Every Heart Has Its Day

by Lynda Lukow

  “I see ye have met my wife.”

  “Not formally, milord.”

  Connor pulled her to his side. “Lady Kasey Mackintosh, this be Ingram, my third-in-command. For now.”

  Ingram chuckled as he bent low. “At yer service, milady.”

  Kasey curtsied.

  Connor growled, then lifted her into his arms, and carried her through the entry. “Never agin will ye curtsy to any save myself, another laird, or our liege,” he whispered between nibbles on her ear. “Do ye find him to yer liking?”

  Kasey could not decide which disconcerted her most: Connor’s touch, the gentle way in which he chided her, or the tinge of jealousy in his tone. “He has beautiful eyes.” Kasey looked over Connor’s shoulder and laughed. Ingram waved at her as he danced around the corridor. “He be quite a jester, too.”

  She caressed Connor’s twitching jaw muscle. “A man like him must fight off bevies of women. I wonder how he will manage now?”

  Connor raised a brow.

  “All the women who once chased after ye will have to settle for him.”

  “Ye may not believe this, milady, but very few women found me to their liking.”

  She toyed with the hair at his nape. “I be pleased to hear that, milord.”

  She thought her heart would burst with love—if his heat did not first render her to ashes. She threw caution to the wind and kissed him.

  He groaned and pulled away. “Ingram, any matters I need deal with afore the morn?”

  “An heir, milord?”

  “Tell my father of my return, and inform my commanders I will meet with them after we break our fast.”

  “Be ye and yer lovely lady hungry, milord? Though the servants be abed, I could find ye some fare.”

  Connor remembered too well Ingram’s sole attempt at preparing fare and the two days he spent with the chamberpot afterward. “Thank ye, but I wish my bride to live until morn.”

  He lifted a candle from the table at the base of the stairs and handed it to Kasey. “I prefer to tumble into our bed than stumble down the steps.”

  “Ye be aware, milord, that I can walk.”

  “I loathe putting ye down.” He lowered his eyes. “Sometimes I fear this be a dream, and if I release ye, ye will vanish.”

  Connor opened the first door on the right, crossed the chamber, and gently set Kasey upon the massive, four-poster bed.

  She ran her hands along the tick and gloried in its softness. Every fowl must have given its feathers for the stuffing. She wondered if Connor would mind if she bounced on it.

  Such a childish thought. She was married now, as the man disrobing across the room proved. She should probably allow him privacy, but she fancied staring at his naked buttocks. Her gaze followed the edge of his tunic as he lifted it. His scar, naught but an errant white string on a freshly tilled field, had lengthened, yet she had never seen a stronger back.

  The previous night she had been too fearful to touch him, though his hands, lips, and tongue had seared her entire being. She yearned for the heat and strength of his embrace. She craved the boldness to stroke him, to taste him.

  How wanton she had become after just one mating. What would happen in years to come?

  If her marriage followed her mother’s, Connor would turn his attentions to another.

  “Be aught amiss?”

  She could not tell him of her fears without comparing him to Laird Cameron—a match he had not appreciated. He had thrown a man much larger than she a great distance. Though in her heart she believed he would never hurt her, her head remained unsure.

  He moved around the bed and knelt at her feet.

  Unable to bear his concern, she glanced around the room. She needed to find aught of no real import to blame for her distress.

  “Kasey?” He placed his hand on her knee.

  “Ye have only a bed, a chest, and a chair in the chamber.”

  “I dinna believe ye worry over lacking furnishings.” He crawled across the bed and yawned as he pulled up the cover. “On the morrow ye can do as ye please to make this chamber more to yer liking. I shall probably see little of ye afore the evening meal, but Evonne can show ye aboot.” He blew out the candle.

  Her heart sank to her toes. She had not known what to expect upon their arrival, but she had not considered an abrupt dismissal. Mayhap she had not pleased him, and he had already decided to take a paramour.

