The Chieftain's Curse

by Frances Housden

  The poor bastards had no way of knowing Euan had been relishing a chance to vent his temper on someone, or something, since the moment Astrid died … the moment his son died.

  Euan reached over his shoulder to grasp the leather-covered hilt. The sword slipped cleanly from the scabbard worn strapped to his back. The soft deadly noise it made more than satisfied his ears. And at that very moment, he knew that although they were outnumbered twenty-four to twelve, the scoundrels didn’t stand a chance.

  Someone had sent them to their deaths.

  Euan put a swift if bloody end to five of the rogues, fighting from the back of his destrier, then yet two more once he slid to the ground.

  Now, standing back to back with Graeme, protecting one another, they efficiently cut the numbers down to a more than manageable size. The danger over, Euan’s chest heaved as he stood looking around him at the slaughter, the blood dripping from his blade. “How many men did we lose?” he asked of Graeme.

  “Only the one of us, thanks-be-to-God. It was poor auld Malcolm. A few wounded else—mainly cuts and scratches.”

  Graeme’s mouth drooped as he rolled over one cateran with the toe of his boot, eyeing the body with disdain. “They must have been desperate to attack us on our own ground.”

  Euan understood desperation. He had recognised the harried expression in Comlyn the last time he saw him, but it was the end Comlyn had seen slipping out of his grasp. His mind couldn’t encompass death or dying. He was Erik the Bear.

  “An irresistible reward’s the most likely explanation,” Euan cocked an eyebrow in his second in command’s direction.

  Strange to think of Graeme as his heir, but Euan had no other choice until the curse no longer existed. He couldn’t help but wonder if the men he had sent in search of the crone had been successful—two men who might arrive at Cragenlaw even as they stood here taking stock of these dead.

  Who were the cateran? More importantly, who had sent them?

  So far, few but Comlyn had seen marriage as a legal way to annex McArthur lands, but many a clan chieftains would love to wash his hands in the blood of the McArthurs. With the death of his daughter and grandson, Comlyn’s dreams had evaporated like the water from a sunny shower on a hot day. Euan hadn’t believed he could be so taken in, but with hindsight, he realised he would aye have been watching his back around Erik.

  Erik the Bear, a beast with a large appetite.

  Well, Euan was damned if the bear was going to take a bite out of him and his lands, or send the dregs of his clan to prey upon the McArthurs.

  Today was only the beginning.

  At this time, Alexander was the only hold he had on the Bear, and seemly he would be wise to keep a tight grip.

  “Send two men to scout the trees for others intent on slaying me and mine.” Euan bent to wipe the blood off his sword on the grass, while Graeme picked out the two most able to fight their way out of a trap. The others, he set searching the bodies for clan insignia. “Do you think the Bear heard of your intention to build a new Keep?”

  “That’s the one thing I have nary a doubt over.” Euan swiped the sweat from his eyes with the end of his plaid, before he mentioned another matter that had been troubling him. “Has he spies within Cragenlaw?”

  “You don’t think the newcomers…?”

  “Morag and Rob you mean? Not a whit,” he assured Graeme. “Rob is the one who saved my life. As for Morag, you ask? There’s something about sleeping with a woman that cuts the union down to bare bones. I’d swear Morag is honest as the day is long. Ach, I realise that I’m not the first man in her bed, how else would she know she was barren? No matter, I feel safe with her, yet I’d as lief take Kathryn Comlyn to bed as one o’ yon adders hiding among the heather.”

  “Christ’s wine and I’d lief that you didn’t put her name forward as a wife for me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy, never mind my best friend. No, I have some other lass in my eye for you. I’ll tell you about her soon enough, when I discover whether she’s already spoken for.”

  “Well you won’t find me choosey, though I’ve a preference for a lassie that has all her teeth and eyes that don’t squint. I need to be sure it’s me she’s speaking to, not the man sitting next to me.”

  Euan laughed out loud. “I thought you said you weren’t choosey, but I’ll keep your wishes in mind.”

  “I should think so indeed. And that frae the man who has taken three of the finest lassies in Scotland to wife, and found another on his doorstep the moment his bed was cold.”

