Highland Warrior

by Connie Mason

  Ross’s dark brows lowered. “I have sired no illegitimate bairns.”

  “I suggest you sire a son with one of your lemans and claim him as your heir,” Gillian shot back.

  Ross couldn’t remember when a woman had had him as bewildered as his MacKay wife. Gillian seemed to hate all things MacKenna, especially the MacKenna laird.

  Did she dislike him because he had made her respond to his loving against her will? Ross wondered. Though she had burned in his arms, she seemed to resent his ability to arouse a response in her.

  “You try my patience, Gillian,” Ross bit out. “Am I going to have to force you to perform your wifely duties?”

  Gillian’s chin shot up. “I willna do so willingly. I hate you!”

  Grasping her arms, Ross shoved her backward. She landed on the bed hard. Surprisingly, he made no move toward her. He towered above her, glaring, his body drawn as tight as a bowstring.

  “Verra well, wife, have it your way. I find no pleasure in forcing women, especially women who claim to hate me. While you enjoy your cold bed, you can rest assured that mine will be neither cold nor empty.”

  He stormed from the chamber before Gillian had time to register his words, decipher what they meant and how they would affect her. Did she truly not care with whom Ross slept? How did she feel about other women bearing his children? A frisson of something akin to jealousy swept through her. But how could that be? There was no reason for her to be jealous of the MacKenna. She hated him, didn’t she?

  One thing was sure:

  Gillian hated the way Ross made her feel, the way her body responded to his. Naught had hurt her pride more than surrendering her body to Ross. Was she the last MacKay left with the courage to stand up to the MacKenna?

  In the following days, Gillian took on some of the duties of the mistress of the keep and found them not too onerous. She had begun to feel a wee bit more comfortable in the MacKenna stronghold, thanks largely to Hanna and Alice. Donald and some of the others did not warm to her, but it mattered not. She wasn’t trying to make friends. She was just waiting for the day the truce was broken and she could return home.

  Gillian was pleased as well as surprised when she learned she was still allowed to ride each day. Her favorite mare, Silver, had arrived, and she tried to exercise the beastie every day. Gillian did notice, however, that she was never allowed to ride out alone. One of Ross’s kinsmen always trailed behind her. Obviously Ross was taking pains to stop another chance encounter with Angus.

  Gillian saw Ross rarely, the exception being at the evening meal. She had no idea where he was sleeping or with whom, although she was quick to note that there were many attractive women at Ravenscraig, including Seana. No doubt they were eager to satisfy the laird’s sexual appetites.

  Gillian had exchanged but a few words with Ross since he had stormed from their chamber, and was surprised one night when he turned to her at the table and asked, “How are you faring, wife? You look well.”

  Startled, Gillian replied, “I am well, MacKenna.”

  “Are you ready to welcome me back into our bed?”

  Gillian’s gaze wandered past Ross to Seana, who was smirking, as if she knew something Gillian did not. “When pigs fly,” she said sweetly. “Have you tired of Seana? Mayhap I can suggest someone to take her place.”

  Though Ross appeared ready to explode, he kept his voice low. “Have you had your woman’s time yet?”

  Color slowly drained from Gillian’s face. Did he think she was carrying his baim? “Aye.”

  It was a lie she felt no guilt in telling. She had no reason to believe her woman’s time wouldn’t arrive when it was due. She peered at him through lowered lashes. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her, for he looked disappointed.

  Ross turned away to hide his frustration. He had been hoping his seed had found fertile ground in Gillian, and that motherhood would mellow her. But his firebrand was as feisty as ever, and his hopes for an heir dimmed. Mayhap he should consult with Gizela. She might have a potion that would make Gillian willing to let him make love to her. It wasn’t just heirs Ross wanted from Gillian. Nay, he desired her lush body, reveled in her response, no matter how unwillingly given; she aroused him as no other woman ever had. He had been walking around with a cock-stand since Gillian had refused him. For some unexplained reason, Ross had no desire to sate himself with another woman.

  While Ravenscraig had no shortage of attractive women willing to bed with him, he wanted none of them. No one but his fire-haired warrior woman would satisfy him.

