Still trembling from the strength of his release and the sweetness of sharing it with her, Artan rolled over onto his back and tugged her into his arms. She gave him the smile she always did after they had made love, the soft, satisfied one that still held the glint of a lingering pleasure. It was a smile that always made him feel as if he was the greatest lover in the land.
Cecily kissed the tip of his nose and murmured, “Ye are watching me as if ye expect me to leap up and dance about this leafy bower.”
“Oh, would ye?”
“Artan, is something troubling ye?”
“Nay, love, not now. Ye see, I have always felt a wee bit guilty for what happened that night. Ye were right to feel betrayed. I brought ye out here to kidnap ye, and yet I was too weak a mon to refuse to steal a wee bit of delight first. Oh, aye, I had plans to marry ye, as in my arrogance I had decided ye would suit me and it wouldnae be a hardship to be married to ye to gain Glascreag.”
It was hard not to laugh for he was not telling her anything she had not figured out a long time ago. The fact that it had troubled him for so long was, however, very touching. Cecily wondered how she had ever gotten so lucky as to have such a good man love her.
“True, that was definitely an astonishing display of arrogance. But, Artan, ye are the only one who is still troubled by what happened here. If ye had whispered a few sweet words to me, I probably wouldnae have gotten as angry as I did. But ye saved my life that night. It took me a wee while to ken it, but ’tis true. And that matters far more to me than the fact that ye trysted with me when ye had really only intended to get me away from the danger at Dunburn. In truth, if I hadnae been such a sheltered innocent, I would have been aware that a mon cannae make love to me as ye did then and nay feel something for the woman.”
He kissed her. “I wanted to banish any bad memories.”
“Weel, ye have, although there were only a few, and mostly due to the fact that I was so sure I was unworthy of anyone’s attention, the problem being mine not yours.” She slid her hand down his taut stomach. “Most of the memories are quite nice, thank ye. A sheltered lass who has been convinced that she is worthless gets to come to this beautiful spot, in the moonlight, and have the handsomest mon she has e’er seen not only make love to her but steal her away because she is in danger.”
“I sound a verra daring, gallant sort of fellow in your version of the tale,” he said, his last word ending on a soft groan as she stroked him with her small hand.
“Verra daring and verra gallant.” She replaced her hand with her mouth. “And tasty.”
Reaching down, Artan grabbed her by the legs and turned her so that he could return the pleasure she was giving him. They toyed with and tormented each other until, at the same moment, their control broke. Their cries of pleasure were still in the air when they crawled around and collapsed in each other’s arms.
“Ye do ken that this was but one reason I brought ye here to Dunburn, dinnae ye?” he asked when he finally had the energy to speak.
“Aye, ye wanted me to see that they are really gone,” she said quietly before sitting up and tugging on her shift. “Ye were right. In my head I kenned that they had finally paid for their crimes, e’en felt bad that their daughters were marked by the fact that their parents were hanged for murder and theft, but there were a few places that still believed they could somehow come back and ruin my life. I did need to banish the ghosts.”
Tossing on his plaid, he also sat up and lightly draped his arm around her. “Good. Now I can be sure I will ne’er see the good wife again.”
Cecily laughed. “Nay.” She brushed a kiss over his lips. “As for the memories of this place? Ah, husband, there is one that I shall ne’er forget.”
“Ah, my lovemaking.”
“And verra nice it was, too. Nay, sorry, Artan, it isnae the lovemaking. For all ye may have done wrong that night, ye did one thing that I shall never forget and for which I shall always be grateful.”
“And what was that.”
“Ye set me free, Artan. E’en better, ye set me free to be me and to be your Sile.”
“And dragged ye into my life.”
“Where I hope ye shall keep me.”
“Aye, lass, for always.”
New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell returns to the fateful realms of the Scottish Highlands, where a man’s destiny lies in the heart of the woman who once betrayed him…
Beaten and left for dead, Sir Lucas Murray is a man wounded in body and soul. He has brought himself back to becoming the warrior he once was—except for his ruined leg and the grief he feels over the death of the woman he once loved…the same woman who led him into enemies’ hands.
Dressed as a masked reiver, it is Katerina Haldane who saves Lucas as he battles for his life—and for revenge. Shocked that she still lives, Lucas becomes desperate to ignore the desire raging through his body. And Katerina becomes desperate to regain his trust, trying to convince him of her half-sister’s role in his beating. Lucas is reluctant to let down his guard, but his resistance melts once Katerina is back in his arms…and his bed. Now he must learn to trust his instincts—in battle and in love…
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek at
Hannah Howell’s
HIGHLAND SAVAGE
coming in May 2007!
Scotland
Spring, 1481
His robes itched. Lucas gritted his teeth against the urge to throw them off and vigorously scratch every inch of his body he could reach. He did not know how his cousin Matthew endured wearing the things day in and day out. Since the man had happily dedicated his life to the service of God, Lucas did not think Matthew deserved such an excruciating penance. A mon willing to sacrifice so much for God ought to able to do so in more comfortable garb.
