Highland Promise

by Alyson McLayne

  With a sigh, he rolled onto his back and tucked her into the crook of his elbow. Her head rested on his chest and her arm wrapped around his waist. His arousal throbbed painfully, but at the same time, he felt the rightness of the moment, a sense of peace. She was in her proper place by his side and he would keep her there always.

  Satisfaction beat like a steady drum within him. Caitlin was his, but he knew with a certainty he was also hers.

  He could last the night. Dawn was only a few hours away.

  Sixteen

  Caitlin floated in a sea of warmth. The most enticing smell enveloped her—musky, male, with a dash of uisge-beatha. She breathed deeply, and the muscles contracted in her belly. Eyes drifting open, she stared at tanned skin over a muscular chest.

  Darach.

  Her heartbeat surged and suddenly she was wide awake. They lay nestled together on their sides, facing each other, her head tucked beneath his chin. Morning light crept past the shutter and she heard people calling to each other from the bailey. She peered up. Darach’s eyes were closed, his face peaceful. Beneath her hand, his chest rose and fell evenly.

  Even after all the trouble she’d caused, he’d held her through the dark hours ’til dawn. Protected her.

  Smiling, she reached up to kiss his chin. The coarse morning stubble scraped her lips. She liked it. Restlessness pulsed through her and she squirmed in his arms, only to stop in shock as she encountered bare skin—all the way down.

  She exhaled shakily, stirring the crisp hairs on his chest. Where were his clothes? Surely they hadn’t—nay, he would ne’er have touched her without her consent. She would know, wouldn’t she?

  The idea should have frightened her, but instead, she felt thrilled and snuggled closer. His chest hair tickled her nose. She rubbed her fingers through the crisp fleece, enjoying the rough texture. Finding a nipple, she circled the small, flat nub. He inhaled and moved his leg over hers. Her chemise had ridden to midthigh during the night, and the direct contact of skin on skin sent shivers of excitement along her nerves. Heat pooled between her thighs, and she trembled.

  He was so big, so warm. She palmed his chest, then pressed her hands outward to the tips of his shoulders. The muscles bunched beneath her fingers. She squeezed, amazed at his power, the feel of iron beneath silk. His arms tightened around her, and before she knew what she was doing, she licked him.

  He tasted like he smelled—delicious with a trace of salt. She nibbled into the hollow at the base of his neck, then along his collarbone. A groan rumbled in his chest. Her hands slipped downward to his stomach, where the skin smoothed over several ridges of muscle. They contracted at her touch, and he rolled on top of her, his weight pushing her into the bed.

  Crushing, but also exciting.

  His legs locked on either side of hers while a ridge at his pelvis pressed into her center. She closed her eyes and moved her hips against him. Her breath caught at the sensation, and she moved again, then circled her arms around his waist to splay her palms on either side of his spine.

  “Caitlin,” he mumbled. His hand moved heavily over her, squeezing her breast, then sliding down to her waist. Through her light linen chemise, her skin tingled. He thrust forward with his hips and she lifted to meet him. Sparks exploded behind her closed eyelids, and she moaned. She wanted to spread her thighs, but his legs held hers together.

  He buried his hand in her hair and lifted his head. “Caitlin?” he asked, louder this time.

  She opened her eyes. He had a flushed, sleepy expression, but his eyes glittered in a way she’d seen before—the night he’d kissed her in the hall and on his bed. It made her heart race, the blood pound through her veins. Her lips and breasts felt tight and hot. Her center ached.

  He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, shuddered. “Doona move if you know what’s good for you.”

  Without thinking, she bit his shoulder.

  He snapped his head back. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  She had no idea, but she had to do it again. Stretching up, she bit his other shoulder. He rolled away from her, but her arms were wrapped around his back and she went with him. Free of restraint, her legs splayed over his hips. She pressed into him. His hands dropped to her backside, held her still.

  “Doona move!”

