by Paula Quinn
“Ye will remain at Camlochlin fer as long as ye care to stay,” Rob told Gillian, then winked at Edmund, who was sitting at Colin’s feet with Aurelius lying beside him.
“Ye’re no’ afraid to come with us, aye, lad?” Will asked Edmund, then handed him another apple when Edmund shook his head.
“Colin told us there were other children at Camlochlin.”
The men looked together at Gillian when she finally spoke. A light blush stole across her cheeks at the sudden attention she was being given, and Colin wondered how such a delicate sparrow would fare with the women of Skye. She eased his thoughts a moment later though, when her blush faded and she faced all four Highlanders with fearless determination to continue. “What will it be like there for my son?”
“He’ll have chores,” Rob told her, watching Edmund bite into the fruit, the sound perking Aurelius’s ears, “as the other children do, and many to play with in between.”
“My son Malcolm”—Connor offered her a reassuring smile that brought the flush back to her face—“along with Adam and Lucan, Rob’s and Tristan’s lads, are about the same age. He’ll fare well.”
She nodded and turned to Colin, rendering him a wee bit breathless with the gratefulness of her smile.
Unfortunately, Will caught his moment of weakness and kicked him with his booted foot. “England has softened ye.”
Colin regarded him with a wry look. He might have let a lass into a place no one had tread before her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still beat Will MacGregor’s arse to the ground. “Let’s go find out how much, aye?”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Gillian sat on a bench with Edmund and Aurelius at her feet and watched, her heart beating madly in her chest, while Colin and Will went sword to sword in George’s front yard. It wasn’t enough that Colin nearly swiped off his opponent’s arm several times, or that the other three Highlanders watching cheered every time blood came close to being spilled. She could almost ignore George’s sharp intakes of breath while he paced a few inches away, swearing every now and then about Colin’s superior skill and deadly accuracy. She silently agreed that he could have beaten half the men at Dartmouth on his own, and wondered vaguely why he hadn’t.
But none of it mattered now, save for the sight of him. He’d exchanged his breeches for a woolen plaid much like the one the rest of the Highland men around her wore, belted at his waist and swinging about his bare muscular calves while he tumbled and rolled to avoid blows to his shoulders and head. He was terrifying and mesmerizing to watch. As agile as a leopard and as merciless as a lion. He came at Will over and over, slicing, hacking, with barely enough control to keep from striking a truly damaging blow. Legs apart and slightly bent, feet braced to the ground, he stopped Will’s advance like a wall, and then answered with a brutal assault of metal against metal.
When it was over, with the larger of the two Highlanders yielding first, the victor turned his molten gaze on her. She nearly quivered as the heat of battle burned into something even less tamed. It sparked a flame somewhere in the center of her belly that made her whole body burn. She refused to blush though. To blazes with propriety. She’d been proper for four years. She wanted to be herself, free of shame and retribution.
She wanted Colin MacGregor. She wanted him in her arms, in her bed, hard and naked, doing to her whatever he wished.
She smiled at him from across the yard and he almost lost an ear to the edge of his brother’s enormous claymore.
“Poor form, Robbie.” Colin leaped away and felt for his lobe.
“I’m no’ English,” the chief said, hefting his sword over his head. “Neither are ye, so dinna’ fight like one and disappoint me.” He brought his giant blade down onto Colin’s and drove his youngest brother to his knees.
But Colin didn’t stay down. Scraping his blade across Rob’s, he slipped away, relieving the pressure to the heavier claymore and sending it deep into the dirt. Without wasting an instant, he bounded back to his feet and whirled his blade in a powerful arc before striking the other and almost separating Rob’s hands from his hilt.
The brutality of their practice made Gillian pull Edmund’s face into her chest and tempted her to look away with him. For they held nothing back, swinging and striking with lethal intent, sending dust and sparks flying around them.
