Highland Conquest

by Alyson McLayne

  She laid her hand over his and closed her eyes. “Next time.”

  * * *

  Lachlan sat in the big chair beside Amber’s bed, holding her limp hand and staring at her wan, sleeping face. He’d pulled out the arrow a few hours earlier after Mary had arrived and still had an ache in his gut from how much he’d hurt her and how afraid he’d been when the blood had poured out. Especially as Mary had panicked and started to cry. Lachlan had been the one to calm her down before she could start the surgery, Amber talking her through it, which meant she’d refused a high dose of herbs for the pain.

  He knew just how Gregor had felt when Kellie died.

  Terrified. Helpless. Unable to breathe.

  The thought startled him, and he raked his other hand through his hair. He couldn’t compare Amber to Kellie or him to Gregor. Kellie had been Gregor’s wife. She’d died birthing their bairns—triplet girls who had also died.

  And Amber had lived. Would live.

  He rubbed his hand across his chest, massaging over his heart with his palm. Still, for a while there he’d thought she wouldn’t survive, and the pain and panic had been unbearable. He’d never forget the sight of her pinned to the door, one arrow scraping her cheek, the other touching the crown of her head.

  He shuddered, and she squeezed his fingers, still taking care of him even though she slept.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. “Lachlan.”

  He turned his head to see Callum standing behind him, looking dirty and bruised. His face filled with regret.

  “You didn’t catch him,” Lachlan said.

  “Nay. We came close several times, but he’d just disappear. We’ll track him in the morning. I suspect he has several bolt-holes where he goes to ground. When we find his hiding places, we may be able to predict where he’ll go next.”

  “We need the dogs.”

  “Aye. Gregor and the lads should be here in a week or so. I’ve seen Hati and Skoll track someone even after the rain.”

  Lachlan nodded. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Amber’s hand, and she curled her fingers into his. “She’ll ne’er be safe until Murray is dead.”

  “We’ll get him, Lachlan. We’ll cast a net so he canna escape, and work inward once everyone’s here. We’ll protect her. As we would Caitlin or Isobel. Or Maggie, if I e’er make her my wife.”

  “We’ll protect her even if she’s not your wife.”

  “Aye.”

  He blew out a breath and leaned forward to touch the bandage on her cheek. “She saved me, Callum. He must have come in after I went to get the ribbons. I’d left them in my pack, and we’d been fighting. It was a peace offering.”

  “He came up the tunnel?”

  “Must have. ’Twas the only way in.”

  “Why didn’t she tell us it was there?”

  “I doona know. A family secret?”

  “Do you think she was aware that Murray knew? Was their relationship different than we first thought?”

  He jumped up, rounding on Callum. “Nay! She said he’d come after her before. She must have used the tunnel to escape.”

  Callum put his hand back on Lachlan’s shoulder, and pressed gently. “You’re right. I’m just thinking through all the possibilities. If she’d disappeared under his nose, Murray would have searched until he found the tunnel.”

  Lachlan shuddered again as he thought of Amber alone in her cottage and Murray coming after her. Not only tonight, but other times as well. He sank back into the chair and lifted her hand to his face. “He’d been ready to shoot me when I came in, and she threw herself against the door so I couldnae get through—into the path of the arrows. God’s blood, if you’d seen them, Callum. Three of them. Any one of them could have killed her if they’d been even one inch closer.”

  Callum crouched beside him. “She’s a strong woman, Lachlan. You’re fortunate to have her.”

  Lachlan laughed humorlessly. “I doona have her. The fight we had…it was searing. She saved me because that’s what she does—saves people.”

  “Aye, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you.”

  He shrugged, but he felt a cramping in his chest. “I doona think either of us knows what we want, or what to do with the other.”

  “You could marry her,” Callum suggested. “That’s a good place to start.”

  He shook his head. “She no more wants to marry than I do.”

  “Things change, Lachlan.”

