The Chieftain's Daughter

by Frances Housden

  “Father, I always have been,” she insisted but he continued laughing for a few moments more until, as fast as lightning, his expression changed as he looked at something or someone beyond her and she knew Dhugal had entered the room behind them.

  Frowning he demanded, “Is this his doing?”

  With quiet deliberation she presented him her most bland face. “There is just nae pleasing some folk. For years ye have been trying to marry me off and when someone—Dhugal—performs the miracle ye were just chortling about, the McArthur becomes as protective as a mother bear and I’m not standing for it. We are hand-fasted.”

  Dhugal approached her side, tucking his arm inside hers as she finished giving her father the rough edge of her tongue, reaching down to take her hand in his.

  She liked that feeling. Her father, however, raised a single eyebrow and gave Dhugal one of his looks, afore adding the final seal of his approval, saying to Dhugal, “I hope ye have realised what yer letting yerself in for,” then letting his gaze encompass them both he issued a command, “Get some sleep lass, we’ll have an early start in the morning, yer mother will be getting anxious,” he finished proving that Morag was still the love of his life.

  Love. That’s what she felt for Dhugal? She turned and looked him in the eye. The heat she saw there sent a rush of blood to her head and various other places. Her ears buzzed and her mouth dried up. She licked her lips as she stared. Would she always remember him this way, in this setting surrounded by everything he and his family had held dear?

  Dhugal moved even closer, intent in the glance he cast over her features and at the moment his hands his hands lifted, cupped her face and dipped his mouth to meet hers. She vowed there and then, she would do everything, give everything to have Skene restored to the man she loved and with him, start the rebirth of the Skene clan.

  A resolve powered by the sense that together they could change the world, overtaken in an instant by the stunning sensation of their second kiss.

  Dhugal admitted to being slightly intimidated by the McArthur. There was naught he wanted more than to take Maggie to his chamber—to make love to her—for the taste of her remained on his lips all night. In the end, the decision to join Maggie was taken out of his hands frae the moment the men discovered Skene’s stock of Uisge beatha, Michael excelling in the spirit’s production. On the one hand his gut pinched to watch Maggie leave the hall with naught but a wave of her hand. That didn’t mean he wasnae mindful how guid an opportunity it was to become acquainted with the other men, all of them frae Cragenlaw except Jamie Ruthven. Son of the Ruthven chieftain, he discovered Jamie had been fostered with the McArthur as a lad, and he, along with Rob and Nhaimeth had grown up like brothers.

  Dhugal hated to admit that during his solitary existence he had missed the company of like-minded men and, for that night at least, banished any hint of guilt that Maggie wasnae with them. She slept above stairs while the rest, even Nhaimeth’s son Ghillie, remained below, making himself useful refilling the Quaich,

  Miracle of miracles, none of them appeared to hold his uncle’s faults agin him, though it was obvious frae the talk around the board none of them had ever veered frae their support of the true royal Dunkeld line of kings.

  It was late morning afore they left for Cragenlaw, leaving two of the McArthur’s men behind to help out Mhairi and Michael, hunting and fishing as well as reopening up the way back to the long-used trail to the north of Skene. Frae what Dhugal could see, they were quite content to stay. He only hoped it wasnae the scent of the Uisge beatha, still hanging in the air of the Hall, tempting them.

  He had to say, he was glad Shug wasnae one of them. Feeling slightly sorry for him, he’d had Mhairi give the housecarl an auld plaid his uncle had once worn. The gift hadn’t done much to improve his attitude though; he still threw looks at Dhugal fit to strip the flesh off his bones. As for Maggie, it troubled him that Shug’s gaze appeared more suited to peeling her leather trous frae her bonnie legs.

  While it seemed the McArthur wasnae bothered by the way his housecarl stared at his daughter, it made Dhugal’s liver curl. He hadn’t by any means forgiven them, and Dhugal felt justified in his resolve to keep Maggie well out of the other man’s way.

  Not highly conversant with the rules pertaining to hand-fasting and his rights in this middle-ground that lay betwixt bachelorhood and marriage vows a man might say afore his priest and God, he decided to caw canny. If the McArthur had a seneschal at Cragenlaw, then he would make it his aim to consult with him. Though nae matter how much he thought on it, he found it difficult to understand how he had leapt frae his solitary state of bachelorhood to actually craving the once unimaginable state of marriage.