  “What is wrong with you, lad?” Gordo asked when Ross continued to frown and shift food around on his plate. “You havena been yourself since your wedding. What has the MacKay wench done to you?”

  Ross growled at his uncle. “The wench has done naught; that is the problem.”

  “I suspected as much. ’Tis common knowledge you havena been sleeping in your own bed. Doona let the lass turn you into a milksop, Ross. If you want her, take her, but whatever you do, doona moon over her.”

  Ross’s head jerked up. “Is that what everyone is thinking? That I’m mooning over my wife?”

  “What else are we to think? We all ken you havena been the same since wedding the MacKay lass.” Gordo shook his head. “Bed her, Ross. Doona give her power over you. No one here will say you nay, and I am sure even Tearlach MacKay would agree.”

  Ross stared down at his plate in moody silence. He had no idea what was keeping him from bedding his wife, unless it was his pride. If wasn’t as if he didn’t desire Gillian. His stupid notion of wanting her to come to him willingly was just that: stupid. He turned his head to stare intently at Gillian. She flushed beneath his scrutiny and pushed herself away from the table.

  “I believe I shall retire. Good night,” Gillian said as she rose and hurried from the hall.

  “Go after her, lad,” Gordo advised. “I’m for a breath of fresh air.” He rose, stretched, and strode off.

  Ross brooded over Gordo’s unasked-for advice as he finished his second mug of ale and called for another. Damn Gillian for making him look like a besotted fool.

  Mayhap, he thought, he should beat her. Her willfulness certainly demanded punishment.

  Ross was so engrossed in his morose thoughts, he didn’t hear Seana sidle up beside him. “You look unhappy, Ross. Isna your marriage going well?” She leaned over, brushing her breasts suggestively against his shoulder. “Let me help you. I can make you smile again.”

  Without waiting for an invitation, she plopped into his lap and wound her arms around his neck. “Do you nae remember how good we were together?”

  “Are you trying to make Niall jealous?” Ross asked.

  “Niall isna half the man you are. I doona belong to him. I am yours for the taking, Ross.”

  “Take her, MacKenna; you deserve each other.” It was his wife’s furious voice.

  Ross jumped to his feet, spilling Seana on the floor. “Gillian, I thought you had retired for the night.”

  “I forgot my shawl,” Gillian said, retrieving the garment from the back of her chair, where she had left it. “I hope you both enjoy your evening.” She slanted Seana a contemptuous glance and walked away.

  “Damn you!” Ross gritted from between clenched teeth as he started after her.

  Seana reached up and grasped his leg, stopping him in his tracks. “The MacKay lass hates you. Doona make a fool of yourself over her, Ross.”

  Ross shook his leg free and lifted Seana to her feet. “No one, man or woman, makes a fool of Ross MacKenna.” So saying, he took off after Gillian.

  “Ross,” Seana cried, “doona go to her!”

  He paid her no heed.

  “ ’Tis no use, lass,” Gizela told Seana. “Accept it. You have no power over the laird. He belongs to the MacKay lass. ’Tis the way of it, and there is naught you can do to change the hand of fate. The flame hasna won yet, and there is heartache to come, but I have seen the laird’s future, and you have no p
lace in it.”

  Seana gave Gizela a vicious shove. “Where did you come from, old woman? Go away. You know naught.”

  Spinning on her heel, she flounced off.

  Ross was in a foul mood when he entered the solar and stormed into the bedchamber. Knowing that his kinsmen thought him a besotted fool made his blood boil. He had a wife, and she had damn well better begin acting like one. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Alice disrobing Gillian. Wearing naught but her shift, Gillian tried to hide herself behind her maid.

  “Leave us!” Ross barked.

  “Nay doona go!” Gillian cried with equal fervor.

  “Alice,” Ross warned when Alice wavered.

  Turning, Alice fled. Gillian reached for her chamber robe. Ross tore it from her fingers and tossed it aside.

  “What do you want, MacKenna?”

  “I should think that would be obvious. My kinsmen believe I am a besotted fool, that I am weak for letting you deny me my marital rights.”

