There was only one solution. Do what he had intended to do in the first place. Tonight they would be hand-fasted.
He watched Jillian out of the corner of his eye as she sat beside him at the dinner table. Outwardly, she appeared calm enough, but she toyed with her food.
“’Tis safe to eat, lass,” he whispered. “Everything on your plate has been taken from my own portions.”
She gave a little start, as though she had been deep in thought. “It’s not that. My stomach has been upset again. Probably a leftover of whatever Delia was using.”
Ian frowned. The effects of the poison should have worn off by now. Tomorrow he would ask Bridget to get a potion from the local healer in the village. But for tonight…
“I must talk to ye,” he said.
“Now? It would be rude of us to leave the table.”
Ian’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Still being proper, lass?”
“There’s nothing wrong with using good manners,” Jillian said somewhat primly.
“I have an announcement to make after dinner,” Ian replied. “I want to tell ye about it first.”
“What is it?” Jillian asked.
Ian looked around. No one seemed to be listening to them, since Fiona was chattering on about the bracelet she had wanted at the market. Duncan and Broc were too far down the table to hear.
“I want ye with me tonight. In my bed.”
Jillian blushed. “Surely you don’t mean to announce that to everyone?”
“Aye. I do.”
Her face grew even pinker as she looked at him with startled eyes. “You can’t. They will think me a wanton.”
“Nae. Ye will not be my leman,” Ian said firmly and took her hand in his. “’Tis a ceremony we have here that will make ye my woman in the eyes of God and my clan. ’Tis called a hand-fasting. It allows for a mon and a woman to hold to each other for a year and a day.”
Jillian frowned slightly. “Is that not something pagan?”
Ian inclined his head. “The custom is old, before the Christians came. It was the way the ancient priests blessed unions. Highlanders cling to those old ways. I will be honoring ye, lass.”
“Who will perform such a ceremony? Please don’t tell me you have a Druid living here.” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t quite work.
“Nae Druid,” Ian answered with a smile. “’Tis a Christian priest who will speak the words.” He circled his callused thumb on the smooth skin of her palm gently. “It is the best way I can protect ye. If anyone here had plans to harm ye, he will think twice about having to cross swords with the laird. Will ye agree to it?”
A soft mewl escaped her lips as he continued his slow, sensual stroking of her hand. He watched in fascination as her breathing grew shallow and her eyes darkened with desire. Immediately, his randy member hardened and pushed against his trews.
Slowly, she nodded. “Yes.”
Ian let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Jillian had said yes. She was going to be his. He pushed his chair back and stood. The room quieted.
“I have an announcement,” he said and raised his glass. “Lady Newburn has agreed to hand-fast with me. ’Twill be done this eve.”
His sisters stared at him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Caitlin and Caylin giggled. Shane studied him thoughtfully. Predictably, the explosion came from far down the table.
“Ye would hand-fast to an Englishwoman?” Duncan snarled.
“It seems the rumors are true then,” Broc added with his own sneer. “Ye play into the English prince’s hands.”
Ian rounded on both of them. “It doona matter if she be English. The wars are over. Bonnie Prince Charlie lost. If we are to keep our lands, we must work together.”
“Ye’ll have a hard time convincing the other clans that ye still be Scot,” Duncan said stubbornly.
Ian straightened his shoulders and drew himself to his full, impressive height. His face was hard, his mouth set in a grim line. “I will call a council, Uncle. And I will introduce Jillian. I expect my own clansmen to support me.”
Duncan growled, but remained silent. Ian turned back to his sisters. “Bridget, would ye fetch the priest?”
Minutes later, the plump, elderly man arrived, adjusting his stole. Ian spoke to him privately for a minute and a look of surprise flitted across the priest’s face, but then he nodded.
“Come forward, my child,” he said to Jillian, “and place your hand in the laird’s.”
Her hand felt so small and soft in Ian’s. Vulnerable. He felt a fierce desire to protect her. And he would. With his sword and with his life if necessary.
She gave a little start as Shane bound their wrists together with a soft leather strip. When the priest spoke, it was in Gaelic, and Jillian looked up at Ian questioningly.
“’Tis the language of the hand-fast,” he whispered and was relieved that she entwined their fingers. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Soon…
“Do ye agree to be hand-fasted?” the priest asked Jillian.
She hesitated and then took a deep breath. “Yes, I do.”
“I do too,” Ian said before the priest could ask and then put his other arm around her, drawing her to him for a hungry, wet kiss that probably had Bridget shielding the eyes of the twins. Dimly, his mind told him to draw back. Soon, they would be alone. Surprisingly, Jillian clung to him and he deepened the kiss, oblivious to the people around him.
At the moment, it was what his other head wanted that mattered.
Jillian looked around Ian’s bedchamber nervously. What had she done, agreeing to hand-fast with him? How would she be able to leave him after a year? For she knew that eventually he would realize the need for an heir, not only for Cantford, but for his own clan. Her heart would be broken and yet… At least, she would have him for a year. After that, she would live with his memory.
