The Chieftain

by Margaret Mallory

  Connor had not wanted to stop any more than she had. His kisses did not lie. Nor did the desire in his eyes. His sense of honor stood in her way. He had only turned away from her out of some misplaced sense of duty.

  Ilysa may not have Connor for long, but she did mean to have him. Then, for the rest of her life, she would have that to remember.

  * * *

  As soon as Lachlan passed through the gate, he knew that Connor had returned from the gathering. The guards on the wall were more alert, and men in the courtyard were practicing with greater intensity, wanting to earn his praise. Lachlan’s awareness of the men’s respect for their chieftain was inescapable.

  He saw Connor observing the lads who were fourteen to seventeen practicing and crossed the courtyard to stand beside him.

  “I see you’re back,” Connor said, and he did not sound friendly.

  “I’ve been scouting the MacLeod camps,” Lachlan said. “They’ve brought in more warriors.”

  “I expected as much,” Connor said and kept his gaze fixed on the young warriors. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  Sorely, who was a decent swordsman but a poor teacher, was leading the practice.

  “They’re no better than when I left,” Connor muttered under his breath.

  “Not like that, ye fooking idiot!” Sorely shouted at an awkward lad named Robbie. Belatedly, he felt their presence and turned around.

  “Lachlan and I will work with this group today,” Connor said.

  Sorely did not enjoy training the younger men. All the same, he resented the dismissal, judging by his sour look before he covered it. If Connor noticed, he did not show it. But then, Connor wouldn’t.

  “Bless ye for taking this burden from me!” Sorely said and gave a laugh that rang false.

  Sorely was an arse.

  “Gather ’round,” Connor called out. “If I hear any more grumbling, you’ll all spend the night in the dungeon with the rats.”

  The young men went silent.

  “The MacLeods will shred ye to bits if ye don’t learn to fight better than this—and soon,” Connor continued. “Your lives are my responsibility, and I don’t intend to see that happen. Now, ye will give me your best, or go home to your mothers.”

  None of them wanted that humiliation. They shuffled their feet as Connor’s steel-gray gaze moved from face to face.

  “Are ye prepared to become warriors worthy of Clan MacDonald?” When they remained silent, Connor raised his claymore into the air and shouted, “Are ye?”

  “Aye! Aye!” the lads shouted back.

  Connor directed them to form two lines, one in front of Lachlan and the other in front of him. During the long period in which the castle was in the hands of the MacLeods, Lachlan had led practices with small groups in fields, with someone keeping watch. He had discovered he was good at training others in the skills of war, and it gave him satisfaction.

  As he worked through his line, practicing with each would-be warrior in turn, he kept one eye on Connor. Again, he begrudgingly approved. Unlike Sorely, Connor never ridiculed the lads’ mistakes. He was patient, but persistent. He corrected, praised, and pushed each young man to improve his skills, which could make the difference between life and death for them one day soon.

  After a couple of hours, Connor raised his hand to call for a rest. Lachlan started to sheath his blade, but Connor stopped him.

  “Let’s give them another kind of lesson,” Connor said, with a glint in his eye. “I’ve been dying to fight ye since the day ye arrived and knocked Sorely on his arse.”

  Unease settled in Lachlan’s belly. Though Connor was smiling now, Lachlan was fairly confident that the chieftain would not like being knocked on his own arse in front of the men.

  “Pay attention, lads!” Connor shouted and faced Lachlan in a crouch with his sword in his hands.

  Sweat broke out on Lachlan’s forehead as it occurred to him that if he was going to kill Connor, he should do it now. He could slide his blade between the chieftain’s ribs and be done with it. He heard his father’s voice in his head, saying the words he’d said to Lachlan from the time he was a bairn with a wooden sword in his hands.

  One day, you will avenge your mother and restore our honor. You must kill him. Kill him! Kill him!

