Belonging to a Highlander

by K. M. Patterson

"If you're going to be such a regular presence, you'll need a name, methinks."

  She fingered her lip as she thought.

  "Gustav the gander." He lifted his long neck then and tilted his head to the side as if trying to understand her. The gander caused her a giggle. "No, I can't say I like the name verra weel either. How aboot Lachlan? And for short we could call you La—" She put a finger to her lips again in thought. "La-La … no, no. I do'na like that any more than the first. Ah, now I have it. Claude. Named for Saint Claude."

  She received a loud wonk.

  "I think we shall become good friends, Claude."

  Wonk-wonk. He flapped his wings wide and took from her presence.

  Catriona watched him a moment more and then rose sluggishly from the bed, her body aching now from her toil. She again planted her balled-up fists on her hips.

  Hugh might not have any feelings for her, but what he did have was men aplenty. He could certainly spare a few for her cause, even with McAlison's threat.

  She had to convince her husband to send men to Tamsin's aid. She had to.

  Unfortunately, there was only one way she was going to do that.

  He had made himself quite clear.

  She blushed brightly.

  What was a lass raised in an abbey to do? How did she approach her marriage bed when she didn’t yet trust her husband? She gave a light "och" and turned a small circle, looking about to see if anyone noticed her standing there musing so.

  She froze at the sight of Gillie.

  The lad was leaning casually against the curved entry watching the goings on in the garden with a mixture of amusement and anger. He moved to the side to allow Claude to exit.

  Catriona immediately suspected his anger was not at Claude, or her. More likely, his red-cheeked pique was naturally one borne of some youthful hot-headedness.

  "Gillie," she called with some excitement at his presence, trying to lighten the lad's spirits. She wondered without asking if he, too, like Bess, had had some amount of trouble. She knew how young men could get when asked of these things. Especially by a woman.

  "Cat," he said, starting for her.

  Catriona met him halfway. "I've seen you so little since our arrival, and those times only in passing. Have you been kept busy?"

  He grunted in answer. "I've a mind to take you back to your brother. This marriage does'na suit you, methinks."

  Catriona was taken aback a moment. She shook her head. "Why would you say such a thing?"

  "He mistreats you already, breaking his oath."

  Anger spiked in her core and flooded into her brain. "Gillie, my marriage is none of your concern."

  "He put me in charge of you."

  Her back stiffened. "Jamie sent you here with his men, temporarily, as part of your training, no to order me aboot."

  Gillie's cheeks reddened more so and his eyes brightened. "Nay, Hugh put me in charge of you. Did you ken that? He has ordered me to watch oot for you as though he thinks Jamie's warriors and I are under his control." He scoffed.

  Confusion hit her. "Firstly, you abide in Hugh's keep. Secondly, the warriors are here for me, no for you. What is your point, Gillie?"

  He blustered under her flippant question. "That if I am to watch oot for you, then I can'na abide seeing him whore his way through the keep withoot a care for your feelings."

  "Whore his way…" She was engulfed by rage, not at Hugh, but possibly for the first time ever, at Gilbert. "Gillie, 'tis none of your concern."

  He suddenly grasped her arm and started to pull her around. "We are leaving."

  Catriona gasped with indignation. "Let go of me!" She yanked from his grasp.

  Gillie whipped about. "I saw what happened in the stairwell this morn. You need no stay here a moment longer if you're no already his wife in truth. We can have the men readied within the hour."

  "I said nay! I need this marriage for protection from the Saxons."

  "Why?"

  She started to tell him, then decided against it. The less people who knew, the safer they would all be. Then she wondered why Jamie had not told Gillie himself. "Never mind that. I can'na leave here, and you should mind your own concerns, no mine." She poked his frail chest with a finger. "Do'na attempt to meddle in my affairs again, and do'na listen in on what is said in stairwells between a husband and wife either." In her outrage, she kicked a clump of hard snow that had melted and frozen again to form a harder ball of ice, then flounced around him.

