Laird of the Black Isle

by Paula Quinn

  “Some of the things he said…they made me proud to be yer faither.”

  It was no use. Her eyes filled with tears, and she leaned up to kiss him and let one fall on his chest. “Thank ye, Faither.”

  “He did a grave thing by taking ye from us, Mailie. But ye love him.”

  “I do.”

  “And he sure as hell loves ye. I believe ’twas God who brought ye here to save William and Lily…and Lachlan the Dragon.” He smiled at her when she lifted her eyes to his. “Who am I to stand in the way of God? Yer beloved asked fer my blessin’ and he received it.”

  This was why she loved him. Why she had been so determined to find a man who lived up to him, her very first knight in golden armor.

  She threw herself into his arms and thanked him again, over and over, and then she hurried from the kitchen to find Lachlan.

  She checked the study and, not finding him there, hurried up the stairs. She came to the top and looked down the hall, toward the first bedroom on the left.

  He stood in the doorway, silent and staring inside Annabel’s room with Ettarre at his feet.

  “Sinclair’s emissary confessed that she is dead,” he told her as she came to stand beside him.

  She closed her arms around him and he covered her shoulders with his, drawing her closer. “I’m sorry, Lachlan,” she whispered. She wasn’t surprised, but her heart broke for him all over again.

  “I was a fool to hope. To do all I did—”

  “Nae, my love.” She looked up at him, noting his split lip. “Ye are a faither, a good one. And ye continue to be a good faither to Will and Lily.”

  She reached up to trace his wound with her thumb. “Which one of the men hit ye?”

  “Yer brother,” he told her, finally smiling beneath her fingers. “He used tremendous restraint.”

  “Because he is my faither’s son,” she told him, grateful that a wounded lip was all he’d had to endure from her kin. His daughter wasn’t coming back. He’d suffered enough for one lifetime. It was time for healing to begin.

  She lifted her fingers to a lock of his dark hair and swept it off his brow—not too far off. She loved his slightly unruly waves and the way they made him look unpolished and imperfect. She didn’t see scars when she looked at him. They had faded from her vision, replaced by his ever-yielding scowl, his hard-won surrender. She’d stopped seeing a beast the moment she’d learned of the death of his family. She’d put her hope in him, and he hadn’t failed her.

  “My faither said ye asked fer his blessin’ and he gave it.” She wanted to spend every moment of her life with him, to be his wife, to have his bairns.

  He stepped away from his daughter’s room and shut the door. “Aye, he did,” he said, returning his smile to her and taking her into his arms. “Would ye still consider me fer a husband?”

  “I already do,” she breathed against his lush, eager mouth as it descended on hers.

  His kiss sent tremors through her, waking every nerve ending, all her senses, replenishing her like water after a drought. She played with his tongue for a moment, and went warm and willing in his embrace when his large hands cupped her bottom. He broke their kiss and grazed his lips over her cheek to whisper in her ear. “I love ye, Mailie”—did her breath falter, or was it his?—“more than I love my own life.”

  She knew he did. He’d faced his dragon for her. He’d thrown himself at her father’s mercy for her and lost his heart to the children she loved.

  “When are ye goin’ to restore my honor and wed me, Beast?”

  “Is now too soon?”

  She laughed and he lifted his face from her neck where he had begun kissing. “Aye? ’Tis then? I thought with yer kin here ye’d want to—”

  “Ye would wed me at this moment?” Her eyes opened wider. “Truly?”

  “Lass.” His dark brow furrowed over pewter eyes. “Of course I would.”

  Of course he would. She melted against him. He would suffer a night with seven raucous men disturbing his peace and likely keeping the children up all night, for her.

  “I would love—” Her smile faded. “Oh, we canna.”

  “Why not?”

  “If my mother knew I was wed withoot her here, she would be heartbroken.”

  “I dinna want to wait,” he told her, his gaze hungry for her.

  “Aye,” came her father’s voice from somewhere behind Lachlan, “I dinna want ye to wait either.” He came forward from the stairway, toted by Lily. When had Ettarre returned to him? “Yer betrothed wants to do the honorable thing. Abide him, daughter.”