  He and Maggie rode out last, taking it slowly, with Ghillie’s plodding palfrey just within sight. For some reason, Dhugal felt the need to study everything, as if he might never see it again. Yet, he hadn’t realised he was making it obvious until Ghillie turned in the saddle and smiled at him, saying, “It will be all right, Dhugal,” and young as the lad was, he believed him.

  Finally, he brought his mount to a halt, and Maggie did likewise. Together they turned to look back at the Keep, at Skene Hall and the loch shining silver in the sunlight in the distance. As if they were of one mind, he and Maggie looked at each other and smiled.

  How could she do that, make his heart tumble in his chest with just one look. He liked the feeling, the warmth, the end of loneliness, so when she stretched out her hand, he took it and hand and hand, they followed the others in the direction of Cragenlaw.

  Chapter 9

  In Maggie’s eyes, Skene shone like a sunbeam amongst green and silver shadows. In contrast, as they approached Cragenlaw in the sunset, its granite walls burned like a beacon against the dark north eastern sky, guiding them home.

  She kept an eye on Dhugal’s face as they approached, suddenly aware of the importance that his impression of her home should coincide with hers.

  What she saw made her heart skip

  Riding in single file on the narrowest part of the spit, she heard him laugh, call to her, “God’s teeth, Maggie, if man ever built aught, more magnificent than this, I for one never heard of it.”

  How was it he knew exactly what she needed to hear? “Edinburgh’s bigger,” she told him, “but I wouldnae call it more bonnie, though never tell the King I said so,” she chuckled, her happiness spilling over. “Queen Margaret’s chapel is the best part. I’m named for her, ye know.“

  “I did know,” she heard a smile in his answer., “That said, I gather yer pleased to be home?”

  She turned right round in the saddle facing him as they approached the gatehouse, “Ye could be right, my family are here., I’m sure ye will like them,” she said, confident it was nae more that the truth. “Mainly, I’m looking forward to showing ye round the Keep the way ye did me at Skene.” Fluttering her eyelashes at him with intent, she teased, “I particularly enjoyed visiting yer chamber…”

  Everyone was right welcoming, so why did it pinch at Dhugal’s conscience. Maggie hadn’t misinformed him. He did like her family and their friends—of all ages, frae her nephews Ralf and Harry and Ghillie who seemed of an age, to the elders. As for Jamie Ruthven’s bairns, their ages ran the gamut betwixt toddler to almost full grown, the younger generation seemingly a fair way to becoming as close as their parents.

  Inside his head, Dhugal lifted an ironic eyebrow, observing the way Jamie touched his wife, leaving him in nae doubt that their family was naewhere near complete.

  Some folk, he imagined, would see all of this as a dream, a honey fall.

  Then there was Skene. Aye, he couldn’t in law lay claim to it, but that didn’t invalidate the truth he felt entrenched deep within his soul. His heritage had been the be-all-and-end-all of his dreams, the one hope that had carried him through all his solitary years and kept him alive.

  Now there was Maggie.

  In her rightful setting of Cragenlaw, she shone like a princess, a j
ewel—and what did he have to offer? Himself and naught else and, though he felt he loved her, Dhugal couldn’t see it ever being enough. He had nae right to father a brood of bairns the way Jamie Ruthven had. Call it pride, he wanted nae son of his to face the same lack of future left to him after his uncle had been persuaded to support Donald Bane.

  He had one year. A year minus a couple of days to make the most of, since he was well aware there would be nae life left for him after his twelve months of loving Maggie had gone by. All that was needed to ensure an outcome he could continue to live with for the rest of his life was to make certain that nae issue came out of their love.

  With that thought running through his mind, he let Maggie take his hand, lead him up the well worn, winding granite stairs a reminder of the castle’s age—long afore Skene existed.

  “My chamber’s this way,” she said, pulling him by the hand along a torch-lit passage, yet his mind was in turmoil. On the one hand, he saw himself catching her up in his arms, racing through the passageway, slamming open the door and tossing her onto the bed, caught betwixt need and the logic that said he should hold back. Logic won, yet by the time they reached her chamber, her fingers dragging at his, and the door opened, revealing the bed, it was too late.

