Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  Ewan followed each caress of his hands with kisses and slow strokes of his tongue. Fiona found herself on her back. There was the soft sound of something tearing as he yanked the covers away, freeing his body from their hold. She got only a brief glimpse of his body. He was a very big man and Fiona decided it was probably for the best that she did not get a really good look at him just now. Then he took the aching tip of her breast into the heat of his mouth and she lost the ability to think at all.

  Ewan was trying desperately to hold on to some small scrap of control, but it was impossible. The soft cries she made, the way her lithe body moved beneath his, pushed him blindly onward. His love-making grew fierce, nearly frantic, but she seemed to be equally enflamed. It was not until he thrust himself inside her, crashing through her maiden’s gate and hearing her cry out, that he regained a brief glimmer of sanity. He was just struggling for the appropriate words and the breath to say them when she wrapped her strong, slender legs around him. The way she arched her slim hips pushed him deeper inside her tight heat and he was lost. He was aware of nothing but his body’s screaming need.

  Fiona stared up at the ceiling above Ewan’s bed. She idly stroked his broad back as he lay weak and breathing raggedly in her arms. The feel of their bodies united, the knowledge that she had given him pleasure, gave her pleasure. Yet right beside that warmth, that tingling delight, was a vague sense of dissatisfaction.

  Her eyes widened as she realized what ailed her. Ewan had not made her yell. She could recall Gilly stumbling to explain what one could feel in the arms of the man one loved, the sort of feelings that made Gilly notorious for her bellowing when Connor made love to her. Ewan had not given that to her.

  For a moment, Fiona feared there was something wrong with her, then shook aside that concern. She had felt passion, had been wild with it. The need within her had reached almost painful heights. Even the sharp pain of losing her innocence had barely dimmed it. With each thrust of Ewan’s strong body within hers, she had felt herself climbing toward some precipice. Then he had finished, flooding her womb with his seed before collapsing in her arms. And there was the problem, she thought. He had finished, but she had not. Ewan had brought her to the gates of paradise, then stepped through and left her behind.

  She opened her mouth to inform him of this failing, then quickly closed it again. Instinct told her that any comment, even the smallest hint of criticism, real or imagined, would be a serious error. Whether the knowledge came from things she had heard, or things Ewan had said, she knew that Ewan had very little confidence in his attractiveness to women. A man like her brother Connor would see any hint of criticism as a challenge to be met. Ewan would take it as a hard blow to his confidence.

  It did not matter if he made her yell, she told herself as she felt him grow calm in her arms. There was all the dizzying joy of his kisses and caresses to savor. There was pleasure to be found in giving him pleasure. It could also be that, since he satisfied his manly lusts only once a year, he was simply too needy, too hungry, to satisfy her needs just yet. That would pass and then he would give her that bliss Gilly had tried to describe. At the moment, her biggest concern should be stopping him from trying to retreat again. As she felt him tense slightly, she braced herself for a confrontation.

  Ewan grimaced as his senses returned. He had lost all control. Worse, he was fairly sure he had left Fiona unsatisfied. He was not sure how to mend that, either, for she drove him wild. The way she warmed to his caresses pushed him past all control and, obviously, all consideration. Since there was no turning back now, he was going to have to find a way to hold that madness back until she found her pleasure.

  Sitting up, he picked up a square of linen from the table by the bed and dampened it in the bowl of water there. He ignored her blushes as he gently bathed away all signs of her lost innocence. As he did the same to himself, he frantically searched his mind for the right words to say.

  He settled himself on his side, propping his head up on one hand, and smiled faintly when Fiona hastily pulled the sheet over their bodies. It puzzled him that she said nothing about his poor performance as a lover. Helena had always been quick to complain if he failed to give her pleasure. Of course, Helena had not been a virgin. There was a chance that Fiona, being an innocent, had no idea that he had failed her.

  “That was ill done of me,” he said and wondered why she frowned at him.

  “I dinnae believe ye were the only one doing it,” she snapped. “There is naught to feel guilty about.”

  There was, but he would not argue about that now, nor would he risk hurting her feelings by voicing his regrets or fears. “I didnae satisfy ye. I did a poor job of it.”

