The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  Everything was arranged. Ian had convinced his mother and Niall that taking his father out on a sail around Seal Island would do them all good. Of course, Alex had no trouble persuading Dina to disappear with him for the afternoon.

  Finally, Ian would have Sìleas alone.

  He found her in the kitchen. She was leaning over the worktable, pressing an oat mixture into the bottom of a flat pan. He sucked in his breath as he imagined lying on that table and having her work over him. She looked fetching with her hair pinned up, save for a few loose tendrils curling down her neck and the sides of her face.

  “Smells good,” he said. The kitchen was warm and smelled of oats and honey.

  She started at the sound of his voice and looked up, wide-eyed. “I didn’t hear ye come in.”

  “What’s that you’re making?”

  “A treat for your da,” she said with a smile. “He has a sweet tooth, ye know. And I’ll have some left over to take to Annie up the road. She’s just had a new babe.”

  Ian rolled up his sleeves and came around the table to stand beside her. “I used to help my mother in the kitchen.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m sure you were a verra big help to her.”

  “Ach, I’m hurt ye don’t believe me,” he said. “Come, I’ll show ye how good I am.”

  She raised her eyebrows, showing him she suspected he wasn’t just talking about his cooking skills.

  He wasn’t.

  She dipped a wooden spoon into the honey jar and dribbled honey over the oat mixture.

  “Dina was supposed to be helping me.” She gave the wooden spoon a hard whack against the side of the pan. “There it’s done.”

  “Ye won’t be seeing Dina this afternoon,” Ian said, taking the spoon from her to lick the honey off. “She and Alex are… keeping each other company.”

  Her hands stilled, and her cheeks turned a couple of shades of red. “So that’s the way of it.”

  Ian was pleased for the opportunity to warn her off Alex. “I hope Dina doesn’t expect to be the only one.”

  “I hope Alex doesn’t, either.”

  He laughed, then added for good measure, “Alex is not the sort of man to stay in one woman’s bed.”

  “I don’t think ye are in a position to criticize Alex, when ye can hardly claim to have been living the life of a saint yourself.” Sìleas picked up the pan and slapped it down so hard the table rattled. “That helps settle the mixture. I’ll wait to cook it ’til they’re home.”

  Ian leaned into her. “I’m living a monk’s life now, if that’s any comfort to ye.”

  “Ach, such a sacrifice,” she said, as she moved ingredients around on the table for no purpose he could discern. “What has it been, all of a week?”

  He moved behind her and took a firm hold of her hips. Ah, she felt good against him.

  “A week seems a verra long time,” he said as he nuzzled her neck, “when every moment of it I’m wishing I had ye naked.”

  He kissed the side of her neck and felt her pulse racing beneath his lips. She drew in a sharp breath when he pressed his throbbing erection against her buttocks.

  “I’d love to lay ye back on the table here,” he said, as he ran his hands up her arms.

  “Shhh! Someone might come in and hear ye.” She sounded scandalized, but she shivered at his touch.

  “No one else is at home,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “ ’Tis just you and me.”

  Her breathing changed when he slipped his hands around her ribs and stroked the underside of her breasts with his thumbs.

  “I’m thinking that the first time I make love to ye ought to be in our marriage bed,” he said. “But if ye say here on the table, I’m a willing man.”

  Sìleas wiped her hands on her apron and made a show of pushing at his forearms. “Let me go now.”

  This was no serious resistance. When Sìleas told him no and meant it, she hit him with a skillet and stood over him with a blade in her hand.

  He blew on the back of her neck and was rewarded when a “mmmm” escaped her lips. Her skin was soft and creamy as fresh butter and smelled of cinnamon and honey. Needing to taste her, he ran his tongue along her skin above the edge of her gown.

  He cupped the soft fullness of her breasts and had to squeeze his eyes shut against the surge of lust that filled him. Oh, God, how he wanted her.

  When he found her nipples, she made a low sound in the back of her throat that drove him mad—and he was determined to hear it again. As he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, she dropped her head back against his shoulder, and her breath came fast and shallow.

  He tried to catch his own breath. She was like soft wax in his hands now, hot and molding to his touch. This time she was going to let him get under her skirts, he knew it. Heaven help him, he was going to explode right here if she kept moving against him like that.

  It was time to take his wife upstairs. At last. Just as he was about to lift her off her feet to carry her up, he noticed a mark on her neck.

  It was a white line, barely visible. A scar.

  He ran a finger over it. “What’s this from?”

  She went rigid. When she tried to jerk away from him, he held her in place.

  “How did ye get this?”

  “ ’Tis nothing,” she said. “Let me go, I mean it now.”

  He pushed the edge of her gown down an inch or two for a better look. The scar continued down her back, out of sight.

  She turned around in his arms and rested her palms on his chest. Looking up at him from under her lashes, she said, “I want ye to kiss me.”

  His gaze locked on her full, parted lips, and he was sorely tempted. But why was she so desperate to divert him? When she slid her hands up around his neck and leaned against him, it was damned hard to resist her.

  He brushed her soft cheek with his thumb. “What is it that ye don’t want me to know?”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line and narrowed her eyes. Her brief game of seductress was over. A shame, that. But something here didn’t sit right with him.

