The Highlander’s Trust_Blood of Duncliffe Series_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story

by Emilia Ferguson

  He lowered his mouth to hers and she drew in a shaky breath as, tenderly, his tongue pushed apart her lips and softly, gently, tasted her.

  She sighed and leaned against him as his tongue brushed against hers, sweet and soft and probing as it pushed against her own. He tasted sweet, and his lips on hers were warm and insistent, pushing against her lips, his mouth exploring hers.

  His arms were tight around her now and she held herself against him, the feel of his strong chest pushing against hers making her heart thump faster and her blood warm in her veins as she leaned against him. She wanted him so badly, though she didn't know what it was she wanted. Against her breasts, she felt him tense suddenly.

  “My lady,” he said. When he looked at her, his eyes were sightless, his voice tight with longing.

  “My lord,” she whispered.

  “We mustn't,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't. I am a fool.”

  She sighed. Her body was on fire. She knew her life would change forever in this moment, in the wake of the choice she made now. However, if she chose differently, she would have denied something that her very marrow ached for.

  “I cannot do that to you,” Richard murmured. “It is not my time.”

  His hand was on hers, she looked into his agonized face, and suddenly a sweet realization spread through her, a knowing that whatever she did, her life was already irreparably altered. That, in this moment, as a vagabond, she had the right to choose precisely what she wished to do.

  “It is my wedding night,” she said.

  THE BODY’S PROMISE

  Richard felt his blood stop as he stared at Arabella. It felt as though his whole world had just altered in an eye blink, his life changed. Did she mean it?

  “Arabella,” he murmured. “No.”

  How could she do this? He didn't deserve that. She was an earl's daughter and he a lieutenant in an army that threatened her security. He was an enemy, and beneath her status.

  She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze.

  “I am free, now,” she whispered. “No more my father's daughter, no more a prize for his wars. I am simply Arabella. And I choose you.”

  He closed his eyes. It felt as if his heart had been taken out and replaced with warm honey, soft, sweet, and impossibly wonderful. He gripped her hand as the sensation flowed through him, so strong it felt like pain.

  He sighed. “Milady,” he said.

  He kissed her then and he felt his eyes squeeze tight shut as his tongue gently moved apart those plump lips. It pushed into the hot wetness of her mouth and he felt his whole body tense with longing as he tasted her warmth.

  He held her close, her sweet curves pressed against him. His hand gently touched her hair while he drew her into his arms.

  She leaned against him and it was not, after all so hard a thing to simply lean back and let them lie down together beside the warming fire.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He was shivering, and barely realized it as she moved against him, her sweet curves pressed against him. He let his hand stroke her back and marveled at the softness of her skin as it touched the top of her back, visible beneath the scooped neck of the gown. She was lying against him, her chest pressed to his, his weight pushed down on the earthen floor as she lay atop him.

  “Arabella,” he said as he stroked her back.

  She looked down at him, her eyes holding his gaze. His hand stroked her hair, she sighed and moved up, and he let his hand lose itself in her hair as he stroked the silky softness, drawing her mouth down to his.

  As he gently sucked the sweet fullness of her lips, she moved against him and he nearly cried out with the intensity of feeling that shot from his groin to his brain. He knew she did it in innocence, but all the same, it was almost more than he could bear without biting his lip with strain.

  He looked up at her, so beautiful in the firelight. He held his breath and simply stared at her, feeling complete amazement. She was easily the most beautiful creature ever. Her hair was loose round her body, the under-dress she wore hanging from one shoulder, her skin pale and shining in the firelight. He could see the round of her breasts under the gown and his whole being ached to touch it.

  She smiled down at him and his heart stopped.

  “You're so beautiful,” he breathed.

  She smiled. Her cheeks flushed with shy warmth that made her even more ravishing. He felt his loins ache with longing.

  “Oh, Richard, you talk such nonsense.”

  Her voice was warm and glowing and he smiled, feeling his cheeks ache with the intensity of the grin. He held her to him, wrapping his arms around her torso that she pressed against him and she sighed with sweet contentment.

  His grip loosened and he gently stroked down her back again, this time feeling for the buttons that clasped the under-dress to her body. He worked one loose and felt her tense in his arms.

  He let her go and she sat up, her eyes dark and glowing in the flame's light.

  “I'm sorry, milady,” he whispered.

  She shook her head and instead reached for the button of his shirt, which hung woefully open. She let her fingers gently trace his chest. He gasped and tendrils of pure longing shot through his body and made him ache with need.

  She smiled and lay down against him again and his hand reached up and undid the next button. Soon, it was all he could do not to rip the dress from her and he found himself unfastening button after button with an urgent haste.

  The under-dress slipped down her body and he felt his hands brush against skin. He groaned as his groin ached and he slid his hands down lower, reaching for her waist.

  She sighed and leaned against him. Under the shift, she was naked, he realized with wonderment as his hand slid down her back and stroked naked skin all the way to the round hardness that graced her body.

  She gasped as he gently let his hand move lower, unable to resist stroking the parting of her thighs. She went tense and then relaxed against him as his fingers gently explored her there, as far as he could reach, anyway.