Colin’s sheer power alone made him captivating to watch. The force of his lightning-quick parries, the fluidity of his wrist while the rest of him remained tightly wound and ready to spring in whichever direction his feet pointed him.
But clearly, Robert MacGregor hadn’t been named Chief MacGregor for nothing. He regained himself after each assault with a loose shrug and positioned his blade for the next round. “Ye remember yer trainin’ well.”
“I told ye, I practice every day.”
“He doesn’t practice with any of us like that,” George mumbled quietly as he made his way past her.
Colin fought hard, but several times Rob caught him with the tip of his blade across his chest and shoulders. When little remained of Colin’s shirt—and Gillian’s heart along with it—but tatters, he tore it off and flung it away.
“Och, his flesh is testimony that even death does not want him.”
Gillian blinked and turned toward the cherubic grin of Finlay Grant. Good Lord, but he was gloriously beautiful, the antithesis of the dark, deadly warrior who had saved her.
“Fortunate for death,” she smiled back at him, certain that no woman could resist doing so, and then turned back to Colin. “It would have to fight me for him if it did.”
“Ye love him then?” Finn asked, his voice setting music to the air and finally making her blush when she nodded, admitting to someone that she did.
“Does he return yer affection?”
“Would it be so unlike him if he did?” she asked, seeing the surprise that lit Finn’s eyes like twinkling emeralds.
“Aye, ’twould. If ye knew him—”
“I do know him.”
He laughed and then pointed to Colin. “I mean the way we do.”
Gillian looked in time to see Colin turn away from her and smash his blade so hard into Rob’s that he drove his brother back. Without pause, he delivered a combination of hammering blows in rapid, forceful succession. Every counter Rob attempted was halted by another crushing assault.
And then Colin caught her eye and lost the fight.
“Well.” Finn bounded to his feet and dusted off his plaid when Colin took up his steps in their direction. “I’ll leave ye to yer beloved.” He was gone before Gillian could open her mouth to reply.
She returned her attention to the man coming toward her and took in every inch of his tightly wound physique as she rose to her feet to meet him. Never in her life had she been so attracted, so beguiled, by a man that the mere sight of sweat glistening down his heaving chest could near buckle her legs.
“Well done,” she said softly when he reached her. “Were you hurt at all?”
“Nae,” he answered, then saw Finn hurrying toward the house and cast him a dark scowl.
Was he jealous? He looked angry and a bit… worried. Lord, Gillian thought, gazing up at him, he had nothing to fear. Colin’s face was the one she adored. When his eyes fell back to her, they robbed her of breath. For in them she saw the residue of a warrior, and the longing of a man.
“Have I thanked you yet, Mr. MacGregor?” She smiled at him, hoping he saw her heart in her eyes.
He smiled back, forgetting whatever troubled him. “Fer what?”
“For everything. For becoming my friend, and for loving my son. For a future I can look to with anticipation. For a puppy.”
“Ye dinna’ have to thank me fer those things, lass.” He moved closer to her, scorching her with the heat of his body.
What were they speaking about? Gillian couldn’t remember and she didn’t care. “I like the sound of your voice.” Goodness, was that herself she was hearing purring against the warmth of his lips l
ike a contented kitten? Was this her body trembling with desire for him? Unaware of George, or Colin’s kin, or even Edmund. She wanted to kiss him, to feel the strength in his arms caressing her.
But that would have to wait.
He was dragged quite literally away from her by his brother and hauled beneath his arm. Gillian composed herself and glanced in George’s direction before following the two men inside. Edmund turned and waved to her from high atop the chief’s shoulder. She blew him a kiss and waved back.
They were an interesting and unique brand of men, these rough, rugged Highlanders, Gillian thought while sharing supper with them at George’s table that night. They laughed with ease and without malice. Their speech was not crass or offensive, though it did not lack any amount of boisterous enthusiasm when they spoke of fighting. Edmund did his share of talking once questions were put to him about his interests. They listened to him and patiently answered questions of his own.
