fabric ripping could barely be heard above the pounding of their two hearts.
“Oh, Laurel. My beautiful, perfect Laurel. I’ll have the village women make you a score of gowns to replace this one. But I must have you now.”
With a moan she cupped his head and offered her mouth in a kiss that spoke of hunger and need and a desperate desire to forget everything except this man, this moment. She’d never known a man who could ignite such passion with but a touch.
There were dozens of arguments flitting through her mind. She was an imposter who had no right to this. And what about his right? The right to know the truth about her, and where she came from. The right to make an informed decision about the woman in his arms. Would he hate her in the morning, if she let this opportunity pass?
That thought stopped her for an instant. But as he deepened his kiss, even that last thought was swept from her mind. For now, for this moment, nothing mattered except this man, this kiss, and this hard, driving need that had taken her over the edge of reason.
He brushed soft, butterfly kisses across her shoulder, then lower, to the swell of her breast. This time, without the gown as a barrier, his mouth closed around one erect nipple.
Her knees buckled, and she would have slipped bonelessly to the floor if his hands hadn’t been holding her. Hands that moved over her with all the skill of a long-lost lover who knew every part of her as intimately as he knew himself.
“You’re so beautiful, Laurel. My wife. My life. And you’re mine. All mine.”
Stunned, she clutched at him as he found her, hot and moist, and drove her to the first stunning peak.
“I love watching you. In the firelight you look like a goddess. My goddess of love.” His mouth moved over her body, making her tremble with need.
She was desperate to touch him as he was touching her. She reached a hand to tug aside the plaid. It slid to the floor to join her gown.
“Conal.” She struggled to speak over a throat gone dry at the sight of him. His body, lean and muscled, took her breath away. But it was his eyes that held her. Eyes dark and dangerous that seemed to see into her very heart, stripping her soul as bare as he’d stripped her body.
The darkness, the danger in those eyes excited her as much as any touch.
Trembling, she offered her lips and he took them with a fierceness that startled them both. And then they were lost in a swirling tide of pleasure.
The world beyond this room no longer mattered. The invaders, bent on destruction, and the traitor who had invited their evil, would be dealt with another time. The revelers in the great hall, consuming copious amounts of food and ale and sending up an occasional cheer, were forgotten. The world Laurel had left, and the strange one she’d entered, faded as they came together in a firestorm of passion.
No man had ever touched her like this. With lips and tongue and fingertips. One moment so gently she felt like weeping. The next, in a frenzy that had her pulse racing, her breath backing up in her throat. Taking her higher. Faster. Further. Until she moved in his arms, steeped in pleasure, eager to give as much as take.
With each touch of those clever hands, with each kiss, they were driven even further into the tide of madness.
Though the sleeping pallet was mere steps away, it seemed an impossible distance. He caught her hands and drew her to the floor, with only their clothes and the animal skins to cushion them.
Laurel could feel the tension humming through him. A tension that matched her own.
Driven by a need for release, she lay beside him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her.
“Take me, Conal. End this unbearable need.” When she lifted her face to his, he allowed his gaze to move slowly over her.
“Aye, love. ’Tis the same for me. A need too great.” His eyes were deep and unfathomable as they stared into hers. “Look at me, Laurel.”
Her eyes were fixed on him as she gave herself up to him completely.
“I want to watch you as I love you. I want you to watch me, and know this. I love you always. Not just until death, but for all time.”
When he entered her she kept her eyes steady on his, though her vision was blurred by tears. “And I…”
Her mouth opened. Her lips formed the words, but there was no time to speak as she wrapped herself around him, needing to move with him, climb with him.
Their breathing grew labored as they moved beyond words, beyond thought, beyond her world or his.
On the hearth an ember exploded into millions of tiny light fragments, mirroring the explosion of two hearts and souls as they seemed to reach the sky and shatter into millions of tiny star fragments, before drifting slowly back to earth.
It was the most incredible journey of their lives.
“Forgive me. I was too desperate.” Con kissed away the tears that trickled from the corner of her eye. “I couldn’t take the time with you that you deserved.”
“That isn’t why I’m weeping, Conal.” She reached up to run a finger over the frown line between his brows. “I was just so touched by your declaration of love. You see, I don’t d
eserve it.”
“Love is not something we deserve. It simply is. I have loved you since I was no more than Donovan’s age. I will continue to love you until these Highlands disappear from the earth. Do you not see? My love for you is never ending, Laurel.” He smiled. “My father would surely agree. The first time he met you, he told me that the lass who had stolen my heart was a very old soul.”
Laurel sat up, framing his face with her hands, staring deeply into his eyes. “Did he really say that?”
“Aye.” He grinned. “Why do you find that surprising?”
“Because my grandmother used to say that to me. She often told me that I was an old soul. I was never quite certain what she meant by it.”
“Nor I.” Con drew her down, wrapping her close in his arms. “But I like to think it means that our souls have been united since the beginning of time.” He stared into her eyes. “You’re aptly named, my love. With the light that dances in those eyes, you could be our very own mountain laurel, freshly picked from the Highland hills. I love you, my mountain laurel. Now and forever, my darling.”
She drew in a ragged breath, wondering what would happen to all his declarations of love when he learned the truth about her.
But not now. Not tonight. What they had just shared was too special, too earth-shattering, to spoil the moment. She was still so stunned by their lovemaking that she wasn’t willing to risk this glow to the harsh light of reality.
Instead, she snuggled closer, wanting, needing, to draw out these special feelings for a while longer.
When she sighed, he drew her into the circle of his arms and pressed his mouth to a tangle of damp hair at her temple. “This is where you belong, my love. Here. Safe. With your heart beating in time to mine.”
“Oh, Conal.” She buried her face against his chest, breathing him in. “If only it could always be.”
“Trust me, my love.” He moved a little away, and tipped up her face for his kiss. Against her mouth he whispered, “As long as we have our love, nothing can ever separate us again.”
