The Beast of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “I married him.”

  “What?” His eyes flew wide. “Before or after you knew?”

  “Before! And that is not even the worst.”

  “I don’t think I want to hear,” he muttered. “But tell me.”

  “I love him.” Again, she fell against his shoulder, burying her face. “I love him and I don’t know what to do.”

  She felt better just confessing the burden on her heart. She felt miserable too.

  He held her tight, and looked down at her. “Tell me what you want to do. I will help you.”

  “I don’t know,” she said into his tunic, and looked up through tears. “What kind of a daughter would I be to love the man who has taken everything from my father and my clan? And if my father is guilty, how can I love him still, knowing he has taken so much from my husband?”

  “I don’t know, Elspeth.” He held her in silence for a long moment. “But I will protect you while you decide.”

  * * *

  Hours later, as night fell, Niall still searched the lands around Inverhaven for any sign of Elspeth. After the castle had been searched, he had found Fiona—a kindly old woman he had upset terribly with his questions, but who claimed to know nothing. He had insisted to Deargh that he alone would find her and return her home, but thus far he had found no trace of her.

  Elspeth had run away from him, and he had never felt more helpless … more heartsick … or more uncertain of what to do.

  His greatest fear was that she was alone, cold and afraid, believing she had no home to return to, and that her husband was a monster. Was that not what he had revealed himself to be on the dais, in those moments after they were married? A man without compassion for others? For Elspeth’s young sisters, who had no doubt been terrified, seeing him threaten and humiliate their father. For the scores of innocent MacClarens who now feared for their lives, and their homes. For a young bride with love in her eyes, who saw the man she loved become something else, dark and vengeful—the beast he had tried so desperately to hide from her.

  All for revenge. Nay—all for pride. And now she was gone.

  He could have claimed justice without inflicting the same terror that had been inflicted on him and his people those years ago.

  Inside his chest, his heart felt crushed. He did not consider returning to the castle for even one moment. He had to find her. He had to keep searching, until he did. Lingering in the back of his mind was a terrible guilt that she had only submitted to his lovemaking the night before, out of fear that otherwise he would harm her. No, he had not forced her, but he should have given her more time. He should have waited until the conflicts between them were better resolved.

  Just then he saw a rider coming toward him at a fast canter, a man unfamiliar to him. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to respond to any aggression if required. Yet the man continued past him—only to circle back around.

  “Kincaid?” he called, grinning.

  “Who is asking?”

  “I bring a message from Magnus,” the man said.

  “What message is that?” he asked, his mood gone instantly suspicious.

  “He told me to tell you, he has your wife.”

  The man circled again, racing off in a southwesterly direction. Niall followed him all the way to the Alwyn border, where Magnus waited on foot, leaning against a solitary tree. He dismounted, and strode toward him, exerting every ounce of self-discipline not to also reach out and seize the man by his tunic, for if Elspeth had gone to Magnus for protection he must know why, because in this moment he felt jealous and furious and betrayed. Yet he had the sanity of mind to know he had no right to feel those emotions, when it had been his actions that had compelled her to run away.

  “You say you have Elspeth,” he uttered. “Where is she?”

  Magnus nodded. “I do have her … in a way.”

  “What way is that?” he demanded.

  “I know where she is, which is more than you can say, and you’re her husband.” He spoke in a taunting tone. “Supposedly.”

  Niall’s eyes narrowed on him. “What do you mean, supposedly?”

  Magnus crossed his arms over his chest, and peered upward as if in thought. “Is a marriage even valid, if one party misrepresents who they were, at the time they took the vows?”

  “I never misrepresented myself,” Niall countered.

  “How could you not have misrepresented yourself?” Magnus narrowed his gaze on him. “No one knew who you were.”

  “No one ever asked the right questions, that’s why.” He tilted his head, strode close, and narrowed his eyes. He growled, “Now tell me where she is.”

  Magnus sauntered away a few steps before turning. “Make me understand why you want her back so badly?”

  “She is my wife.”

  “Hmmm, yes. And she is my friend. I must know, what do you intend to do with her?” He shrugged, his manner easy. “Beat her? Throw her in your dungeon? Confine her to the tower?”

  Niall retorted, “I don’t know what is going on over at the Alwyn stronghold—but that is not how Kincaid men treat their wives.”

  “Try harder,” he exhaled, feigning disappointment, and sat on a rock. “I’m still not convinced.”

  He lost all patience. He would not play games where Elspeth was involved.

  Now he did move forward and seize Magnus up by the tunic. “She is gone, Magnus. She is gone and I love her, and without her … until I find her … I cannot breathe.”

  Magnus stared at him, then jerked away, straightening his garment.

  “She loves you too,” he answered quietly. “And she’s afraid and miserable, and there’s nothing I can do to help her. That’s the only reason I’m going to tell you where she is.” He extricated himself from Niall’s grasp. “Well, not the only reason.”

  “What other reason is there?” Niall demanded impatiently.

  “If I do you this favor, will you see that I get my horse back?”

