The Beast of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “I used the words I used … that I did not wish to be your nursemaid, to put distance between us. I feared if your father and the others looked at my face, they would know. That I had been kissing you. While I do not fear for myself, I would not want you to be punished for my transgression.”

  They sat together in silence for a long moment, both looking out over the valley until she spoke again.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Indeed.”

  As it had been for him and his father, when they had come here.

  Oh, but he liked the sound of her voice.

  Chapter 13

  Elspeth knew she should stand, and go, and leave him and not look back. But in the next moment, her lips were moving, and she was speaking the truth. “You did not make me unhappy.”

  Niall’s blue eyes stared intently into hers.

  “I don’t dislike you,” she added. “I … I like you too much.”

  He moved closer, shifting beside her, turning … casting her corner of earth into deeper darkness. His hand cupped her face, and he tenderly stroked her jaw with his thumb. Her heart leapt at his touch.

  “Then what do you want?” he said, his voice vibrating low in his throat, his breath brushing her lips, making her ache for more.

  “I want you to kiss me again,” she whispered.

  He bent his head close. But she lifted her hand, and pressed her fingertips against his handsome lips.

  “Don’t,” she said, but softly.

  “How can I not?” he murmured. He kissed her fingertips. At the same time, his hand came up and his fingers delved between hers, as his mouth pressed past onto hers, hungry and claiming.

  “Niall…”

  “Just a kiss,” he answered, kissing her again … and again, rendering her drunk and weak and wanting. “I won’t demand more. Just this.”

  His words said one thing, but his urgency, and his body said another, as did hers. His boots crushed against the earth as he embraced her within the sanctuary of his powerful arms, and pulled her legs … her bottom closer against him, so that the length of her body more closely touched.

  He guided her hand to the top of his thigh, where through his trews she felt the power of his muscles flex as he leaned more heavily toward her. Her heart beat wild in her chest, as each foray of his mouth and tongue became deeper and more passionate until she felt certain each kiss claimed a part of her soul she feared she would never get back.

  Gasping, she pulled away, breaking free of his arms and pushing at him with flattened palms. “That was more than just a kiss.”

  She smiled ruefully. He did not smile in return.

  “Because it means something more to both of us,” he said, breathing hard, staring back at her with dark eyes.

  “Perhaps that is true but I am not at liberty to decide.” She stood, feeling as if her heart tore in two. “Please, Niall, I must go,” she insisted. “This has only proven what is true. I cannot be alone with you again.”

  He stood as well. Because of the breadth of his shoulders, and the stance of his booted feet, he all but blocked the narrow path. She passed close beside him, so close she felt the heat radiating from his body, tangled up with the scent of wood smoke and leather.

  He caught her arm, with his open palm, just above the elbow. Startled, she stopped. His cloak snapped in the wind, curling about her, and they stood in what was almost an embrace.

  “You’re forgetting something,” he said.

  Bending low, he took up the lantern and passed it into her hand. Its light cast his angular jaw and his lips into light and shadow.

  “Good night, Niall,” she murmured, and pressed past, her body burning to be touched by him again, her heart filled with an ache she had never suffered before.

  When she had gone several paces, she glanced back and saw him watching her, his expression hidden by the night.

  He strode forward, and seized hold of her again, murmuring as he bent, “As long as this is good-bye, I’ll dare to kiss you again.”

  And he did so, turning her face up to meet his kiss, openmouthed and commanding. Pleasure consumed her, and she moaned into his mouth, feeling her hips and shoulders pressed back against the stone ledge. His arms came beneath her cloak and hands boldly stroked over her gown, smoothing over her hips and breasts and back. Consciousness blurred, and she gave herself up to desire.

  He released her abruptly.

  “Go,” he growled. “Before I make love to you here on the ground.”

  She didn’t want to leave, but as the cold air struck her skin, her senses returned, and she knew she must listen to his warning.