  Catriona marched back to the keep in a blustering rage.

  It wasn’t until she had stalked a path across her bedchamber to and fro for a good hour that she settled down to refocus on what she had previously been considering. On what was important, not Gillie's silly antics.

  If she was to do what she knew she had to, and eventually the marriage bed was inevitable anyway, she needed to get herself cleaned up. She would do it this night, after the evening meal. Aye.

  Nay!

  Catriona stopped and shook herself. "Aye," she breathed. She must. "The lout."

  She didn't really have a choice. It was time to make amends with Hugh.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hugh scanned the vellum in his hands, the warm glow from the fire illuminating through the page. His steward's assessment of his holdings was praiseworthy and uplifting, for it appeared his people had done well in his absence.

  A swell of pride rose in his spirits. Being the youngest son of a laird often meant never having the opportunity to hold lands, to have people, or to lead. With two older brothers before him, he likewise had known from an early age what was meant for him. And that was little.

  Ambrose, the eldest, had inherited his father's lands years before.

  A wash of sadness filled Hugh's chest, and he lowered the papers to his lap and gazed into the fire, hypnotized for a short time. He had never gotten on with his father so well, not in his youth, not the day he had left his father's lands. Only the day he received word his father had passed on did he feel a moment's grief for the man.

  The callous old warrior was ever hard on each of his sons alike, but Hugh had always felt his father's hand a mite heavier than his brothers had. Perhaps that was because Ambrose was meant to become laird one day, and Caelen to lead the clan warriors as his brother's second.

  That had left no place for him there amongst his father's people.

  So he had left.

  He found this rambling old keep and its weathered people north of his father's lands years before he had come back to take the place as his own.

  Hugh's eyes moved from the fire to the ancient walls of stone, to the rough-hewn beams supporting the keep standing as a testament to the age of the place.

  The moment he had stepped foot into the sanctuary, or hell, of the walls of this holding, he had been hurled into the life he was meant to lead.

  The life of a warrior.

  A mercenary.

  In his youth, he had stumbled through the bracken and forests, over barren hills and marshes. He was starved and beaten by the land alone when he arrived here nearly a score of years past. This misbegotten clan of riffraff took him in, and their laird trained him well. It was then the old laird sent him on an errand.

  Hugh rubbed a hand over the new growth on his jaw, the prickly hair scraping his rough palm.

  And then, he had become a mercenary.

  He’d fought and won battles for other lairds and kings, hoarded away the gold they paid him, and what seemed an eternity later, at last, he came back here to find a sickly old man with no heir. The laird who had once ruled this keep with a strong hand died only three days after his return—and Hugh took his place.

  He’d used his gold to return some of the former glory, tried to win over the hearts of the people, to uplift them. He desired his people to be strong as other clans he had fought alongside. Alas, he was still young then, and by that time, he owed more debts in flesh and blood than he ever had in gold.

  Hugh jerked to the present, out of his
brooding, as he heard a noise at the door, his hand instantly going to the dagger in his boot. He turned in his seat to face the intrusion, but stilled as the slim body with golden brown hair that shimmered in the firelight down to her waist closed the door behind her.

  Before she noticed, Hugh replaced the dagger in his boot and tried to hide his excitement at the sight of his wife.

  He frowned at that then. He was unnerved by the wench, was he? That was not to his liking. He was always calm and in control, but his fingers trembled as she turned and he saw her pretty face. Hugh sank his fingers into the fur covering the arms of his chair, and he swallowed down rising anticipation.

  Why had she come?

  As she crossed the chamber to him, Hugh held her stare.

  He could only hope she had come to at last offer an antidote for his burgeoning desire for her. His loins began to warm with the mere thought of touching her again, kissing her, having her.

  The impulse to bed her then and there shot through him.