  “Aye, Faither,” she said, her smile graced by love and a streak of crimson across her cheek. She was no lass to be used for pleasure without the promise. Was it obvious that she and Lachlan had enjoyed a night together?

  “We’ll figure something oot,” he continued more tenderly, “so yer mother willna hear of it until yer actual wedding day in Camlochlin.”

  “Aye.” She nodded and went to him to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank ye.”

  “Ye have my gratitude, my lord,” Lachlan told him.

  Her father held up his hand. “I do it mostly fer my Isobel. She’s been planning Mailie and Violet’s weddings fer years now. I willna disappoint her. Besides, she’ll be eager to meet the man my daughter thinks stepped oot of one of her favored books.”

  “Le Morte d’Arthur,” her knight supplied.

  Her father’s smile warmed on him. “Aye, Le Morte d’Arthur. Have ye read it?”

  Mailie took Lily’s hand and led the way down the stairs with her father and her betrothed discussing knights and books behind her.

  What had she ever done to deserve these men in her life—or the rest of them wandering about when she reached the bottom of the stairway?

  “We’ll need to stay fer the night. We’ll leave fer Invergordon at first light,” she heard her father tell Lachlan over her shoulder. “We need to get the others drunk and to bed before the ceremony to ensure no flapping tongue reaches Isobel’s ear. Do ye have enough whisky? And does yer village have a priest?”

  “Aye, to all,” Lachlan replied.

  She turned to him, thrilled at what was being proposed. By tonight, she would be his wife, sharing his bed, his life, and his children.

  The challenge was in waiting until tonight, watching him mingle and smile with her kin, wanting him for herself.

  “Who’s up fer some practice?” Uncle Colin, of course, called out after Tristan announced they were staying for the night. The four other men present in the hall all looked away.

  Mailie smiled. Her kin enjoyed sparring with one another, but not with him.

  “Good. All of ye, then,” her uncle said, then turned to Lachlan. “Where’s yer yard, MacKenzie?”

  Lachlan led them out, with Mailie at his side. When they came to the yard, Colin and Daniel inspected the two workshops, while Luke and Darach prepared for practice.

  It wasn’t long before the others arrived to watch and Colin stepped forward in sight of them all. “Spar with me, MacKenzie.”

  “Uncle—” Mailie raised her voice to object. Lachlan didn’t need to prove himself.

  Colin held up his hand to stop her. “’Tis just practice. I won’t hurt him.”

  Lachlan looked at his boots and smiled.

  “Verra well,” she conceded, having embarrassed Lachlan enough. “But dinna say I didna warn ye.”

  The men laughed and taunted her uncle with warnings. He laughed with them and held up his sword.

  “Dinna hold back,” Mailie told Lachlan while he tested the weight of a few blades he’d forged some years ago. “He willna hold back with ye.”

  “Dinna worry,” he reassured her in a confident tone that cooled her blood.

  “Lachlan,” she called when he picked his sword and turned to go.

  “Aye, love?”

  “Dinna hurt him.”

  He smiled. “I willna.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lachlan h
adn’t used a sword in two years. It felt awkward in his hands, but he hadn’t forgotten how to fight, or defend himself.

  Colin MacGregor made him work hard, but rigorous exercise was part of Lachlan’s life, and soon he grew at ease with his movements and sword.

  He held up his blade and blocked a chopping blow above his head. Before he had time to reposition his hilt, Colin swung at his legs. He leaped back, arching his sword, and delivered a forceful blow against the edge of Colin’s sword that set sparks to the air.

  They fought for over an hour, until the older warrior grew winded, his strikes slower. Lachlan could have continued, but he wouldn’t bring any shame to this well-skilled warrior by exhausting him unnecessarily.

  With mercy in mind, he swung his heavy blade and brought it down for the final blow on his opponent’s.

  Colin’s blade should have left his hand and sailed across the yard, but it didn’t. Instead, the warrior twisted his wrist with the force of the blow, not against it, and let the sword fly with him still holding on. It ended at the edge of Lachlan’s throat.