  “Aye, but that’s the problem. I’d far rather have had only the one. It doesn’t sit well with me to feel like a murderer of wives.” And sons, he thought to himself, for wasn’t that at the heart of the matter?

  The warriors Graeme sent to scour the trees discovered a damped-down fire and signs of someone riding away. That only left a few men to clear the road while Euan hastened to make sure all was well at Cragenlaw.

  Once more, they turned their steeds toward home, while Euan conveyed his recent thoughts to Graeme, “As soon as we reach Cragenlaw, I’ll send a messenger to Malcolm Canmore, asking his permission to hire mercenaries. The masons working on the keep won’t be safe without armed protection, at least until they finish building the outer walls.”

  “And your reasons, how will you explain them to the King?”

  Euan turned in the saddle, the better to see Graeme. In some matters, his constable was inclined to worry for his chieftain’s safety. It was for more than family Euan had chosen Graeme for an heir, should he never have a son of his own. At least he never had to worry about him sticking a blade in his back, or an adder in his bed.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t put anything in writing that can be passed to Comlyn. However, I will inform him to expect me at Dun Edin within weeks, concerning matters in the north. I’ll sail from Stonehaven to the Forth. The journey by sea will be faster, and the ship can carry provisions so the mercenaries won’t have to scavenge for food.

  “And while I’m down that length, you can be sure I’ll do my best to find the crone who precipitated the situation we’re in. There has to be something she’ll take to remove the curse, if only her life.”

  He’d shocked Graeme. His cousin’s jaw dropped. “Ach, Euan, you surely wouldn’t kill her in cold blood? That’s not like the McArthur of Cragenlaw.”

  Euan thought about Astrid. Saw in his mind her efforts to push his son out, saw her bonnie face contorted with pain. Felt the weight of his son as he finally slipped into his big hands, hands at odds with the baby’s tiny fingers. This was his son, and he’d never see yon wee fingers curl around his own. His gut churned the way it did when he tortured himself that way.

  With a shake of his head, more to rid his mind of thoughts than in denial, he said, “Who knows what a man will do when he’s driven. The auld witch is no less guilty of killing my wives and babies, than I am for marrying knowing I was cursed.”

  They rode into the long summer gloaming without stopping for sleep arriving in the dark with few awake to greet them. The castle slept peacefully, and it was with relief that he handed over Diabhal to young Rob. “Look after him well, the great lump has seen his master safe this day.”

  Rob rubbed the big nose and treated Diabhal to a piece of apple from his pouch when the destrier snuffled at his belt. While it munched on the fruit, Euan watched the lad run his hands over a beast twice the size of himself. “He’s cut, what happened, laird, were you attacked?”

  “Aye, but that’s a tale will keep till morn. I’m weary and have a longing to see if your sister has my bed warm.”

  Even in the poor torchlight he saw the lad flush, but he soon realised it wasn’t with anger. Perhaps simply that his laird would mention such a personal matter.

  He looked at Euan almost shyly. “I think she missed you. She purchased some lengths of cloth from the pedlar this morning.” He smiled as if remembering, and Euan’s imagination filled with visions of
Morag draped in a clear blue the colour of her eyes, or velvet the colour of cream fresh from the cow beneath the dark beauty of her hair. He segued from there to thoughts of her hair flowing down her naked back, when Rob said, “I think she was hoping to wear something new when you arrived home.”

  “To a man home from a battle, what she is wearing to sleep in will be the perfect gift for his weary eyes.” Naked would be best.

  Euan pulled off his gauntlets and cuffed the lad gently on the chin. “I’ll bid you goodnight. For the first time in a fortnight, I’ll have a better sleeping companion than my horse or Graeme McArthur, who snores like one.”

  Euan carried a lamp with him as he climbed the stairs that circled in the direction of his chambers. The steps felt hard under his boots, showing wear on the edges from contact with generations of McArthur feet. As he climbed, Euan brushed his fingers across the granite, solid, strong. He’d be thankful when he could say the same for the Keep they would build for Graeme.