  Catriona stopped a good distance from him and clasped her hands behind her back. Hugh couldn’t resist the lift at the corners of his mouth, his smile widening, for the lass did not know that every time she clasped her hands behind her back her breasts strained against the fabric of her gown. Aye, he liked this habit of hers. The curves of his woman caught his eye, and he was unable to resist staring a mite longer than he should have.

  His fingers curled deeper into the fur, and he twisted his hips, an uncomfortable swell in his trews now.

  "Aye, lass?" For the life of him, he tried to sound gruff, but that wasn’t at all how his voice sounded. He sounded like a man on the verge of behaving like an untried lad.

  "I've come to make a proposal, McCross."

  He narrowed his eyes on her. She was not pleased with him earlier when he had refused to send men chasing after her friend, but he sensed a changed mood about her now. "Husband," he corrected.

  "Hugh."

  He glowered at her smug response. "That shall do for now." He gave her a charming smile. "I happen to like the sound of my name on your lips." His eyes fell down her and then traveled back up, slowly, causing his wife to squirm under his caressing stare. "Is that so?"

  "Is what so?"

  His brows rose. "Your proposal?"

  A flicker of bewilderment flashed over her before she shook her head as though he had momentarily distracted her from her mission. "Aye, for Tamsin's safety."

  She had not discovered that he had already sent men. Good. That was as he had wished.

  He chuckled darkly. "I believe I have already made myself clear. Changing my mind, if that is what you are aboot, will take some doing." He paused for a measure of emphasis. "What could a lass sequestered in a nunnery for most of her life possibly tempt me with to force my hand?" Hugh steepled his fingers, waiting. He hoped he sounded as firm in his resolve as he had meant to, for—as he had learned quickly—his resolve quickly faded around Catriona.

  Her eyes flitted to the far wall behind the high back of his seat, to the ceiling, to the opposite wall, and at last back to her slippered feet. Alas, his hellcat gathered enough mettle to meet his stare as she spoke. "I'll give you my body, Hugh. As you asked."

  Her unexpected acquiescence sobered him.

  His cock went harder than a moment before, near to bursting with need, and he found it difficult to swallow yet again. His gaze raked over her slim figure, lingering on the parts of her he wished to see undressed most, a simmering, blazing desire burned through him.

  He had not thought she would so readily agree. He had highly expected her to barter with him more before making such an offer.

  "Come closer," he said, his voice gravelly.

  She took the smallest step he had ever witnessed, causing him to chuckle.

  "Nay, lass, come to me."

  He watched hesitance cross her features, watched her steel herself, as though taking those steps toward him would seal her fate.

  Wise lass, for they would.

  There was nothing holding him back this night. No Rowena there to ruin anything, no tousled bed. He had seen to both matters earlier.

  Hugh could hardly contain himself in his seat as he waited what seemed an eternity before her dainty feet moved again.

  She would be in his bed tonight.

  When she was within arm's reach, he lurched forward, surprising a squeal from her, and yanked her into his lap.

  Hugh arranged her body atop his to his liking, her thighs riding his lap, and he pulled her into his arms, his hands going to the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair. He pulled her closer until their mouths touched.

  She gasped and squirmed. "'Tisn't decent this way," she said, fighting him, trying in earnest to get free and come to some sort of decent position. "Hugh!"

  He chuckled against her lips, unwilling to give her an inch. He held her to him firmly, enjoying the little gasps against his mouth, the brush of her quick breaths feathering against his lips. Engorged to the point of pain, he didn’t care what she considered decent.

  "There's usually little decency in what we're aboot to do, lass." His lips brushed hers as he spoke. "Open your mouth," he demanded in a husky voice that sounded oddly tender given his state of arousal.

  A sound of fear parted her lips, but Hugh kissed her trepidation away.

  "You no have to fear me, wife. Kisses are no meant to hurt a lass, and I'll never hurt you. No with my kisses." He demonstrated by kissing her, provoking her, inspiring her. He locked his stare with hers as the fever of desire entered her eyes. "No with my hands." His hands moved from her hair to the slender sides of her waist, up to squeeze her breasts. He showed her exactly what he meant.

