Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

“Oh, Ewan, have ye—” began Fiona, only to screech in shock and surprise when he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Ewan, put me down!” she ordered, blushing as his brothers and too many others began to offer a great many somewhat crude suggestions as to what Ewan should do next. “What about the celebration?”

  “The celebration can continue without us,” he said as he walked out of the great hall. “Tis time.”

  “Time? Time for what?”

  “Time to make ye yell.”

  Chapter 11

  It was difficult for Fiona to decide which was most responsible for the flush in her cheeks and the slight dizziness she suffered when Ewan set her down—being carried up the stairs like a sack of oats or Ewan’s talk of making her yell. She was gathering enough breath to scold him when he shut and latched the door, then turned to look at her. That newly gathered air left her lungs in a rush. Ewan’s storm gray eyes were nearly black with desire.

  “I am glad we didnae have to suffer through a bedding ceremony,” she said, wondering why she felt so nervous.

  Ewan moved to stand in front of her and removed the flowers from her hair. “I told my brothers that they would find themselves missing precious parts of their bodies if they e’en considered it.” He combed his fingers through her hair, savoring the rich, silken thickness of it. “Why are ye afraid?”

  “I am nay afraid,” she replied, silently cursing the slight tremor in her voice. “A wee bit nervous, mayhap.”

  “Why? Ye arenae a virgin. There will be no pain this time.” He began to unlace her gown.

  “There wasnae much last time.” She shivered as he tugged off her gown, but did not stop him. “I dinnae ken why I am nervous. Mayhap ’tis because this time it isnae, weel, sudden, but planned.” She blinked when she realized he had already stripped her down to her shift. “That was quick.”

  “This will be even quicker,” he said as he began to remove his own clothes.

  It certainly was, she thought dazedly as she watched Ewan’s clothes fall away from his body. She was a little surprised she did not hear anything tear. She barely had time to consider the fact that she was about to see Ewan naked when he was.

  Her breathing grew ragged as she looked at him. The glimpses she had gained while nursing him and the one time they had made love had not really prepared her for this. He was all lean, hard muscle and smooth, dark skin. There were a lot of scars on his body, large and small, from the new one on his leg to one that cut slantwise across his taut stomach. She looked him over from his broad shoulders to his long narrow feet before her gaze became fixed upon his groin. Fiona decided it was a good thing she had not gotten a close look at that when he had pulled her into his bed two days ago. She was certain she would have turned craven, become foolishly terrified that he would tear her apart. Her eyes widened when she noticed a scar that ran perilously close to that proud display of manhood.

  “Jesu, Ewan, ye were nearly gelded.”

  “Aye.” He knelt to remove her shoes and stockings. “Eight years ago I was betrayed by a woman to my worst enemy—Hugh Gray. It did not seem to matter to them that she had crawled into my bed in her eagerness to entrap me. They both felt I ought to pay for soiling her pure white skin with my touch.” Tossing aside the last of her stockings, he ran his hands up and down her long, slender legs and heard her gasp softly. “That scar is from the cut they made to taunt me with what was to come, to make me afraid.”

  “Did it work?” she asked as he picked her up and carried her to their bed.

  “Och, aye, verra weel, although I believe I was able to hide it.” He savored the sight of her in his bed for a moment before unlacing her daintily embroidered linen shift.

  “What stopped them?”

  “Gregor and a great many of my brothers, as weel as my men. Unfortunately, Gray and Helena got away. It was felt it was more important to get me help than to chase them down. I was bleeding rather heavily. Several of the smaller scars and the one upon my face are also from that time.”

  “Torture,” she whispered as he tugged off her shift, and she clenched her hands against the urge to cover herself. “For pleasure or for information?”

  “A bit of both,” he replied as he climbed into bed beside her and tugged her into his arms.

  Fiona trembled when her body touched his, the heat of his flesh seeming to enter her very blood. She did not think anything had ever felt so good, so right. This was where she belonged, but as he gently placed his hands on her cheeks and tilted her face up to his, she had the feeling it was going to take a lot of work to make him see that, too.

