She told him about how she’d slowly taken up the reins of running Dornoch as the years had progressed. How she’d developed ways to run an efficient and cheerful castle.
Still, even though their conversations flowed easily, looking at him made her body clench with need, while at the same time her heart broke, knowing that need could never be fulfilled. When they reached Ellandonan, he’d likely be sent off on another errand in the service of her brother, and she would learn the identity of her betrothed.
A soft snow began to fall, and Aileen shivered, wrapping her plaid more tightly around her.
“Whoa!”
Jarred from her thoughts, Aileen looked up. Niall had halted just ahead of her and was talking to one of his men, who’d noticed her inattention. Her horse sidestepped and moved alongside Niall’s.
Stern-faced, he looked down at her and bowed his head formally. His behavior pricked at her heart, though she knew he did it to show his deference to her before his men.
“The next village is close, milady. We’ll stop there,” Niall said in his low, melodious voice. “There’s an inn.”
“Why? ’Tis not yet near dark.”
Niall raised his eyes to the gray sky. “A storm is coming. I don’t believe ’twill be a very grand storm, but we should seek shelter nonetheless.”
Aileen sighed heavily. Niall nodded and moved his horse ahead of her. This meant they wouldn’t get to Ellandonan until late tomorrow, perhaps even the day after, depending on how long it snowed.
By the time they reached the village, the snow was coming down so thickly she could hardly see five feet in front of her. Chilled through, she waited under the eaves, shivering, as Niall divested the inn of its present occupants to make room for their party. Jannet stood beside her. The lass was oblivious to her lady’s dread, and her excitement had grown by leaps and bounds as they closed the distance to Ellandonan.
The innkeeper’s wife, a tall, bony woman, led them up to the largest chamber in the inn. Ducking beneath the low doorframe, the woman gestured them inside. The room was tiny and reeked of body odor and stale smoke. Striding inside, Aileen tugged open the miniature window and tried to fan some fresh air into the room.
“Will that be all, lady?” the innkeeper’s wife inquired.
Aileen smiled. “’Twill be all for now. Thank you.”
The door shut behind the woman with a thud.
The afternoon seemed interminable. Trapped in the small room, Aileen picked at her embroidery, casting frequent longing glances at the window, while Jannet fluttered about, too excited to accomplish anything sensible. She chattered on and on about Ellandonan Castle and how thrilling it would be to finally meet all her Mackenzie cousins again.
The snow came down steadily, gusting into the room until a small white mound had collected on the floor just inside the window. Jannet asked permission to close the window numerous times, but Aileen refused, needing the cold, fresh air to keep her sanity.
Finally, the innkeeper came up to deliver their dinner. After eating her fill of mutton, Jannet curled up on her pallet. The small space promptly began to resonate with her snores.
Aileen went to bed, but she tossed and turned on the lumpy heather-stuffed mattress, feeling boxed in and restless. Finally, she rose quietly and padded to the window, hoping to stick her head outside and breathe in some fresh air.
The clouds had cleared, leaving a blanket of glittering stars scattered across the night sky. But the window was so tiny Aileen could not fit much more than her arm through it. She turned away. Tugging her plaid over her shoulders, she slipped on her shoes and went downstairs. The inn was quiet, but one of her men stood at the main entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He turned to her in surprise as she approached, and raised a bushy red eyebrow at her.
“Milady, are you well?”
“Aye, Iain. I just needed some air.” She looked down the wide path that served as the village’s main road. When they’d arrived, it had been a rutted, muddy strip of land, but now a uniform covering of white blanketed it, shining with a silvery gleam in the clear moonlight. Snow banked against the walls of the stone cottages and draped the thatched roofs. It was beautiful.
“I’ll just be going for a walk.”
Iain bowed. “I’ll accompany you.”
She waved her hand. “Nay, that wilna be necessary. I want to be alone. There’s no danger, is there?”
Iain’s thin lips pinched together. He didn’t approve of her walking alone, but he could do little to stop her short of physically restraining her. And her men were too loyal to do such a thing. “None that we know, lady.”
“I’ll not go far.” She smiled up at him and patted her thigh. “In any case, Iain, I’d never leave Dornoch without my dirk.”
He gave a low laugh. Like all of the men, he’d witnessed her skill with the dagger firsthand and knew she had hidden sheaths sewn into all her clothing. When Walter was not in residence at the castle, she’d often practiced with her men. They all looked upon her skill with pride, for they’d all had a hand in developing it.
Glancing down at the fold of her plaid where she’d had the hidden sheath sewn, he grinned. “Aye, lady.”
Aileen stepped onto the path, her shoes sinking ankle-deep in snow, and walked toward the granite kirk, by far the most beautiful building in this village, which stood at the street’s end. Of course, there were no holiday decorations in this village, nor would there be, thanks to the laws against seasonal celebrations. Christmas, the Church of Scotland had decreed, must be a somber, serious time, not like in the days of old when people decorated and danced and were merry up through Hogmanay and into the new year. Aileen hadn’t really known or paid attention to these laws—her parents and grannie had ignored them wholeheartedly—until her marriage to Walter.