  She backed away from him. “I doona think you are besotted with me—far from it. I think you are wise to realize we doona suit.”

  His face set in determined lines, Ross reached for her, bringing her against him. “I have been too indulgent with you. I was wrong to deny myself what I wanted.”

  Gillian struggled, but to no avail. “Why do you want a woman who doesna like you?”

  His grin was not comforting. “I can make you like me. I can make you like everything I do to you. Have you forgotten our wedding night? You burned in my arms. You writhed and gasped and screamed with pleasure. Why are you denying yourself the joys of the marriage bed?”

  “For the very reasons you just named,” Gillian shot back. “I doona want to burn or writhe or scream. I doona want to feel pleasure with you. I am a MacKay.”

  “Foolish woman,” Ross growled. Then he kissed her.

  But Ross wanted more than just kisses. He wanted to touch her hot, wet center, to make her respond, to exult in sweet victory when she climaxed in his arms.

  He wanted to conquer her, body and soul.

  He wanted to burn in her flame.

  Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and followed her down. Her shift came apart in his strong hands, and he tossed it aside. Then he rolled on top of her, sliding his uninjured palm along the smooth length of her thigh.

  “You feel good,” he muttered. “Better than I remember. You’re a bonny lass, Gillian.”

  To Gillian’s shame, she was enjoying the weight of Ross’s body atop hers. All her senses seemed overwhelmed by him. She fought the feeling, but the moment his hand brushed her woman’s hair and caressed lower, she feared she was fighting a lost cause. The MacKenna was too experienced for her.

  He pulled away long enough to shed his plaid braies and shirt, and then he pressed his naked length along her quivering body. She burned everywhere they touched. When he dipped his head and spread kisses over her breasts and belly and outlined her navel with his tongue, she shivered uncontrollably.

  “Do you like that, lass?”

  The lie came easily to her lips. “Nay, I doona.” The truth, were she to admit it, was that he made her feel wild, wilder than riding across the moors on Silver, wilder than engaging in swordplay, wilder than she had ever imagined she could feel.

  Ross’s intimate caresses were becoming unbearable. While her mind wanted him to stop, her body begged him to continue. Gillian had opened her mouth to protest when she felt his fingers slip inside her moisture. He sealed her lips with a kiss that stole her breath and drained her resistance. When his fingers began thrusting in and out of her, she sent a silent scream into his mouth.

  Gillian closed her eyes, unwilling to let Ross witness the pleasure he was giving her. The world began to shimmer; reality faded. She gave a cry of protest when Ross removed his fingers, broke off the kiss, and stared down at her.

  “Do you want me to stop, lass?”

  Disoriented, her eyes glazed with passion, Gillian returned his stare. “What?”

  “I thought not.” He kissed her again, and rolled over to bring her on top of him.

  “MacKenna...”

  “My name is Ross. Say it.”

  “Nay.”

  He raised his head, took a distended nipple into his mouth, and began to suckle. The breath caught in Gillian’s throat. She couldn’t endure such sweet torture much longer.

  “Ross ...”

  Ross grinned up at her. “Aye, lass, say it again.”

  “Ross.”

  Gillian could feel his sex throbbing against her intimate flesh, hot, hard, potent. She was past resistance now and well into the urgent need to take this to its ultimate conclusion. When Ross arched his hips and pressed forward, she felt his sex probe against a spot so sensitive she convulsed.

  “Take my cock inside you, Gillian,” Ross said on a groan.

  Gillian no longer had a choice. Her body took on a life independent of her mind as she placed a hand around his sex and guided it to her throbbing center. His hips flexed, and he filled her completely. It was not painful like the first time, and she felt herself stretching to accommodate him.

  “You are wet for me—do you ken what that means?” Gillian shook her head. “Nay, doona deny it,” he said. You want me as badly as I want you. Ride me, Gillian. Doona spare me, for tonight I am your stallion.”

  His words set off a firestorm inside Gillian. She rode him ruthlessly, tirelessly. When she heard him groan, she glanced down at him and saw that his teeth were clenched and his fists knotted in the bedsheet.