  “This time, lass, ye will ken the full of it,” he said and kissed her.

  By the time Ewan ended the kiss, Fiona could hear herself panting softly. She ran her trembling hands over his broad back as he kissed his way down to her breasts. A whispery moan escaped her when he took the hard, aching nipple deep into his mouth and suckled her while he tormented her other breast with his hand and long, skillful fingers. She tried to wriggle her body into a better position beneath his, needing to feel him pressing against her, but he held her firmly in place.

  His manhood pressed hot and hard against the side of her leg, but he held her down in such a way she could not move that leg against him. When she slid her hand over his hip then toward his groin, he grasped her by the wrist and pulled it away. Fiona was not quite sure what she should think about his apparent wish not to be touched. When she tried again, he pinned her hand to the bedclothes.

  “Nay, lass,” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady. “If ye touch me there, ye willnae be having a chance to yell.”

  The thought that her touch would be enough to break his control made Fiona’s desire soar. She wrapped her arms around him as he kissed her again, and could feel the barely leashed ferocity in him. For now she would find solace and hope in the fact that she obviously enflamed his passion enough to strain his legendary control.

  When he slid his hand between her thighs, she flinched slightly, still unaccustomed to such a shocking caress. It took only a few strokes of his long fingers to banish that pinch of embarrassment. Fiona soon opened to his touch, arching her hips slightly to move against his hand with a rapidly growing hunger.

  A soft cry of need and welcome escaped her as he settled himself between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him as he slowly joined their bodies. He moved within her as if he feared he would break her and it made Fiona desperate for more. When she stroked his buttocks, he growled and pinned her hands to the bed. Then he took her nipple deep into his mouth and she felt herself reaching for those heights again.

  Just as she thought she could bear no more of his carefully measured thrusts, he released her hands. With his mouth still feasting upon her breasts, he reached between their joined bodies and stroked her. Fiona was just wondering what he had touched that could send such a fierce wave of delight through her when he did it again, and she shattered, crying out his name. Yet, even as she fell into that paradise she had only glimpsed before, she felt him leave her. She clung to him as he groaned and pressed his face against her breasts, but right there next to the blinding pleasure rippling through her body was a sense of loss.

  It was not until her senses began to return that Fiona realized what he had done and a chill entered her heart, banishing the lingering warmth of desire. He had pulled away, denying her his seed. Fiona told herself not to let the hurt and anger she felt cause her to make any hasty judgments. When he moved to lie at her side, she looked at him, but could find no answer in his expression. He simply looked sated, content, and a little smug. When he met her gaze, he began to frown, and she wondered if her expression revealed her feelings all too clearly.

  “Why?” she asked, praying that his explanation would soothe her pain.

  “Why what?” he asked cautiously.

  “Why did ye leave me?”

  Ewan inwardly cursed, but decided it had been foolish to think she might not notice his withdrawing from her. �
�I dinnae want any children.” He cursed aloud when he saw the look of pain that crossed her face, but when he tried to pull her into his arms, she wriggled free of his hold.

  “Why?” she demanded, fighting to keep calm enough to try and understand.

  “Fiona, ye have been here long enough to ken what my father is,” he began, struggling for the right words.

  “What does your father have to do with ye denying me your child? Ye didnae suffer this reluctance two days ago.”

  “I was careless then. I can but pray that my seed doesnae take root. There is madness in my blood,” he confessed.

  “What madness? What are ye talking about?”

  “My father, the way he acts, the things he does, he—”

  “Ye think your father is mad?”

  “Aye.”

  “Your father isnae mad. He is naught but a spoiled child,” she snapped.

  “Ye dinnae understand—”

  “Nay? Ye think not?” She grabbed his hand, bringing it to each of her scars as she spoke. “This is madness, Ewan. I ken madness verra weel indeed. I have seen it. I have been marked by it here upon my cheeks, here in this mark o’er my heart, here in this scar o’er my womb, and here in each of these scars upon my thighs. I have seen madness in the eyes of the man who did this, a mon who could speak of love as he inflicted pain. I have felt the chill of madness as I heard each word he said as he strung me up like a fresh kill and tried to decide where to leave his mark next, as he prepared himself to rape me. I have been dealing with madness for almost two years now so dinnae tell me I dinnae understand what it is.

