Laird of the Black Isle

by Paula Quinn

  “You haven’t fought me yet, pup,” Captain General Daniel Marlow said, sitting up.

  Adam reached for the boot and tossed it over his head, into the trees. “Why should I bring shame to my sister by kickin’ the arse of her beloved? That would be thoughtless and prideful, aye, Uncle Tristan?”

  Tristan nodded, knowing Adam didn’t give a rat’s arse about such vices. Daniel knew it as well and shared an exasperated look with Tristan before lying back down.

  “Let’s get some rest,” Colin said, ignoring his nephew’s boastful claim. “Look at Darach. He would snore through a battle with England.”

  But Tristan couldn’t rest. He tried to concentrate on doing what he needed to do to find her, but Mailie’s sweet face kept invading his thoughts. He would give anything to see her smile again, hear her laughter. Out of all his bairns, Mailie looked the most like his beloved Isobel. She cherished honor mayhap more than he did. She was his pride and his joy. He wasn’t sure he could go on if she—

  “Faither?”

  Tristan’s gaze softened on his son sitting up. He knew how difficult this was for Luke. He’d seen the fury in his son’s eyes and the effort it took not to pour it out on the innocent. Tristan didn’t blame him for what happened. He was proud of him for doing all the right things to bring her back.

  “Aye, lad?”

  “Fergive me fer losin’ her.”

  It was the first time Luke had brought it up. Tristan knew he blamed himself, but he’d waited until Luke was ready to speak of it. It seemed now he was.

  “Ye’re fergiven.”

  “I should have realized what was goin’ on,” he continued. “I knew none of us would have stolen that vendor’s blade when he accused us. I let myself get caught up in the fightin’. I should have known ’twas a plan of some kind.”

  “Ye had no way of knowing,” Tristan reassured him. Of course his son would feel responsible. But it was too great a weight to bear. “I would have—”

  “’Twas,” Colin said, sitting up.

  “What?”

  “Part of a plan,” Colin told him, the only one among them thinking more like a soldier than a relative. “Someone took her right out of the hands of five fierce warriors without even being noticed. Mailie’s abductor had cleverly distracted us.”

  Tristan nodded as everything fell into place. “Which likely means Sinclair hired someone to do it.” Damnation, none of them had thought this out, so eager were they to get to the suspected culprit.

  Colin agreed. “Had he attempted to take her himself, he wouldn’t have lasted all but ten breaths.”

  “Whoever took her had it well planned oot,” Adam added, finally opening his eyes. “He knew pride was a MacGregor weakness. Accusin’ us of thievery would most certainly cause a fight.”

  “And as Sinclair’s emissary”—Colin’s smile could be heard in his voice—“Graham ought to know who was hired fer the task.”

  “Aye”—Tristan smiled with him, feeling more hopeful than he had in days—“he ought to.”

  “I’ll find that out as well.”

  Tristan knew he would. “We’ll find her,” he told his son. “We’ll find her.”

  “Aye,” Luke agreed with darkness and pain staining his voice. “And we’ll kill the bastard who took her.”

  Mailie finished reading a book about a gallant knight and his lady from The Faerie Queene by the poet Edmund Spenser. She looked down at a sleepy-eyed William resting under her arm. She was glad she’d had them change into their bedgowns before she began her story. Lily had already fallen asleep in Lachlan’s lap.

  Mailie closed the book and smiled at him. She’d accepted his offer of marriage. She’d never go back on it. How was it possible that her life in this moment was better than anything she had ever read? She wanted to live these kinds of enchanting moments forever.

  Lachlan rose from his chair with Lily curled in one of his big arms. She looked tiny against his chest, her chestnut hair falling over his arm, and her little bare feet dangling over his wrist. He looked like a father. Lily’s father.

  Mailie remembered to breathe when he came near the settee. She thought he meant to hand Lily to her, but he leaned down and tossed William over his shoulder instead. Will laughed and was hushed by Mailie, lest he wake his sister.