  The men cheered.

  “Take no shame in losing,” the warrior told him. “Ye fought well indeed.”

  “Uncle,” Adam called out from where he sat on Lachlan’s chopping block. “Ye never compliment anyone’s skills.”

  “Aye,” Colin called back. “That ought to tell ye something.”

  Lachlan laughed with them, enjoying their company. He’d hoped for mercy from her father. He hadn’t thought it possible that the MacGregors would accept him into their fold. They were brutes to be sure, but they were far from savage. He knew they would have honor and compassion because of the value Mailie had placed on them.

  He looked to her as she approached. His muscles burned from sparring, but it felt good. He felt alive. On fire. And it was all because of her. “How is it,” he said, pulling her into his warm embrace when she reached him, “ye become more beautiful each time I look at ye?”

  She laughed softly, filling his ears with music, his eyes with her splendor. “I was just thinkin’ the same thing aboot ye.” Her smile darkened, along with her gaze beneath her long lashes. “That was quite a display of strength and stamina.”

  Her words and the undertones of desire lacing them sparked his nerve endings. “I’m glad it pleased ye.”

  He wasn’t sure if he could wait until tonight to have her. He was excruciatingly aware of her breasts pressed against him, and her kin scattered about his yard. “I canna wait to have ye in my bed,” he whispered into her ear, “beneath me.”

  She pulled back her head and offered him a challenging smirk. “Who says I’ll be beneath ye?” she whispered so only he could hear. “I intend to take my place atop the mountain and claim my victory.”

  His blood burned in his veins and tightened his muscles. His arms closed tighter around her.

  She must have sensed the danger of being carried off in the sight of her kin because she stepped out of his embrace and changed the topic to one more innocent. “Should I wear my hair up or down fer the ceremony?”

  “I dinna care how ye wear it,” he replied, bending to her. “’Twill be loose when I pull it back from yer throat and bury myself into ye.”

  She trembled, then shook her head at him, smiling as she stepped out of his reach. “Beast.”

  He watched the sway of her hips beneath her skirts as she walked toward the others. He’d let her enjoy her victory, and then he’d—

  “He would have lost if ye hadna shown him mercy at the last instant,” Adam said, appearing at his side with his hellish black hound at his feet. “I’ve never seen him lose. Damn it,” he said, shoving a twig into his mouth. “’Twould have been enjoyable.”

  Lachlan turned his smile on him. He liked Adam. He might even want him as a friend, the first since his days with the dragoons.

  “Mailie tells me ye’re going to be chief.”

  “A premature assessment,” Adam said, as if he could not care less about it. “Besides, ’tis no’ a title I covet.”

  “No,” Lachlan said, looking him over, “ye dinna seem the type to covet power.”

  Adam smiled, flashing white teeth against a spray of black hair that had blown across his face. “What is it ye think I covet, then?”

  “Ah, that I dinna know.” Lachlan smiled. “But I think ye’d make a good chief. Ye’re clever and perceptive and ye proved yerself courageous when ye ran toward a monster, risking all to save any more of yer kinsmen from falling to my rage. It speaks well of ye.”

  “Well, dinna let it get around,” Adam jested, turning to spread his gaze over his kin and back to wink at Lachlan. “We can’t have them knowin’ how courageous I am.” Lachlan saw something in his eyes, regret, mayhap.

  Looking toward the others, Lachlan’s gaze settled on Mailie.

  She set his heart to thrashing with her smile. He felt revived just looking at her. He could have taken on an army in that moment and then run back to get his tree.

  “Mailie’s heart has finally been won.” Adam yawned. “She has ridiculously high standards for a husband. However did ye manage it?” He smiled at her and offered her a bow when she approached with her brother.

  “That was impressive,” Luke MacGregor complimented, reaching him. “But Colin is cunnin’. Everyone hates practicin’ with him.”

  “Everyone hates losin’ to him,” Mailie corrected, and moved to stand beside Lachlan.

