“Nay, I’ve already signed an agreement and even spoken binding betrothal vows before her clan. All that remains left is for the formal ceremony with a clergyman.”
“What’s Elizabeth like?” Kyla leaned her head against Ronan’s shoulder.
“She’s been well trained to manage a keep.”
“You dinnae wish to marry for love? What if you too discover you hold a soul bond with a woman of fae blood, just as I have discovered I do with Ronan, and Duncan has discovered his bond with Ella?”
“There is no such bond for me.” And never would be. “Elizabeth shall be your new sister come the week’s end.”
A knock sounded.
“Enter,” he called out.
The maid returned and set a tray on his desk, one holding a steaming bowl of stew and a corked flagon of whiskey. “Is there aught more you need, my laird?”
“Aye, I wish to bathe after I’ve eaten. See to a tub being filled in my chamber, then inform me once ’tis done.”
“Of course.” She closed the door behind her as she bustled out.
“What else can you share about her?” Another probing question from Kyla.
“Elizabeth has red hair and freckles.” He scooped the slice of crusty bread wedged to the side, dipped it into his stew and took a hearty bite.
“I meant in how well the two of you get along.” Brow arched, Kyla dipped a finger under the white lace edging of her velvet bodice and freed a gold necklace. A disk dangled from it, one holding an engraved word on one side and as she twirled it about, the firelight reflected another word etched on the reverse.
“What does that say?” He gestured to her charm.
“It says Kyla”—she flipped it over—“and Christina.” She turned her attention on her mate, sank one hand into his hair and grinned all silly at him. “Christina being the name Ronan had first known me by at the fae village afore my capture by Colin MacKenzie. ’Tis my true name.” She turned her smile back on him. “No’ that I dinnae love being called Kyla. Oh, and, Coll, you’ve missed meeting my parents. They joined us here for a short while and have only recently returned to the village. I wish you could have met them.”
“I’ll meet them when they return for another visit. I hope you told them they’re always welcome here.”
“Absolutely.”
Aye, never would he turn one of Kyla’s kin away, not when they were his blood kin too. Stretching his chainmail-clad legs under the table, he crossed them at the ankle, uncorked the whiskey and tipped the flagon to his lips.
Duncan wandered to the window and gripped the ledge, his gaze ever-watchful on the courtyard beyond where torches mounted on the stone walls spread their warm glow across the stony ground and up across the battlements and their patrolling guardsmen. Turning back, Duncan rested his backside on the sill, his dark hair a few inches longer than usual and almost brushing his shoulders. “You should know that I extended the barracks at Ardan House and can now house some of these additional men you’ve returned with.”
“Then feel free to take half of the men who arrived with me back to Ardan. We’ll spread our additional numbers out so we can ensure we hold the length of Loch Carron with ease.”
“Will do.”
Another knock and Meg returned and dipped her head at him. “Your bath awaits you, my laird. I’ll aid you with your chainmail if you wish.”
“That would be greatly appreciated.” He heaved to his feet, his chainmail heavy after the long hours he’d spent in it. Ridding himself of it without his squire’s aid wouldn’t be easy, and since he had no intention of finding the lad when the maid could see to the chore, he gladly accepted her aid. Clapping Duncan and Ronan on the back, as well as dropping a kiss on the top of Kyla’s head, he said, “I’ll see you all in the morn. Sleep well.”
“You too.” Kyla blew him a kiss. “’Tis wonderful to have you home.”
“’Tis wonderful to be home.” A home he’d soon be welcoming his new bride into.
With a slightly heavy step, he walked out of his solar and up the stairwell, the maid following quietly behind. On the third floor, he opened his chamber door and entered. His large bed dominated the space with its magnificently carved posts that rose to the ceiling, the royal blue canopy sweeping down each of the four sides and secured at the corners with golden ties. His desk sat in the corner, the piece a replica of the one in his solar downstairs.