  She intended to seduce Lachlan, though she’d never seduced a man before and didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t let herself worry over it. Just looking at him carrying both their babes upstairs to bed made her ache for the time to come. She’d learn what to do with him as she went. How difficult could it be with a man like Lachlan to study on?

  She followed him into his old marriage chamber. Would it become their new one, or would they sleep in his bedchamber below stairs?

  She didn’t care which chamber he preferred as long as he was in her bed. She blushed at her wanton thoughts and then drove them from her mind and helped him get the children down for the night.

  Finally alone in the hall with him, she felt inept and unsure of herself. “What do ye want to do now?” She blinked up at him and then prayed the floor would open and swallow her whole.

  He smiled and bent to save her from the floor by scooping her up in his arms. “I want to take ye to my bed.”

  She was truly going to do this. She was going to lie with the man who took her from her father, unsure if she would be forgiven. She was doing this, and there was no turning back. The only other option was to give him and the children up, and nothing, not even her kin, could make her do that.

  “Take me,” she said softly, curling her arms around his neck.

  He carried her down the stairs, kissing her and almost missing a step. She gasped against his mouth and pressed her face into his neck the rest of the way down.

  When he reached his chamber door, he pushed it open with his shoulder and brought her inside.

  She’d slept in this room her first night here, but it looked quite different drenched in the swaying light of a dozen beeswax candles. His plain chest of drawers had been replaced with a large, intricately carved wardrobe, a small writing table and chair by the window, a wooden bench padded in dyed leather, and a chair in sapphire damask. He’d done this for her. This was the room, then. She smiled. “Ye’ve been busy.”

  “Aye,” he agreed and set her down on her feet before the hearth fire. “We’ll go through the storerooms tomorrow and I’ll bring oot whatever ye like.”

  She nodded, forgetting the furniture. She was a virgin. She should be afraid of what was about to happen. She’d admit that her heart beat so swiftly, she felt a bit light-headed. But she wasn’t afraid of him. She curled the corner of her lips at him and circled her arms around his neck. “Is there nothin’ ye willna do fer me?”

  “What more would ye have me do?” he asked, closing his arms around her waist and staring deep into her eyes.

  “Get oot of these clothes.”

  He obeyed with a slash of a dark, hungry smile that only served to heat her blood more. He took a half step back and pulled his léine from his breeches. “As ye command,” he said with a sensual dip in his voice.

  She stepped closer, emboldened by his seductive smile, to help when he lifted his léine over his head. When he stretched beyond her reach, she dipped her fingers to the masterpiece he unveiled, hers to admire. His slow, deep breath above her ear played like a siren’s song, compelling her to touch more of him.

  Dark hair dusted his chest and formed a line from his navel to beneath his breeches. His skin was firm and sensitive to her touch. His stomach was as hard as bone when she ran her palm over its many slopes and hollows.

  She looked up at him as he tossed the léine aside and closed his strong arms around her. The hunger in his eyes saturated her soul and set fire to her insides.

  When had she begun to love him? How had he changed her convictions of what made a man perfect in her eyes? But he hadn’t changed them. He lived them—sometimes hesitantly, but he did his best.

 
That was good enough for her.

  He dipped his head to hers and kissed her temple and the outer corner of her eye. He made her nerve endings sizzle until she felt flush all over. She tilted her face to his and let him take her mouth, parting her lips at the sensual lick of his tongue.

  She sucked in a breath when he turned her in his arms and pressed her back against the wall of his chest. “I like yer boldness,” he whispered against her ear. He closed his arms around her and pushed his hips up against the swell of her rump. He kissed her neck while his fingers worked at the laces of her stays, freeing her with a grunt. When he covered her breasts through her shift with his big rough hands, she groaned and lifted her arms around his neck behind her. She felt her nipples tightening between his fingers. She bit her lip. She burned between her legs.

  He was hard against her rump, ready—if he wanted to—to free himself, lift her skirts, and impale her against the wall.