“Does you know how to play Naughts and Crosses?” Edmund asked the chief.
“I am the Naughts and Crosses champion,” Colin’s eldest brother boasted. “Do ye challenge me?”
Edmund laughed and then nodded.
“Just a moment.” George held up his hands. “No one is going to carve up my table.”
“Carvins’ hold memories when yer memory fails ye,” Will murmured and cast the smooth surface of the table a disapproving look.
“Chess then?” Rob stood up, causing Gillian to crane her neck as she followed his ascent. The smile he aimed at George was every bit as beguiling as Colin’s. “I saw a set in yer sittin’ room. D’ye know how to play chess, Edmund?”
“No.”
“Come then.” He waved his hand and turned to leave. “ ’Tis time ye learned.”
The rest of them followed, carrying their drinks and their merry mood with them. Finn offered her his arm, apparently deciding that he didn’t really need two. Colin didn’t remove his blade but merely shoved Finn out of the way instead. Finn winked at her, ignoring Colin’s lethal stare, then disappeared into the sitting room.
Colin stopped before they entered next and turned to the golden-haired captain behind them. “Connor, will ye see Edmund to bed when the game is done? I would have words with his mother.”
“Go.” Connor waved them away. “Before I lose a brother.”
Before Gillian could protest leaving Edmund to the care of strangers, she found herself being pulled in the opposite direction. And really, why should she protest at all? Edmund was going to live with them and rely on them until Colin brought her to Camlochlin. They were kind to him, and they were Colin’s kin. Edmund would be fine.
She didn’t question him when he led her to the stairs. She missed the turret shadows and their forbidden kisses.
“MacGregor.”
They both stopped and looked down the stairs at George and Sarah.
“I wish to speak with her alone, Captain,” Colin said, assuring her trusted guardian that that was all he meant to do. Gillian hoped he intended more than that. “I will speak with ye after that.”
Gillian thought George might protest. It didn’t matter if he did. She wanted this. Whatever it was… whatever it meant… she wanted it and no one would stop her. But her captain said nothing and finally moved on to join his guests.
Left alone, they turned down the hall and out of sight. Gillian hoped Colin would sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. When he slowed his steps but kept on walking, she stopped him and waited until he turned to look at her.
“What is it you wish to say that brings such trepidation to your face?”
He laughed softly, but the sound was left hollow by his pained expression. “The understanding that I have become so transparent, fer one.”
She moved closer, unable to stay away, and lifted her hand to his face. “Would you hide from me as you do with others?”
He looked into her eyes, deeply, meaningfully. “I would do anything fer ye… and it scares the hell out of me, Gillian.”
It wasn’t what she’d asked him, but his reply warmed the deepest chasms of her heart just the same. He had already done everything for her and she gave him her heart in exchange. She wanted him to take it. She prayed that he would offer her his in return.
“Colin,” she whispered as his mouth dipped to hers. “I love you.”
She was almost certain she saw him smile an instant before he kissed her. Oh, but he did not simply kiss her. If he did, she might be able to forget him someday if he, too, left her. His soft lips branded her, his hungry mouth consumed her, opening to take her more fully. He set fire to her blood with the silken stroke of his tongue. She answered by pushing up against him and sighing into his mouth when his strong arms closed around her.
He resisted her, calling up that mastery of self-control he’d revealed in the yard today. She could feel him reining in something he didn’t trust near her. Not his heart. For she might be young, but she was a woman. And a woman knows when a man’s heart is already involved. He cared for her and Edmund. It wasn’t that which frightened him and kept him guarded. Was it the dark beast that cut down five men to save Edmund? The part of him soothed by the music of her lute. Was his passion unleashed so dangerous then?
She wanted to discover the answer herself.