  Firmly closing the door behind them, Maggie sidled close to Dhugal, placing her hands flat against his chest, breathing in his scent as his arms tightened about her, pulling her close. A shiver raced up her spine, a combination of need, want and fear.

  She wasnae ignorant about men, women and sex, though it was all second hand, gossip instead of experience, but then, Dhugal knew she was a virgin.

  Anxious, she reached up to his shoulder and began tugging at his shirt. If there was some sort of rules—who did what and when—nae one had ever informed her, she had feeling it might be like war and that winner took all, or put forward the terms for surrender.

  But then she had always fought for what she wanted.

  Tilting her chin, Maggie looked up into his face, tanned frae long days outside in all weathers. Lines gathered in the corner of his eyes, pale in the creases where the sun didn’t reach, which didn’t trouble her. Nae it was the way they pulled at his upper eyelid and made him look sad, almost grim. It flustered her.

  She had been certain he wished for this as much as she did. Now?

  “I—I want ye, Dhugal,” she whispered softly, yet in her heart it sounded like a roar. Nervous now that she had laid out her desire for him. Nervous because she had been about to spread all that she was afore him, with nae guarantee he felt the same. She blinked, eyelids unconsciously fluttering her eyelashes.

  He halted their flight with a fingertip, “Ye don’t have to do that to attract me, I can’t resist ye.” His finger traced a pattern on her cheekbone.

  She huffed out a sigh. “It’s not deliberate. I think I’m scared.”

  “A-a-h,” he nodded as if he understood how she could pierce his flesh with a sword one day and be frightened by the emotions flooding her the next. “That’s understandable, Maggie, lass. Yer a virgin, but its so long since I lay with a woman I could practically claim a measure of virginity myself.”

  His smile removed the twinges of concern, encouraged by Dhugal’s originally grim mein. “Come, let me kiss ye, Maggie. My life has been solitary, lacking warmth and hope, yet the thought of sharing the night with ye promises a fare measure of both. If ye let me, I’m certain I remember how to bring pleasure to us both.” And if not the first time, he decided, then surely by the second or third.

  “I think a kiss will be a guid place to start. It will be our third.”

  That made Dhugal smile, as if the echo of his thought were an omen. He adored the way she counted the special moments they shared.

  He cupped her cheek, her skin soft compared to his large, callused hands. Balancing her chin on the tip of his thumb, he held it at the exact angle he needed to cover her lips with his. With gentle intent, he explored her lips. Sucking in the fullness of her lower lip, he bit down lightly, squeezing its plump softness betwixt his teeth—not enough to hurt, simply enough to draw a moan. Their breaths mingled as he dipped into her mouth with his tongue, tasted the flavours he found, supped frae them. It shocked him to see Maggie’s eyes roll, her head falling back as if her head spun.

  “It’s advisable to breathe through yer nose,” he chuckled, brushing the lengthening bristles on his chin against her cheek then making another dive for her lips, teasing, taunting until her mouth chased after his like a chick begging sustenance.

  When at last he pulled back, Maggie felt breathless, panting as if she had run the full length of the coast betwixt there and Stonehaven, yet not willing to give in. His fingers nae longer caressed her face instead they curled around her shoulders as he held her away frae him when she wanted to claw him back against her. “What’s wrong?”

  His gaze travelled frae her head to her toes, lingering on her boots. “The leather yer wearing is grand and if not for the plaid ye wear I can’t see how I ever thought ye were a laddie.” His fingers trailed frae shoulder to breast following the curve while underneath her nipples peaked and pressed through her shirt against the leather.

  “Morag had them made for me. I have others.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” he grinned, and her jaw dropped as his hand slipped to the side of his boot and came back with his sgian dhub.

  She moaned, “N-o-o.” as he brought the blade up betwixt their bodies and she struggled to move away frae what on the outsides looked like danger.

  “Hold still, I don’t want to cut ye,” he said, making her release a shuddering breath as the sgian slid under the laces, slitting them bottom to top then with naught but one finger the remnants of the leather fell in small pieces on the floor and her short coat fell open revealing her thin silk shirt.

