Wishing For A Highlander

by Jessi Gage

  Ginneleah’s hand on his arm made him look at her. Her brows were slanted in a silent plea.

  “I suppose ye agree with your da,” he said with resignation. “Go on. Speak your mind, lass.”

  “Melanie is no’ a witch,” she said without hesitation. “At least, well, I dinna ken any witches, thank the saints, but I ken goodness when I see it and both Melanie and Constance are good and true. I believe Darcy brought his wife to Dornoch because he thought Laird Murray would offer them refuge. To his mind, his wife was unfairly accused, though I ken ye only thought to protect Ackergill when ye arrested her. He hoped the Murray would sympathize, and he was right. As for Gil and Hamish, he only fought them because of his love for his wife. Ye’d do the same for me and ye’d be just as ruthless. But because ye are such a good man, I ken ye’d mourn the unfairness of having to slay your kinsmen, just as your nephew does.”

  She pinched her lips shut and looked at the table, mayhap embarrassed she’d said so much. ’Twas, in fact, the most he’d heard her speak in one go and certainly the most disagreeable he’d ever found her. He almost smiled at her daring, but the last of her words reminded him just how bleak the facts were.

  He released a sigh. His heart was heavy. He’d lost Gil and Hamish. Darcy, too. And his only remaining nephew and current heir, Edmund, refused to look him in the eye. Was all this loss worth pursuing an evil that seemed to be gone from their midst?

  Quietly, he said, “I canna risk Ackergill by permitting my nephew’s return. Nor can I forgive his slaying of our kinsmen. If he or his wife set foot on Keith land, they will face just punishment for their sins. But I will nay hunt them.”

  Ginneleah faced him, her eyes at once bright with hope and weary with sadness.

  He cleared his throat. “’Twould be foolish to set myself against the Murray and risk more of my men for a pair of loathsome sinners. Let them be Dornoch’s problem.”

  Her lips smiled, but her eyes remained sad. He wished he could wipe the sadness away, but he couldn’t give the tender-hearted lass aught more than his promise to leave his nephew and his wife to the inevitable consequences of their wickedness.

  Aodhan said, “’Tis a fair pronouncement.” He sipped from his goblet and glanced at Ginneleah. “There is more news from Dornoch.” His tone implied he was apt to like this news about as much as the last.

  He harrumphed. “It’ll wait until morn. I have need of my wife.” Looking into her eyes, he said, “I am no’ accustomed to being without ye for so long, and I have missed ye greatly.”

  She paled and ducked her head to stare at her hands. Panic gripped his heart. Ginneleah had never shown reluctance before. Had the Lady of Dornoch or Darcy’s wife turned her against him? A spark of anger made his pulse tick in his throat. He should never have let her out of his sight.

  A tear rolled down Ginneleah’s cheek, and his anger yielded to sympathy.

  “What’s happened, lass?” He tilted up her chin to capture her gaze. Fear drew her features taut, but there was tenderness there as well. She didn’t shy from his touch. Relief made his breath catch. “Go on, Ginnie. I see a storm of words wanting to get out. Dinna be afraid of me.”

  She glanced at her da, who nodded his encouragement, then she took a shaky breath. “Laird Murray never sent ye any rose oil,” she said. “He showed me his seal, and ’tis different from the one on the vials we received.”

  He tensed. There were too many surprises in this conversation. His body strained in his chair. He wanted to pace and yell and throw somat that would make a mighty crash to startle the servants, but he refused to upset his wife any more than she already was.

  “What are ye saying?” he asked as civilly as he could. “Where did it come from then?” He looked from Ginneleah to Aodhan, whose face was grave.

  “Now that is somat we can discuss in the morn,” his second said. “Let it be sufficient for tonight that ye shouldna trust what ointments ye’ve been sent in the past.” His gaze darted to Ginneleah and his lips pressed hard and white. “They might be dangerous,” he gritted out.

  His fists clenched. He looked down at Ginneleah and saw more tears leak from her eyes. He was torn between commanding Aodhan to speak plainly and comforting his wife.