  He didn’t lift her skirts but loosened them with deft fingers and then slid them and his warm hands down over her hips.

  Her body clenched with desire at his touch. She wanted more. When all that remained was her shift, she broke free of his grasp and pulled it over her head.

  She turned to face him, tempted to cover her nakedness with her arms and warmed by the hearth and the flames in his eyes as he set them on her and took his fill. She took hers as well and glanced down at the heavy bulge stretching his breeches. Her pulse quickened, her breath grew shallower as she reached out her hand and tugged at the laces. They loosened, revealing more of him. His breath fell heavy on her as she moved closer.

  He moved his hands over her shoulders, coiling a strand of her hair around his finger.

  “I’ve never seen beauty that matches yers,” he breathed out.

  She looked up into his eyes and smiled, falling deeper and more madly in love with him. “Ye’re gettin’ better at this.”

  The radiance of humor flashing across his eyes and the motion of his hands dipping to her breasts emboldened her to slip her fingers under his breeches. She stepped in, pressing herself against him, and slid her hands over his firm backside.

  His breeches stretched to bursting as he grew even harder. He released her breasts and bent over her, circling his arms around her waist. She arched her back, offering herself up to him, careless of the future.

  His control snapped, and with one arm, he lifted her up and settled her atop his belly. She strapped her legs around his waist and clung to him while he freed himself from his confines.

  She felt him spring upward beneath her, like a lance waiting to impale her.

  Fear finally caught up with her. She knew there would be pain, even blood. Would he be gentle with her or let the beast arise?

  He cupped her rump in both hands while he kicked off his boots and his breeches.

  “Lachlan, I’ve never—”

  He bent his head to her erect nipple and drew her into his mouth. His tongue stole across the tender bud, his lips and teeth teased, making her writhe with pleasure.

  She felt wet against him, but when he stretched out his finger and rubbed the pad over the jewel of her passion, she cried out for more.

  She wanted it all, and she wasn’t going to let pain or fear of tomorrow stop her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lachlan was lost to the feel of her perched on his body, in his hand, the taste of her in his mouth, the sound of her small cries begging him for something more.

  His cock was ready. His heart hammered within, making him feel light-headed, his muscles tremble. She felt small and delicate in his embrace, and he didn’t want to cause her pain.

  He lifted his head and looked into her level gaze. How had he won her fiercely loyal, fastidious heart? He was nothing like the men in her favored Arthurian tales. But he would do anything for her, put her first above all others. He’d be the man she wanted and work hard at making her happy.

  She wanted more. He would give it all to her.

  He lowered her slowly, spreading her wider with his fingers. She tensed up the instant the tip of his cock touched her. He clenched his jaw to keep his control intact and not plunge inside her.

  “Mailie, we can wait—” he ground out.

  “Nae.” She pressed herself to his wet tip again and wiggled, driving him to the brink of madness.

  He pushed upward and captured her gasps with his mouth. When he broke through a little deeper, the caress of her sheath became too much and, remaining still, he let his seed spill out, drenching her.

  Undone, but not finished, he pulled her up and then down again, sliding into her with less pressure. She clung to him, kissing him, braving whatever pain he caused her. He carried her to the bed and lifted her off him to set her down on the mattress.

  He felt like a fool staring at her while she waited for him to join her. It scared him how much she meant to him, but he cast those thoughts aside and let his heart swell with love. He couldn’t help but smile when she threw his rigid cock a worried look.

  He climbed into the bed and between her glistening thighs. She coiled them around him without waiting for any pretty words or tender kisses.

  She closed her arms around him and pushed herself up to meet him when he lowered his body to hers. This time he sank deep, stretching her to her limit. She clenched her jaw, and then, as if to prove to herself that she could do it, she pushed away and then let him thrust deep a second time, and then a third.

  Soon, only pleasure lit her expression. He kissed her face, her eyelids, her mouth, while he moved over her, delighting in the friction of their bodies, the tight hold she had on him. He came twice more, rested a few moments, and then rose up to begin again.

