Highland Love Song (DeWinter's Song 2)

by Constance O'Banyon

  "Duncan, how's your arm?" Warrick asked.

  "It's right as new, m'lord." To demonstrate, the blond-haired lad proudly flexed his arm and held it out for inspection. When Warrick nodded in approval, the lad's eyes danced with delight.

  Warrick tossed a few coins their way, and when they scrambled to retrieve them his features became stern, his voice reproachful. "After school you can each go to the shop and buy candy. Until then, it's back to school with all of you."

  They pocketed their coins, smiled at him, and quickly retreated in the direction of the school.

  "The little scamps don't realize how difficult it was to get a schoolmaster who was willing to come to the village, since we are so far north."

  "So you pay for the teacher?"

  "The villagers are poor and have trouble just eking out a meager existence. They have been fishermen for generations and are dependent on the run of the fish. They could hardly be asked to pay wages for a teacher. Many of the lads take to sea at a young age, without an education. I've insisted they have at least two years of school and can read and write before they take up their father's trade."

  "You care a great deal about your villagers don't you, Warrick?"

  He glanced at her. "Of course, they are my responsibility. Some of them are like children, waiting for me to tell them what to do."

  "I've heard they are very loyal to you."

  "Not to me as Lord Glencarin, but surely to me as chief of Clan Drummond. Traditions run deep and last for generations."

  "Aunt Mary said much the same thing to me."

  "You see, Arrian, here time is measured by the wind and sea. Changes come slowly. These people sprang from clansmen who lived in my village for many generations. There has never been a question of loyalty."

  "It's different at Ravenworth. While the people love and respect my father, they are not governed by his decrees."

  He frowned. "There are many differences between Scotland and England."

  Arrian decided to change the subject. "'What is that strange aroma I smell?"

  "That would be the peat fires. Since so few trees thrive here, because of the wind and rocky ground, the villagers gather peat, sometimes mixing it with heather stalks. It makes a most admirable fire."

  When the villagers realized their chief was among them, they came out of their houses to gather around him. Arrian listened to them speak, but she didn't understand what they were saying, because they spoke in Gaelic and Warrick answered them in kind.

  Since the only males seemed to be elderly, Arrian assumed the younger men were fishing or tending the herds of sheep and cattle.

  She realized that she was the object of many curious glances. Warrick said something to the people in Gaelic, and that seemed to satisfy them. He turned to her and said, "I just explained to them that you are my wife."

  She realized that she was becoming more and more a part of his world. There seemed to be no escape.

  With a wave of his hand, Warrick led the way out of the village. For a time they rode silently, and Arrian thought they were heading for the sea. But suddenly he changed direction, following a rushing stream.

  As they rode along, the sun played tag with high, fluffy white clouds, while in the distance iron gray mountains rose like church steeples. The snow had melted but for the highest peaks and the evergreen heather awaited for summer to burst into full purple blooms.

  Warrick paused for a moment and pointed to the highest spine of mountains, where the tops were shrouded in mystical clouds. "I wonder if you can see the beauty as I do when you look at this land, Arrian."

  "Yes, it is beautiful." She had a feeling the land could no more be tamed than could the chief who ruled it.

  "How did you like my village?"

  "It's very isolated, but I like that. My father's village has become a bustling hamlet since the Ravenworth China became so famous. I sometimes wonder how Ravenworth must have been before so many strangers tramped the streets."

  "I doubt your villagers have known what it's like to have their bellies so empty they cried out for food and went to bed hungry."

  "I am told that before my mother came to Ravenworth, the village had suffered harshly. My father had been with Lord Wellington's troops in France. When he returned it was to find that his uncle and cousin had died, making him the duke. He was faced with a suffering duchy."

  "Your mother must have liked playing the bountiful duchess. Did it satisfy some charitable feeling for her to help the poor unfortunate villagers?" he asked bitterly. "Neither you nor she could have ever known hunger."

  The insult went straight to Arrian's heart. "You can say what you will about me, but don't ever insinuate that my mother aided the suffering for some personal satisfaction. You cannot know how she suffered, or you would regret your words. She was locked up in . . . a place where she had only gruel and water for months and was close to death. If she helped our villagers, it's because she loves them and they love her. I'm sorry if I'm less perfect in your eyes because I have never known hunger—perhaps you would respect me more if I had."

  "I'm sorry, Arrian. I do always seem to be finding fault with your family. I wanted this to be a pleasant day for you."

  This was as near as he had ever come to an apology, but she was still annoyed with him. "I saw no sign of malnourishment in your village."

  "No, not now. But they have known hunger. Bringing sheep into the valley has rectified the problem. It gives them wool to sell and meat for their tables."

  Warrick turned his horse away from the stream, and Arrian had no choice but to follow. At last they were in sight of the hunting lodge, and Warrick dismounted and turned to her.

  By now her temper had cooled a bit, but she wasn't ready to forgive him. "Why did we come here?"

  His eyes appeared fathomless as he turned to her. "I wanted to be alone with you."

  She felt excitement stirring within her and knew she should not stay. "I have no wish to be alone with you." The lie came hard to her lips.