  She felt around for the plaid lying on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She moved to the hearth. Now that the hunter had captured his prey, the prey no longer mattered? She had been a fool to believe his confessions of love. How could he bandy the word about so carelessly? Did he not understand her need to feel cherished above all else?

  She sniffled. Mayhap her past had stained her image of love. Broderick could not have truly loved her mother else his pride would not have prevented him from giving her his name. Her mother’s marriage had been a farce orchestrated by politics.

  She closed her eyes. Dear God, please do not let Connor’s love be based on naught more than my tie to the crown.

  As Kasey lay down, she decided love, if it really existed, was as clear and deep as a mud puddle. Mayhap as a way to cope, people gave it more import than it deserved.

  Whenever living had become unbearable, she had dreamed Hunter would come to her rescue, had she not? Now that they had wed, did she feel any differently about him?

  Aye. God help her, she loved him more.

  Only one question remained: Did she trust he would not abuse her heart?

  ****

  Connor rolled over and reached for his wife. Cool linens met his touch. Panic snapped him awake.

  Mayhap she needed to use the chamberpot. He squinted into the darkness. Naught moved. He listened to the hush. Naught rustled.

  He crossed the chamber, tossed open the door and grabbed a candlestick from the corridor. As he searched his chamber, he stumbled over a soft lump on the floor.

  Annoyed, but relieved, he lifted her. “What in blazes be ye doing?”

  “Sleeping, milord.”

  “Have ye no bed?”

  “Ye started snoring afore I could ask ye where I sleep, and I dinna have the heart to wake ye.” Connor carried her to the bed as she continued, “Dinna trouble yerself, milord. I have often slept by a cold hearth.”

  “Did ye have no pallet?” He lowered her.

  “Aye, but by the time I finished my duties little night remained.”

  “Did yer mother not share a chamber with Laird Cameron?”

  “I fear it would have been quite crowded.”

  Connor raised a brow.

  “Most nights Laird Cameron invited a servant into his bed.”

  Every time Kasey revealed more, he wished he could thrash Cameron. “Ye be my wife. No other woman will share my bed.”

  “When ye want another will ye go to her?”

  Had this discussion been between two other people, he would have thought it laughable. He sat by her side and framed her face with his hands. “Ye be the only woman I desire.”

  “For how long?”

  He leaned forward and moistened her lips with the tip of his tongue. He nipped a few times before he took full possession of her mouth. His control slipped as heated blood forged his sword. He tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along her jaw. “Just ye. Forever, Kasey.”

  Intoxicated by her scent, he nuzzled her neck. He pulled the thong from her braid and unwound the silken threads, then guided her hand to his arousal. “No other makes me burn with such need.”

  Kasey wrapped her hand around his staff.

  Connor groaned and bucked his hips.

  “Did I hurt ye?”

  He inhaled through his teeth. “The sweetest agony, love.”

  She reveled in the warm softness covering the steeled flesh. She twirled her fingers in the crisp, curly forest before her hand drifted down to the baby soft, bumpy skin of her husband’s courage sac. She fondled the balls withi
n.

  His hand seized her wrist. “Enough.”

  “My apologies, mi—”

  “Connor!” He lifted her hand and kissed her wrist. “Say my name.”

  Her throat clogged as he suckled her fingertips. “C-Connor.”

  “In this chamber ye will never agin call me by my title.” He trailed his lips up her arm and nibbled on her shoulder.

  She could do naught but nod. Her ability to think, much less speak, fled as he set her aflame.

  She caressed his ribs and stroked his chest. Gooseflesh covered her arms as he savored the skin his hands bared.

  His mouth came back to hers. Their tongues dueled in a battle of passion. Sparks glinted behind her eyelids. He pushed her back onto the bed. She surrendered to desire.

  His whiskers grazed the column of her neck. She fisted his hair and pulled him to her breast. Passion coursed through her as he suckled and kneaded her breasts. She gasped when he tongued the crease where breast met torso.

  She stroked his back. “Connor?”

  “More, my sweet?”

  She shook her head and then nodded.