  But she didn’t listen and kissed his chest until she reached his nipple. Her lips surrounded it, sucked gently. With a grunt, he arched upward and raised his knees behind her. Then his hands slipped under her chemise, and curved around the twin globes of her bottom.

  “Darach,” she said, panting. “Darach, I need…” She didn’t know what she needed, just that she had to have it.

  “Aye, love, I know. I’ll take care of you.” His voice was rough, and it stirred something low in her belly.

  Rolling her again to her back, he moved down her body so they were eye to eye. He was heavy between her legs, but it wasn’t enough. She wrapped them around his waist and clasped tight.

  He laughed and groaned at the same time. “I knew you’d like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tupping.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  “Not quite. I promised to keep you chaste.”

  Then he captured her lips, took over. The kiss was hot, wet, and she welcomed the invasion. He dominated her mouth, surging in and out in a rhythm that drove her wild. When she tried to snare his tongue, he sucked hers into his mouth and wouldn’t let go.

  Finally, he released her to trail his lips down her neck. The teasing kisses made her writhe beneath him. She cried out for more and raised her hands to his shoulders, digging in.

  Darach pushed her chemise down to capture her breast. He cupped it in his palm and sighed. “So beautiful.” Then he took her nipple in his mouth and teased it. Caitlin nearly came off the bed. The warm, wet heat of his tongue shot straight from her breast to that aching spot between her legs. Gasping, she plowed her hands into his hair.

  He kissed across her chest to her other nipple, flicked it with his tongue, then bit down. The breath shuddered from her lungs. She cried out from the pleasure, head twisting on the pillow, pressure building inside. She was too hot, too needy.

  He moved back and knelt between her legs. Her chemise was bunched around her hips, exposing the tops of her thighs. His hands caressed her calves and knees, then grasped the linen chemise. When he hesitated, she saw the conflict in his eyes. Longing battled with duty and honor, desire with restraint. The air huffed from his chest and he dropped his head, shook it.

  “I canna. You deserve to know I’m your husband when I look on you like this.”

  He crawled away to sit on the side of the bed with his back to her. The breath rushed in and out of his lungs. Caitlin couldn’t think, couldn’t move. She lay gasping for air while the heat poured off of her. Her body ached, and she felt…unfulfilled.

  She gripped her thighs together to assuage the need that pulsed between them. It was a poor substitute for Darach’s body. Sitting up, she pulled her chemise into place and hugged her knees.

  “Darach, you canna marry me. I willna allow it.”

  He frowned at her over his shoulder. “Aye, you will.”

  “But you doona want to marry. Ever. You’d be unhappy. Maybe if I knew you loved me.” She held her breath, hoping he’d declare his feelings.

  Instead, he exhaled and leaned forward, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “Caitlin, this afternoon I will wed you, and tonight, I will bed you. I canna wait any longer.”

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion. He could have bedded her now, but he’d chosen not to. She supposed that was honorable, but she didn’t want his honor; she wanted his love. Sniffing, she raised her chin. As God was her witness, he would love her before she married him.

  He glanced back again and sighed. “Give me your hand.”

 
She hesitated, then placed her palm in his. Pulling her forward, he wrapped her arm around his chest until she leaned against his back, chin on his shoulder. He turned his head so their lips were almost touching. “You doona want me unhappy, do you?”

  She gasped. “Of course not.”

  “Then you’ll marry me.” He flattened her hand to his chest and guided it downward through the crisp, brown hairs, then across his belly, before wrapping it around his manhood.

  The skin was soft and warm over a large, pulsing shaft. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. Instead, he moved her hand slowly up and down his length. A flush heated her cheeks. She glanced at his lap, fascinated by the sight of their clasped hands stroking his rigid flesh.

  “You will marry me this afternoon or your uncle will take you back and I’ll surely die from wanting you. Is that your desire?”

  “Nay,” she whispered, voice shaking with the same hunger that marked his face. She moved her hand on her own now, and he released it to grasp the back of her head.

  “Then promise you’ll marry me.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw his need. Unable to deny him, she said, “I promise.”