  Callum moved to the side of the bed by Amber’s head and sat down, running a hand over her hair, now darkened with sweat and tangled from the way she’d thrashed her head in pain when Mary had stitched her up. A bandage covered her cheek where one of the slivers had cut deeper than the others.

  “You should come back to the castle and get some sleep. I’ll stay with her,” Callum said.

  “I canna leave.”

  “Then use the other bed. Or this bed. None will think twice about it.”

  “Maybe later. I’m…afraid to let her out of my sight, even to close my eyes.” He lifted her hand again, laced their fingers. “We have to catch him, Callum. I need her to be safe.”

  “Aye. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

  The door squeaked open behind him, and he recognized Niall’s shuffling steps.

  “Laird MacKay, Laird MacLean,” the old man whispered in greeting.

  Callum rose. “Sit here, Niall. She’d want you close.”

  “Thank you.” He sat in Callum’s spot and brushed his knuckles down Amber’s temple. “She’s all right?”

  “I hope so,” Lachlan said. “She talked Mary through the surgery and praised her for doing a good job.”

  “That sounds like her.”

  “Aye.”

  The steward’s cheeks were moist with tears. Callum rested a hand on his back, and Niall wiped away the wetness with his sleeve. “She’s so still. Amber is rarely still.”

  “Mary gave her a draught for the pain,” Lachlan said. “It made her sleepy.”

  “But not too much. She wouldnae want to be out of it for long.”

  “Nay.”

  Niall sighed. “I heard ’twas Machar Murray?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you knew he was coming? Both of you? You’d planned it?”

  Lachlan nodded once, guilt writhing through him like a viper.

  “Did she know?”

  “Aye,” Callum said. “She knew none were safe with Murray still alive. And we were sure he would come after her. You told us yourself he was obsessed.”

  Niall’s shoulders slumped. “So you weren’t courting her, Laird MacKay.”

  Lachlan’s jaw ground together, his mind refusing to disavow the notion.

  His silence caught the steward’s attention. “Ah, I see in your eyes you doona know how to answer. Both you and Amber, unwilling to see what is right in front of you.”

  “She wouldnae have me even if I asked,” he said.

  “Then you see even less than I do, and I’m half-blind.” He frowned at Lachlan. “She needs to be married. To be happy and loved. She needs to be protected by a strong man. If not by you, then someone else. I doona think she’ll have anyone here, though, and I heard Laird MacLean is already betrothed. Maybe one of your other brothers?”

  The same fury he’d felt earlier roared through him. Callum stepped quickly in front of him, facing Niall, so Lachlan couldn’t rise.

  “Doona e’er suggest such a thing,” Callum said. “None of my foster brothers would look on Amber in that way, and ’tis not for you to decide what is best for her. ’Tis her choice only.” ’Twas a firm reprimand, but Niall only looked more determined.

  “I’m an old man. I can scheme all I like if I think ’twill do some good for those I love.”

  Lachlan made a sound of disbelief—sho
rt and hard through his teeth—and sat back in his chair, still simmering with anger at Niall’s suggestion. It brought back all the feelings he’d had during his fight with Amber when she’d raised the possibility of laying with one of his foster brothers—but without the benefit of marriage.

  He didn’t know which was worse.

  “She canna be left alone here anymore,” Niall continued. “’Tis not safe. You can claim her or not, but she still needs to be protected.”

  Lachlan shook his head. The old man didn’t understand. No one did. “Niall, I canna claim Amber, even if I wanted to. She has to claim me.”

  Thirteen

  “I feel a spell coming on. You will soon be vomiting frogs, and your cock will fall off if you doona let me up.” Amber tried to sound wicked but her chest and shoulder hurt like a sinner in hell, and she couldn’t inhale enough air to put the requisite menace into her voice.

  Lachlan just smiled at her, his arms on either side of her body on the bed, his torso leaning over hers. “Such sweet talk.”

