by Alisa Adams
“Together forever, my lion.”
She welcomed his lips against hers and the velvety soft feel of his tongue as it stroked hers, teaching her the way of loving each other until she was blazing with need and desire for this man who was her husband.
He asked.
She answered.
And she welcomed him.
Her last thought as she fell into a deep, exhausted, and very satisfied sleep within her husband's arms was that she must speak to him about his father's beautiful words of love carved on the wooden headboard to his mother.
17
She got very little sleep that night, nor did she get to sleep in late the next morning. She woke to see her husband sitting on the bed, staring at the carving with a look of shock on his face. He saw her staring at him and waved a hand towards the words etched there.
“I never knew he felt like this. I never even saw this until just this moment. I didnae believe he cared for her, or I for that matter.” He ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the words. “He loved her, didnae he?”
“I would say he loved her very much,” she whispered as her heart broke for him.
“But he left...to find a new wife, a life elsewhere. He didnae love me or my mither. That is what my uncle told me.” His voice broke as he spoke. He turned to stare at her, his eyes haunted with memories.
“Perhaps he couldnae bare to be without her,” Darling said softly.
His jaw tightened as his blue eyes roved hungrily over her face. “That I can understand,” he said gruffly.
She opened her arms to her husband, and he sank back down into the bed beside her.
Her husband had a voracious appetite, and so, it seemed, did she.
She slept until midday, her body limp and drained.
When she arose, she saw that he had left a fresh bowl of water and another cloth for her.
She noticed that there was a shaft in the wall with rope pulleys and a bucket. It was for fresh water from the well within the keep. He had done the task of pulling up clean water for her. She sighed again, thinking about how considerate this man was.
She pulled her green gown on over her clean shift and went below stairs.
The great hall was empty save for Cristianna, Serena, Jamys, and Mery sitting at a long trestle table. They turned as one and stared at her as she came down the stairs. They had huge grins on their faces. Grins that Darling was sure matched hers, though she could feel her cheeks blazing red with bashfulness.
They watched her as she walked towards them.
“Cease that,” she said with a quiet laugh as she sat down with them.
“Ye slept vera late,” Cristianna said with a teasing grin.
“I was vera tired,” Darling said, trying to say the word very the way that Cristianna had and keeping a straight face. Her mind was filled with the thoughts of Lawrence and last evening. The taste of him, the feel of him, the sound of him—everything they had shared.
“Did it...was it...” Cristianna started to ask.
Darling grinned. “Only a little. And yes, it was heavenly. Blissful.” She looked at them all. “And that is all that I will say.”
“Blissful,” Cristianna said with awe as the other girls repeated it with whispers on their tongues and hopeful longing in their eyes.
The girls all went for a ride that afternoon to the waterfall that Darling had told them about. They intended to all have a lovely, long bath in the cool falling waters and then have a lesson from Darling in throwing sgian dubhs. Cristianna, and now Serena, were insistent on learning and had fashioned belts with slits within their stays to hold the little daggers.
They heard loud voices on the beach and rode on to see what the men were doing, for Darling recognized Lawrence’s voice.
They came over the dunes to see a ship sailing away from the wreck of the San Gabriel. Darling gasped. She recognized it as a Castilian ship.
She looked down to see Lawrence and his men, along with Sandolf, War, Flain, and Oger. Her uncle and a large group of the MacKenzie men were there as well. She halted Tommy on the sand dune above them and watched the ship sailing away. When she looked down again, the men were all staring up at her.
Darling thought they looked very guilty.
“Did you kill him, MacLeod?” she called down to her husband.
“Now Lion, ye must understand—” Lawrence began to say as he stared up at her.
Darling nudged Tommy into a canter down the dune and onto the beach. The other girls followed her. “What must I understand? That you had to kill the man I thought was my father?”
Lawrence squirmed under her gaze.
Flain stepped forward, wringing his hat in his hands. “Mi Lady Lion, ye see, it is like this...he was a vera bad mon. Muy mal hombre. He did not deserve your love all these years. But he came!”
Oger came forward to stand beside Flain. “He wasnae yer father, milady. And he did not deserve to be yer father. Though he finally sailed after ye.”
“Nay,” another man spoke up. “He doesnae deserve ye as his daughter. Ye waited and waited for him, but I suppose he did come.”
Another man added. “He took his time, but he came, ye see. He came after all.”
Darling sighed. “Put your hat on, Mr. Flain.” She looked around at all the men and shook her finger at them. “He did not come for me, did he?” she asked them firmly.
“Now, Niece,” her uncle said placatingly. “He did ask for ye.”