  His eyes were open and he was staring at her. His intensity startled her. But she was too eager to find her own pleasure to concentrate on Ross’s. Her flesh burned; her insides had turned molten. Pleasure spiraled upward from the place they were joined. She began to tremble; she moaned and thrashed atop him.

  “Now.” Ross gasped through clenched teeth. “Come now.”

  And then she shattered.

  Ross rolled her over on her back and began thrusting hard, once, twice, thrice. Her climax strengthened, lengthened, held her suspended. As if from a distance she heard Ross’s hoarse cry and felt his seed bathe her insides. Then he collapsed on top of her.

  Gillian wanted to scream in frustration. What kind of woman was she to succumb to MacKenna with such wild abandon? On the other hand, what had made her believe she could resist him? He was a braw, bonny man with mesmerizing blue eyes and a hard body that any woman would want; that much she was willing to admit. But she had known other handsome men without feeling stirrings of desire. What was it about MacKenna that made her yearn for his attention?

  His weight shifted off of her. Gillian inhaled sharply, suddenly aware that she could breathe freely again. She heard Ross sigh and waited with bated breath for him to mock her. She had insisted she didn’t want him, and the arrogant man had proved her wrong.

  “I canna recall when I’ve enjoyed making love more. You are wonderfully responsive, Gillian. Never try to tell me you doona want me, for I willna believe you. You enjoyed it as much as I did.”

  “Your arrogance knows no bounds, MacKenna. Aye, you made me feel pleasure, but I didna stand a chance. You are too experienced. Mayhap if I had someone to, compare you to, I would be better able to—”

  “Cease, woman! There will be no man but me in your bed. You would do well to remember that. You are mine, Gillian, mine. Mine,” he repeated as he rolled on top of her and kissed her with renewed ardor.

  Then he made love to her again, slowly, wringing a response from her. Before she knew it, she was panting with need, cursing Ross, cursing herself, and enjoying every minute of it.

  “Tell me you hate me now,” Ross said once his breath returned and he rolled away from her.

  “I...” She tried again. “I...”

  A knowing smile curved his lips. “I will listen to no more of your lies. Go to sleep, wife. We have both earned our rest.”

  Gillian turned away from him and closed her eyes. W
hy had the words of denial stuck in her throat? She did hate MacKenna, didn’t she? That question remained unanswered as she drifted off to sleep.

  Ross listened to Gillian’s even breathing, wishing he could find sleep as easily as his wife. Mayhap sleep eluded him because he was having difficulty understanding the woman he had wed. She made love like an angel while professing to hate him. How could a woman who hated him find enjoyment in the marriage bed? Wouldn’t she lie beneath him like a statue instead of writhing and moaning with pleasure?

  Ross sighed, closed his eyes, and pulled Gillian into the curve of his body, seeking the solace of sleep. He had just started to doze when someone pounded on the door. Spitting out a curse, Ross eased away from Gillian, crept across the chamber, and opened the door.

  “What does a man have to do to earn his rest?” he hissed when he saw Niall standing outside the door.

  “I wouldna bother you if it wasna important,” Niall replied. “There’s trouble, Ross. I decided to ride out to check on the herd before I retired, and saw reivers making off with some of our livestock. I tried to stop them but there were too many. Since I wasna expecting trouble, I had gone out alone.”

  “Wait here,” Ross said, mindful of his sleeping wife.

  Turning back into the chamber, Ross pulled on his braies, stomped into his boots, and grabbed his shirt, jacket, and weapons before joining Niall.

  “How many reivers were there? Did you recognize any of them?”

  “I counted at least six, but there could have been more. You are nae going to like this, Ross, but they were MacKays.”

  “MacKays? Impossible, we have a truce.”

  “Truce or no, I recognized the plaid.”

  Ross belted on his claymore and dirk, threw on a jacket and headed down the stairs. “Wake the men. We might be able to catch up with them. Or at least follow their trail. I canna believe MacKay would break the truce.”

  “He had us right where he wanted us,” Niall said, “unsuspecting and unaware.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ross led a party of men through the gates and into the dark night. They rode to the winter pasture at the foot of the nearby hills. As Ross had expected, the reivers were gone, and with them a dozen or more cows.