  * * *

  Elspeth sat in a chair, looking into the fire. Magnus had been very kind, allowing her to stay in the cottage where his mother had, until recently, lived before marrying her new husband and moving into the village. Tucked into an earthen hillside, its thatched roof and stone chimney were barely visible to any passerby, especially now that night had fallen.

  For hours, she had done nothing but think and agonize over those she loved, and how she might continue loving them all as fiercely as she had before. But all her agonizing had produced no clear answers about what to do. She could not shake the feeling of shock and disappointment, that her father had a part in taking Niall’s family’s lives. That he had been the one to set a young boy’s life on a course of homelessness, loneliness, and rage. How, knowing this, could she love him still? Yet … she did. Certainly her father deserved punishment for what he had done. Yet each time she pondered the thought, tears fell and her heart rejected the possibility of his death.

  And … Niall. How could she blame him for what he had done?

  She had thought back on their every moment together, and could find no hate, no lack of care in the way he had treated her. It was true, what he’d said the night before—he’d tried to push her away, so she would marry someone else and not be forced to bear witness to her father’s defeat. Why had he done that? Was it too much to believe that he loved her as she loved him? Yet how could they ever be happy together, with all the pain between them? How could she live with him each day if he exacted his revenge against her father? She could not simply stand by and accept him with open arms.

  It was late, and from the sound of the gale rising outside, she feared that a storm might be upon her. She had already undressed for bed, and wore only her chemise. But best she fetch a bit more peat for the fire, to see her through until morning. Taking up a large basket, she unbarred the door and peered into the black darkness. Cold inched up her legs, creeping under her thin garment, causing her to shiver. Pulling her plaid around her shoulders, she m
ade her way to the peat pile at the side of the house. The wind rose in a roar, and pulled at her garments, pitching them about her legs. The basket filled, she hurried back inside, and secured the door. She turned.

  And gasped, seeing a tall, dark shadow beside the fire—a man whose face she could not see for the shadows. But she recognized him just the same.

  “Forgive me,” said a voice—Niall’s, and he strode toward her. Her heart felt as if it burst inside her chest.

  She dropped the basket, a moment before finding herself wrapped up in his strong embrace, so passionate and fierce she could hardly breathe.

  “Forgive me,” he said again softly. “Not for what I have done, but for bringing you pain.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” she cried, seizing him tight, afraid to believe he was truly there. That he had come for her. She meant the words, but hearing his plea opened her heart to him completely.

  Now that he was there, she never wanted to let him go.

  His hands came up to touch her face, and he peered down. “Listen to me, my love. Your father and I have come to terms—”

  “Terms,” she whispered, almost afraid to hear, almost afraid to hope.

  He nodded, smiling guardedly.

  “I love you, Elspeth,” he said solemnly. “Without you, it all means nothing. You are my wife, and I want you beside me. For you, I will accept justice without death or vengeance. For you, I will try my utmost to forgive.” His lips fell upon her cheeks, and her mouth, and her forehead, worshipful and hotly urgent, lighting a fire inside her heart. “Please, Elspeth, I beg you, just come home.”

  “Yes, I will,” she agreed, gasping as he kissed her.

  His hands caught in her plaid, pushing it from her shoulders, leaving her standing only in her shift.

  “I need you,” he said in a low rumbling voice, from deep in his throat. His mouth found hers again, his hands finding her waist, clenching her there, fisting in the linen. “I need you so badly. I need you now.”

  Elspeth could not even respond for the passion rising inside her, so strong and overwhelming, she could only kiss him back, and touch him everywhere, his shoulders, his back, his face, unshaven and so pleasingly rough against her fingertips. She pushed his plaid from his shoulders, his belt from his waist—until with a groan he wrenched his tunic up and over his shoulders, throwing it to the ground, leaving him naked before her.

  His movements urgent … impatient, he seized her beneath her buttocks, lifted her, bracing her against the wall, shoving her garment high up her waist, his hips coming hard against hers as she clung to his shoulders, his arousal hard and apparent against her thigh. She moved—and his hand came between them—

  “Niall!” she cried, her mind blurred with pleasure as he entered her.

  His body went rigid for a moment, then he moved again, thrusting deeper, and then again.

  Oh, the pleasures of a capable and muscular man. A warrior. Her beast.

  He held her easily there, impaling her body against the wall, one hand supporting her, the other cupping and squeezing her breast with his calloused palm. In the golden firelight, his dark head bent, and he took her nipple into his mouth, all the while moving against her, unleashing on her an unrelenting pleasure inside her, such as she had never imagined in her wildest, most wicked dreams of him.

  “I can’t get deep enough inside you,” he gasped and turning, carried her to the bed, each step bringing her pleasure as his sex jolted deep inside her. He lay her on the coverlet and spread her knees wide, and after thrusting several times, held her thighs at his hips, and rolled, bringing her atop him.

  She moaned, sinking onto him, savoring the pleasure of being on top.

  “Move, darling. Like this.” His hands gripped her hips and he showed her the rhythm, which she eagerly took to, taking her pleasure, her palms planted against his chest, and in doing so giving him pleasure as well, the evidence of which she saw on his face, painted in firelight, as he looked up at her, his eyes dark with passion, his chest rising and falling, and his gasping, groaning breaths.