Gently, he trailed one finger along the desk’s polished surface, the rolls of parchment he’d left there on his departure still sitting between his stoppered ink well and his personal journal covered in red leather, the pages within an accumulation of memories he’d added to over the years, although not these past six months he’d been away.
He picked up the precious journal with its lock on one side, the key always stored in his trunk. Cait, his father’s wife and the only woman he’d ever known as his mother, had gifted him with this journal on his seventh birthday, mere days before she’d taken a chest illness and passed away. He’d loved her, no matter she hadn’t been his true birthmother. She’d raised him and Duncan with all the love she could have offered, and this gift was one he’d forever cherish. Aye, that day she’d gifted him this journal, she’d told him to store all his memories within and he’d never missed a life-altering moment.
In it, he’d included the night when he and Duncan had first met Kyla. Their father had called them down to his solar and as they’d stood before him, Colin MacKenzie had lowered to his haunches, his gaze narrowed and his next words shocking them. He’d told them that the mother they’d always known until the day she’d passed, hadn’t been their mother at all. Before he’d wed Cait, the Chief of MacLennan’s daughter, he’d in fact handfasted with a fae lass named Beth Matheson, a lass who’d unfortunately passed away while birthing them both. The knowledge of who their true mother had been had remained a secret from even them until that day. Even now they told so very few, only those they implicitly trusted.
Aye, never did their father wish to lose the lands and dowry he’d gained with his marriage to the MacLennan’s daughter, and that could still happen should the truth become fully known to one and all.
Behind him, the maid tossed another log on the fire, her cheeks flushed and the neckline of her kirtle somehow far lower than when they’d entered. She crossed to him and hunkered down, her frilly cap slipping off her head and her long brown locks cascading down to her waist.
“The water awaits ye, my laird.” With a tug, she removed his boots and set them aside then stood and loosened the ties of his chausses. She wriggled them down past his braies, her gaze flicking over him as she scooped up her lost cap and stuffed it in her apron pocket. With care, she lifted one of his arms out of the heavy sleeve of metal, slid the protective mail over his head then down his other arm and with a clunk, set it on the chair next to the tub filled with steamy hot water. “You’re a kind and caring laird, fair and never harsh,” she murmured.
He breathed deep. “Thank you, lass.”
“Ye must get mighty lonely when ye are gone for so long from home.”
“What age are you, Meg?”
“Eight and ten, sir.” She walked to the side table and picked up the bar of soap. “Do ye wish for me to scrub ye as ye bathe?”
She wouldn’t be the first maid to make the offer and he doubted the last, but never had he accepted any of them. Hands on the hem of his under-tunic, he pulled it over his head, tossed it into the corner wicker basket and opened the door. “I’ve no need for aid, will manage well enough. Thank you for your kind offer though.”
“Are ye certain?” She dunked the soap into the tub and built a lather between her hands, then with the bubbles smeared between her fingers, walked around to his back and rubbed. “Ye cannae get your back cleaned once I’m gone. At least allow me to scrub ye clean here.”
With a long sigh, he stood still as she smoothed over his skin, her touch tender-light.
“Ye have a mighty lot of muscle.” Th
e maid stepped around him, her hands gliding over his shoulders then his chest as she worked the bubbles across his skin.
“May I ask something of you, Meg?”
“Aye, I’d like that.” Eagerness shone in her eyes, her hands sliding down his sides and over his hips, the thin brown linen of his braies knotted at his waist thankfully protecting him from her roaming hands dipping any lower. “Would you pour me a drink afore you leave? I find I’m still thirsty.”
“Oh.” Chin lowered, she glanced at the flask of wine on the side table then stepped away and wiped her hands on her aproned skirts. Flask in hand, she poured the wine into a silver goblet and handed it to him. “Ye must be most weary after such a long journey. Rest well, my laird.”