  “Oh, nay. Twas verra fine.”

  “Fiona, ye dinnae need to lie. I ken that I didnae satisfy ye, that ye didnae find your release.”

  “Ye mean ye didnae make me yell.” Suddenly aware that someone might walk in on them at any moment, Fiona picked her shift up off the floor and tugged it on.

  Although his body was already demanding more, Ewan did not stop her from getting dressed. He had briefly considered bringing her to release with his hand, but knew he would not be able to stop there. He would have made love to her again, given in to the craving to feel her tight heat around him once more. It was for the best if she put herself out of reach for now, if only so her body could recover from her first bedding.

  “Make ye yell?” he asked as he watched her dress.

  “Aye. Our Gilly yells when my brother loves her. Fair shakes the walls. She says ’tis the bliss which makes her sing out. She put thicker doors on their bedchamber.” Fiona smiled when Ewan laughed.

  He grasped her hand as she started to move away from the bed. “When we are married, I will make ye yell.” Ewan watched her closely as he spoke.

  It was what she wanted, Fiona told herself. It was what she and Mab had planned for. Fiona could not help but feel guilty, however. It was wrong to trick him, to entrap him, no matter how good her reasons for doing so. She had to give him a choice.

  “Ye dinnae have to marry me,” she said.

  “Aye, I do. I just took your maidenhead.”

  “Twas mine to give away as I pleased.”

  “Mayhap, but ’twas my duty to resist temptation. I may nay ken exactly who ye are, but I have no doubt that ye are of good blood. Your brother is a laird.” He almost smiled when she grimaced and mouthed a curse as she realized she had given something away. “My honor demands I make this right.”

  “I dinnae want an unwilling husband, one brought to the altar for only reasons of honor.”

  He kissed her palm. “Twould nay be just honor. Can ye deny that there would be passion?”

  “Nay,” she replied softly, “but ye dinnae want to get married.”

  “A mon can change his mind. Am I such a poor choice of husband?”

  “Dinnae be an idiot. Tisnae if ye are a good choice or nay, is it, although ye are. Tis whether or not ye truly wish to be chosen.”

  “Mayhap I didnae, but I do now. Do ye think your kinsmen will just pat me on the back and say what a braw lad I am when they learn I took your innocence? I need no more enemies.”

  Her heart told her that was a poor reason to get married, but good sense silenced it. Connor would soon drag the truth from her once she was back at Deilcladach, and she could not be sure she could talk him out of his anger. The very last thing she wanted was for Connor and Ewan to come to sword-point because of her. Her besotted mind quickly latched on to the thought of how wonderful it would be to gift Ewan with one alliance, and she inwardly cursed. Since it was certain they would be married, she was going to have to stiffen her spine or she could find herself being twisted into painful knots trying to please him.

  “And I left my seed inside of you,” he said, encouraged to add more sound reasons for marriage by the way she was thinking over what he had already said. “Ye could, e’en now, be carrying my bairn.”

  Fiona pulled her hand free of h
is grasp and held it up to silence his words. “Enough. Ye dinnae need to bury me in reasoning. In truth, if ye state any more good, practical reasons to marry, I could turn stubbornly contrary.”

  Ewan inwardly winced as he sat up. He should have tried to say a few sweet words, but he was unskilled in flattery and wooing. The only clear thought he had in his head at the moment was how badly he wanted to get her back into his bed. Telling her how badly he wanted to be back inside her was probably not something a woman considered proper flattery. He vowed he would think of some sweet words to give her on their wedding night. She deserved some for the pleasure she gave him, and a few flatteries would not make her think him weak and besotted.

  “Good. Then we shall marry in two days’ time,” he said.

  “Two days?!”

  “Aye. That should give ye time to heal and me time to become more steady on my feet.” He grabbed her by the wrist, tugged her close, and gave her a quick but heated kiss. “I will be faithful and I will make ye yell.”

  As Fiona hurried out of the room, she wondered if she should see that second promise as more of a threat. Meeting Gregor and Mab in the hall, she grabbed Mab by the hand and dragged the woman off to her bedchamber. She was still blushing from the intense look Gregor gave her once she got Mab into her room.