She fingered the soft linen of the night rail that Bridget had brought to her and sat on the edge of the massive bed and then sprang up again. Ian was still downstairs accepting congratulations from some and pacifying his uncle and Broc, but it would hardly be seemly for her to be so brazen as to wait in his bed. She moved to the chair near the brazier and poured a glass of wine from the decanter that one of the servants had brought up. Her stomach felt queasy again, no doubt from the suddenness of all this. Perhaps the wine would calm her down.
Jillian was on her second glass when she heard the doorknob turn and Ian entered the room. She drank in the magnificent of his tall, broad-shouldered body. The saffron shirt that clung to his massive chest, the blue and green plaid that draped his hips but left well-muscled calves exposed… He looked every inch the Highland laird. English dandies would never appeal to her again.
He closed the door and slid the bolt. “Come here,” he said softly.
Perhaps the wine had mellowed her, but she swayed her hips as she moved toward him and was rewarded with an appreciative look as his eyes scanned her breasts and took in her hip movement. She wasn’t even embarrassed over the nearly transparent material of the night rail.
Ian drew her into his arms, capturing her mouth with his. His lips were soft and warm as he kissed her gently with small, teasing kisses. She opened her mouth for him, but he merely licked her bottom lip slowly before leisurely doing the same to the top. Then he proceeded to rain butterfly kisses across her forehead and eyelids and down her cheek, pausing to nibble on her ear.
His hands caressed her back before sliding up her ribs to brush the sides of her breasts lightly. Jillian arched into his hands and he chuckled.
“Ye seem eager to move on,” he said.
“I want you,” she replied, a little surprised at her own boldness.
“Do ye now?” Ian flicked a thumb over one nipple and then slowly, maddeningly, circled the other one with his finger tip. “I thought to take my time.”
He trailed his fingers down her stomach but stopped short of where she wanted them to be. He moved t
hem upward once more to tease the hard little tips of her breasts again. His gaze never left her face.
Jillian vaguely wondered if something had been put into the wine. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending igniting, wanting to feel him pressed up against her, to do more than this agonizingly sweet torture of teasing body parts that wanted so much more.
A small groan escaped her lips and she saw his eyes darken with awareness.
“Undo your gown,” he whispered hoarsely. “Take if off for me.”
A month or two ago, she would have been mortified at such a request. But now, seeing the desire in his eyes, something primal and utterly feminine swept over her. Two could play this game. She gave him a smile and then slowly began to loosen the satin ribbons. Even more slowly, she began to slip the gown off her shoulders, stopping just before she exposed her nipples.
With a growl, he reached for the garment and pulled it down, letting it puddle on the floor around her ankles. Blessed relief came as he bent his head to suckle, drawing long and deep while his hand cupped and kneaded the other breast. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bed, stopping only to strip off his own clothes before joining her.
There was nothing teasing about his kiss this time. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sliding between her lips in strokes that imitated what he was about to do. He deepened the kiss as one thigh pushed her legs apart.
“I had thought to prolong this for ye, but ye drive me wild. I canna stop myself.”
His erection pressed hard as a rock against her hip as his hand deftly prepared her for his entry. At this moment, he was totally hers. This huge, strong warrior who could swing a claymore with one hand was at her mercy. A rush of power surged through Jillian. Never had she known that women possessed such an ability. So maybe it was her turn to torture him a little bit.
“Stop,” she said.
For a moment, she didn’t think he would, but his hand slowed and he rose up on an elbow, a look of anguish on his face.
“Ye want me to what?”
“Stop.”
His look turned to puzzlement. “Ye doona have to be afraid, Jillie. Ye remember there was no pain last time. I wilna hurt ye.”
She wiggled out from under him and sat. “I’m not worried about your hurting me.”
“Then what is it?” His voice sounded raspy and his breathing was still shallow. “Ye wanted me just a minute ago.”
“Oh, I still want you,” Jillian replied as she traced a small pattern across his chest, her palm rubbing against his flat nipple and eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. “I just intend to show you how much.”
“What are—?”
“Shhh. Just lie back.”
His eyes darkened in response, but he did as he was told.
Jillian slid down beside him and teased his nipple with her tongue as he had done to her. She trailed her hand down the flat ridges of his belly and began feather-light strokes along the length of his shaft. His member jerked beneath her touch and she heard him moan. She glided her fingers over the smooth, round tip of him and he gasped. Her fingers encircled him, not quite able to close, and he reached down to show her how to move her hand. He groaned again as her stroking became faster and his body began to shake.
“Ye need to stop, lass, or I’ll spill myself in your hand.”
She slowed her movements, reluctantly trailing her hand back across his taut belly. His manhood fascinated her. The skin was velvet-soft, yet he was as hard as steel beneath. She saw a tiny bead of moisture appear on his tip and wondered what it would taste like. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, but his eyes were closed. With a bold daring she didn’t know she possessed, she leaned down again and slowly licked his head. The droplet tasted salty and slightly bitter.
He shuddered and his eyes sprang open as he raised himself on his elbows to look down at her.
“What—? Ah, lass, ye doona have to do that.”
“Do you not want me to?”