  Pulling up her hood, she proceeded down the dark trail, suspecting he followed at a distance, a truth she confirmed near the base of the hillside, after she passed a magnificent horse tied to a tree, and glanced back to see him, in moonlight, approach the animal with an extended, open hand.

  Extinguishing the lantern, she continued, moving along the edge of the village and up the road to slip past the castle guards by hurrying through the gates amidst a cluster of chattering servant girls who carried fresh buckets of water from the cistern and blocks of peat. A scant moment later, she slipped up the stairs, where once in her room, she set the lantern down and threw off her cloak. Hurrying to the window, a blush still burning her skin, she pushed open the shutters to look toward the river, thinking to catch a glimpse of him in the moonlight.

  She sighed, disappointed, seeing nothing but the night.

  * * *

  Two nights later, Elspeth sat at Fiona’s table, eating honey cakes, her favorite treat since childhood. Her old nursemaid always made them when she visited.

  “Things will all work out for the best,” said Fiona, with a smile. The lantern’s light glimmered off her silver hair. “I truly believe that.”

  Elspeth nodded, taking comfort from another bite.

  The past two days had been torturous. In that time, she had seen Niall from a distance … in the courtyard, half-naked and training ferociously with her father’s men. Riding off in the company of Deargh and her MacClaren clansmen. He seemed to garner more respect and accolades each day, and she often saw him in counsel with Conall and her father. He partook each night in the evening meal, in the great hall, sitting at her father’s side, but he had avoided her completely, offering only a jerk of his chin and a politely worded greeting, and nothing more. Her father had even teased about her apparent dislike of the man.

  Niall was only doing what she’d asked him to do. So why did it hurt so badly?

  Tonight she had sent word to her father and Bridget that she would be supping in the village with Fiona, where she could enjoy a night of peace and conversation, without her nerves in tangles. But Fiona had sensed something was wrong, and soon the words spilled from Elspeth’s mouth.

  Fiona looked across the table at her sympathetically. “Perhaps that is why you have such strong feelings for this Niall. They are true feelings, but … exaggerated, because of the dread you feel over your coming nuptials to someone else. Right now, your future husband is just a man with no face. What young woman would not feel unsettled, and torn?”

  Heat rose into Elspeth’s cheeks. “I should not have kissed him.”

  Kissed. The description seemed an insufficient description for what happened each time hers and Niall’s lips touched.

  “Do not chastise yourself over that. A kiss is just a kiss.” Fiona winked at her. “Kisses are nice and young people should enjoy them often. I know I did, with more than one young swain.” She wagged a finger. “Just so there is nothing more.”

  “Have no fear of that,” Elspeth assured her, mortified by the bold turn of the conversation, with a woman who had tended for her since birth. Still, she trusted Fiona completely with her secrets. Fiona would tell no one what they discussed.

  “Whether you merely kiss him”—Fiona winked at her again—“or if there is more between you, you misunderstand the warning I seek t
o give you.”

  “And what warning is that?” asked Elspeth.

  Fiona reached and squeezed a knobby fingered hand over hers. “Be cautious, my dear girl. Guard your heart. If your feelings are true, and Niall’s as well, spending too much time together could be … dangerous. Your new husband, if he does not capture your heart in equal measure, may find it impossible to compete with the memory of another man. It could bring unhappiness into your marriage, where none would have been there otherwise.”

  “We need not worry about any of that,” Elspeth answered. “I have made clear my wish that our flirtation go no further, and I believe he will respect me in that. I am resolved. I will forget him. Soon.”

  “Of course you will,” said Fiona reassuringly.

  “It is late.” Elspeth stood. “I must go.”

  She pulled her plaid around her shoulders. She had worn only a simple linen lèine tonight.

  Fiona moved, as if to stand. “I will walk you there.”

  Elspeth gently pressed her back down. “I won’t allow it. I saw those ankles. Tomorrow I am sending my father’s physician to have a look at you.”