She’d walk to the kirk and back, she decided. Afterward, she might be able to sleep.
Tomorrow, she would meet with her half brother John for the first time in two years.
What would he say to her? Had he already chosen her future husband?
She could only hope that Gilbert Dunbar hadn’t remained in the Highlands. His presence would make things more difficult. But if he had already come to some sort of agreement with John, Aileen held little hope of dissuading her brother from marrying her to the villain.
Aileen paused in her steps and tilted her face to the stars. She took deep breaths, allowing the crisp air to cleanse her lungs.
“’Tis late, Lady Aileen. And you shouldna be out here alone.”
Niall. His low, resonant voice swept over her like a caress.
He stood close to her, close enough to touch. Heat resonated from him. His hands rested at his sides. Big hands, powerful hands. Hands that had touched her, stroked her to ecstasy just a few nights ago. Instantly, the parts of her body he had brought to pleasure began to ache.
She glanced back toward the inn. Iain leaned against the wall, giving the appearance of relaxation, though she knew that every one of his senses would be alert and on guard. Iain wasn’t exactly staring at them, but he wasn’t looking away either. She ignored her body’s need for the man standing beside her, though he was close enough to touch. To embrace. She certainly could not take him here, on the snowy street with her man looking on and surrounded by sleeping Highland villagers.
“The chamber was stifling.” Her cheeks burned, and for some reason, she found she couldn’t meet his eyes, so she stared at his broad chest. “I couldna sleep.”
He took hold of her arm, squeezing tightly. “A woman shouldna be walking alone at night in a strange village.”
The walls of her defenses built up faster than she could tear them down. She shrugged his arm away. “Who’re you to tell me what is too dangerous? You rode back into my life six days ago. You dinna know anything about me.”
“But I do.” His voice was low. It tripped along her backbone, lighting a thousand tiny fires under her skin. She shook them off.
He was right. He kn
ew about her past. He knew her body. He knew who she was as a person. He understood her like no one else ever had, except possibly her grannie.
“Aye, you do,” she conceded, looking away from him. “But I can defend myself, you know.”
“Can you?”
She began strolling toward the kirk again, smiling a little at the reassuring bump of the hidden dagger against her thigh. “Remember, I was my mother’s only child, and my father’s only child in the fifteen years that separated John and me. Before he died, my da liked to pretend I was a lad. He taught me swordplay and how to shoot. After you left Dornoch, I honed my skills.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye. ’Twas…” Her voice dwindled. Some of Walter’s friends had been quite debauched, and at times they had been overly presumptuous in their advances—especially when Walter had brought out the whisky.
“’Twas…what?” Niall asked.
“’Twas necessary,” she said in a low voice.
Niall stiffened beside her.
“I’ve my dirk with me most of the time,” she said, trying to reassure him. “’Tis a wee thing, no longer than the length of my hand. But I keep it sharp, and it’s a lethal weapon if I choose it to be.”
After a short silence, Niall asked, “Have you ever had to use it?”
“Nay.” She laughed softly. “Not in the lethal sense. Though I have threatened a drunken lout or two with it.”
He swiped strong fingers down the back of her plaid, clearly referring to the scars. “If you’re so confident with your weapon, why did you not defend yourself against Munro?”
She glanced back toward the inn. They had rounded a bend in the road and the front of the small establishment was no longer visible. Turning to Niall, she narrowed her eyes in challenge. “Why should I have defended myself against Walter? What good would it’ve done? Retaliation wouldna protect me against him; it would’ve made everything much worse. Though I am skilled, he was more so. But above all, I was bound to him, to honor and obey. He was my husband.”
Niall’s jaw tensed. “I canna see how defending yourself could be worse than what you had to endure.”
She snorted. “I didna endure much. Really. There are scars, aye, but some wives suffer worse. I learned to count my blessings.”
“I cannot see how you didna dream of killing him, making him suffer…”
“I did…betimes,” she murmured. She didn’t want to elaborate. Worse than the beatings, was the fact that she had not provided Walter with an heir. A child had been the one thing she wanted most in the world.
Fortunately, Niall let it go. He turned his face away, but his fingers still gently grazed over her scarred back. He lowered his voice. “If I had seen him do this to you, I would have killed him myself.”
“Would you, then?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “He trained you. Did you consider yourself his better?”
“Not then. But I now—aye. I could defeat him now.”
“D’you think so? Walter was a powerful man.”
He whipped his face back toward hers, a dangerous glint sparking in his eyes. She’d insulted his pride. Immediately, guilt washed through her. Why was she taunting him?
“I’d defeat him,” he said tightly.
That sobered her. She reached up to take his arm. “I’m sorry. I didna mean to call your skill into question. I’m not being fair to you. I’m…” She paused, struggling to define her emotions. How could she tell him all that was happening, all her fears and impossible desires? “I was just thinking about seeing my brother.”
He drew her to a stop beside him, then turned to her, his face dark. Still angry, but determined. “When we arrive at Ellandonan, I’ll be asking the laird for his blessing to marry you.”
Chapter Seven
She gasped. Surely he wasn’t so naive as to believe John might agree to a marriage between them?