He would only ever long for one woman’s hands on him, and it would never be this maid’s or even his future bride’s. Unfortunately, he’d lost the chance to wed the only lass he’d ever—well, no use going back over that yet again. Fiona was in the past and that’s where she needed to stay. His future was now set, and it was with Elizabeth MacRae.
He closed the door after the maid, shucked his braies and stepped into the bath and sank down. Warm water flowed over his back and chest and once he’d dunked fully down and wet his head, he came back up and worked the soap through his hair then went under again and rinsed.
With his head resting on the lip and the fire’s flames flickering bright, he closed his eyes and allowed Fiona’s sweet image to once again flicker back to vibrant life within his mind, just as he’d allowed it to do for each of the long months he’d been away. He just couldn’t help himself. Self-punishment and all.
Not long after he’d left here six months ago, he’d even visited her at Rhue Castle for a few days, and while there of course taken great care not to be alone with her. He’d only made the journey to Jeremiah’s keep to ensure he spoke to a few of his men he kept there as spies and receive updates since Jeremiah could be as devious as their father could. He’d also made certain the men he’d recruited knew to keep an eye on her, that they guarded her well, and of that he’d needed to ensure, no matter they’d fully and completely parted ways.
With her image still strong in his mind, he gripped his hardening shaft and with a firm hand, pumped himself and allowed more images of his fiery empath to consume him.
She was the woman he’d always wanted.
And the woman he could never have.
* * * *
A man’s low growl then deep groan stirred Fiona to wakefulness. Water splashed somewhere close by. She elbowed up in bed and searched her darkened chamber. Her fire had died away some hours ago although the odd ember still glowed and for some reason, so too did a sliver of golden-red light shimmering through from under the connecting door between hers and Coll’s bedchamber. How odd. He wasn’t due back until late tomorrow, and she’d certainly be awake when he did.
Another groan, and distinctly Coll’s deep rumble. Goodness. He was back.
Covers shoved away, she hopped across the cold floorboards in her nightrail and gripped the doorknob. Another moan. Mayhap he’d been hurt during his mission which was why he’d returned earlier than expected. She needed to check on him.
She opened the door with nary a noise, snuck inside and tiptoed around his bed. A fire glowed in the hearth and flames flickered high. A wooden tub sat before the fire and Coll rested in the bubbles facing away from her, his head on the lip. Water dripped from the wet ends of his midnight-black hair and splashed the floor.
He moaned again and she barely breathed.
Water sloshed and spilled over the side, his hand below the bubbles moving frantically back and forth. Nay, he wasn’t hurt but bringing forth his own pleasure. She’d caught sight of the odd warrior doing so in a darkened corner of the keep when no others were around and knew what was about
Usually, she backed quietly away when such happened and left them to their privacy, only her feet wouldn’t move. Aye, she was done leaving Coll, or allowing him to leave her and she’d missed him terribly, had been longing for his return since Duncan had aided her in her escape from Rhue following Matthew’s death some months ago. This was the moment she’d been waiting for, to confront Coll and demand he no longer set her aside.
“Fiona.” He mumbled her name, gritted out, “I need you.”
She needed him too, desperately, just as she always had.
A flare of heat spiked in her core, his demanding words making her nipples bead and poke into her shift. Never had her body come alive except when near him, and this night was no exception. So too he was no longer honor-bound to wed Kyla, and as the fates would now have it, neither was she bound to Matthew. This was her only chance to grab the future she desired, which would only ever be with him.
“Dinnae leave me.” He grunted some more, his shoulders shaking as he shuddered, then his hand fell limp to his side in the water.
“I give you my word I’ll never do so again, Coll.” Inserting her steadfast resolve, she stepped clear of her hiding place behind the royal blue bed-curtains and clasped her hands before her. “Welcome home.”
“What the hell!” Water flew as he jerked around. Wide-eyed, he stared at her. “You cannae be real.”
“I’m so sorry to have interrupted your bath.” She jabbed her curled toes into the floorboards. “But you called my name and I’ve decided I’m never going to turn away from you again.”