  As they circled each other, Lachlan was aware of the shouts and cheers of the men gathered about them. But once Connor sprang at him with a series of powerful blows, he no longer heard the other men—or his father’s voice. He had grown accustomed to being better than every man he fought, but he soon realized Connor MacDonald was his match. The practice with the others had not shown Connor’s skills to their fullest. He was good. Very good.

  The chieftain should be tired after hours of training, but he showed no sign of it as he slammed his sword against Lachlan’s time and again. And he was enjoying himself! Lachlan had not had an opponent who truly tested his skills in a long while, and to his surprise, he began to take pleasure in the fight as well. When Connor leaped over Lachlan’s blade after Lachlan was dead certain he had him, Lachlan smiled in appreciation of his opponent’s quickness.

  They spun and pounded each other back and forth across the courtyard. Finally, Lachlan got lucky and landed a blow with the flat of his sword against Connor’s thigh. He hit him hard enough that the blow should have knocked Connor off his feet—but it didn’t. Before Lachlan could recover from the force of his swing, Connor spun in a circle.

  The next thing Lachlan knew he was lying on his back with Connor’s foot on his chest.

  “That was good,” Connor said, grinning down at him. He was breathing hard and beads of sweat were rolling down his face, despite the cold, misty weather.

  It was not until Connor held out his hand to help him up that Lachlan saw the blood soaking through the chieftain’s shirt.

  Someone shouted, “The chieftain’s been hurt!”

  Lachlan froze. In a practice, a man was supposed to fight hard, but never strike to kill. Had Lachlan forgotten himself in the heat of their battle? Had he given in to his father’s admonition ringing in his head?

  Anguish twisted in his gut as he saw that Connor was bleeding both from his chest and his upper thigh.

  “I did not mean to do it,” Lachlan said, barely speaking the words aloud.

  “What?” Connor looked down at himself with a frown. “Ach, ye didn’t do this.”

  Several men jerked Lachlan to his feet and held him by his arms.

  “For God’s sake, let him go!” Connor thundered. “This blood is from old wounds. They must have broken open in the fight.”

  Lachlan staggered when the men released him.

  “See, there’s no cut in my shirt,” Connor said, holding it out, then he pulled it off and showed the men the bleeding wound in his chest.

  The jagged, circular wound clearly was not made by the blade of a sword, but by an arrow, and Lachlan knew Connor had a matching wound on his thigh.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I told ye,” Connor said, gripping his shoulder and looking straight into his eyes. “Ye didn’t do this.”

  But Lachlan had done it. And not in a fair fight, man-to-man, as Connor deserved.

  CHAPTER 23

  Someone fetched Ilysa after the fight, and now Connor had to endure the torture of her hands on his bare skin.

  “Why are these arrow wounds taking so damned long to heal?” Connor asked.

  He gritted his teeth as Ilysa’s fingers drifted down his chest in feather-light touches. This was far worse than the times she had dressed his wounds after they first arrived at Trotternish. Back then, he could convince himself that the nearness of a woman—any woman—would have stirred him. Now there was no escaping that his desire was for Ilysa alone.

  He had kissed her, and that had changed everything.

  “The arrows went deep, and ye keep re-opening the wounds.” Ilysa clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You’re not careful at all.”

  She leaned
over him, and her red-gold braid fell over her shoulder like an invitation. Though her bodice exposed nothing, his memory of the tops of her breasts in a low-cut gown was vivid.

  “I heard you and Lachlan gave quite a display.” She brushed the top of his thigh with her fingertips, taking his breath away. “I hope impressing the men was worth splitting open this wound on your leg.”

  “Lachlan got in a good hit there with the side of his sword,” Connor said in a strained voice. In an attempt to divert himself, he added, “I’m thinking of making him my captain.”

  Ilysa withdrew her hands, and he felt their absence like a missing tooth.

  “What, ye don’t agree with my choice?” Connor asked. “Lachlan is the best warrior I have, and the men respect him.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, but her tone was uncertain. “But something troubles Lachlan, and I wish I knew what it was.”