  Each time he had kissed her, things had gone well—very well—until the moment he began unfastening buttons or hooks. As he thought about that, it came to him that this was the first time he’d seen her with her hair up.

  “Ye can cooperate or no,” he said, “but I’m going to have a look.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. Saints above, what was this about? Sìleas never cried. Even when she was a child of six and her father forgot her places, leaving her to find her own way home, she hadn’t shed a tear.

  He kissed the side of her face and gently turned her around.

  “Don’t,” she said in a small voice, but he could tell she had given up expecting him to concede.

  His fingers felt big and clumsy as he unfastened the tiny hooks. When he had them undone to her waist, he pushed the gown off her shoulders. The chemise she wore beneath it dipped low enough in the back for him to see what she was hiding.

  Rage took him like a storm, pounding in his ears and making his hands shake. He reached around her to slam his fist on the table. “I’ll kill him. I swear, I will kill whoever did this to you.”

  She was weeping silently, but he was so filled with violence that he was afraid to put his hands on her.

  “Who did this to ye?” he asked. “Ye must tell me.”

  She wiped her face with her hand. “Who do ye think? My step-da.”

  “Ach, Sìl, why didn’t ye tell me?” He wanted to throw his head back and howl in his outrage. She had still been a child when Murdoc did this. “If I’d known he was hurting ye, I would have done something.”

  But he should have known. He had always been her protector, and this had happened under his nose.

  “When did he do this?” He strained to soften his voice, knowing anger was not what she needed from him now, but it was hard when his body still pulsed with it.

  She took a shaky breath. “Mostly Murdoc didn’t
trouble himself with me. As ye know, he expected my mother to give him a son who would inherit Knock Castle.”

  Sìleas’s mother had lost several babes before they reached a year. And Ian had no idea how many miscarriages the poor woman had.

  “After she died losing that last baby, Murdoc got it into his head that he could keep my lands by wedding me to his son Angus. He gave me no peace after that. When I told him I would never marry a MacKinnon, let alone that disgusting son of his, he tried to beat me into agreeing to it.”

  Ian clenched his jaw until it ached to keep from shouting curses. Years ago, Angus MacKinnon had nearly caused a clan war by raping a woman from Ian’s mother’s clan, Clan Ranald. The matter had been settled with a hefty payment, but hard feelings remained—as did rumors of Angus’s penchant for violence.

  “But ye know how stubborn I am,” Sìleas said, glancing over her shoulder to give him a bittersweet smile. “In the end, Murdoc locked me in my bedchamber and sent for Angus.”

  “And that was the day I found ye?” Ian asked, though he already knew the bitter truth.

  She nodded. “Murdoc didn’t know about the tunnel.”

  Christ, forgive me. All this time, he had blamed Sìleas for their forced wedding. He thought she’d caused it through some girlish foolishness that had gone farther than she expected. He’d had no notion she was in serious trouble that day.

  But then, he hadn’t made much effort to find out, either.

  She covered her face and said in a choked whisper, “I knew ye would find me disgusting again once ye saw it.”

  “God help me, Sìl, how can ye say that?” He turned her around and pulled her against his chest. “Please tell me ye don’t think so little of me.”

  He held her tight and kissed her hair until she ceased to weep. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the stairs.

  Sometimes words were not enough.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sìleas rested her head against Ian’s chest as he carried her up the stairs. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore, but she felt safe nestled in his arms, and she needed to feel safe now.

  Ian carried her into her bedchamber and kicked the door shut behind him. As soon as he set her on her feet next to the bed, he whisked her gown over her head, leaving her standing in her chemise. She was too drained to be embarrassed. He kept one hand on her shoulder to steady her as he folded back the blankets, then he lifted her onto the bed.

  With a gentleness surprising in such a big man, he brushed the hair back from her face with his fingers. The gesture reminded her of his father’s kindness that day he found them in the wood and knelt beside her, talking softly and holding her hand between his huge ones.

  Beneath the dangerous, war-hardened man Ian had become, the kindness of the boy he once was lingered. He framed her face with his hands and leaned down to kiss her. She sighed as he brushed his lips over hers.

  “I don’t want ye to fret,” he said in a soft voice, “but I’m coming into bed with ye.”

  Her mouth went dry as he unfastened his claymore and laid it on the floor next to the bed, where it would be close at hand. She knew he did it from habit, and yet that, too, made her feel safe. No one would get past the door while Ian was here.

  She watched as he took off his boots and socks and then unwound his plaid and dropped it. He was standing in just his shirt, which fell to his thighs. She stared at his powerful legs, so different from how they were when he was a boy, then brought her gaze slowly back to his face. Ian had been a lovely boy, but he was so handsome now it made her ache to look at him.

  When he met her gaze and his eyes went dark, she felt a stirring deep within her. Even if what he felt for her was mostly pity, she couldn’t help reacting to his desire for her. Desire, pity, duty. If that was all that brought him to her bed and secured their marriage, he would never be content with her. At least not for long.

  She drew in a shaky breath as Ian unfastened his shirt. He paused midway and dropped his hands.