“’Tis not that. In truth, ’tis what every man wants, but—”
“Then hush,” she said and swept her tongue across him again, causing him to growl low in his throat. “I want to taste you like you tasted me.” She closed her lips over him and began to suck. She swirled her tongue around him, taking him deeper into her mouth, astounded at the way his body arched and shook. The strange noises he was making stirred something deep inside her. Something primal and instinctive. She wanted as much of him as she could take.
Suddenly she was airborne and then flat on her back, looking up at him. His eyes burned with raw desire even as he spread her legs and thrust inside of her in a long, deep stroke. He rode her hard, plunging in to the hilt while her body writhed beneath him. She matched his strokes with the rise and fall of her hips. He plundered her, leaving no doubt in either of their minds that she was his.
Jillian took him, her body tightening, thigh and stomach muscles beginning to contract as he brought her to the very limit of sanity. Like a huge wave, building strength, frothing before it began to crest, her body felt boneless, floating, answering only to the rhythmical hard, deep thrusts that were as relentless as the ocean’s ebb and flow. Then the wave broke, crashing over her and eventually washing her gently to the shore of reality.
For long moments, they were quiet, waiting for their breathing to steady. And then, as if the devil himself were prodding her, Jillian reached for Ian again and was delighted when her hand caused him to grow hard and firm once more.
Shortly before dawn, their bodies sated and exhausted, Ian pulled her rounded bottom against his thighs, relishing in how perfectly they fit together. One arm curved over her waist to cup her breast.
“Ye are mine, now,” he said contentedly. “Forever.”
Jillian turned in his arms, not really wanting to break the magic of the night, but she knew she had to do so. “You said the hand-fast was for a year.”
“Aye. Then the couple decides to marry.”
She held his gaze, but her lips trembled. “I cannot marry you.”
“Ye can. I doona care if ye canna give me a bairn.”
“You say that now, but you’ll change your mind. I agreed to this because it was for a year. Once this year is over and you see I cannot produce a child—”
“I love ye, Jillian.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked rapidly. “I love you too, but the prince regent will never allow us to marry. Not when I’m barren.”
Ian growled softly. “’Tis not the prince’s decision. ’Tis mine.”
She reached up to gently push a strand of raven hair off his face. “I don’t think hand-fasting is legal in England, even if a priest did say the words here. You know the problem England is having over the Catholic emancipation.”
“Ye leave the prince’s pompous arse to me,” Ian said and nuzzled her neck. He moved his thumb over her nipple which budded immediately. “No more conversation.”
With a soft moan, she arched against him. “No more conversation.”
Nearly a week later, Ian still could not get enough of Jillian. The passionate woman she had kept locked inside her heart had been released. Their lovemaking went well into the night and was the first thing they did when they awakened. Ian was delighted that not only was Jillian willing to try new moves and positions, but she also had quite an imagination of her own. His lady with the faerie gold in her hair was completely uninhibited.
He worried a little about the stone the faerie had given her. So far nothing had threatened Jillian. He kept her close to his side while he rode to neighboring clans to assure them of his loyalty to Scotland. Reception to Jillian had been reserved, but he expected that.
Now they were at Glenfinnan. The time had come for the chiefs to gather and give him their support. He looked down at Jillian standing beside him, thinking again that he was the luckiest man in the world.
She was craning her neck to look at the tower monument that had recently been placed near the shore of Lo
ch Shiel. “It’s a wonder that the prince allowed this to be built,” she said.
“This was where the royal standard was raised for the last Jacobite uprising,” Ian said. “England is so sure that the Scots have bowed to the king, that this probably makes little difference.”
Jillian frowned. “The clans really haven’t disbanded, have they?”
Ian shrugged. “I doubt there will be a rebellion again, but nothing England can do will destroy the clans. Or some of the feuds.”
“Do you think it wise for me to be at the meeting today?”
He traced the curve of her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I have taken the risk of gathering all the chiefs together because they must understand that my loyalty to Scotland is not affected because I love an Englishwoman. Now let us go. It’s time.”
Ian looked around the crowded room at the inn a short time later. MacDonalds, MacLeans, Camerons and Clan Ranald had joined other Macleods. Duncan was there, as was Broc, neither of them overly friendly, but at least their surly expressions were gone. For the moment, all traces of feuding were gone also. The Highland code would keep this meeting civil.
“As ye know,” Ian said when everyone had quieted, “there have been rumors that I had taken to English life so much that I was going to send an Englishmon here to manage my lands. I think I convinced each of ye this week that is not true. But,” he added as many of the heads nodded, “I want to be clear on my intent to keep this Englishwoman at my side. It doona divide my loyalty to Scotland.”
There was some murmuring and some of the chiefs looked unconvinced.
“What is wrong with our own bonnie lasses?” a MacDonald asked.
“Aye! An Englishwoman wilna understand our ways,” added a MacLean.
Ian sighed. It was no secret that both men had daughters whom they’d hoped to marry off to him. “’Tis nothing wrong with any of our fine lasses,” Ian said. “’Tis just that I have found my mate and I wilna let her go.” Beside him, Jillian looked worried, and he hoped she wouldna take this time to bring up the year-long hand-fast. There wasna any way he was letting her go. “Ye will see that Jillian is nae like what ye think of the English.”
Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 Page 29