  He lifted Ginneleah’s chin, giving her his full attention. “Dangerous in what way?” he asked, his tightening lungs telling him he already kent the answer.

  “It’s laced with quinine,” she whispered, her chin quivering in his grasp. “Someone did not want us to conceive.” She tried to say more, but shook her head, overwhelmed with grief.

  He took her into his arms and smoothed her hair with a hand he forced not to shake. He tried to meet Aodhan’s eyes over her head, but his second looked away, no doubt furious with him for failing to protect Ginneleah. He had every right. Steafan had failed his wife.

  He should never have trusted such an intimate gift from a man he didn’t ken.

  Ever since Willie’s death, he’d been so careful to protect Ackergill. He’d hardly left the keep for fear of meeting with an untimely death and leaving his lands without a laird. He’d been stern with visitors, hardly suffering them to set foot on Keith territory. But he hadn’t been diligent enough.

  He seethed with self-loathing.

  Aodhan shoved away from the table. “I’ll take my leave of ye and see ye for breakfast. Ginnie, goodnight, lass.”

  She nodded but made no move to leave his embrace. The lass sought his comfort even though the responsibility for two years’ perpetual disappointments lay with him. She was a far better mate to him than he’d been to her. He would never forgive himself.

  After Aodhan slipped out, she sniffed and a dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “I’d like to tell ye more about the oil,” she said. “But not here. Can we retire for the night?”

  “Of course, my sunflower.” He owed her compensation for his grievous failings. She would ask for naught the rest of their days together that he would deny her.

  * * * *

  Her arms full of supplies from her ride to Wick, Anya used her hip to nudge open the door to her room. Her da’s raspy nagging faded behind the rough planks as she kicked it shut behind her. When he finally shuffled out for his nightly visit to the pub, she muttered, “Good riddance.”

  Dropping her basket on the workbench that took up one whole wall of her room, she looked about for the vial she’d filled for Steafan. Thanks to her trip, she had the quinine that still needed to be added and enough to make herself a new supply, besides. Her belly heated at the memory of the last time she had used the oil. She hoped Aodhan would return soon from his errand. Two weeks was far too long to go without a tup.

  Lifting the vial meant for her laird, she added the quinine, doubling the dose, just to be sure Aodhan’s brat would never have the privilege of carrying the laird’s child. A quick stir and she corked the vial and reached for the wax to seal it. Where she should have felt the smooth stick of wax in its cubby, her hand only found the flintbox she kept beside it.

  “Where are ye, ye bugger?” She searched her various cubbies by lantern light, but didn’t see the wax, nor the counterfeit seal she’d bought to trick Steafan into believing the vial was from the Murray.

  A commotion in the main room of the cottage made her think her da had returned for his purse, but she realized it wasn’t her da when her door burst open and Aodhan’s muscular shoulders filled the space it had occupied. His eyes cut to her, sharp as broken ice.

  Her heart leapt. He craved a tup even more than she did, by the looks of him. Forgetting her wax and seal, she rushed to him, expecting him to sweep her up in his arms.

  “What are ye doing here?” she asked, wondering why he wasn’t wrapping himself around her and kissing her face. He usually sent a message to her when he wanted to meet. He never came to the cottage she shared with her da, nor did she ever seek him out at the keep. “Ye must be in poor shape, indeed, to come directly to me. Let me care for ye, Aodhan, but we shouldna remain here. My da
may return.”

  Aodhan shoved her away so hard she stumbled into her workbench, bruising her hip. She gasped with shock. A forceful lover Aodhan was, indeed, but he had never been violent before. Fear spiked in her chest as she watched the man prowl forward, a dangerous animal about to strike.

  “Aodhan, what’s come over ye? Ye arena yourself.”

  “Give me one reason I shouldna bind ye and toss ye in the dungeons to await Steafan’s judgment.” His voice was a growl of scarcely contained fury.

  Her heart fell into her stomach. “What are ye babbling about?” She kent the answer already. Confirming her worst nightmare, Aodhan pulled from his sporran the wax and seal she’d been looking for a moment ago. He slammed them down on her workbench, crowding her, frightening her.