“Nay, you truly cannae be here. I must be dreaming.” He rose from the tub, water glistening on his broad chest and coursing in rivulets down his abs. The drops caught in the dark thatch of hair at his groin, right where the long length of his cock swayed between his legs, the head plump and thick and—oh my, she couldn’t take her gaze from his manhood. He stepped closer, his muscular legs long and strong and his cock which had softened after he’d sought his pleasure, once again jerking upright. He halted in front of her, fisted his hand around his shaft and stared into her eyes. “A dream more real than any I’ve ever had about you afore.”
“If you’re dreaming, then so am I.” She may still be an innocent, but she’d also grown up amongst warriors aplenty. Men who’d caroused from time to time and got a little bawdy. One certainly couldn’t live within the walls of a castle with hundreds of men about and not stumble upon the odd coupling as they sought their pleasure with the wenches.
She’d just never seen Coll so stripped down and very naked before.
Back a step, she inched until she hit her back on the corner bedpost. She cast her gaze down his impressively built body once more, his muscles all sleek and hard and—she cleared her throat. “So, I see you’re a big man, ah, everywhere.”
“Aye, I’m most definitely dreaming, because that is exactly what I would have wanted you to say when you first looked upon me.” The gold flecks flickered brighter in his stunning brown eyes and with one finger crooked, he motioned for her to come back to him. “Dinnae be afraid of me, my fiery empath.”
“I’ve never been afraid of you, but then I’ve never quite seen you like this afore.” Return she would though. She inched forward, until the tips of her toes touched the tips of his bare toes, then she tipped her chin up and looked him in the eyes. “You appeared to be enjoying your bath, while you spoke my name.”
“Aye, I always speak of you when I bathe and dream like this.” He released his cock, wrapped his hands around her waist, dipped her back off her feet and touched his mouth to hers. He kissed her, so whisper-soft, as if he wished to savor the taste of her then with a low growl, he deepened their kiss, his tongue sliding over hers in a kiss that completely scattered all her thoughts.
Naught had ever felt so right.
Coll was kissing her, for the first time, and he was completely naked too.
“I want to touch you,” he breathed into her mouth.
She nodded, so lost for the aye she needed to speak.
“You’re the perfect illusion of my sweet Fiona.” He set her back on her feet, tugged the tie at the neckline of her
nightrail then loosened the laces all the way to her navel. Slowly, he parted the fabric and exposed her breasts. “Och, what a sight to behold.”
“You like what you see?” She certainly liked the way he looked, but then she always had.
“I do.” He gave the folds of her shift still clinging to her hips a tug and the cotton slithered down to her feet and pooled on the ground.
She should have been embarrassed, but the emotion just wouldn’t rise around him. She wanted this, him touching her and her touching him.
“I want to devour every inch of you.”
“By all means, go right ahead.” She had no intention of halting him now, not when she’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment. She wanted him to make her his in every possible way.
“Make my dreams soar, Fiona.” He scooped her up, dropped her on top of his bed’s brown fur covers then slid in over top of her and brought their flesh together without even a single inch separating them. “Touch me, just as I’m touching you.”
Oh, sweet heaven. This moment had now moved far beyond her wildest dreams.
Touch him, she would. She grasped his shoulders, stroked down his muscled arms then around to his back before dipping lower, right over his firm buttocks. This was exactly how she’d always wished to touch him, and now she’d started, she had no intention of stopping.
It was time to claim the man she’d always wished to claim.
No more would she allow another to stand in their way.
He was hers, just as she’d always been his.
Chapter 2
This moment was what Coll had wished for his entire life and he intended on bedding his dream Fiona until neither of them could breathe for the pleasure. This magical hallucination of her would have to keep him satisfied for all the years to come once he’d spoken his marriage vows with the MacRae’s daughter. “Tell me you want this,” he whispered against her lips.
Highlander's Touch: Medieval Romance Page 3