  She tried to pinch him, but he laced their fingers together and put their clasped hands on the pillow over her head. She had no more strength than a bairn.

  “Where is Mary?” she asked.

  “She went home to help her mother. Against my wishes, you told her she could leave last night. Doona you remember?”

  Vaguely, now that he mentioned it. “Lachlan, I want up.”

  “As soon as you drink the pain draught she left for you. Amber, you were moaning in your sleep last night. The wound obviously hurts you.”

  “Maybe I was dreaming of tupping some courtly Frenchman.”

  “Have you e’er met a Frenchman?”

  “Nay, just in my dreams.”

  “I have, and you wouldnae want to tup them—in your dreams or elsewhere.”

  He lovingly brushed her hair back from her face and put a cold compress on her forehead. She scowled. She’d been putting up with this for three days, and she’d had enough. “I doona need a man taking care of me!”

  “I’m not a man. My cock just fell off, remember?”

  She laughed, she couldn’t help herself, then scowled again, but it was a halfhearted effort. “Lachlan MacKay, let me up. I want to have a bath—a real one—not just Mary helping me with a cloth.”

  His eyes lit with interest. “I can help you with a real one.”

  She met his gaze, losing herself for a moment in the sea of deep blue. The color had become so familiar to her these past few weeks, like she’d known him all her life.

  Images from the last time he caught her coming out of the tub played in her mind, and her body warmed and tingled in all her secret places. Her dreams—day and night—haunted her. She’d been thinking of his hands, his mouth on her for so long now.

  Yet just three nights ago, she’d decided against being intimate with him. Now she couldn’t remember why. Oh, aye, she didn’t want to pine for him when he left. Well, she was likely to pine for him anyway.

  So maybe she should just allow herself this one pleasure. She’d almost died three days ago, and Murray was still out there. Would she want to die not knowing what it was like to be stroked by Lachlan?

  He would be sure to restrain himself because of her injury. Would there ever be a better chance?

  “All right,” she said quickly. “But no tupping.”

  His eyes widened, and a flush crept up his cheeks, putting her back in control. Aye, she liked that.

  He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled groan. Finally, he said, “God’s blood, you mean it, doona you?”

  “Aye.”

  He blew out a breath and dragged his hand over his face. “You’re injured. I canna, canna…”

  “Touch me? Lick me? Watch me?”

  His gaze jumped to hers. “All of those things. ’Tis not right. I canna take advantage of you in such a state.”

  She stared at him, then slowly caressed her palm down the middle of her chest and underneath her shift. Excitement and desire pulsed through her like a living thing at what she was doing…starting. He watched her hand disappear, his breath rasping between his teeth, then she lifted her breast free of the linen—the puckered, pink tip and rounded flesh an offering.

  The air left Lachlan’s lungs on a loud “whoosh.” “The other one,” he croaked as he gripped the sheets beside her. “I want to see them together.”

  She’d just reached under her shift to bring out her other breast, for the first time being proud of their shape and size—wanting him to see them, to be aroused by them—by her—when a banging sounded, and Ian yelled through the door, “Amber, let me in!”

  Lachlan met her eyes and shook his head. “He can wait.”

  She gasped when he cupped her breast, reached under her shift, and brought out the other one too. They fit perfectly in his big palms, his fingers and thumbs gently kneading and squeezing her flesh. “Lord have mercy,” he murmured before he lowered his head and drew a nipple into his mouth—and groaned.

  The vibration made her whimper, and she arched upward, offering more of herself to him. The heat scalded her, the softness of his tongue undid her, and she released her breath on a small “Oh.”

  Wrapping her arms around his head, she held on tight. He was her anchor in a storm of emotions and feelings that erupted in her body—desire and need, but trust and communion too.

  His tongue laved her skin and sent pulses straight to her core, readied the sensitive flesh. She couldn’t help splaying her knees, raising her hips, wishing his hands would travel to the very center of her womanhood.