  “Your father isnae mad. He is a spoiled, selfish mon, one so arrogant it makes one’s eyes cross, but he isnae mad. He doesnae have fits or spells, he has tantrums. The only thing wrong with your father is that he doesnae care for anyone or anything, only for what he wants.”

  She flopped down on her back and covered her eyes with her arm, fighting back tears. There was some comfort in the knowledge that Ewan had not been rejecting her when he had denied her his seed, but himself. He thought his blood was tainted by madness. It would take a while for reason to soothe the hurt she had suffered, however.

  Ewan cautiously slipped his arm around her small waist and pulled her up against him. Her words had chilled him to the bone. She had told him about Menzies’s pursuit, and how the man had captured her four times, but he had never really considered how it must have been for her, how the man had actually put the marks upon her lovely skin. She was right. There was madness, pure and terrifying. Although he was not quite ready to accept that there was not some hint of madness in his father, he knew there was none of the sort of poison she had dealt with for far too long.

  The hurt he had seen in her face when she had realized he had denied her his seed still pained him. To his shame, it also pleased him, stroked what little vanity he had. Fiona wanted to bear his child, had been devastated by the thought that he would deny her that chance. The thought of Fiona growing round with his child was a sweet, heady one, despite his fears about childbirth. Ewan was just not sure he dared gamble on her being right about his father.

  “Fiona,” he said as he nuzzled his face into her thick, tossled hair, “I couldnae taint your womb with the blood of a madmon.”

  Sighing, she pulled her arm away from her eyes and looked at him. “Your father isnae mad, Ewan.”

  “He sees enemies everywhere. His moods can change in a heartbeat. He can be in a rage one moment, then in the blink of an eye, be thinking of naught but how to lift some woman’s skirts. That isnae the way a grown mon, a laird, should behave.”

  “Nay, it isnae,” she agreed, “but it isnae madness, either. If he sees enemies around every corner, ’tis probably because they are there and he kens he put them there.” She took a deep breath, reminding herself that they spoke of his father and that Ewan’s fear of madness was real. “Try, for but a moment, to think of your father not as a grown mon and your sire, but just as some small child.”

  Ewan was a little dismayed at how easy that was to do, and he realized he often thought of his father as childish. “I will confess that he often acts as if he forgot to grow up, to accept the responsibilities of a mon.”

  “That is because he did. Everything I have seen that mon do or say is, weel, much like a child, a verra spoiled child. Someone neglected to teach him how to behave or he refused to heed his lessons. He wants what he wants when he wants it, just like a child. He gives no thought to consequences or the future, just like a child. He becomes enraged when denied, just like a child. He leaps from interest to interest, just like a child. In truth, about the only differences I can see between your father and a spoiled child are that he can make bairns and, because of his size, he could hurt or kill someone whilst having one of his tantrums.” She frowned. “Has he hurt or killed someone whilst in a rage?”

  It took a moment before Ewan could reply because he had to think back a very long way. “He can be bloodthirsty in battle, but nay, I can recall no time when he killed anyone whilst in a rage. Dealt out a few bruises if one didnae get out of the way fast enough, but he usually just rants, tosses out a few bloodcurdling curses, and occasionally breaks things. He has ordered us to do some rather cruel things to people he was angry with, but we didnae do it.”

  “And I would guess that he didnae punish ye for disobeying him, either.”

  “Nay. He seemed to forget that he had given such an order.”

  “Has he e’er raped a woman who told him nay?”

  “Nay, although he is verra angry that ye have taught the women here to do so,” he replied, smiling a little.

  “And yet, here I am, unpunished and unbruised.”

  Ewan blinked and stared at her. Even warning himself that he should not allow his own hopes to steer his beliefs, he could not deny the truth she was showing him. The more he thought of his father as a spoiled child, the more he saw that Fiona was right. His father might not be exactly right, but he was not mad.