  He grinned as he slid his hands along her ribs and past her hips to drag off her clothes.

  She twitched at his featherlight touch.

  His tongue bathed her navel as he gently thumbed her nub. He inserted two fingers. She raked his shoulders with her nails. “Connor.”

  “Soon, my love.” His lips followed and ignited the trail scorched by his fingertips.

  She grabbed his head and raised her hips. A cry escaped her lips as she spiraled to the stars.

  Before she drifted back to earth, Connor thrust into her. He clutched her buttocks and raised her hips. Every stroke of his shaft, of his tongue, sent her soaring higher.

  “Together, now and forever.” He thrust harder, deeper. The flood of his seed wrought her crest.

  She gulped in air, trying to slow her racing heart. Awe filled her. Never had she felt so beautiful or so powerful. Connor’s dead weight, sprawled atop her, proved a mouse could indeed tumble a mountain. She laughed at the whimsy.

  “If ye have the strength to be amused, I must not have done my duty well.” He raised his head.

  Her smile faded. Connor’s amber eyes turned green. His wavy brown hair straightened to greasy black. His moan echoed through her memory, to be drowned out by a raspier roar.

  She stiffened. How could that be?

  He pulled her with him as he rolled onto his side. “Did I hurt ye?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ye bewitch me.”

  “Do all men act as ye when they…come apart?” Kasey whispered.

  He pulled back and searched her eyes. “Why do ye ask?”

  “I be curious.”

  “Most men act the same, but I fear ye will have to take my word. Ye will experience no other firsthand.”

  “I have no such desire.”

  “Nor will ye ever. Now tell me why ye asked.”

  Kasey took comfort in his warning, but hesitated to explain. Was it all right to discuss such things with her husband? If she could not ask him, whom could she ask? “I be a bit confused. Ye acted the same way Laird Cameron did after each of my lashings.”

  “Some have strange tastes. I have heard of men who only find completion when they inflict pain. Or, as in Cameron’s case, find release as they watch others receive pain.”

  “Do ye have any such desires?”

  “Nay. Yer passion be quite enough for me.”

  Kasey snuggled into his arms. Each still had much to learn about the other, but she believed he was a man of his word.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Kasey awoke as the first petals of the day unfolded. She lay cradled in Connor’s arms. His leg, draped over her hip, his manhood rested against her center. Temptation for a repeat of last night’s splendor battled with the dawn—and lost.

  The rumbling of her stomach reminded her they had eaten little the previous day. If she could find the kitchens, she and Connor could break their fast in his chamber and share a few precious moments before his meeting.

  Certain he would rush off if she woke him, she eased from his embrace. The rustle of her garments sounded like a gale. The creak of the floor roared like thunder. She glanced over and wondered how he slept through the din.

  She edged open the chamber door just enough to squeeze through and then pulled on her boots in the corridor. She followed the aroma of baking bread and the noise of clanging pots.

  For several moments she stood in the kitchen’s entryway and listened to the chatter as the women bustled about. One of the younger lasses relayed a story about Ingram’s latest escapade, and Kasey joined in the laughter.

  A rotund woman smiled at her. “We be waitin’ on ye, lass.” She waved her into the room. “I be Payton. Welcome to my kitchens.”

  “Yer kitchens?”

  “Well, mine and the laird’s, at least until his new lady takes over.” Payton’s eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. She reached out and patted Kasey’s hand. “I ken ye be new to the Mackintosh holding, lassie, but here we consider it an honor to serve our laird. Henceforth ye must make an effort to be on time, lest the privilege be bestowed upon another.”

  Kasey’s mouth dropped open. There had to be some mistake. Unless? Had she displeased Connor with her skittishness, or had he taken cold comfort in her arms? Either reason could get her vanquished to the kitchens. Had he made the decision as she lay curled in his arms on their wedding night? Or mayhap when she had proclaimed she be not good enough for him? Had he decided he no longer wanted her as his lady wife?

  “Dinna just stand there like a lady of station.” Payton held out a pail.