Darling’s attention went to her uncle. “They told you? They told you I waited day after day for him to come for me?”
“Aye, Niece, they did,” he said soothingly as he looked down at her.
She looked up at him, seeing her mother in his face. His hair had more grey in it now that she saw him in the bright sunshine, and his eyes seemed older.
He sighed. “Dinnae worry, lass.”
“I am not worried, Uncle,” she said quietly.
She turned and looked at her husband. “He did not come for me, and he did not ask for me, did he?”
Lawrence’s jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair “Put it away in a box, Darling. I did put that Charlotte woman on his ship. They can be together, forever now.” His hand slid to the dirk in his belt over his tunic.
Sandolf laughed a wicked laugh before he caught Lawrence’s stern eye and stopped. His face instantly became serious.
“All is well, Lady MacLeod,” War said from the other side of her husband.
Law grinned at War and then turned back to his wife. “Aye, my Lady MacLeod. All is vera well.”
Darling had her answer. Sandolf’s wicked laugh and her husband trying to cover his dirk, and War reminding her that she was Lady MacLeod told her everything she needed to know.
She would not think about what they had done today, however. Perhaps tomorrow. She would put it away in a box, just as her husband asked her to.
She smiled at her husband. She mouthed the words, “I love you,” to him.
His shoulders relaxed as he smiled back at her with love shining in his eyes.
“Mr. Flain, put that hat back on!” she called out as she turned Tommy around and rode back up the beach with Cristianna, Serena, Jamys, and Mery following her.
Her husband was being considerate again. Protecting her tender feelings.
As were all the men.
A wonderful, warm feeling filled her body as she sighed in contentment.
Si, she had a family. A huge family that loved her, and she them. She had the best of friends too, she thought as she smiled at the women riding on either side of her. Above all, she had the most wonderful husband she could ever have dreamed of.
She was truly happy.
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Beasts of the Highlands
Book #1
Highlander’s Lionheart
Book #2
Highlander’s Scarred Angel
Book #3
Highlander’s Wounded Beast
Book #4
Highlander’s Fierce Wolf
Book #5
Highlander’s Heart of Steel
Book #6
Highlander’s Golden Jewel
Book #7
Highlander’s Venomous Snake
Book #8
Taming a Highland Stallion
Book #9
Her Highland Captain (this book)
Want more romance?
Turn the page to read the prologue of “Taming a Highland Stallion!”
Prologue
Pain.
The horses’ pain surrounded him.
So many of them. Hurt. Standing in their stalls, depending on him.
His hands shook and trembled as he hurried on wobbly legs towards his room off the main stable. He tripped in the dimness of the aisleway between the stalls where only the faint light of dawn had managed to creep in.
The young groom following him caught his arm.
He hurried on, passing his patients. Some of them managed a weak, pain-filled nicker or a groaning neigh from their stalls.
His old legs were threatening to give out. He could not take it anymore.
He hurried into his room and sat down in the worn-out chair at his small desk. He scribbled off a letter to the only student he trusted. His days at The Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh were now past. He had taken on and taught many apprentices, but there was one he had in mind that was more brilliant than the others. This is the one he urgently needed. One particular student that he had taught everything he knew. One person who normally would never have been allowed to apprentice at all. But he had fought for this person and gotten them accepted.
He scrubbed at his face with both hands as worry, fear, and exhaustion threatened to overtake him. He would be putting this person in danger, but he did not know what else to do.
He sealed the letter and handed it to the young groom who had stood patiently beside him while he wrote. The boy left the stable at a run with the letter in his hand.
He gave a great sigh and scrubbed at his face again. He was so tired, so very tired and unsure of what to do.
He could not deny his feeling that this was all his fault.
And now this latest turn of events...
He turned back to his desk and picked up his quill. He quickly dipped it back in the inkwell and tapped off the excess black ink. He must finish writing his observations in his book of the latest injuries inflicted on the laird’s horses.
They were getting more and more horrific.
He knew so much now.
Too much.
He needed to write it all down.
He bent over his small book and began to write.
A sudden splatter of red appeared across the pages as he felt a sharp stinging to his throat.
His quill fell from his hand.
The world went dark as he slumped forward onto the desk. His cheek landed in the still-wet ink of his little book, smudging the words he had just written there.
Chapter 1
Kinloch Castle
Parish of Kinlochervie
Northwest Highlands
Scotland
1700s
* * *
“Ye are not a man!” Laird Rane MacLeod said in a deep, smoky voice as he stopped and stared in shock at the young woman.