  "I only hoped we could talk uninterrupted."

  She silently assessed the situation. He had never given her reason not to trust his conduct. "Very well." She allowed him to assist her to the ground. "But I don't want to be away for long."

  While Warrick turned away from her and led the horses into a pen, Arrian looked around with interest. When she had been here before she'd taken little notice of her surroundings. The lodge was located in a beautiful glen that was cut in half by a stream. It was early afternoon, and already the mountains cast a shadow across the land. She could see that the sun would set early in this valley.

  Warrick guided her toward the lodge and opened the door, allowing her to precede him inside. A warm fire was glowing in the hearth, and an inviting feast had been laid out on the table. She could see it was still hot and wondered who had provided the meal.

  "Mactavish was here, but he left," Warrick said, answering her unasked question.

  "You had everything planned, did you not?" she asked, feeling a prickle of uneasiness.

  "I thought only of your comfort," he said with a hint of mockery.

  She moved to the table and pointed at the meat swimming in a yellow sauce. "What's that?"

  "Red grouse. It's commonplace in the Highlands, and you will find it very delicious."

  She dropped down in a chair and removed her gloves. "I will talk to you while we eat, and then we must be getting back. It really isn't proper for me to be here with you alone."

  He sat across from her, a smile playing on his lips. "I forget that you English are always worried about what's proper."

  "I don't believe a properly brought up Scottish lady would behave any differently, Warrick."

  "Perhaps you are right. But don't forget, Arrian, you and I are husband and wife."

  "You know as well as I that our marriage is nothing but a sham."

  "Why don't you forget for a day what is considered proper and concentrate on enjoying yourself?"

  "
I'm not sure I can do that."

  He laughed deeply, his eyes fastened on her face. "So you see me as having some devious design in bringing you here?"

  "I see in you a danger, my lord. I don't know if I can rely on your honor."

  Again there was a hardness in his eyes. "You would do well to look out for me, Arrian. I'm overcoming my sense of guilt where you are concerned. I may well be a danger to you."

  She reached for his hand, hoping she could make him understand her feelings. "It isn't where a person was born, or the name they bear that makes them what they are. It's their kindness toward others that counts— and their pride and sense of honor must not be discounted. But none of this is important if the person does not have a loving heart."

  He pressed her hand against his chest. "Can you feel how my heart beats beneath your fingertips?"

  She sucked in her breath. "Yes."

  "That is the heart of a Scot, Arrian—the heart of a Drummond."

  She pulled free, staring at him. "I'm surprised to find you have a heart."

  "You think I'm without honor, don't you, Arrian?"

  "What you have done to me would not recommend you for a commendation—but the reasons for your actions might temper judgment for the crime."

  Warrick stood, pulling her to him. "With you beside me, perhaps you could make me see my mistakes. You could forge me into the man you want me to be."

  "I don't want to take on that responsibility, Warrick. Are you forgetting Ian?"

  His eyes stabbed hers, and his grip on her tightened. "I never forget him. He's always in my thoughts, standing between us." Warrick pulled her tightly against him, while the light in his silver eyes held her prisoner. "I want you to forget him—and by God, you will!"

  "No, I—"

  His lips ground brutally against hers, and she struggled against him, trying to wedge her hands between them. Her hand mistakenly slipped inside his shirt and brushed against the furry mat on his chest. She quickly drew back at the intimate touch.

  He smiled at her. "I see you don't like my kisses. I wonder if I could make you want them?"

  She slipped out of his arms. "No, I can assure you that you could not."

  He smiled and pulled her toward the fire. "Your hands are cold. Let me warm them for you." He pressed her hands inside his. "Do you despise me so much, my lady?"

  "No. I don't despise you. But sometimes I don't like you very much."

  His arm slid around her shoulders, and when she would have moved away he whispered against her ear. "I still want only to warm you."

  She stood stiffly, not knowing what to expect. For some reason she no longer feared him, but she couldn't guess his intentions.

  His hands moved to her cloak, which he unfastened and tossed across a chair. When she would have protested he drew her once more against his warm body. "I'll warm you as you have never been warmed, Arrian."

  She didn't want to move out of his arms. When his hands moved up and down her back, she laid her head against his shoulder. She could not see him smile or see the look of triumph in his eyes.

  "I'm sure many men have told you that you are beautiful, Arrian."

  "I have not been left alone in the company of many gentlemen."

  "Ah, yes, you have been in the country."

  His hands moved to her neck, where he gently caressed her tense muscles until he felt her relax.

  She tried to think of something to say that would take her mind off the masterful hands. Only her mother came to mind. "You should see how the gentlemen stare at my mother when she enters a room. My father is none too pleased when some overzealous gentleman tells her how lovely she is. They seldom repeat the deed more than once."

  "So your father is possessive of your beautiful mother?"

  "Yes, he is, but without reason. She loves only him."

  Warrick could understand the jealousy that could haunt a man who was married to someone as lovely as Arrian. He was filled with anger because she belonged to Ian Maclvors. That realization only hardened his heart and strengthened his resolve to send her back to Ian with his mark upon her.