  Connor forgot Lachlan—and everything else—when she rested one hand on his hip while she used the other to spread her lily-scented salve over the wound high on his thigh. He held his folded shirt over his throbbing erection. When Ilysa tied the bandage, her hand was so close to his cock that sweat broke out on his forehead. He closed his eyes before she caught him looking at her like a starving animal. But as soon as he closed them, his imagination took him in dark, erotic directions.

  Connor snapped his eyes open, and there she was, her lovely face just inches from his. He remembered the softness of her lips, and he hungered to taste them again. It would be so easy to encircle her tiny waist, lift her onto his lap, and ravish her mouth.

  “Almost finished,” she said, sounding a bit breathless.

  Is she thinking of those kisses, too? He envied the man who would be her next husband. Ilysa had a kind heart, a soothing presence—though Connor was not finding it soothing at the moment—and a calm, competent manner.

  His gaze traveled over her as she turned to retrieve another rolled strip of linen from her basket, and he wondered what she was like in bed. When Ilysa took off her clothes and gave up control, was she the kind of lover who drove a man wild?

  Connor swallowed. Aye, he suspected she was.

  When Ilysa leaned across him to wrap the linen around his chest, her breast grazed his arm. Though it was barely a touch, they both drew in a sharp breath. Their eyes locked, and heat flared between them hot enough to set the room ablaze.

  Ilysa’s lips parted, and Connor could not see or think of anything else. He gave in to the inexorable pull drawing him closer. Cupping her face, he felt her breath on his lips before he kissed her softly. Ilysa dropped the cloth she was holding and gave a sigh. That was all the encouragement he needed.

  He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her with a wild, passionate abandon. Somewhere in the back of his head, the sensible, dutiful part of him was telling him this was a huge mistake. But it felt so right. Ilysa felt right. She was perfect. Extraordinary.

  She spread her fingers into his hair at the back of his neck and pressed herself against him. From her sighs and moans as she returned his fevered kisses, she wanted him, too. Though she looked young, she had been married. She must know what she was doing to him and where this was leading. Still, a twinge of guilt made him hesitate and start to pull back. Ilysa sensed it and wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck.

  “Please, Connor.” Her voice was breathless. “Just this once.”

  When she pressed her lips against his neck, he shivered with the force of his desire. Aye. Just this once. He could not turn away, not when she was kissing him like this.

  He stood, lifting her up with him. She was as light as a child, but she was all woman when she wrapped her legs around his waist. He felt the damp heat of her desire against his throbbing cock as he gripped her buttocks, and he was certain he would die if he could not have her.

  “I want ye so much,” he said between frantic kisses as he carried her to the bed. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

  He set her on the edge of his bed and groaned when he finally cupped her breasts. They were small and high and perfect in his hands, just as he knew they would be. As he kissed her neck, she leaned back on her arms and let her head fall back. With her skirts pushed up and her legs wrapped around his waist, the thin layer of his trews was all that was between him and heaven.

  His heart raced as he ran his hands under her skirts, along her silky thighs. Aye, he would have her. Right now, right here, like this. The words pounded in his head: Now, now, now.

  And still, he made himself stop to ask her the question.

  “Are ye certain ye want this?” His heart beat wildly, and his breathing was ragged as he waited for her answer.

  “I do.” As she slid her arms around his neck and leaned forward to kiss him, she said, “More than anything.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Connor tugged desperately at Ilysa’s clothes, trying to touch more of her skin. He had no idea how they had gotten on the bed and didn’t care. As he covered her with hot, passionate kisses, his heart beat so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.

  He suspected Ilysa’s young husband had been the sort who fumbled in the dark with little notion of how to please a woman. For having been married, Ilysa seemed inexperienced. Inexplicably, this was just one more thing about her that drove him wild.