  At the entrance to the solar, he stepped over Nhaimeth, who blinked up at him as he entered. “Whist, little Fool,” he said past a finger at his lips.

  Nhaimeth grinned, rolling over till he faced away from the bedchamber, but his smile couldn’t match Euan’s as entered the bedchamber and looked down on Morag lying one hand tucked under her cheek. How peaceful she looked, how certain she was safe at Cragenlaw.

  An unusual sensation swept through him. Heat, that started in his chest and swam through his innards to settle like a pool of need in his loins. It wasn’t merely the anticipation of joining with her, of sinking into her warmth and spilling his seed without fear and after, sleeping with her in his arms.

  At last, he was home.

  Chapter 12

  “Aieeh!”

  A tiny scream escaped Morag’s lips, before she heard Euan whisper, “Whist, lass. Scaring you out of your wits was the last thing on my mind, as you might say.”

  With a sweep of one arm he brushed aside the bed curtain and she felt his warm hand clasp her ankle. Caressing the sharp angle of bone above his fingers, the pad of his thumb pressed into the tender hollow, for a moment bringing back the memory of the first night they’d met; but his fingers had that first time been as cold as death, and the tremors they had wrought in her were terror instead of the keen sense of pleasure, of knowing what lay ahead.

  Her skin tingled as she gazed up at him, her eyes heavy with sleep, and more remembered passion. As she watched, he turned around, placing the lamp he’d brought with him above the hearth.

  She could see he had come prepared. His plaid already sprawled across the foot of the bed and his hauberk likewise atop the chest. Now, he hauled on the tail of the thick padded gambeson he wore under the chain mail. “Euan, mo-creagh,” she murmured, “Should you care to come a wee bit closer, I would most gladly lend a hand to remove your heavy tunic.”

  “Ach, Morag. I’m no wee baby to be cosseted and comforted. I’m a man…” His voice became muffled as the padding covered his head. His eyes crinkled at the corners and the ghost of a smile she’d never seen before played on his lips as he told her, “And I’d rather watch you remove your shift.”

  His heavy tunic hit the floor with a thud from the weight of its padding. She slipped off the bed and hunkered down to lift it from the floor, remembering her duties, but his hand on her shoulder stayed her. He pulled her up close against his length. Euan’s shirt was no barrier, no disguise for his obvious need. She flattened her hands against his chest, the thud of his heart banged into her palms, then his voice vibrated, rumbled through the sensitive skin of her fingertips, as she listened to him say, “You can have no notion how often I thought of this, being here with you, both of us naked and the bed no more than stride away.”

  With that he lifted her into his muscular arms and carried her back to their bed, grinning, “This, bonnie lass is the getting naked part.”

  She sensed a difference in him, a lightness of heart that had been absent since she arrived at Cragenlaw. Then her surmising vanished, overtaken by surprise and delight as he whipped her shift up over her head. When her hair spilled out of the thin linen cloth, she smiled a secret smile as he let the strands run through his hands, and shivered when he lifted it to his face, taking a deep breath. “Lovely, mmmh… your hair has a scent that haunts me. But, I’ve not been able fix in my mind where I’ve smelled it before.”

  She knew.

  It would do her no good to disclose the truth now … this moment. That sort of revelation had to be held in abeyance until it held the most value, such as saving a life—her life. Rob’s life.

  She felt her hair cascade across her shoulders and back. His big hands thrust deep into the thick black strands and rubbed her scalp from the crown down to the nape of her neck. She wanted to moan, but held her breath instead of responding in a way that might nudge his memory. His touch distracted, kept her spellbound by the play of his hands, making her stutter, checking the moan still gathering in her throat. Surely as his leman it was her job to make Euan groan, no the other way round.

  “I … it is the soap, scented with oil of violets”—the one small feminine thing she had learned to make for herself at Wolfsdale. The pedlar sells it,” she lied. “He was here today, so I bought some, or to be precise, you did. Duncan said…” Her voice trailed away but if Euan noticed he probably thought she was embarrassed about living off his bounty.