  She moved higher and her lips met his. He felt his need grow and he held her tight, rolling over so that she was on her back beneath him. She gasped but also smiled, her eyes soft as she looked up at him.

  “I'm sorry, milady,” he whispered again as he sat up, feeling a coldness in his chest at the thought that he might scare her. “I don't...” he paused. “I don't want to frighten you. If I do anything to scare you, do promise to tell me?”

  She smiled. Very deliberately, she reached up and undid the next button on his shirt. He gasped with surprise and then simply gasped as he stared down at her where she lay on the hearth rug, looking up at him.

  Her skin was pale in the flame light, her hair red where the light touched it. Her eyes were glowing with sweet warmth, her red lips half-parted where she smiled up at him. Her breasts, he noticed, were full and rounded, the ends tipped with pink. He felt his loins throb as he let his gaze feast on her curves, straying from her softly rounded breasts to the soft curve of her thighs and back again.

  She smiled and that was all he could take. Gritting his teeth to maintain at least some restraint on his haste, he reached up and started to undo his own buttons – the three that were left. Then, wrestling the kilt off – he had never worn one before – he knelt down beside her.

  He felt his face flood with color as her eyes roamed him, lingering with some alarm at his waist. He realized with some horror that he was the first naked man she'd ever seen – of course he was, he reasoned impatiently with himself. The lass was of good birth and would practically have been cloistered all her life.

  “If I scare you,” he said again, “please, tell me. I'll stop.”

  Again, very firmly, she reached out and touched his shoulder. Her stroking burned like fire, and he felt every impact of her fingertips, lingering long after she moved them. She held his gaze.

  “You don't,” she whispered. Her voice was soft and sweet and rushed through him.
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  He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  Then, as she rolled over onto her back, he reached out and, shuddering uncontrollably, parted her thighs.

  Arabella closed her eyes as Richard strayed a hand between her thighs. She bit her lip as he stroked her, his fingers gently touching the folds between her thighs. She couldn't believe how strange it felt! Strange and impossibly wonderful.

  He stroked her there and she cried out as the sensation became overwhelming. It felt as if some slow tide was building inside her, some desperate, rising urgency that would not be denied.

  He smiled at her, hearing the gasp she'd made. Deliberately, he parted her legs and moved closer, so that the – whatever it was – of his body pressed against the place his fingers touched.

  He closed his eyes and leaned against her and she felt something move.

  Then the most incredible sensation she'd felt flowed through her like a fire. She let out a sigh of astonishment as it felt as if her whole body was bathed in a sweetness she'd never known before, each limb and joint of it melting in a wildfire that brought every part of her together and flooded it with light.

  “Oh!”

  He smiled and looked into her eyes and then he moved again.

  The sensation grew and then diminished and then, abruptly, grew again as he pushed inside of her again.

  She closed her eyes and felt the intense rising sweetness building inside her, building, and growing and...

  Suddenly, something happened. It was like her heart stopped, or her whole body stopped, as the flood broke inside it. Every limb was awash with the amazing, intensifying waves of sensation that spread out from her loins and into her brain and spiraled down warmly to her toes, making her close her eyes. She lay there, numb and aching with it.

  Inside her, Richard moved again. He was pushing out and pushing in, moving faster and faster as he sweated and moved and then...

  He cried out as she had done and she felt him collapse on top of her. He sighed and held her close, his arms wrapped round her. She sighed too and held him close.

  They lay like that before the fireplace, arms wrapped round each other, naked bodies pressed together. Gently, she let a hand stroke his back.

  He sighed and moved closer and as they lay there it felt as if his body was one with hers.

  She closed her eyes and felt herself start to drop off to sleep. His lips found hers, then, and they kissed. She knew that, whatever happened from this moment after, everything in her life had changed. She was in love with Richard and she knew it now.

  “My darling,” he whispered, looking down at her with tenderness so profound it melted her heart.

  “My dearest,” she whispered. She reached up and stroked his hair.

  He reached down and gently touched her cheek. She felt her heart melt.

  They reached for his plaid and, wrapped in that and a cloak, they spent the night together, sharing their warmth, beside the fire.

  All was well in their world.

  THE HEART’S VOICE

  The light flowed through the window and fell on the still, curled form by the fireplace. Arabella stared down at him, her heart thumping. She smiled, studying Richard while he slept. He was lying still as a carving on a tombstone, his muscles sculpted as if formed by a master craftsman. She sighed and stared down at him. He was so handsome!

  As though he'd heard her, he stirred and shifted, sighing in his sleep. She felt her heart thump as his eyelid flickered, and her body broke out in chills, recalling the previous night and all the wonderful things that had happened. She sighed and lay down again, pressing her cool body to his warmth.

  He sighed and reached out, his arm wrapping her. Arabella felt as if her heart would melt. She closed her eyes and lay beside him, contentment seeping through her body as she recalled the events of the night.

  “Good morning,” he whispered, startling her.

  She tensed and then relaxed, finding his eyes open, staring into hers. He smiled. She smiled, too.

  “Good morning,” she whispered softly.