  Her head fell back, and a low mewl of pleasure came from her throat.

  That was his undoing.

  Hugh grabbed her to him and moved his lips against hers. She whimpered in response, but he felt her fingers close around the material of his tunic. He shifted her so she felt the hardness of him, holding her close when she tried to pull away.

  Breathlessly, "Now, sweet lass, open your mouth," he said again between kisses.

  She pressed him back and gave him a look of heated curiosity, and when she leaned in again, she kissed him. She explored his mouth, and Hugh let her.

  He had never been so inflamed by a woman.

  When she set back again her breath came in shallow pants, her eyes were heavy lidded and darkened by desire. "I want you to say it again," she said.

  He stared blankly a moment, lost in her kisses and the things he wanted so desperately to do to her. "Say what?"

  "That there are no others."

  He growled at her, a blaze of frustration washing through him, but his hands were back in her hair, pulling her relentlessly back down to his mouth for a long kiss. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, took her hips in his hands and rotated her against the swell of his cock, groaning as the skin over the head of his shaft became tighter.

  He needed her so this instant.

  "Och, what will it take to make you realize I've no intention of leaving the marriage bed? No now. No ever." He kissed her neck, delighting in the soft skin there. "If only I can get you into it."

  Their small, curious kisses turned heated quickly. Her lips parted, and his tongue slipped inside, probing, stroking, inciting a delicious response.

  He dug his fingers into her hair, pulled her head back, and kissed down her neck. Her little gasps and sighs set a fire in him he wasn’t sure he could control.

  His cock went rigid and strained against his trews with unbearable tightness. Hugh clenched and unclenched his fingers in her hair, at the base of her neck, holding her as close as he possibly could. Dia, he wanted this woman. She was his to take as he wished. He should be unsettled by the fierce reaction she started within him, but he wasn't.

  Somewhere deep down he had known he was ready for this. He was ready to be a laird, a husband, a father. He simply had not had the right lass to move
him toward the ultimate acceptance that one part of his life was over and he stood on the cusp of another.

  He was hard and aching with a fierce want. Catriona ignited something within him no other ever had. There was nothing to prevent him from lifting her from his lap, taking her in his arms, and laying her across the bed. She was his wife. She was his to take.

  She had told him she would give him her body. What was stopping him?

  He started to move them both from the seat, but a small palm at his chest pushed him back against the furs spread across the back of the chair once more.

  Catriona rose before him, her lips swollen and wet from their kisses. The fire at her back lit her hair like a halo of vibrant gold. Her breast rose and fell with quick, short breaths.

  "You'll send the men?" she asked.

  Her words incensed him again. He should have known there was reason behind this capricious behavior. All he had been able to think of was wanting her, yet this purpose of hers still meant more? However, she humored him at the same time. She truly meant to bed him for that purpose alone. Ah, Catriona. His wee hellcat. What would he ever do with her?

  Of a sudden, this seemed all too easy.

  Though ideas of what he wished to do to her still danced in his head, Hugh chuckled darkly. Lightly, he skimmed her neck with his lips in a gentle caress. "I've already sent men."

  Her neck straightened, and she sat a little higher, her slender thighs astride him tensing. Hugh twisted his hips under her and instantly gripped her to him, sensing she would flee at any moment. The feel of her riding him made his cock strain. She could feel him against her, at the juncture of her legs. The only thing keeping him from touching her there was the damned, maddening clothes.

  Hugh slid his hand under her gown then, up her thigh, her soft supple skin under his fingers. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her, the heat of her skin, but delicate fingers closed around his arm and stopped him short of touching her there. In that erogenous place where he knew she would be slick and ready to take him.

  Instead, he gripped a handful of her firm backside.

  Hugh's eyes flashed to hers. "I promise you'll like it, lass." He needn't tell her what it was, as her reaction told him she knew exactly what he meant.