  “It is just normal for an old woman, such as I,” Fiona protested.

  “Perhaps, but I will feel better for him confirming that is so.”

  She bent down and planted a kiss to Fiona’s cheek.

  “I will return in a few days.”

  “Yes, do. Because soon you will be gone, and I won’t see you anymore.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Fiona shook her head. “I am old. I could never leave this place now. It is my home.”

  “I understand. That does not mean I will not be very sad not to be able to see you whenever I wish.”

  She already was sad. Her life was moving too fast toward an uncertain change. She felt as if a storm was rising around her, and she had no anchor to hold on to.

  Leaving Fiona’s simple home, she closed the door behind her and set off along the path toward the castle. It was night, and Fiona’s neighbors in the village were outside, sitting on stools around fires, talking and laughing. Many called out greetings as she passed, and she stopped here and there to exchange pleasantries and to admire children.

  Once home, she would avoid the great hall, and the possibility that Niall was there, and go straight to bed, though she dreaded sleep inasmuch as each passing night took her one day closer to the Cearcal. Crossing through the gates, she found a bailey crowded with young villagers, dancing around a small bonfire. The wind carried the scent of smoke and ale. She pulled her plaid over her head, so as not to be pulled into a dance—which she enjoyed on some nights—and sidled past in the shadows.

  Curiosity drew her glance down the narrow lane that led toward Niall’s quarters, though she knew not which belonged to him.

  A movement caught her eye, a figure hurrying toward a shadowed door and pushing it inward. For a brief moment, firelight from within revealed a woman’s profile.

  A servant, bringing food or tending to a fire?

  No, Elspeth realized, seeing a glimmer of her hair as the woman pushed down her hood, just before closing the door.

  The woman she’d seen going into the cottage was Bridget.

  * * *

  Niall sank naked into the steaming hot water, and in that moment, felt bliss. He had arrived a short time ago, to servants filling a large wooden tub, and they had quickly left him alone to enjoy the bath. He knew not who had given the order, but he appreciated it all the same.

  Because … what a miserable day it had been.

  He had spent far too long with the MacClaren and Conall, and their warriors. It was fatiguing hiding his true feelings, and spending hours in the company of men he despised and intended to conquer—and very likely slay. He resolved that once this thing was done, he would involve himself with intrigue no more. It was not in his nature.

  Later, he had met his secret forest warriors beneath a darkening sky, and been told they had been unable to find any trace of the Kincaids in the hills beyond Inverhaven. Being skilled trackers, their report had stunned him—and disheartened him greatly. Aye, regardless, he would conquer the MacClaren and seize this place with or without a Kincaid force, but he wanted more than anything for them to fight by his side. Though he felt certain many Kincaids lived in the village and in the nearby farmlands, it would be a tricky endeavor to inform them of his presence among them. Did their loyalties remain firmly Kincaid? Would they take up arms and stand beside him? He could not be certain. Neither could he risk word of his true identity and intentions reaching the MacClaren’s ears too soon. For now, he had instructed Deargh, who enjoyed flirtations with numerous ladies in Inverhaven, to discreetly seek out their clanspeople, so that when the time came, the announcement could be made.

  And yet those challenges were not the only blights on his mood.

  He cupped his hands, and splashed his face, wishing he could wash Elspeth’s memory away. Her skin beneath his fingertips. Her kiss. Her smile. Ironically, it was not his failed seduction—as part of his plot against her father—that troubled him so greatly.

  It was that as much as he wished to deny it … he wanted her.

  He, Niall, wanted Elspeth.

  Having lived his life thus far solely concerned only for himself, it was an unsettling feeling to discover that after all these years he cared for another person. That another person occupied his thoughts. It wasn’t that he’d never wanted to cherish a woman—to claim one for his own. It was just that his life as a mercenary had never allowed for anything but the most fleeting and self-serving of affairs. For the first time, his heart signaled revolt, wanting something more.