  She must have done aught amiss. Why else would they treat her so? She snatched the pail and quit the kitchens. She looked down at the metal handle she clutched and gave thanks for the calluses lest she have blisters before the day’s end.

  Tears clouded her vision. How could she have been foolish enough to believe this man would love and respect her? Laird Cameron never had. He had taken pleasure in her pain and humiliation. To Randall she offered naught but a way to gain the lairdship. Broderick treated her well enough when he was with her, but he left her at the mercy of the Cameron wolves.

  But Connor? Her hopes fell along with the pail she dropped into the well. He was worse than the others. He had plied her with pretty words and promises—all the things she had wanted to hear—and for what?

  She had no idea what Laird Mackintosh hoped to gain. She dashed away her tears, then drew up the full pail. Mayhap, despite his denial, he had learned of her ties to the king before they had wed. ’Twould be a feather in his cap to sire a child who could someday lay claim to the heirless crown. Mayhap her instincts had been right, and Connor had married her out of gratitude or honor.

  Determined to survive this latest betrayal, she steeled her heart.

  Connor’s roar shook the manor as Kasey reentered the kitchen. She pressed her lips together to keep from echoing him.

  “Our laird has returned.” Payton exchanged the full pail for two empty. “We shall need more peat and water.”

  “I shall see those chores done posthaste.” Kasey curtsied to the cook and headed back to the well.

  ****

  Connor buckled on his sword as he ran down the stairs. His wife should still be abed. If she had decided to run off, he would hunt her down. After he found her, he would tether her to his side.

  Kasey would not get far without a mount.

  The stablemaster’s assurance that all horses were accounted for heightened his anger. As he stalked toward the gate, he searched the faces of all who passed by.

  “Aught vexes ye, brother?”

  “My wife.”

  “Ye lost her already?” Gavin chuckled.

  Connor struck out, but his brother ducked and denied him the release of a well-placed punch. “It be good ye be quick, else ye would crow through a bloody nose.”

/>   “My wife likes my face as it be.”

  After the gate’s guard reported none came or left, Connor stormed toward the garden.

  “Why do ye inquire at the stables and gate?”

  “She canna walk unseen to Inverness or the MacPherson keep.”

  “Did ye quarrel already?”

  “Nay, we dinna.”

  “Then why do ye believe she would leave?”

  “I know not what to think.” Connor ran his hand through his hair. “I awoke this morn to an empty bed.”

  “I see.”

  “What do ye see?”

  “The reason for yer black mood.” Gavin grinned. “Ye hoped to begin yer day by siring an heir, but her absence denied ye.”

  “Ye be walking a fine line, Gavin.”

  “Calm yerself. She must be somewhere in the holding.”

  “Tell me, wise one, be ye in my position, where would ye seek an errant wife?”

  Gavin cocked his head. “The kitchens.”

  “Why would she go to the kitchens? I have told her she be not a servant.”

  “Told, milord? Commanding yer wife be not wise.”

  Connor looked at the ground. “I fear ye be right. How did ye so quickly become so learned?”

  “Evonne dinna take kindly to my expectations.”

  “She cared not for yer counsel?”

  “My tone, not my words, annoyed her. I dinna care for sleeping on the floor.” Gavin shrugged. “Women fight not with their fists. They cut ye with a word, a look, or their silence.”

  “What ye say may be true, but I dinna like it.”

  “Ye have no choice. Change yer habits lest ye be the next target of her daggers.”

  “She need not use her dirks. She be doing a damn fine job of worrying me to death.” Connor strode toward the castle. She had better be there. His patience, like a worn rope, could snap.

  He entered the kitchens, glanced at the women tending their chores, and scowled.

  “Good morning, Laird Mackintosh,” Payton chirped as she curtsied. “I be sorry for the delay in serving the morning fare.”

  “Everything be well, Payton?”

  “Oh, to be sure, milord. We be making extra fare to celebrate yer return.” Payton leaned a little closer. “I also have a new lass who knows not her duties yet.”