  The bed creaked and groaned beneath them, as their urgency increased.

  “Now,” he urged, lifting up onto his elbows and giving a powerful thrust of his hips, lifting her, stunning her—

  And hurtling her into a dazzling paradise, an explosion of pleasure intermingled with the purest sensation of love, so intense she wanted to feel it forever.

  And yet it subsided … to be replaced by his arms, his body, wrapping around her. “Elspeth. My love.”

  Chapter 24

  “Come,” Niall said, extending his hand. “Let us go out, and walk among our people.”

  Our people. It was the first time in the two days since they had returned together from the cottage, that he’d said the words. Elspeth’s heart brimmed with happiness and pride she had not known could be possible. At last it seemed real that she and Niall were married, and they would build a life together, here in this place that they both loved.

  As part of the agreement between Niall and her father, the MacClaren, Bridget and her sisters had departed earlier that morning to take residence some distance away in what had been Elspeth’s home when she was a child—the castle that had been part of her tocher. They had taken many of their servants and warriors with them, as well as all items of importance to the MacClaren clan. However, a good number had remained, making it known they wished to swear fealty to the laird of Kincaid and to be part of a new future with him as their leader. Conall, however, never wavered in his loyalty to the MacClaren, and followed his chief.

  Even so, Elspeth knew the loss of the others’ allegiance had pained her father. But he was firm in his assertion that Niall was the rightful lord of Inverhaven and its surrounding lands. And so it had been a bittersweet good-bye, with many tears from Elspeth and her sisters, but not all unhappy ones as her family was not so far that she would not see them again soon, and she would, as she remained concerned for her father’s health.

  But hours had passed, and with them any vestige of sadness. She felt at peace. With Niall at her side, she had received the Kincaid people into the castle, and walked with many through the halls where she listened as they talked of memories. Others came bearing meaningful Kincaid relics, ancient weaponry and tapestries and carvings that had once hung in honor on the walls of the castle. Elspeth had seen that they were returned to their rightful places, and was rewarded by the gratitude and love she saw reflected in Niall’s eyes. He had pulled her aside for more than a few ardent kisses.

  With the falling of night, bonfires burned, and a celebration unfolded. They meandered through, talking to Kincaids and MacClarens alike, letting it be known that in the coming days, everyone would have an audience with the chief and his lady, and that all would soon be settled on a parcel of land.

  It was then that Elspeth saw the face of someone surprising, in the light of a distant fire. It was Magnus.

  She looked to Niall, afraid he would be angry by the presence of an Alwyn clansmen, so close to their home, especially when she knew Niall’s pursuit of justice was not yet complete and there was still conflict with the Alwyn to come. But he looked steadily back at her.

  “Go on, just this once. But tell him not to return. Our clans remain enemies, and I cannot have him here.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I understand, and I will.”

  She crossed the earth to stand beside Magnus and smiled at him.

  “Is he angry I am here?” he asked. “Is he insisting that I go?”

  “No.” She moved closer, peering into his eyes. “Well, yes. But you understand, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I do. But I went to the cottage and you were gone, I had to make sure you were all right.”

  “I am well, Magnus. He is everything to me, and I am very happy.”

  “Then I am happy for you.”

  Elspeth’s heart expanded with joy and fondness at hearing his admission.

  She reached to touch his arm. “Niall tol
d me why you tried to force me to elope that night. Because you were trying to save me from a marriage to Hugh. Is that true?”

  He nodded. “Buchan’s ward refused to marry him, and he turned his sights on you.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  He smiled, and nodded toward Niall. “It appears that you saved yourself. You have a devoted beast to protect you now.”

  She clasped her hands together, and a different emotion rose up inside her chest. “And he will stop at nothing to learn the truth of that night. Who was responsible for the deaths of his family. You know he will come for the Alwyn, eventually. And you, if you stand with him.”

  “I know.”

  “You would be welcome here.”

  “I know that too.” He looked at the fire. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “But this is not my home. Even so, you must tell Niall that the Alwyn has sent a messenger to Edinburgh, formally challenging his claim on these lands.”

  “On what basis?” she demanded, drawing her plaid around her shoulders against a sudden gust of wind.

  He glanced sideways at her. “On the basis he is an imposter, and not the true son of the Kincaid.”

  Her heart flared with anger. “But he is the true son of the Kincaid.”

  Magnus shook his head, and stood, straightening. “I know you believe that, but the Alwyn has a powerful ally and unless there is a way to prove his identity beyond a shadow of a doubt…”

  “Niall has his own allies, Magnus,” she said, feeling the heat of anger rise in her cheeks, hating the danger that even now threatened her and Niall’s happiness. “And there is proof of his birth.”

  “What proof?” he demanded quietly. “Truly, I wish to know. I need to know, so I know what to believe.”

  Had she said too much? She drew back, turning from him. “I can’t tell you,” she answered softly. “It’s a secret, and I have promised not to tell.”

  She would never betray Niall’s trust, and part of that meant protecting his secrets. He wanted so desperately to find his brothers. To know they were alive. If there was any hope of that, she must do all she could to help him.