  “He didnae push ye away this time, did he?” Mab said, grinning widely.

  “Nay.” Fiona sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. “We will be wed in two days’ time.”

  “Ye dinnae sound as pleased by that as I thought ye would be.”

  “Oh, a part of me is verra pleased indeed, that foolish, ever hopeful part that thinks she can simply make Ewan care for her. The rest of me is a little stung by his lack of any sweet words. Nary a one, nay e’en the smallest, silliest of flatteries.”

  Mab sat down next to Fiona and patted her on the back. “They will come. Ye ken that ye have his passion. With many men that doesnae have to mean so verra much, but with our Ewan it means a great deal.”

  “I would like to think so.”

  “Do think so, for ’tis fact. Whate’er ye stir in that young fool, ’tis strong enough to make him forget his own rules, lose his legendary restraint. Tis more than many a wife begins with. Tis up to ye to make it into something deeper and richer, into what ye want and need.”

  “Ye are right. I have my chance now for he willnae be able to run away, might no longer see any need to. Tis up to me to make this marriage a good one. I just wish I felt more confident in my ability to do so.”

  “Heed a wee bit of advice from a woman who has had a wee bit of experience with men. Aye, Fingal was an error in judgment, but I was married once. It wasnae a love match, few are, but I made it one.”

  “There is a secret to it, is there?”

  “Aye, although a mon has to have a heart ye can reach. Howbeit, I have known Ewan for years, and trust me in this, the lad has a verra big heart indeed for all he tries to bury it deep inside. In the beginning, ye must learn to nay take everything to heart. E’en a mon who dearly loves the lass he weds is going to speak wrong or step wrong. Men need a wee bit of training, ye ken.”

  Fiona grinned and nodded. “Our Gilly had to train my brother. He had some verra strange, but firmly set, ideas about ladies and wives.”

  “As most men do. From what ye have told me of those two, I think it would serve ye weel to think on all your Gilly did to make her marriage a good one. My feeling is that truth and trust are essential. And by truth I mean ye must say what ye think and feel. Tis the only way the fool can come to ken ye as more than a body in his bed. A mon cannae care about a lass he doesnae ken weel or understand, can he?”

  “Nay. Twill be easier after Ewan and I are wed, too, for I willnae have to weigh my every word.” She grimaced. “I just hope he doesnae have any enemies amongst my kinsmen, the ones of blood or marriage.”

  “Just who are ye?” Mab placed her hand over her heart. “I swear I shall tell no one and let it be your truth to tell.”

  “I am Fiona MacEnroy of Deilcladach. My brother is the laird. He married Gillyanne Murray, the daughter of Sir Eric Murray of Dubhlinn, the niece of Lady Maldie Murray of Donncoill, and the foster sister of James Drummond, laird of Dunncraig. My brother Diarmot is laird of Clachthrom and recently married Ilsa Cameron, only sister of Sigimor Cameron, laird of Dubheidland. And by the look upon your face, Mab, I think I have already found a problem.”

  “Nay. Weel, mayhap. Still, so many strong alliances may ease the way, soften the blow. Aye, and those Drummonds are kin to my late husband’s clan. Ah, but ’tis the Camerons, m’dear.”

  “They are enemies of the MacFingals?”

  “Nay—kinsmen.”

  “Oh, nay, dinnae say ’tis those kinsmen, the ones Sir Fingal hates.”

  “Weel, it may nay be the same ones. There are many different Cameron families. Sigimor may be a common name.”

  “Nay, it isnae, and weel ye ken it. A Sigimor who is laird of Dubheidland is e’en more rare. A big mon, red hair, odd humor? Has thirteen brothers? All red-haired?”

  “Oh, dear. Tis him. Fingal’s nephew. The son of the woman Fingal feels was stolen from him. Weel, ’tis no matter. Ewan holds no grudge, has simply left it in his father’s hands. In truth, I think the lads have begun to think it all verra silly when they are in such desperate need of allies. And most of the ones Fingal argued with are dead now. His brother, the woman, and both their fathers. So, it isnae as if he will have to deal with the ones he thought wronged him. If Ewan had been here, oh, three years past, when Sigimor stopped by, I suspect he would have welcomed the mon.”