Curling one arm around his neck to keep him close, she ran her other hand down the hard planes of his chest and belly. His bare flesh singed her fingers and curled her toes. She opened her mouth and accepted his slow, sinuous tongue. He groaned against her, his body growing harder, tighter in her hands. She tossed back her head, breaking free of him to draw a breath. When his teeth raked over her chin, then down her throat, he made her quiver with desire.
“Gillian,” he spoke her name on a ragged groan, “what I want to do to ye…”
“Do what you will.”
“Nae.” He straightened and stared down into her eyes. “Yer life is in my hands. I won’t put ye in more danger.”
That was it then. Like the night they spent together in the cave, he restrained himself because he was afraid of being careless with her. To think that she held such power over a man who cut musket balls from his own flesh made her tremble with emotion. “Colin”—she took his face in her hands—“my life is my own. You gave it back to me.”
“And now that you have it, you would hand it over to me?”
“Aye.” She smiled, tilting her head up to kiss him. “Mine, and my son’s. Now please—”
He scooped her up off the floor and carried her down the hall.
“—take me to your room.”
Chapter Thirty
Firelight reflected in his eyes as he kicked the door to his room shut and then bolted it. Gillian’s muscles convulsed with the thrill of being alone and locked away with him. She wasn’t afraid or coy. He’d resisted her for her sake but now his body pulsed with hunger for her.
She would make him wait a little longer. When he reached for her again, she stepped back and pulled at the laces of her gown.
His gaze darkened on her, searing her blood, making her ache. He made no move to rush at her, but stood by the door, his hands clenched at his sides. Her past faded from her memory, and looking at him before her with the soft glow of firelight accentuating his twitching muscles, she felt that every moment in her life had led her to this one. To this man who risked his life for her, who killed for her. She wanted to belong to him, and he to her. She wanted to bear his children and watch him love them.
Shifting out of her gown, she drew in a tight gasp as it fell around her feet and his plaid rose away from his knees.
She stood before him in her thin white chemise, her breathing suspended. “Colin… I…”
He closed his eyes, as if still trying with one last effort to resist her. Now she knew why, and it made her love him all the more.
“Gillian,” he spoke her name on a ragged groan, opening his eyes to look at her. “There are things I would tell ye first.”
&n
bsp; She rushed to him instead and he caught her in his arms. “Tell me them later.” She traced the muscles of his chest with her fingertips, her mouth. “For now, all I want is you.”
She slipped out of his reach when he tried to pull her closer. He’d made her surrender all her doubts and fears, throw down her shield and trust him. She wanted the same from him. She wanted to see him. The true, unguarded man or beast beneath his iron control. By the fire smoldering in his eyes, she knew it wouldn’t take much longer.
“I know a bit about swordplay, you know.” She circled him, slipping her finger beneath the wool wrappings around his waist.
“D’ye?” he asked, following her with his eyes.
She nodded and tilted her mouth to his ear. “You were magnificent to watch. Now”—she slipped behind him and purred along his nape—“I would see more of you.”
She gave his plaid a sharp tug and stepped away to watch its descent to the floor. She scored her gaze over him, from his dusty hide boots up to the backs of his sturdy thighs. He had very nice thighs. His arse was fine to behold, as well. Blushing, she stepped around him and examined him full-on.
Good. Lord.
“Oh my.” She brought her palm to her chest and regarded his large cock jutting heavenward, swollen and ready to take her. She smiled, wanting him to do it, wanting to climb all over him, surrendering herself to her warrior.
When he continued to resist what his body clearly wanted, she bent to retrieve her gown. “If you would rather I leave…” She closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy when he snatched her off the floor.
His control finally snapped with a harsh grunt and the tearing away of her chemise. Their lips collided with possession and pleasure, for both of them, in equal measure. She straddled him in the air the moment she was free, coiling her arms around his neck and her thighs around his waist.
He held her suspended in his palms, his hands caressing her hips, sliding over her buttocks. He grazed his teeth along her throat, her cries of delight making him harder between her legs.