  He reached out and, melting her heart, laid his hand against her cheek. She lifted her own hand and touched it, they lay side by side, her gaze holding his, breathing in the wonder that was him, and her, and their new-found love.

  “Warm enough?” Richard murmured, reaching for the cloak that covered them.

  Arabella's heart melted as he gently covered her up.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I'm quite warm.”

  He lay beside her and she felt as if she never wanted to move. However, they had to. The present and its demands crept slowly back into focus...she recalled, suddenly, that they were not alone. This was the house of the woodsman, and he was likely somewhere in the room.

  “Richard!” her voice was a whisper. Her heart almost stopped on panic.

  “What, sweetest?” he murmured, stroking her hair.

  “I...the woodsman! Is he...” she trailed off as Richard reached over to touch her shoulder, a gentle gesture.

  “He left early this morning.”

  “He did?”

  He nodded. “Heard the door.”

  “Whew,” she sighed. The thought of what he must have seen occurred to her and her cheeks colored red. “He...he saw us?”

  Richard shrugged, and smiled. “I doubt it. He went out while it was still dark.”

  “Oh, good.” She let out a long, shuddering breath. The enormity of what she had done, in lying with Richard, was something her brain couldn't quite fathom. She wasn't ready to think about it yet.

  As if in answer, he smiled. “Anyhow, what matters it? We're married.”

  Arabella felt the warmth in her heart suffuse her chest, her body, her world.

  “You mean it, Richard?” she whispered. “You want to marry me?”

  He grinned. “How can you doubt that? Of course, Arabella.”

  She smiled, the warmth shining out in her big grin. “Oh, Richard,” she sighed. Even the sound of his name was intoxicating, a sweetness that whispered through her heart.

  “Well, then,” Richard said, rolling over. “We should find a preacher. Or, breakfast first. Then the church. What say you, sweetest?”

  Arabella couldn't help laughing. “You mean it?”

  “I certainly do. I'm starving. And when we're married, then we'll discuss what to do next. The two of us are both outside the law.”

  “We are,” she whispered, with a kind of delicious wonder. She was a vagabond. So was he.

  They got dressed with a kind of hazed unreality. Arabella looked at the shift she'd worn the previous night with a kind of distant amazement. Had she really fled the fortress wearing that? She could barely remember. It was torn and dirtied, the one sleeve torn where she'd fallen against something, the skirt stained thickly with mud.

  “You ready?” Richard asked. He was wearing the too small shirt. He also, Arabella noticed with delicious amusement, had the cloth from the kilt wrapped round his waist, but was clearly in some confusion as to how to put it on.

  “You need help?” she asked, unable to hide a grin.

  “I am afraid so.” He went red. “I had Bromley – my manservant – to help me yesterday. Heaven knows how he got this thing round me. How do you wear them?”

  “Well, I don't,” Arabella quipped, still grinning. “But Douglas does, sometimes, for gatherings. I think I know how to fasten one. We need to wrap it round, then pleat in the extra, like this...”

  As her hands worked, she couldn't help but be aware of the contact she was having with his muscular body. She glanced down, noticed a rising hardness below the cloth, and felt her own body flood with warmth in a response.

  He chuckled, going red. “I'm afraid you have a powerful effect,” he said. “It might not assist your labors over much.”

  Arabella laughed. “Oh, you.” She couldn't think of anything more to say.

  When she had finished the kilt, he reached over and his hand gently clasped her neck, drawing her tow
ard him.

  They kissed.

  Arabella gasped as they moved apart, a fire that she hadn't expected starting to kindle inside of her. She forced herself to calm, keeping her hands held loosely at her sides.

  “So,” Richard said softly, “shall we see what the woodsman has in his kitchen?”

  “Oh!” Arabella felt her hands fly to her mouth in shock. “We can't eat his food! Poor fellow.”

  Richard paused. “Well, what we could do is to use what we have here now, and then use some of our coin to restock his larder when we're in the village later. Yes?”

  Arabella nodded, feeling better. “Agreed,” she said.

  They opened the cupboard and stared inside.

  “Well,” Richard commented, leaning back with a frown. “We have bread.”

  Arabella laughed. “Oh, you silly. Look! We have eggs, too,” she pointed out. “And I think that's cheese. We can have a fine breakfast. Let me get the eggs on to boil.”

  Richard grinned somewhat shyly. “I suppose I'm used to the army – I get whatever's being served in the mess tent. Or Bromley does it. How do you know anything about cooking?”

  “I learned as a girl,” Arabella said with a smile. “I wasn't supposed to, mind – a highborn lady probably shouldn't even know there's a kitchen in the house – but my sister and I grew up half-wild. Our cook raised us, more or less. So I spent much longer than is reasonable in the kitchen.”

  He laughed. She blushed. When she looked up, sure she'd find some critical gaze on her, he was looking at her with a sweet intensity.

  “You're remarkable.”

  She went red. “Oh, you! Why would you say that?”

  “Because you are. I don't know anyone like you. You're unique.”

  “Oh, you.”

  Sweet wonder flowed through her. She focused on the task at hand – setting a pot of water, gleaned from a bucket by the fireplace, to boil on the stove, selecting eggs to boil from the basket on the table by the window – and studiously ignored him.