  Her every surprised squeak of pleasure and low moan from the back of her throat sent him reeling. She had a natural passion that left him breathless. He felt the self-control that always seemed such a part of her crack, and he could not wait for it to shatter beneath his hands. He wanted to hear her moans and watch her face when she came in his arms.

  Her skin was soft as silk. He wanted to taste every inch of it and to make love to her slowly in a dozen ways. But not now. Not this first time, when he needed her so badly. He would take her fast and hard, pounding into her until she screamed her pleasure and he exploded.

  When he touched her center, her body jerked, but she was hot and wet for him. She tossed her head and writhed against him, exciting him so much that he feared he would come against her side like an overexcited fifteen-year-old.

  He rolled on top of her, and she felt glorious beneath him. Though he kept his weight on his elbows, she was so slight that he feared he would crush her with the violence of his desire.

  “’Tis been such a long time since I had a woman,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I can’t wait much longer.”

  “I’ve waited forever for you,” she whispered.

  Connor didn’t know what she meant by those words, but she was pulling on his hips. His body understood that and was screaming for release.

  His shaft found her opening with an unerring sense of direction. He squeezed his eyes shut as he forced himself to slide just the tip in. O shluagh, she was so tight. He tried to go slowly, but she felt so good that she was going to kill him. Then she lifted her hips again and destroyed his last shred of control. His ears rang from the surge of pleasure as he thrust deep inside her.

  “Ouch!”

  That was the last thing he expected to hear. Through the pulsing need that shook him to his core, the realization broke through that he had felt something give way inside her. A tear.

  Oh, Jesu, no, she’s a virgin! The words blazed through his head, but it was too late. He was already deep inside her.

  He tried to make himself pull out, but Ilysa held on to him as if he were saving her from drowning. Need thrummed through him, straining his control like a rope taut to breaking. Her legs tightened around him, urging him on. Then all he knew was the sensation of her tight, wet heat around him and her soft gasps in his ear as he pumped into her again and again. He exploded in a violent burst of unbearable rapture that left him stunned.

  As soon as he could gather himself, he rolled off her and covered his eyes with his arm.

  “Dear God. What have I done?”

  Guilt crashed down on him. He had violated every rule he had made for himself. The one about not
risking having a child outside of his marriage was the least of them. Even before he was chieftain, he never took innocent virgins to bed.

  And worse, this virgin was his best friend’s sister. Duncan’s last words to him burned in his ears: See that it doesn’t happen with my sister. Loyalty mattered more to him than anything, and he had violated his friend’s trust. He had violated Ilysa’s trust, too. She was his responsibility.

  As chieftain, he had blatant offers all the time from women who wanted the status of being the chieftain’s lover, or better yet, of having his child. For two and a half long years, he had resisted every attempt to seduce him, only to fall to the subtle charms of an innocent lass.

  A coldness gripped his heart as he realized he had not pulled out before spilling his seed. It had not even crossed his mind. But then, his mind had played no part in this at all.

  “Why did ye not tell me ye were a virgin?” he asked. “I would not have done this if I’d known.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell ye,” Ilysa said in a soft voice.

  He should be furious with her. Instead, he was just confused. And beneath the confusion, he was foolishly pleased that she had chosen him to be her first lover. What an idiot he was.

  Why had she wanted him to take her virginity? Did she hope to bear a chieftain’s child? Was she simply curious? Was it because she trusted him, as he trusted her? Or did she fancy herself in love with him? He groaned. God help him, that would make what he’d done even worse.

  “You were married,” he said. “How could ye be untouched?”

  Ach, no, he’d made her cry. Could he do nothing right? He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair.

  “I didn’t think ye would regret it so soon,” Ilysa said in an unnaturally high voice.

  “I should regret it.”

  Ilysa leaned her head back to look at him with her big, brown eyes. “Why?”

  “Because I cannot wed you,” he said, brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. “You’re the last woman in the clan I should have bedded.”