  “I searched your room upon my return, hoping I wouldna find these.” The anger drained out of him as he searched her face. “What made ye do it? What turned ye against your own laird?”

  Her mind reeled for only an instant before self-preservation forced her to sort out the facts. She was found out. But by Aodhan, who had some affection for her. All was not lost.

  She fell to her knees, clutching at his plaid. “I let jealousy tempt me, Aodhan. Please show me mercy. I’ll never send another vial. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever ye ask to spare me and nay tell Steafan.” She trembled with very real fear as she realized the anger filling Aodhan’s eyes again was beyond that of a loyal second. ’Twas the fury of a da and mayhap that of a betrayed lover.

  How had he found out?

  Had her da spied on her possessions while she’d been gone? The ungrateful cur! After all the care she’d given him, all the meals she made him, all the perfumes she painstakingly made and sold to support him when she could have moved to Thurson and made four times as much in the bawdyhouse her sister lived and worked in.

  “Up with ye.” Aodhan left her no more time for wondering, and pulled her up roughly by her arm. His face an inch from hers, he spat, “Ye will be gone from Ackergill by dawn or ye will face Steafan for your two years of treachery.”

  He would let her flee. Mayhap she could even finagle an escort out of his deal. No gentleman would send a woman off on her own, and Aodhan was the most courteous gentleman she’d ever lain with. Surely he’d send her off with a guard whom she might bribe into playing spy for her so she could determine whether ’twas her da or some other who needed paying back for this betrayal.

  She twisted her face as if she were in pain. “Ye ask me to leave my home? For how long? Where shall I go? Who will go with me and protect me?”

  Aodhan released her. “’Tis no concern of mine where ye go or how ye fare,” he said with a voice as frigid as his glare. “But ken ye this. If I ever lay eyes on ye again, I will bring ye straight to the laird for him to do with as he wills.” He released her, and the sharpest edge of his icy expression thawed. “I tell him at dawn. Ye best be gone by then.”

  He turned and left, taking with him the wax and seal. He didn’t even pause to look over his shoulder when she feigned a faint and let herself collapse to the floor.

  Cold disbelief washed over her as she pulled herself up by her workbench. Aodhan was abandoning her to the wilderness, to possible thieves and rapists. How dare he! He’d been her lover for more than a year; surely she warranted more consideration from him.

  Aodhan would pay as would whoever had revealed her plot with the rose oil.

  Her face hot with indignation, she began shoving her most precious possessions into a basket for the ride to Thurson. Her sister would help her. Seona loved plotting revenge, mayhap even more than she did.

  * * * *

  Steafan escorted his wife to her bedchamber. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. She would be justified in banishing him from her bed for a time. ’Twas the least he deserved.

  Pausing before her door, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ll leave ye, lass. Rest well. We shall break our fast together if ye wish.”

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “Dinna go.” Pink infused her sun-kissed cheeks. “We have much time to make up for.”

  His heart squeezed painfully. Two bloody years his folly had cost his lovely wife the one thing she seemed to want more than aught else, a bairn, an heir to his seat.

  She must have seen his disgust with himself on his face. Her lithe fingers traced his beard. “Dinna blame yourself. Stay with me. Let us comfort each other.”

  His young woman’s resilience amazed him. He stood in awe of her apparent willingness despite his failure. “But without the oil–” He looked away, unable to finish. He didn’t wish to hurt her as he’d hurt Darla. He wouldn’t.

  She pushed the door open and led him inside. “About that.” Her full lips quirked in a smile he wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her face. ’Twas a woman’s smile, a seductress’s smile. “I believe I have a solution. So long as ye dinna mind spending more time in my bed than usual.”

  “Och, lass,” he said, closing the door. “I could spend days in your bed and wish to spend days more.”

  “It shouldna take days, my love. Mayhap an hour or two, though.” She stood on her toes to kiss his mouth.

  He stiffened at her forwardness, then melted into her scent of sun-warmed gardens. Mayhap ’twas the guilt making him softer than usual toward her. Mayhap ’twas the irresistible purity of his sweet wife. Whatever the reason, he didn’t mind yielding to her bold advance.