The girl was sitting atop a Clydesdale stallion outside his castle gate, staring calmly back at him.
Lady Gillis Ross sighed. She stared at the intimidating man who stood there in a black kilt, black boots, and sweaty linen shirt with the sleeves mostly cut off. His arms were crossed as he stood at the entrance to the gate with a fiery, smoldering look of challenge in his eyes. As if he could single-handedly guard the entire castle by blocking the gate. And she imagined this man probably could.
Aunt Hextilda reached up from her pony’s back and tapped her niece’s boot. “Weel noo, at least the mon has eyes in his head,” she whispered up to Gillis. The tiny nose and brown eyes of Duke, the little dog she carried bundled in her shawl, peeked out curiously.
Gillis quickly glanced down at her aunt with a small smile. “Wheesht, Aunt Hexy! Ye promised ye would let me handle this on my own! Keep yer wee dog in yer shawl else he starts barking or growling, please.”
Aunt Hexy ignored her niece but tucked Duke back into her shawl. “He is a fine-looking mon…” she whispered up to her niece without taking her eyes off of the angry, but incredibly handsome laird glaring at her niece.
“Och, here he comes, Auntie,” Gillis whispered.
Gillis watched from atop her horse as the intimidating laird strode through Kinloch Castle’s gates towards her.
He was clearly furious.
The men at the gates had not let her in when she had told them who she was.
Instead, they had laughed at her.
Then they had gone to get their laird.
Laird Rane MacLeod stopped in front of her. He looked up; from her booted foot, past her long, pale blue, tartan skirts that outlined the delicate length and curves of her leg, to her tiny waist. His eyes lingered on her pert breasts and then traveled up further, to her face.
Gillis bit her lip to keep herself from saying something she oughtn’t. He was trying to intimidate her, of course. She was glad that she was on one of her cousins’ Clydesdales’ offspring. The large, young stallion she was on was trained by her and her cousins, the four Ross sisters. At the end of his training, he had been given to a very excited Gillis.
Gillis started to pull her letter out of her pocket. “M’Laird, I have a letter—”
Rane MacLeod looked up at the girl sitting on the huge draft horse’s back. He frowned at her, his brows furrowed and jaw clenched tightly.
“Ye are not a man,” he said again. It was an accusation.
“Indeed, I am not,” Gillis said with an arched brow. “Ye dinnae look like a laird,” she stated as she studied him closely.
She looked at the tall, imposing, dark-haired laird staring at her with brooding, deep brown eyes and the blackest of black eyelashes. His skin was bronzed almost to an olive color from being out in the sun. His damp shirt clung to his wide shoulders, and she watched in fascination as his chest rippled with muscle as he tensed in anger at her response.
His hips were narrow where his black kilt draped over tight, muscular buttocks. He had long, powerful-looking legs—from what she could see of them just below his black kilt. He stood with his legs braced in dusty black boots that had a scattering of sweaty horse hair stuck to them. His large, strong hands were on his hips as he looked up at her with narrowed eyes.
He ran one of those hands angrily through his dark hair, pushing it off his face and back from his shoulders. Sweat glistened and ran damply through the strands of hair around his face and down into the V of his open shirt. Where his sleeves were cut off, Gillis could see big, powerful shoulders and strong, sinewy arms that glistened with sweat. It appeared she had pulled him from the practice field. Or some other rigorous task.
“Are ye daring to quarrel with me, lass?” he said quietly in his deep timbered vo
ice.
It was a warning. Gillis knew this.
She did not care. This was her first position, and she would not be told to leave before she even was given a chance to prove herself.
She snapped her fingers and smiled firmly at him. “I believe that it will take two arguments to make a quarrel.”
He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Nay, ye are wrong.”
“I most certainly am not,” she said stubbornly.
“Ye are,” he said obstinately.
She could not help herself. She was so tired. It had been a long and arduous ride here over rocky, mountainous terrain full of beautiful, craggy peaks and the bluest lochs she had ever seen. Magical hills and slim valleys covered in gorse and heather whose colors made you want to weep. But so mountainous, it had been exhausting. No wonder it is called “The Rough Quarter,” she thought. She was giddy with the need for sleep, giddy with hunger. She knew her horse needed to rest as well. And Aunt Hextilda definitely needed to eat and rest.
Exhaustion bubbled up within her.
She laughed.
She actually laughed. At the laird. The man she wanted to work for.
His eyebrow raised slightly as he silently looked up at the young woman on the big, bright chestnut Clydesdale stallion with the flaxen mane and tail and four white, feathered socks. He was a beautiful animal and obviously well bred.