  “He isnae mad,” Ewan whispered.

  “Nay,” replied Fiona, feeling a pang of sympathy for the torment Ewan must have suffered over the years.

  “He is naught but a spoiled child in a mon’s body.”

  “Aye, I fear so. Think, Ewan, if your father was mad, if it was something in the blood, surely that madness would have appeared in at least one of the dozens of children he has bred, or in one of your brother’s children. It hasnae, has it?”

  “Nay.” Ewan dragged his hand through his hair. “For so long I have feared there was madness in the blood, ’tis difficult to accept that I was wrong.”

  “Aye, ye were.” She met his scowl with a soft smile.

  “I wasnae the only one who feared it.”

  “Och, nay, I am certain many another wondered on it. Tis probably why some whisper that he killed his wives. Tis difficult to accept that a grown mon would act as he does. He is big, strong, and virile so one doesnae look for the child who still lives in the mon.”

  “So, he doesnae need to be locked in the tower. He needs his backside walloped.”

  Fiona giggled at the image of Ewan paddling his father’s backside. “Too late, I fear. Just be glad he was willing to let ye take the reins.”

  Ewan sighed. “I suspicion he simply grew tired of that game. E’en he could see that hard work was needed, if only to fix all he had set wrong and he didnae want to do it. His vanity was stung for he liked being the laird, but when everyone still called him that, he was fine. Nay too fond of the old they put in front of the title, but he pays no heed to it now.”

  Fiona slowly ran her hand down the side of his body to caress his hip and felt him tremble slightly. “At least he no longer rules, making new enemies for ye to deal with.” She watched his stormy gray eyes darken as she stroked his thigh. “And, I think, he has just given ye leave to accept the Camerons.”

  It took Ewan a moment to clear the encroaching fog of desire from his brain and consider her words. “Aye, I think he
has. He didnae say I couldnae, did he? He just said he wouldnae have aught to do with them. Allies,” he whispered, savoring the sweetness of the word and the hope it carried for the future.

  “Sigimor will make a strong ally. Tis odd that he and his family are all so red and ye and yours are all so dark.”

  “Different mothers. My father was born of a second wife, Sigimor’s of the first. My grandsire was red-haired. All of my father’s wives were dark haired, all of his brother’s wives had red or fair hair. We bred it out. They bred it in.” He frowned at her, recalling that Sigimor looked to be a big, strong, handsome man. “Do ye ken Sigimor weel?”

  “Nay verra weel. My brother wed his sister but a year ago and I have spent a great deal of that time cowering behind the walls of Deilcladach.”

  “To keep oneself safe whilst hunting a madmon isnae cowering.”

  “Mayhap, but there were times when it truly was cowering. After each attack it would take a while for the fear to ease.”

  “I am nay surprised. I will kill him for ye,” Ewan vowed, meaning every word of the promise.

  “Thank ye,” Fiona whispered, smiling faintly.

  Ewan sucked in a breath through clenched teeth when she began to caress his stomach. He felt himself grow hard as he stared down at her small, pale hand moving over his dark, scarred skin. Even Helena’s practiced touch had not stirred him so completely. The need Fiona bred inside him was deep and greedy. It was not going to be easy to savor the passion while sheltering heart and soul, but he would try. The safest thing for him to do would be to turn away from her completely, but he knew he could never resist another taste of the passion they shared. He had been right to think that once he got her into his bed, he would never let her leave it.

  “Touch me,” he ordered, not surprised to hear the hoarse tone of his voice for he was nearly desperate to feel those long, delicate fingers stroke him.

  Fiona curled her hand around his erection. He was hot, hard yet silken soft at the same time. She watched him as she caressed him. His eyes were almost closed, but his gaze was fixed upon her hand. A light flush rode high on his cheekbones and his breathing was slightly unsteady. There was so much passion in the man yet he kept a tight rein on it. Although she understood what made him do so, she was determined to free him of those restraints, if only here in their bed. She slid her hand between his legs to stroke the sack hanging there and, an instant later, found herself on her back with Ewan crouched over her.