  He rested his arms on the wooden edge of the tub, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

  Just as Elspeth had made it clear that she wanted nothing at all.

  The door opened, without a knock of warning, and he came alert. Looking, his gaze narrowed on the intruder and his muscles tensed.

  A woman hovered in the doorway, her head covered in a cloak.

  For a brief moment, he thought it was Elspeth, hoped it was—but then, when she pushed away her hood he saw it was not.

  Bridget came toward him, smiling. “Do you like your gift?”

  “Very much, thank you.”

  It was not the first time he had been visited thusly by a lady of the castle, to be served during a bath. Indeed, it was considered a good and proper practice, although normally said ladies arrived accompanied by servants, for propriety’s sake. He would venture to guess Bridget’s husband did not know she was here, alone with him.

  She removed her cloak and tossed it to his bed. She wore only a thin white kirtle. Her unbound breasts moved provocatively beneath. Proceeding toward him, she lifted a cloth from the table, and dipped it in the water.

  “May I?” she offered seductively, her lips curving into a smile.

  Chapter 14

  “If you wish,” he answered, his soul darkening.

  After all, he owed no particular loyalty to the MacClaren—or to Elspeth. And Bridget was beautiful, in a different sort of way than the young woman who haunted his dreams. Perhaps he should welcome this opportunity to rid her from his mind.

  She rubbed the cloth over his shoulders and across his chest, leaning forward so close that the warm mist bathed her breasts. Allowing the cloth to sink into the tub, she spread her hands over his shoulders and down his arms.

  “Your muscles are so hard, and tight.” Her fingers traced his tattoos, and moved down over his chest and stomach, lower with each teasing stroke. “I know how to ease your tensions.”

  He closed his eyes, feeling the first stirrings of desire … but not for her.

  Damn him to hell, he wanted someone else here. He wanted someone else’s hands on his skin offering him pleasure. Until he forgot Elspeth, no one else would do.

  He seized Bridget’s wrist—just as her fingertips grazed his sex.

  “Thank you,” he said, open
ing his eyes. “But that is enough.”

  He heard the breath catch in her throat, and she gave a little laugh. “No one has to know.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said coldly. “But I am very tired, and wish to be alone.”

  She stared back at him, her eyes glassy with arousal, her lips parted in disbelief.

  “Another time then?” she said hopefully.

  After drying her hands on a cloth she reached for her cloak.

  “Perhaps.” Truly. Perhaps. Seducing the MacClaren’s wife would be just as cruel as seducing his daughter, but tonight he had no taste for it.

  He suspected he never would.

  When she was gone, he left the bath and dried himself. Dropping the damp linen on a chair, he pulled on knee-length braies, rolling them at his hips. Normally he slept naked but if Bridget were to suddenly return at least his manhood would be somewhat secured.

  Crossing the earthen floor, he climbed beneath the furs and stared up at the shadows dancing with the firelight on the rafters above. The fire crackled on the hearth. He laid his arm over his eyes, praying he would not only sleep, but not dream again of Elspeth.

  His breathing slowed.

  Until a sound came from across the room. The door, again.

  Why had he not thought to secure the bar? Annoyed, he lifted up onto his elbow to look, expecting to see Bridget or possibly Deargh—

  But it was Elspeth, dressed in a simple linen sheath, a plaid covering her shoulders and her hair. His heart stopped beating in his chest.

  “It is true then,” she said in a whisper, her face pale.

  He sat up quickly, pushing back the furs.

  “What is true?” he asked, standing.

  Her gaze descended over his body—his chest, abdomen, and hips—as he moved toward her. A blush rose into her cheeks—and yet her gaze accused. She even appeared to tremble.

  “I saw her leave,” she blurted, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

  He knew instantly what she believed … how it must look, with Bridget sneaking away from his quarters and her coming in to find him there in bed.