  Impatience would have to be his downfall when it came to Maggie. He had leapt feet first into … into what he imagined love felt like. He’d growled like a banshee ready to kill Shug for touching her, never mind having thrown her over his shoulder like an animal he had slaughtered in the hunt. Aye, he might have thought her a skerrick forward at first, but he’d soon realised she had been as surprised as he at the sparks that flew when they were close, like now. His gaze felt tied to the vision of creamy skin and pink nipples showing through her shirt, and all he could think to say was, “Yer not wearing a shift.”

  She looked at him all big-eyed and licked her lips, and he wondered how it would feel, her tongue licking him. “Nae, it’s yerself who’s wearing it. I ripped it into strips for yer shoulder.”

  His shoulder burned, knowing that the linen binding his wound had been touching her skin before she laid it upon his, singed him. His eyes burned, but there was only one way to see clearly through the silk. Dhugal lifted the sgian again, took hold of the bottom of her shirt and sliced through it end to end until Maggie was revealed to his gaze—his heated gaze.

  He tossed the sgian onto the bed and with both hands spread wide both sides of the short coat and shirt, gradually pushing them down her arms, saying, “My word that’s the most wondrous sight I’ve ever beheld, and while we’re together, unless ye can think of an alternative, we’re like to go through a rare amount of laces.”

  Maggie’s skin tingled all over in the wake of Dhugal’s gaze. A gaze that touched her as a finger might and made her mouth go dry as she sucked in air through lips, tense, needy, yet one word still hung in the air betwixt, “While…?”

  Dhugal’s mind it seemed was elsewhere. He didn’t even look when her clothes fell to the floor, leaving her bare. He fell to his knees, pulling her close and licked upwards in the hollow betwixt her ribs. She held her breath until she felt its damp warmth on the underside of her breasts and let out a low groan as his teeth nipped, a bittersweet type of pain tied to realising he saw an ending while she wanted forever.

  Caught up in the pleasure he wrought, she didn’t notice the lacing on her trous was undone. Or that his hands had beg
un to ease inside the waist, lifting it away frae her skin to be replaced with his hands, touching, circling, smoothing her buttocks until her knees turned to water, removing her support. “Help…” she pleaded beginning a downward slide until her face grew level with his and the look in his eyes made her insides melt like sun on snow.

  “How can I help ye lass? Mayhap like this,” he suggested, covering her lips with his.

  His tongue slipped inside her mouth erasing any lucid thought frae her brain, only one word seemed to make any sense and she said it, over and over betwixt kisses: “More…”

  Afore she knew what was happening, she was on her back atop the bedcover. Her boots and trous dissolved off her legs and Dhugal was braced above her on his guid arm, still wearing his shirt and plaid while she was completely naked.

  She tugged on his belt while his face hovered above hers. “I want this gone,” she told him, her demand squeakier than she would have cared for but nae less insistent.

  “Have at it lass,” he murmured, and if she hadn’t been certain afore, the warm smile, made more genuine by the crooked almost defenceless fullness of his lower lip, pumped her heart to the brim with love.

  Taking him at his word her fingers worked fast, regardless of the way the hard edges of his buckle dug into them—and then it was gone and the kilted folds of his plaid covered her belly. It wasnae enough, not when the source of the intense heat flooding through his plaid had revealed itself. Not actually in the flesh, but she wasnae completely ignorant. “Hand me yer sgian, it would seem the only way to get ye out of this shirt is to cut if off ye.”

  “Nae, lass, don’t.” Dhugal let his elbow fold under him and rolled onto his side afore sitting up laughing down at her. “I have but one other. Yer the McArthur’s daughter, how would it look for me to go around without a shirt to my back? I don’t want to let ye down.”

  “I can get—“

  “Dismiss that thought.” She knew in an instant she had broken the moment, always too quick, too smart … too late. “Ye might have spilled first blood, Maggie, an incredible feat for a lass. That’s not to say I’ll let ye support me. I’m still the man,” he said and she could see that for herself as he hauled his shirt over his head leaving only the binding on his shoulder to hide the breadth of his wide chest.