  He captured her lips and stroked his tongue against hers. She explored his mouth with the same rhythm as her hand down below. Up and down. In and out. He groaned, then rose from the bed, chest heaving. Her hand fell to her lap and she stared at the naked length of him—long, strong legs; curved buttocks; muscular back; and broad shoulders. Reaching out, she cupped his backside.

  He leaped forward with a throaty growl and snatched his plaid from the floor, wrapping it around his body. Caitlin couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face.

  Gathering the rest of his clothes and sword, he leaned down for a hard kiss. “You’ll pay for that later.” Then he headed for the door. When he opened it, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll send Edina to help you get ready,” before shutting it behind him.

  Her smile faded. Edina would be displeased if she knew Darach had touched her. Although, he hadn’t stroked between her legs, the act Edina had been most adamant about. But what would she say if she knew Caitlin had stroked him?

  Excitement coursed through her again as she pictured her hand touching his flesh. The throbbing in her core renewed. She fell sideways onto the bed and curled into a ball. Running her palms down her body, she squeezed them between her thighs. Tonight, she would make love with her husband. In just a few hours, he would touch her everywhere.

  Especially down there.

  Evening couldn’t arrive fast enough.

  * * *

  “Throw me the soap,” Darach yelled at Lachlan, who stood shivering a few feet away in the water. By the time Lachlan had arrived for his morning wash, Darach had already swum to the rocky island in the middle of the bay and back. Now he barely felt the cold.

  Lachlan grabbed the soap and pitched it at Darach’s head. When he ducked, it splashed in the water nearby.

  “You’ll smell like roses,” Lachlan said, “but maybe Caitlin willna mind. ’Tis better than your usual stink.”

  “My wife will love me howe’er I smell. ’Twill be a verra agreeable marriage.”

  “Once you learn to do as she asks.”

  Darach considered a sharp reply, but when he thought on Caitlin’s lovemaking this morning, he knew it was true. She’d been very demanding. Never before had he resisted such temptation.

  A satisfied grin crossed his face. Aye, he’d do exactly as she asked. Starting tonight.

  Lachlan groaned. “I can see what you’re thinking, and I doona want to know. As long as she’s still a maid on her wedding night.”

  “She is. In truth, I should be nominated for sainthood. My betrothed is verra curious.”

  Lachlan rolled his eyes, then dived under the waves and rinsed away the soap. He hurried to the shore as Darach washed himself more leisurely.

  “Lachlan.”

  “Aye.”

  “You’ll stand up with me?”

  Lachlan lowered the drying cloth from his hair. “I’d be honored. I canna think of a more worthy bride.”

  “Thank you, Brother.”

  “The groom, howe’er…”

  Darach hurled the soap back at him.

  They made their way to the keep slowly, anticipating the day’s events and the arrival of Gregor and their foster brothers following that. It was disappointing the rest of the family couldn’t be here for the wedding, but they would have their own celebration afterward.

  Following a late breakfast, Darach and Lachlan strode across the bailey, toward the barracks where Caitlin’s uncle had slept the morning away. Darach wore his best plaid, linen lèine, hose, shoes, and sporran. He also had a blue velvet jacket to wear during the ceremony. Wedding finery, Lachlan had called it, also dressed in his best.

  The courtyard was a hive of activity as Darach’s clan readied for the nuptials. Everyone was welcome at the celebration, and his hall and bailey would be full of revelers until the wee hours. The ceremony would take place on the steps of the keep, in front of his people. Time was too short to announce the banns, but Darach cared naught for that. He knew all of Caitlin’s secrets—he hoped.

  It amazed him to think they’d be married in a few hours. The idea made his heart lift and his stomach twist at the same time. He frowned at his conflicting emotions and concentrated on the task ahead—convincing Caitlin’s uncle to sign the wedding contract.

  Darach carried the papers in one hand, and the last bottle of his father’s uisge-beatha in the other. It hurt something fierce to waste the prized drink on MacInnes, but Darach didn’t want the man at his wedding. Better MacInnes lay passed out in the barracks than attend Darach’s nuptials and ruin Caitlin’s day. And if it helped with the signing, all the better.