“This may have been a bad idea, Eachann,” Lucas murmured to his mount as he paused on a small rise to stare down at the village of Dunlochan.
His big brown gelding snorted and began to graze on the grass at his hooves.
“Weel, there is nay turning back now. Nay, I am but suffering a moment of uncertainty and it shames me. I have just ne’er been verra skilled in subterfuge, aye? ’Tis a blunt mon I am and this shall require me to be subtle and sly. But, ’tis nay a worry for I have been practicing.”
Lucas frowned at his horse and sternly told himself that the animal only sounded as if it had just snickered. On the other hand, if the animal could understand what he said, snickering would probably be an appropriate response. Yet, he had no choice. He needed revenge. It was a hunger inside him that demanded feeding. It was not something he could ask his family to risk themselves for, either, although they had been more than willing to do so. That willingness was one reason he had had to slip away under the cover of night, telling no one where he was going, not even his twin.
This was his fight and his alone. Surrounded by the strong, skilled fighting men of his clan, he knew he would feel deprived of satisfying the other need he had. He needed to prove to himself that his injuries had not left him incapable of being the warrior he had been before he had been beaten. He needed to defeat the men who had tried to destroy him and defeat them all by himself. His family had not fully understood that need. They had not fully understood his need to work so hard, so continuously, to regain his skills after he had recovered from the beating, either. He knew the praise they had given him as he had slowly progressed from invalid to fighting man had, in part, been an attempt to stop him from striving so hard to regain his former abilities, to overcome the stiffness and pain in his leg. He desperately needed to see that he was as good as he had been, that he had not been robbed of the one true strength he had. He had to prove himself worthy of being the heir to Donncoill.
“Artan would understand,” he said, stroking Eachann’s strong neck as he slowly rode down the hill toward the village.
He felt a pang of lingering grief. His twin had his own life now, one separate from the one they had shar
ed since the womb. Artan had a wife, his own lands, and a family of his own. Lucas was happy for his twin yet he was still grieved by the loss of the other half of himself. In his heart Lucas knew he and Artan could never be fully separated but now Artan shared himself with others as he had only ever shared himself with Lucas. It would take some getting used to.
“And I have no one.”
Lucas grimaced. He sounded like a small sulky child, yet that feeling of being completely alone was one he could not shake. It disgusted him, but he knew part of it was that he had lost not only Artan; he had lost Katerina. She had betrayed him and did not deserve his grief, yet it lingered. No other woman could banish the emptiness left by her loss. No other woman could ease the coldness left by her vicious betrayal. He could still see her watching as he was beaten nigh unto death. She had made no sound, no move to save him. She had not even shed a tear.
He shook aside those dark memories and the pain they still brought him. Lucas decided that once he had proven to himself that he was the man he used to be, he would find himself a woman and rut himself blind. He would exhaust himself in soft, welcoming arms and sweat out the poison of Katerina. Even though it was not fully a fidelity to Katerina that had kept him almost celibate, he knew a lingering hunger for her, for the passion they had shared, was one reason he found it difficult to satisfy his needs elsewhere. In his mind he was done with her, but it was obvious his heart and body were still enslaved. He would overcome his reluctance to reveal his scars and occasional awkwardness to a woman and find himself a lover when he returned to Donncoill. Maybe even a wife, he mused as he reined in before the small inn in the heart of the village. All too clearly recalling Katerina’s dark blue eyes and honey-blond hair, he decided that woman would be dark. It was time to make the cut sharp and complete.
Dismounting, Lucas gave the care of Eachann over to a bone thin youth who quickly appeared at his side. The lad stared at him with wide blue eyes, looking much as if he had just seen a ghost and that look made Lucas uneasy. Subtly he checked to make certain that his cowl still covered the hair he had been unable to cut. Although he had told himself he would need the cowl up at all times to shadow his far too recognizable face, Lucas knew it was vanity that had made him reluctant to cut off his long black hair and his warrior braids. Deciding the boy might just be a little simple, Lucas collected his saddle-packs then gave the lad a coin before making his way into the inn.
After taking only two steps into the building, Lucas felt the chill of fear speed down his spine and stopped to look around. This was where he had been captured, dragged away to be savagely beaten and then left for dead. Despite the nightmares he still suffered on occasion, he had thought he had conquered the unreasonable fear his beating had left him with.
Annoyance over such a weakness helped him quell that fear. Standing straighter he made his way to a table set in a shadowy corner at the back of the room. He had barely sat down when a buxom fair-haired maid hurried over to greet him. If he recalled right, her name was Annie.
“Father,” she began.
“Nay, my child. I am nay tonsured yet,” Lucas said, hoping such a tale would help explain away any mistakes he might make. “I am on pilgrimage ere I return to the monastery and take my final vows.”
“Oh.” Annie sighed. “I was hoping ye were looking for a place to serve God’s will.” She briefly glared at the men drinking ale near the large fireplace. “We could certainly use a holy mon here. Dunlochan has become steeped in sin and evil.”
“I will be certain to tell my brothers of your need when I return to them, child.”
“Thank ye, Father. Ah, I mean, sir. How can I serve ye?”