  He lifted his head, his lips red and glistening, his eyes hooded, almost feral. “I have ne’er tasted anything as good as you.” He moved to her other nipple, his tongue sucking and stroking the bud, his thumb strumming the wet one he’d left behind. She was filled with a mindless urgency to rub against him, to be engulfed by him, and her body undulated beneath his hands, unable to keep still.

  Her legs lifted with the need to wrap around his body, and he grunted with satisfaction.

  She couldn’t think, just bathed in sensation, her skin hot, her heart feeling too tight in her chest. “God in heaven, that feels so good, Lachlan. Doona stop.” Blood pounded so hard in her ears she couldn’t hear anything and had no idea if he answered her or not—or if Ian was still banging on the door.

  Lachlan dragged his hand down her body and under the covers. She squeaked, the anticipation of being touched down there by someone other than herself—by Lachlan—more than she could bear. Surely she would release on the first stroke.

  He smoothed his palm down the outside of her hip, his fingers trembling against her skin, before he grasped her shift’s hem and pulled it up. She was panting now and lifted her hips to help him bunch it at her waist. Cool air hit her heated flesh, and she groaned, knowing she was exposed to him and liking it.

  He answered her groan with his own and said thickly, “So beautiful, lass. You are a gift.”

  She opened heavy lids and saw him staring down at her most private area but not in a predatory way, almost reverently.

  She wanted him to look on her like this—feeling hot and wet and swollen—wanted him to slide his tongue through the folds.

  She wanted him to gorge on her.

  He sighed and returned to nuzzle at her breasts, like a man unsated. His fingers slid into the curls at the apex of her thighs, tugging on the strands so she squealed again, feeling desperate and greedy, wanting all of him right now.

  Then he split his fingers and pressed downward on the outside lips before hesitating at the bottom, his fingers barely there, letting the anticipation build to excruciating heights.

  “Touch me,” she finally begged, mindless with need.

  He huffed out a laugh on her breast then stroked up her slick middle with heavy, sure fingers.

&nb
sp; “Oh, dear God,” she moaned. Her flesh was so engorged she felt like she might burst any second. Like a ripened berry.

  More pounding on the door. “Amber!”

  “Nay, doona stop,” she cried, her nails biting into his shoulders to hold him there. Wanting his weight, his touch. Wanting all of him.

  “Ne’er again. I will take what you offer.”

  His thumb found her nub beneath the folds, and when he circled it, she let out a strangled squeal of pleasure, the sensations causing streaks of white light to explode behind her eyelids.

  Her hips jutted up to meet his strokes, the pressure building until he pressed one finger gently inside her, and she caught her breath, feeling like it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t him.

  “Stay with me, Amber,” he said, lifting his head from the valley between her breasts. “Trust me,” then he bit down on the under slope below her nipple—and she shuddered.

  He pumped his hand, pressing upward on the inside wall of her channel as his thumb stroked the outside, hitting and circling that wee nub. She stopped thinking, her mind blanking to everything but his fingers on her flesh, his mouth on her skin, and she moaned—long and low.

  He lifted his head, watched her as she neared the edge. She turned her chin, ready to scream around her fist, but he cupped her nape and held her in place so he could capture her mouth. Devour her.

  And finally, she felt a part of him.

  Waves of release crested inside her, and she screamed against his tongue, her hips bucking, her body shuddering. And still he didn’t let up.

  When the frenzy finally passed and she’d slumped back onto the bed, she opened her eyes slowly. They were so close, they shared breath. His blue gaze was a little wild as he watched her intently, possessively, making her feel like she was everything he’d ever wanted, ever needed.

  And she liked it.

  She tried to speak but couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything but lie there and stare up at him.

  The pain of her shoulder slowly seeped back in and she looked down to see a wee bit of blood soaking through the bandages.

  He followed her gaze, and his body stiffened. “God in heaven! You’re bleeding.”