  "I wonder if you know the torment I have been through since you became my wife. You are legally mine, and yet I have no right to touch you."

  "You gave me your word you wouldn't," she reminded him. "I expect you to keep that word."

  "Does holding you in my arms go against my word?"

  She was bewildered. She wanted him to hold her, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, but wasn't there danger in becoming too intimate with him?

  He swept the silken hair aside, and his mouth hovered over the nape of her neck. A shiver went through her.

  He brushed his lips against her ear. "If only I could have some small part of you to keep with me—to remember you when you are gone."

  He raised his head, looking deeply into baffled blue eyes. "I wonder if I might have just one last kiss."

  She wasn't certain if she should allow him to kiss her, although the thought of his lips on hers spread a warmth throughout her body. She decided it would do no harm, so she closed her eyes and offered him her lips.

  He smiled at her childlike gesture. Clasping her shoulders, his lips came down gently on hers. His hands moved to the front of her gown, and he unfastened the top hook. When she would have resisted, he deepened the kiss.

  Arrian tried to press her mouth tighter against the hard lips that were draining her of all resistance. She had not known a kiss could be so pleasurable and evoke such a strong longing that it left her breathless.

  Her innocence was no match for Warrick's expert skills. He unfastened the other hooks, slid her gown off her shoulders, and let it drop to the floor. His thigh rubbed against her while his lips plundered hers, robbing her of protest.

  He was still kissing her when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but that would not stop him.

  Arrian fought against her body as it betrayed her. Everywhere he touched it tingled, leaving her begging for more.

  Warrick had not expected to feel this deep burning need for his captive. At that moment he could not have said whether he was seducing her to hurt Ian or because he desperately wanted her. He had dreamed of the moment he would make her blue eyes smoulder with desire.

  He wanted to be the one to stir within Arrian the first realization of what it was like to have a man touch her. He would not take her all the way—no, only to the brink, and then pull away.

  As he stared into her soft eyes there was in him such a strong yearning, it was almost like pain. He knew then that he would not stop until he had all of her.

  Warrick brushed hot kisses against her silken neck and Arrian threw back her head.

  He lay back against the pillow and pulled her on top of him. Hot desire kindled in his bloodstream. He trembled with yearning as her soft lips opened to his probing tongue.

  He knew that she would soon be his. Victory was within his grasp.

  15

  Arrian could feel the heat of Warrick's body through her thin chemise, and she knew that what was happening between them was wrong.

  Pressing her hands on the bed, she raised her body from his and managed to stand on shaky legs. "I know what you are trying to do, Warrick. You are breaking your word to me. I'll not give you what you want."

  He swung to his feet, towering over her, his hand lightly touching her. "I would not be breaking my word if you consent, Arrian." His gaze moved over the swell of her breasts. "I can make you beg for me, Arrian. Shall I do that?"

  "N . . . o."

  His hand drifted down her neck to the tie that held together her chemise. She looked into his eyes, the hot words of denial dying on her lips.

  Slowly he pulled the tie and exposed her breasts to his hands. With a soft groan she threw her head back, and his lips touched her neck, sliding downward to sprinkle kisses on first one breast and then the other.

  She tried to speak, but his plundering mouth closed over hers, a
nd she went limp in his arms.

  Arrian felt herself going backward onto the bed with his arms cushioning her fall. A small voice within her mind warned her that she was in danger, but it didn't matter, nothing did except that mouth that made her a willing captive of his desire.

  Arrian had never known a man's body was so hard. She was aware of each breath he took, for she matched it with her own breathing.

  Warrick pulled up her chemise and allowed his hands to drift up her leg and spread across her rounded buttocks. With pressure he pushed her tightly against his thighs and slid her up and down against his throbbing desire.

  "Warrick," she said in a breathless voice, "this is wrong. I will never consent."

  "No," he whispered against her lips, "not yet."

  "I'm not thinking of you," she said through trembling lips, trying to gain control of her emotions. "I'm thinking only of Ian." Even as she said the words she could not remember what Ian looked like, she could only see silver eyes.

  An angry cry escaped Warrick's lips, and he stared at her. She tried to turn her head away but could not. In a move that surprised her, he quickly removed his clothing. When she turned away, he only laughed.

  Warrick rejoined her, and taking her hand, he placed it on his chest. When she tried to pull it away he held her fast. "Feel me, Arrian. I am flesh and blood. Look at me. I am not Ian Maclvors, I am your husband."

  Her voice came out in a painful cry. "No, no."

  "At this moment you belong to me. You will never forget this day no matter how old you grow, or how much you think you love Ian Maclvors."

  He rolled over so that she was beneath him and lowered his body to hers. A tremor shook her. "Feel my body, Arrian, and say my name."

  "Warrick," she whispered, feeling a deepening need building within her virginal body. There was no thought of Ian, no feeling of guilt, only a need to draw closer to the flame that stirred her heart.

  His hands moved over the full magnificence of her breasts, and she thought she would die with longing, and yet she had never felt so alive. She was conscious of his every move, his every touch, for each brought a new discovery.