“I dinna think—”
“Nay.” He took her hands in his. “The chances of gaining his approval are slim. But I canna imagine… I cannot tolerate the thought of you with anyone else. I want you to be mine.”
Warmth seeped through her body as she gazed up into his honest blue eyes, as his hands grasped hers, firm and strong and safe. Despite the chill of the night, she felt warm.
She wanted to be his. Wanted it with all her heart. But she was an heiress and sister to the laird. There was no way on earth John would allow a landless warrior to marry her.
“I’ve been thinking as we’ve been riding the past few days,” she said softly. “What if I persuaded John of my distress over Walter’s death and begged him to allow me to remain in mourning for another year? He wouldna force me to marry as long as I’m in mourning.”
Niall frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”
She shrugged. “To prolong my freedom. Much can change in a year. Anything could happen.”
“Aileen.” He gripped her shoulders. “Listen to me. If we join together in our request to the laird, mayhap he’ll understand our happiness depends on us being together.”
She inhaled a sharp breath. “Does it?”
“Aye! Mine does.”
Aileen squeezed her eyes shut. Did she feel the same way?
She wanted a future with Niall. A few days ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed about it, but spending this time with him had reminded her of how it was between them. They were good together. They would be happy together.
And if she couldn’t have him…she wouldn’t be happy. She might survive, but she wouldn’t be happy.
Lord, she was lost. She sank against his strong chest. “Niall…Niall. What’ll we do?”
Stroking her back over the wool of her plaid, he held her, heating her blood through the layers of material between them. “The laird has always been greedy for land. Perhaps we can entice him.”
She thought for a long moment, calculating. “I’ve four small holdings outside of Dornoch—but they add up to several thousand acres of land.” She pressed her face against his plaid. “I could give it all up. All I want is Dornoch. And you.”
She tightened her arms around him. His shaft grew against her belly until it was rigid. Desire swept through her, raw, burning, and irresistible.
“Niall,” she whispered. “I want you. Now.”
He bent his head to kiss the top of hers, then scanned their surroundings. “Come.” Tugging on her hand, he turned toward one of the cottages.
“What about Iain?”
“I told your man I’d escort you. He knows you’re safe.” He pinned her with a gaze darkened by the night. “It’ll be fast.”
He tugged her past a timbered house, the largest in the village. He unlatched the side door of the barn behind it.
The inside of the barn was wide and open, with high rafters, a cart parked at the far end, and horse stalls near the door. Well-kept and clean, it smelled of fresh hay and leather.
Niall moved to the cart and hoisted himself up to sit on the cart’s flat bed. Boldly, she stepped forward until his muscular thighs bracketed her body. She rested her hands on them, and the muscles tensed beneath her touch. “Lift your plaid.”
Dark blue eyes met hers, challenging. “Is that an order, milady?”
“Aye.”
Smiling, he hitched the fabric above his hips. “Ahh…’tis cold out here.”
There it was, the part of him that had been the source of such great pleasure to her. “It’s so…big!” she exclaimed in surprise. She would have stepped back, but his thighs tightened around her middle.
Niall gave a low chuckle. “You know how to boost a man’s confidence, lady.”
“May I…may I touch it?”
A low groan escaped him. “Aye,” he rasped.
“Can I put my mouth on it? Like you put your mouth on me?” Though she knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed about wanting to touch any part of his body after how close they’d been at Dornoch, she couldn’t meet his eyes.
He sucked in a ragged breath and pressed the rough
pad of his thumb against her lips. “I canna stop thinking about your bonny lips wrapped around my cock.”
Leaning forward, she touched him first, opening her hands and stroking her palms up and down the length of him. Before, she’d brushed her fingers over him briefly, but not in exploration. Now she reveled in the feel of him, the enticing, erotic blend of soft and hard.
Lightly, she skimmed her fingertips down, tracing the ridge of the large vein running along the underside. She moved lower, cupping his ballocks and rolling them gently with her fingers.
“D’you like it?”
He closed his eyes and nodded.
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”
He opened his eyes and studied her with a serious expression. “You wilna hurt me.”
“Even if I bit you?” she teased.
“A wee bite’d feel good,” he said. “But a hard bite…one that drew blood…”
Aileen widened her eyes. “I wouldna do that.”
“Then keep doing what you’re doing. Ah…that’s it.”
One hand gently massaged his ballocks while she pumped the other over the thick length of him. Aileen watched, enthralled, as a pearly bead of liquid appeared on his tip. Tentatively, she leaned forward and touched her tongue to it.
“That’s right,” he said. “More.”
She swiped the flat of her tongue down the underside of his shaft. A muffled groan sounded from above, encouraging her to explore further.
Curling her fingers around the rigid length of him, she knelt lower, breathing in his musky, earthy scent. “I want to lick you all over,” she whispered.
“I want that too.” He leaned back to rest his forearms on the cart’s wooden bed. “Do it.”
The new position gave her better access to him. Emboldened by his words, she explored him with her mouth, sucking and nipping his most sensitive area. Moving lower, she licked his ballocks. A strangled sound came from above. She pulled away. “Did I hurt—?”
A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors) Page 34