  He did not want her after all. The scars were too ugly.

  “I’m no going to take your virginity this time, because ye are upset,” he said. “I want ye to decide to have me as your husband with a clear head and heart.”

  The bed rocked as he climbed in beside her. Before she could catch her breath, he pulled her into his arms. The heat and power of him radiated through her from head to toe.

  “What I am going to do,” he said with his face so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips, “is leave ye with no doubt that I want ye.”

  She swallowed. She strongly suspected his plan would involve removing the rest of her clothes.

  “It’s too light” was all she could manage to get through her tight throat.

  “The first time I have ye naked, I want to see ye.”

  The first time. Would there be a second after he saw her back? He’d only seen a little of her scars in the kitchen. And even if the scars didn’t trouble him, would she disappoint him in other ways?

  “You’re as lovely as your name, Sìleas.” He said her name, drawing out the shhh sound. “I should have known you’d grow into it, just as ye have your teeth.”

  She didn’t think it was possible to draw a smile from her, but this did. “And what is wrong with my teeth?”

  “Nothing at all.” He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip, making her breath hitch. “I’d like to feel them on my skin.”

  “Are ye joking?” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.

  He kept his eyes fixed on hers as he shook his head, and her heart skipped a beat. Taking her hand, he scraped his teeth over the pad of her thumb, sending a thrill of sensation through her.

  When he covered her mouth with his, she found it hard to hang onto her worries.

  He’d kissed her many times now, so she thought she was prepared. But kissing lying down was turning out to be a different experience altogether. She felt overwhelmed by his closeness, by the weight of him leaning over her, pressing her into the bed.

  His lips were warm and soft. When she put her palm to his face to feel the rough bristles against her palm, he made a low sound in his throat. The thrust of his tongue in her mouth sent spirals of pleasure down to her belly. Her heart was beating too fast. And that was before she felt the warmth of his hand cover her breast.

  She gasped for breath when he tore his mouth away from hers.

  “Ahh, ye feel good, Sìl,” he said in her ear.

  He nipped at her earlobe, sending unexpected tingles through her, then kissed the side of her face. As he moved down her throat, he drew involuntary sighs from her lips. The moist warmth of his breath, his lips, his tongue on her skin, captured all her attention. But when she felt his mouth on the bare skin at the top of her breast, her eyes flew open.

  When she started to sit up, Ian locked his hands around her wrists, pressed them to the bed on either side of her head, and proceeded to dissolve her resistance with endless kisses. She wasn’t aware of when he released her hands, but she had them around his neck now, urging him closer.

  She groaned in disappointment when he pulled away. He gave her a warm smile that shone in his eyes.

  “We’d best get this next part over with, Sìl.”

  Before she knew it, he flipped her onto her stomach.

  Guessing his intention, she gripped the sides of her chemise with both hands. “No, Ian. No.”

  Instead of jerking her chemise up as she expected, he drew her hair to the side and started kissing her neck. His lips were so soft, she sighed without meaning to. Then he kissed her bare shoulder. Straddling her on all fours, he slowly worked his way down, rubbing firm hands over her and kissing her through the cloth of her chemise.

  She had been touched so little in her life. The intimacy of the contact caused little flutters in her stomach. She started at the unexpected sensation when he nipped at her bottom through the chemise, with what felt very much like his teeth. When she rose up on her elbows to look ov
er her shoulder, he gave her a devilish grin.

  She let her head sink back to the bed. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his hands as they slid over her hips and up and down her thighs. When he picked up her foot and kissed the bottom, it tickled and felt good at the same time. Her foot! Surely, he must care a little to do that.

  He started back up her legs, but this time he was touching bare skin. She clenched her fists in her chemise again, but her fingers loosened as he kneaded the muscles of her legs.

  “Your legs are tight,” he said. “Ye work too hard.”

  “Mmmph.”

  His strong hands felt wonderful on her sore muscles—though she tensed every time his hand strayed to the inside of her thigh.

  When he nipped at her bottom again, there was no cloth between it and his teeth. But it felt so good to be touched all over, she didn’t object.

  She was drifting in a liquid pool of warmth, when Ian leaned over her and said in her ear, “I have to do this.”

  She felt a gush of cold air on her back. Then she heard Ian suck in his breath and felt him go still above her.

  “No!” She tried to get up, but Ian held her down by her shoulders.

  He was quiet for a long time. Then he said in a strained voice, “Truly, I can hardly see the scars, they are so faint.”

  “You’re lying to me. Ye can’t bear to look at me.”

  “No, no, it’s not that at all,” he said.

  She drew in a shaky breath and rested her head on the bed again.

  “It’s just that I can tell what they once looked like, what he did to ye,” he said. “And it makes me so angry, I want to kill the bastard with my bare hands.”

  When she felt his lips touch her back with feather-light kisses, tears filled her eyes at his tenderness.

  “I’ve been afraid Murdoc would come take me ever since your da came home injured.” She glanced at Ian over her shoulder and saw him wince as if her words cut him.

  “He will no get ye now,” he said. “I won’t let him.”

  “I know,” she said against the pillow.

  “Thank ye for that, Sìl,” he said in a soft voice.