  “I am at your disposal, mo gradhaich,” he said when she broke the kiss. Heat filled his loins as she skimmed her hands up his shirtfront and toyed with the laces at his collar. That seductress’s smile looked more and more appealing on her bonny face. “Do with me as ye will. For as long as ye will.”

  Chapter 23

  One year later

  Darcy woke with the tickle of an ant crawling along his wrist. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he watched the wee, black creature navigate the forest of hairs on his arm as it made its way to the crease of his elbow. A soft snore made him turn his head toward Malina.

  They’d lain down in the long grass in the shade of a great ewe tree overlooking Skibo, but the sun had shifted during their nap to shine full on them. He ought to wake his wife and move her back to the shade lest her fair skin turn too pink. But his limbs were heavy with relaxation, and he didn’t wish to do aught more than gaze on her bare form for a while.

  Malina lay on her stomach atop the burgundy Murray plaid he’d worn since the day she had forsaken her own time for his sake. Her smooth back curved like an ivory valley toward the succulent hills of her bottom. Her hair glistened around her shoulders like mica spun into fine strands. Her bonny face rested on her arm, pink lips parted, the tips of her white teeth showing. And beneath that delightful exterior was a woman who was his perfect match in every way.

  How he loved her!

  He’d loved her when he’d wed her. And now, after being wed for more than a year, seeing her through the birth of their cherub of a daughter, and making a home for the three of them in Dornoch, he loved her more than he’d ever imagined possible. Would he love her even more in another year? Ten years from now? When their children were grown, like Wilhelm and Constance’s?

  Aye. He kent he would. How could he not? She was his wife, his mate.

  Her eyes eased open. Their gazes caught. She smiled. “Hi,” she said and then she yawned.

  “You are beautiful when ye sleep,” he said.

  “Only when I sleep?”

  “Aye. The rest of the time, ye are merely radiant.”

  She wiggled closer for a kiss. He brought her into his arms and indulged in her sugared scent and her taste of wine and berries. He grumbled when she broke the kiss and said, “We should get back. Janine will be hungry.”

  “Constance will see to her. I am not nearly finished with ye, lass.” He rolled to bring her astride him. Her yelp of surprise aroused him, as did the swell of her lush breasts before his face. The generous orbs were still firm and full with milk for their daught
er. “And if ye need some relief,” he said, shaping those glorious treasures in his hands, “I am more than happy to ease your suffering.” When she lowered herself to his mouth with desire-darkened eyes, he took her milk greedily, moaning with her at the decadent intimacy.

  No pleasure could match making love with his wife under the summer sun. The only thing that could make an afternoon such as this better would be if they were back in Ackergill, under one of the cherry trees by the mills. A year hadn’t eased his yearning for his former home. He longed to walk the cliff edge with wee Janine in his arms and show her the sea and the islands that could be glimpsed on a clear day. He wished he could simply forget those desires. He wished he could be as content with Dornoch as Malina seemed.

  But he never did forget. And each day when he donned the Murray’s burgundy plaid, he felt a twinge of discord deep in his vitals.

  “I love you,” Malina said as she rode him gently. “So much, Darcy.” Her passionate words and the perfect vision she made warmed his heart and eased his useless longing.

  “I love ye too, lass. For all time.”

  The horizon had turned pink by the time they put their clothes back on and strolled back to Skibo. The keep rose up from Dornoch with its impressive towers and spires, a fortress built to be as pleasing to the eye as it was impregnable. So unlike the utilitarian keep glowering over Ackergill, the pinnacle of security that had fixed itself in his heart as the purest symbol of clan.

  “You seem melancholy,” Malina said as she linked her fingers with his and playfully swung their arms.

  “Mayhap I’m a mite homesick,” he admitted. “But lovesick enough to nay fash over it.”

  She rested her head on his arm. He wound it around her waist and drew her close for the rest of the walk. Upon entering the keep, a maid hurried from the kitchen and headed to the great hall with freshly laundered linens. “Lady Murray was looking for ye,” she said when she spied them. “She’ll be in the solar.”