  “I pray ye are right, Mab. E’en if those Camerons are only kin to me through marriage, they are still kin and I should hate to find myself caught between them and my husband.” Fiona sighed and shook her head. “And here I had convinced myself that Ewan would be pleasantly surprised by who I am and all of my connections.”

  “Weel, he will most certainly be surprised.”

  Chapter 10

  “I cannae believe ye havenae demanded that she tell ye who she is,” said Gregor as he helped Ewan into a heavily embroidered black and silver doublet. “Ye will be marrying her in but an hour.”

  “She will tell me when we marry. I think she is a wee bit afraid that I might change my mind and try to ransom her if I ken who she is ere we say the vows.”

  There was no chance of that happening, Ewan thought. He had made no effort to convince Fiona of that, however. To do so would have required the type of soft words he had no skill with, and for all his effort over the last two days, he had not thought of any. He had also feared that any attempt to get her to trust him with the truth might have him stumbling into confessions of feelings he did not want her to know about.

  Passion was safe. Passion was something he could give her in abundance, knowing she would see no more in that than a man’s natural lust. All other feeling he would keep to himself. Helena had taught him the danger of giving heart and soul to a woman. It might be unfair to treat Fiona as if she were yet another like Helena, especially when there had been no indication that she was, but he could not help but be wary. He might desire Fiona, but he did not really know her well. Helena’s betrayal had left him hurt and cautious. A betrayal at Fiona’s hands would devastate him. Ewan was not sure how he knew that, and he did not wish to peer too closely into his heart to learn why it would be so.

  Ewan ruefully admitted that he did not fully trust the passion Fiona revealed in his arms. Women rarely felt passion for him. Helena’s had been a lie. The whores in the village simply did what they were paid to do. The few maids about Scarglas who tried to flirt with him were stirred by his position as laird, tempted by what that might gain them. Over the past two days he had constantly thought about the lovemaking he had shared with Fiona, recalling her every sound, every touch, every movement. He could not detect any falsity in her passion, but since he loathed the mere thought that her sighs and kisses had been lies, he could
not really trust his own judgment.

  “Ye dinnae look too happy,” murmured Gregor. “Ye are wedding a bonnie lass. I would think ye would at least smile o’er the knowledge that she will soon be in your bed every night.”

  “Aye, I should be,” replied Ewan, “and I am a wee bit, inside. Yet, weel, she is verra beautiful.”

  Gregor cursed and shook his head. “And so ye wonder why she wants you. Ye are hardly an ogre, Ewan. Aye, your face has been scarred and knocked about, but ’tisnae one to give the bairns nightmares. Tis clear to see that Fiona comes from a place that has kenned its share of strife and war. I suspicion she isnae troubled by a scar or two. And she has her own, doesnae she?”

  “Wee ones. Barely noticeable. Mine are nay so neat and small.” He looked down at the finery he wore. “This is much akin to gilding a nettle and trying to convince everyone ’tis a rose.”

  “Curse it, Ewan, is this the legacy that bitch Helena left behind?”

  “She was beautiful and she claimed a passion for me, but ’twas only a trap. A lie. She made that most clear when she handed me over to Hugh Gray. Her true feelings were revealed then, in word and deed.”

  “And ye believed her, believed a woman who would go to a mon’s bed one night and lead him to the slaughter on the next? Ewan, ye were but one-and-twenty. Aye, a mon, but due to your own somewhat monkish resolve, nay verra experienced with women. S’truth, none of us would have fared any better. The rest of us were e’en younger, and although we had more experience in bedding the lasses, we had none in how to deal with a woman like Helena. The lasses about here are simple and direct. Some say aye and some say nay. E’en the whores in the village are without deceit. Ye give them a coin and they let ye take your ease. Oh, some of them may groan or cry out or flatter a mon as he ruts on her, but ’tis a harmless deceit, meant to keep the one paying the coin happy. But Helena was a whore steeped in treachery and weel practiced in the sort of deceit that can cost a mon dearly. None of us were ready for her.”