“Food, ale, and a bed for the night, lass.”
In but moments Lucas was enjoying a rich ale, a hearty mutton stew, and thick warm bread. The good food served by the inn was one reason he had lingered in Dunlochan long enough to meet Katerina. His stomach had certainly led him astray that day, he thought sourly. In truth, his stomach may have kept him at Dunlochan long enough to meet Katerina, but it was another heedless part of him that had truly led him astray. One look at her lithe body, her long thick hair the color of sweet clover honey, and her wide deep blue eyes and all his wits had sunk right down into his groin. He had thought he had met his mate and all he had found was betrayal and pain.
Lucas cursed silently. The woman would not get out of his life, out of his mind or out of his heart. That would not stop him from getting his revenge on her, however. He was not quite sure how he would accomplish that yet, but he would. First the men who had tried to kill him and then the woman who had given the order.
Another casualty of that dark night was his trust in people, in his ability to judge them as friend or foe. Lucas had believed Katerina was his mate, the woman he had been born to be with. Instead she had nearly been his death. It was hard to trust his own judgment after such a near fatal error and an ability to discern whom to trust was important to a warrior. How could he ever be a good laird to the people of Donncoill if he could not even tell friend from foe?
He sipped his ale and studied the men near the fireplace. Lucas was sure that at least one of them had been there that night, but the shadows cast by the fire made it difficult to see the man clearly. One of the things he recalled clearly was that few of the men had been fair like most of the Haldanes were. It had puzzled him that Katerina would hire mercenaries, but, perhaps, her own people would never have obeyed such an order from her. If those men were no more than hired swords it would make the killing of them easier for few would call out for vengeance when they died.
Six men suddenly entered the inn and Lucas stiffened. No shadows hid their faces and he recognized each one. It was hard to control the urge to immediately draw his sword and set after them. He shuddered faintly, the memory of the beating flaring crisp and clear in his mind and body. Lucas rubbed his left leg, the ache of shattered bones sharpened by those dark memories. His right hand throbbed as if it recalled each and every slam of a boot on it. The scar that now ran raggedly over his right cheek itched and Lucas could almost feel the pain of the knife’s blade cutting through the flesh there.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Lucas knew he needed to push those memories aside if he was to think clearly. The revenge he hungered for could not be accomplished if he acted too quickly or if he gave into the fierce urge to immediately draw his sword and attack these men. When he realized part of his ability to hold back was because he did not think he could defeat the six men with a direct attack, he silently cursed again. His confidence in his newly regained battle skills was obviously not as strong as he had thought it was.
“Annie!” bellowed one of the men as he and his companions sat down. “Get your arse o’er here and pour us some ale, wench!”
There was an obvious caution in Annie’s steps as she approached the men with tankards and an ewer of ale. “Hush, Ranald,” she said. “I saw ye come in and was ready. There is nay need to bellow so.”
Lucas watched as the young woman did her best to pour each man a tankard of ale even as she tried to avoid their grasping hands. Unlike many another lass who worked in such a place, Annie was no whore easily gained by a coin or two, but the men treated her as if she was. By the time she was able to get away from their table, she was flushed with anger and her eyes were shining with tears of shame. Lucas had to take a deep drink of the strong ale to quell the urge to leap to her defense. He gave her a small smile when she paused by his table to refill his tankard and wondered why that made her eyes narrow and caused a frown to tighten her full mouth.
“Have ye been here before, sir?” she asked as she suddenly sat down across the scarred table from him.
“Nay, why should ye think so, child?” he asked.
“There was something about your smile,” she said then shrugged. “’Twas familiar.”
Lucas had no idea how a smile could be familiar but told himself to remember to be more cautious about doing so again. �
��Mayhap ye just see too few, aye?”
“Certainly too few that show me such fine, white teeth.”
“A blessing I got from my family and God. That and cleaning them regularly.”
She nodded. “The Lady Katerina taught me the value of cleaning my teeth.”
“A good and Godly woman is she?”
“She was, aye.”
“Was?”
“Aye, she died last Spring, poor wee lass.” She glared at the men who had treated her so badly. “They and the ladies at the keep say my lady killed herself, but I dinnae believe it. She would ne’er have done such a thing. Aye, and the lovely mon who was courting her disappeared on the verra same day. No one has an answer for where he went.” She suddenly looked straight at Lucas. “That is who your smile reminded me of, I am thinking. A bonnie lad he was. He did make my lady happy, he did.”
Lucas was too shocked to do more than nod. He could not even think of something to say to turn aside the dangerous comparison Annie had just made. Katerina was dead. The news hit him like a sound blow to the chest and it took him a moment to catch his breath. He told himself that the sharp grief that swept over him was born of the fact that he had lost all chance to exact his revenge upon the woman for her betrayal, but a small voice in his mind scoffed at that explanation. He ruthlessly silenced it.
“Is it a sin to visit her grave e’en though she is buried in unconsecrated ground?” Annie asked.
“Nay, lass,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse from the feelings he was fighting. “Her soul needs your prayers e’en more than another’s, aye?”
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