  He moved his hand to the small of her back and held it there, dipping his pinkie to the swell of her buttocks. She reacted with a slight quiver, slight enough for him to feel and no one else to see.

  When she moved closer to him, he slipped his hand around her waist and smiled at her brother.

  Not too much longer.

  After supper, Mailie sat with her kin at the table and tapped her foot beneath it. Where was Lachlan? When were her kin going to sleep? They’d already agreed to stay the night in their own comfortable bed abovestairs. As soon as they did, Lachlan would fetch the priest and they would marry.

  The whisky flowed freely, along with laughter. Mailie wasn’t impatient with the men. She enjoyed listening to their banter and tales of past battles. These were some of the men who had shaped her beliefs and ideals. Even Adam, who presently seemed as miserable as his dog being chased in a circle around his master’s boots, had proven worthy of her highest measure of fairness and compassion. Lachlan had told her what her cousin had done for him. She owed Adam much. Perhaps he was more fit to be clan chief than she’d previously believed.

  She’d ponder it another day. Now, she wanted him and all the others to retire.

  She looked around for Lachlan and still couldn’t find him. Her father and Ettarre were missing also. Where could they have gone now?

  “Mae,” Adam interrupted them, looking unusually disturbed. “Are yer children goin’ to sleep anytime soon?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Are ye?”

  They all retired eventually, snoring the moment their heads hit the fresh linens Ruth had laid.

  Now, they just had to fetch the priest.

  Ranald Sinclair hid in the shadows behind Alice Monroe’s empty house and watched Luke MacGregor and Lachlan MacKenzie descend the hill and enter the village. His rapid heartbeat echoed in his ears and made him feel ill. Her kin had found her, then.

  He’d sent that imbecile Graham to shoot MacKenzie and take the gel. What was so difficult about that? Who cared how big the dragon was or how terrifying his snarl? A pistol ball would stop him, just as it would stop any other man. Yet, here he was walking around in the dark of the night with Mailie’s brother. What were they doing together? Why hadn’t the MacGregors killed him? MacKenzie must have told them about his request to kidnap her. No matter. His house in Invergordon was well hidden; they’d never find him.

  He looked up at the castle set against a dazzling starlit backdrop. She was inside. Just the thought of her quickened his blood and sent it rushing to his groin. Ma
ilie MacGregor was a haughty bitch with a fiery temper. She thought herself and her kin better than he was, and had told him so with a sharp tongue. He promised he’d have her the first time they met in Portree when she refused his kiss. When they’d met again after that, he’d been torn by whether he wanted to tame her with his fists or his cock. He’d decided he wanted to do both. The more he’d been refused, the more he wanted her. The more he wanted to make her father pay for keeping her from him.

  Had MacKenzie tried to bed her? Sinclair would kill him if he had. He wanted to be the one who broke her and ruined her fer anyone else. He didn’t care if her kin had arrived or how many times they denied him. He’d have her in his bed screaming, either in ecstasy or agony. He didn’t care which.

  How many MacGregors were there? Not that he could fight any one of them. A pistol would take down one, perhaps two, but then the rest would kill him. He’d have to plan a way of getting her that didn’t involve fighting. Nothing would stop him from having her, especially not her father. Was he here as well? Let him be. Sinclair was tired of asking, tired of waiting.

  He was going to take her and hide her away from her family for as long as she pleased him. He was good at keeping things hidden. He’d kept Annabel MacKenzie hidden from her father for two years.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Mailie stepped into the solar for the first time. Her gaze swept over the softly lit walls and the small, framed paintings scattered across them—and the dozens of vases bursting with heather.

  Her gaze fell to Lachlan standing before the priest. As beautiful as the solar was, bursting with heather and painted in love, it didn’t compare to her beloved. He looked especially handsome in light doeskin breeches and polished boots, his wide shoulders draped in plaid. Oh, how she loved him. How she was going to love being his wife; learning with him, fighting with him, laughing with him, climbing on him.

  Eager to begin, she quickened her step.

  She smiled at Will and Lily standing beside their father. He’d proven he was their father by keeping them even when he believed she’d left him—by filling this room, his castle, with them.