  He let her push him back down on the bed and swing her leg over him. He watched her with desire lighting his hungry gaze as she climbed atop him and set her hands on his chest like a victorious queen.

  “Ye’ve captured no’ only me but my heart as well, Dragon Laird.” Her green eyes twinkled at him while she dangled herself over his stiff cock. Her silky russet waves fell onto his skin, touching him like whispered breath. The scent of heather covered them both. “Have I captured yers?”

  “Do ye need to ask?” He closed his hands around her waist. “Take a look at my castle.”

  He tried to pull her down on him but she resisted.

  “But ye havena said, and I want to know.”

  He smiled. He would never have secrets from this lass. She’d barged her way into every aspect of his life—bringing light to vanquish the darkness.

  He would tell her what she wanted to know, but Mailie liked the fire of a challenge, and he wasn’t about to go down so easily. He was a beast, after all.

  He took her hands from his chest and held them behind her back, shifting the power. She tilted her chin in an act of defiance that turned his blood to fire. He sat up beneath her, drawing closer to what she kept from him, close enough to have his way. He took it, clenching his teeth, breaking down every barrier like a battering ram and burying himself deep inside her. Still holding her wrists behind her with one hand, he snaked his other arm around her and pressed her close against him. “My heart is yers, Mailie MacGregor,” he told her, moving his hand under her backside and gliding her over his shaft. “I didna think I’d ever love again. I thought I didna want to.” He looked into her eyes as she took up a rhythm of her own. He released her arms and she closed them immediately around his shoulders. “But ye changed everything. Would that Chaucer were still alive so I could ask him to pen aboot my love fer ye.”

  Her wide, beautiful smile was his answer, but he asked anyway. “How was that?”

  “Perfect,” she whispered and closed her eyes while she gyrated her hips atop him.

  Passion dripped down his thigh from her. His muscles tightened. She was snug, hot, and wet, receiving his fullness with short little gasps, reluctant to let him withdraw.

  But withdraw he did, completely, mercilessly. He held her up and away from his unyielding ere
ction. He pulled her in closer until he held her tightly in his arms.

  Her hair fell over his fingers. He clutched a handful and drew back her head to bury his face in her neck. “Not yet,” he breathed against her, kissing her, biting her. He tugged harder on her locks and took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked. Her crux against his belly burned. She moved over his muscles, wanting to be filled.

  “Aye,” she gasped, “now.”

  He felt passion’s wave roaring upward as he surrendered to her desire and lowered her upon his eager cock. She pumped her weightless body up and down, taking him to the hilt and the edge of reason.

  Scooping her plump buttocks into his hands, he pushed her down harder, lifted her higher.

  He rode the crest with her, felt her drench him, watched her cry out in the ecstasy he brought her, and then gave her all that was left of him to give.

  Later, they lay awake in Lachlan’s bed, tangled in each other’s limbs.

  “Lachlan?”

  “Aye, love?”

  “What’s yer plan with Sinclair? How will ye get the information ye need aboot Annabel if ye dinna give me to him?”

  “I’m going to give him the chance to surrender whatever he knows about Annabel in exchange fer his life. ’Tis what I should have done in the first place.”

  She sat up, spilling her hair over her bare breasts and drawing his eyes there. “That’s it? That’s yer plan? How will ye even find him?”

  “I’ll find him,” he promised. He arched his brow at her when she shook her head. “Do ye doubt I can do it?”

  “Find him or kill him?”

  “Both.”

  She stared at him, drawing a confident smile from him. She opened her mouth to speak, and then shook her head and let out a sigh. “What if he has a pistol? What if he shoots ye?”

  “I’m an experienced soldier, love. Dinna fear.”

  “Thank God that experience and skill can save ye from a pistol ball if ye start a fight with him”—she said with a wry smile as she lay back down and turned her back on him—“because I certainly wouldna want to have to do what we just did with Ranald Sinclair.”