  Morag suddenly remembered one of the maids commenting that she could have bought it from the pedlar, and hoped it wasn’t the same one, or if it was, he had never noticed her while he visited at Wolfsdale.

  “It suits you right well,” Euan muttered harshly, the words coming from low in his throat almost a growl. It rippled into the hollow of her neck, causing her jaw to clench with tension.

  His hands cupped her face. His breath feathered across her lips for the short time it took him to capture her mouth.

  Aaah, sweet, so sweet, she wanted to purr as he made her bones melt. She fell against him when her knees would no longer hold her. Pressed tight to his chest, she opened her mouth and let him in, let his tongue thrust and parry with hers, the start of a duel that both would win this night.

  When once more she breathed on her own, she whispered, “Let me.” She folded at the knees and dropped lower trailing her hands down his shirt where it covered his hips and thighs. “You did mention you wanted both of us naked.”

  Lower still, and lower until she touched his knee and began to straighten until she heard his breath catch, not with pleasure, but pain. “What’s wrong? You’ve been hurt. I must tend to it.”

  Euan dragged her hand away. “No, it is naught but a scratch from a man with a spear. We were set upon as we rode home to Cragenlaw. Stupid cateran who had no chance of success. Daft they were. But enough of them…”

  He took her hand and roughly pressed it over his loins. “This ache pains me more, and only you, Morag, can heal it.”

  She tightened her fingers around the thick length of his shaft and felt him shudder from chest to ankle and repeated the movement with the same result. “Perhaps, you should lie down, but first I must remove this.” She tugged on the end of his shirt as she lifted it higher. It caught on the thrust of his cock and she had to use both hands. “This does indeed look sore. It needs my immediate attention.”

  She bent her knees and dipped her head to kiss the blunt tip of it, something she had not attempted before. She did it not because it was expected of her; no, she wanted to put her mouth on him. Morag poked her tongue out and licked.

  Euan went crazy. His arms crossed his chest, grasping two handfuls of fine linen. He dragged it over his head, laces flying. In almost the same moment that his shirt hit the rush-strewn floor, his hands lifted her high against him while he ducked his head to capture the nipple of the nearest breast, shooting a surge, half pleasure, half pain, from her breast to the heart of her mons. As if it would relieve the tension, she wrapped her legs around him, clenched her thighs and press
ed the centre of the sensation against his navel.

  Time stood still as he moved from one breast to the other. She clasped one arm round his neck and pulled herself higher, closer to his mouth. More! She wanted more. His mouth was a warm wet cave that she wanted to crawl into and die, for surely this was the path to heaven, and she cried out loud, bereft when he deprived her of his damp male heat.

  He silenced her protest, placing his mouth on hers as his hand sped down her spine. Morag shivered and pressed closer, breast to breast. She was the one who should be teasing and tempting, but Euan was the man in control.

  A Chieftain.

  The McArthur.

  How could she ever give this up, stand aside, when he found another wife?

  Her anguish brought tears to her eyes. She closed her eyelids to hide an emotion a leman was not expected to feel. His large palm skimmed the curve of her buttock—and went further. His hands were huge, his touch gentle, and came away moist. She felt it in the hidden creases his finger slipped between.

  “Honey,” he murmured against her mouth then licked her lips. “Do you taste as sweet below?”

  Her whole body clenched at the suggestion of his mouth tasting her … there!

  There, where his finger touched again. Euan took one last stride toward the bed. She clung to him, sliding lower in anticipation of being placed atop the fur rug. Her head spun as the tip of his cock replaced his finger, heat that healed, a fire that didn’t burn. A fire her body craved.

  A hunger.

  A thirst that, God help her, this time she might never be able to quench.

  The bed seemed a million miles away. One step and Euan was there and Morag was on her back beneath him.

  “Now,” she cried, “Take me, fill me up, I need you. I missed you so much.”

  Christ’s wine! How much of this could a man take? The very sound of her words raised the hairs at the back of his neck like a rough caress, a call to the beast inside every warrior that wanted to howl. No, he had thought about this too long to have it over in the blink of an eye. He wanted to stretch the pleasure to its farthest limits.