  Father Lundie and Birk Anderson waited for them at the barracks’ door.

  “Is he awake?” Darach asked.

  Anderson shook his head. “Still out like the dead. I placed a bucket of water inside to rouse him.”

  “Laird MacKenzie, I fear the contract willna be to Laird MacInnes’s liking. What if he refuses to sign?” Father Lundie wrung his hands. “I canna deceive him as to what is written.”

  “I doona ask you to. All I ask is you read every paragraph to him but no more. If he asks for clarification, Anderson will give it. The contracts are fair, Father. MacInnes only loses if he isna Caitlin’s legal guardian or he is found guilty of a hideous crime.”

  Father MacInnes crossed himself. “I pray ’tis not true. It would be most upsetting for the lass to know her parents were murdered.”

  “Aye,” Darach agreed. “But better she know the truth than be deceived by the devil. Come. We tarry.” Darach pushed open the door and stepped inside. The others followed. On a pallet in the corner, MacInnes lay rumpled and wheezing. Darach nudged him with his foot.

  “Go away.”

  Darach pulled up a chair and sat by the man’s head. He stank like a dead dog, forcing Darach to breathe through his mouth.

  “You must rise and sign the wedding contract, MacInnes, else you’ll lose your prize. There’s a drink in it for you.”

  MacInnes opened one bloodshot eye. “Canna we do it later?”

  “Nay. The marriage takes place immediately. You doona want her wed before you’ve sealed the deal, do you?”

  MacInnes heaved himself upright. He looked like he might vomit. Darach pushed a chamber pot toward him with his foot. “If you lose your guts, do so in there. Then come to the table.” He rose and headed to the far end of the room. Behind him, he heard MacInnes retching. Father Lundie stayed back to help. Darach and Lachlan made themselves comfortable on the bench, while Anderson opened the shutters to air the room.

  A few minutes later, the priest led MacInnes to the table. He sat opposite Darach, who placed cups on the table and pour
ed five drams of whisky. MacInnes eyed them greedily and reached for one. Darach stopped him. “After we’ve signed.”

  MacInnes scowled but nodded. He winced at the movement and dropped his head into his hands. Darach didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. He’d abused Caitlin for years and deserved more than just an aching head and sick stomach. If all went well, he’d be convicted of his crimes and punished to the full extent of the law.

  “The King’s man and Father Lundie crafted the contract according to our discussion last night. If the wording is agreeable, we’ll seal our bargain with a drink. What say you?” Darach asked.

  MacInnes inclined his head slowly. “Aye.”

  Darach hid a grin. If MacInnes was in pain now, wait until Father Lundie was done with him. The priest’s heart was in the right place, but when he preached, his voice took on a piercing quality that would drive a nun to drink.

  “I’ve asked Father Lundie to read it to you.”

  The holy man cleared his throat and spread the parchment in front of him. He pronounced every word precisely, his speech loud and deliberate. The sound grated annoyingly on Darach, which cheered him. If it was difficult for him to listen to, it must have been hell for MacInnes, who sank lower and lower, toward the table, as the reading progressed.

  Finally, MacInnes grabbed the parchment from the priest’s hands. “Enough. I’ll read it myself.”

  Darach almost laughed aloud, for he was certain MacInnes was unlettered. He did not have the discipline to learn to read and write. Sure enough, he scanned the parchment randomly, moving too quickly through the sheets to understand the words. When he arrived at the end, he held out his hand for the quill.

  “Wait,” Darach said. “Are you sure you understand what’s written? ’Tis no shame in being untutored in letters. Father Lundie would be happy to continue his oration.”

  MacInnes blanched and snatched the quill from Anderson. “I understand.” He quickly scrawled his mark on the parchment, then passed it to Darach, who signed his name and gave it to the other men to witness. Darach didn’t need everyone to sign, but he would take no chances with Caitlin’s safety.