Darting a wondering look to the man who had not let her go, Victoria stood still as Hector cupped the side of her neck and she felt his callused hands dig into the tiny hairs at the back of her head. The moment had a delicious tenseness to it, and without thinking too much, Victoria knew what was coming.
“Thank ye, fer tellin’ me all this,” Hector replied, with his green eyes lowering, “I ken this might be only me feelin’ this pull tae ye, but I cannae deny it any more. If ye tell me no, I’ll never violate on yer boundaries again...but may I kiss ye, Aria?”
Common sense would have stayed her from accepting his proposal, but Victoria could not deny that she felt the same pull to him. She pressed her hand lightly on his chest and whispered, “Yes, you may.”
Her head was tilted so very gently to the side as Hector’s lips gently met hers. A warm thrill ran through Victoria’s body as her lips were softly parted and a warm tongue met hers. In one sharp breath, Victoria got hit with a strong blast of Hector’s musky natural smell and the heat of his skin - paired, they were intoxicating. Acting on instinct, Victoria met his tongue and allowed them to tangle briefly before Hector pulled back.
The Laird’s eyes were dark, and having no experience with men, Victoria was not aware that look was of lust. She only knew that his warm gaze sent ripples both under and over her skin. She refrained from pressing his hand to her lips and briefly pressed her face to his chest.
“Meet me here tomorrow eve,” Victoria replied, now looking directly at the Laird, “I’ll continue the tale then.”
Hector nodded, “I’ll be sure tae be here.”
Even doubting her strength to walk, Victoria strode away and slowly took her time as if she was going to the front of the property. When she was a good distance away, she turned to see Hector’s back disappear into the trees and sighed in relief.
Still, to make sure to keep up the appearance, she did go to the front of the mansion, but from there walked to the other side of the manor and took a servant entrance to go inside. Halfway up the stairs, she sagged on the nearest wall and pressed her trembling fingertips to her tender lips.
With her closed eyes and trembling chest, she relieved the sensation of his kiss – her first kiss. God, it was glorious. She knew that Hector’s kiss was going to stay with her for the rest of the night, and he probably was going to be the center of her dreams, too.
If this was what her Aunt Emily had borne with her Scottish lover - this spinning sensation in her head, thumping heart in her chest, racing pulse in her neck, and tingling skin all over - there was no dispute of why her Aunt had been captivated with Laird MacTavish.
But even with the change of times, traditions had not, so could she walk the same road - fall in love with a Scotsman - and not suffer the same consequences?
Chapter 11
“Where ye been, Hector?” Donald asked, as Hector stepped into the house just as the moon was starting to rise. “Roran was askin’ fer ye.”
Knocking his boots off on the sill, Hector replied, “I went tae look at this Monstall Manor again…but then I saw Aria an’ we got tae talkin’. She told me an injustice Donald - a horrible injustice.”
Sitting up from his lounge with his inquisitiveness piqued, Donald asked, “Aboot what happened wi’ yer family?”
Drawing a stool out, Hector sat and hunched forward with his hands clasped between his knees. “Aye, she told me that, when Emily - me Da’s love - was brought back here from Clan MacTavish, she was locked in a cell in tha’ dungeon like a prisoner.”
Shock and disgust painted Donald’s face which Hector knew was going to turn to dismay when he continued. “She was locked up an’ when labor came tha’ honorable Duke told his guards tae kill tha’ child - me Da’s bastard.”
A string of low oaths was muttered under Donald’s breath while Hector continued. “A woman was brought in an’ she pitied tha’ boy an’ lied. Told tha’ guards tha’ barra was dead, but hid him instead. That was all Aria could say afore she had tae leave.”
Donald’s face was marred with anger, but he pushed his irritation aside to ask his leader and best friend a question, “Hector, are ye sure aboot this lass?”
Hector huffed out a breath but refrained from rolling his eyes, “I ken what yer tryin’ tae say, yer supposin’ why she kens every aspect o’ this tale - tha’ whole o' it - if it was a secret as it was told tae be…an’ why is she botherin’ wi’ somethin’ that disnae pertain tae her, aye?”
“Ye stole me words, frien’,” Donald replied solemnly. “But aye, that is me concern. She kens too much fer an outsider.”
“I’ve been askin’ meself tha’ same questions fer tha’ past few days,” Hector replied while rubbing his brows. “But I’ve got tae admit, I was blinded by her beauty an’ tha’ mystery aboot her. But I ken I need tae start askin’ me own questions noo.”
Donald stood up and moved toward the hearth where a covered dish with Hector’s missed meal, roasted venison stew, was warmed by the fire. “Aye, ye need tae do that. Hae ye kissed her yet?”
“Hae ye nothin’ tae do but ask aboot me an’ her?” Hector teased back while taking the bowl, “But aye, I hae.”
Flopping down on the bed beside him Donald leisurely asked, “An’ how was it?”
“She’s untried, Donald,” Hector replied while stabbing a hunk of the roasted meat and looking at it before popping it into his mouth. It was delicious and just tasting it made his unrealized hunger surge to the forefront, so he dug in.
The older man’s eyebrows rose, “Untried, ye say, how do ye ken that?”
Hector rolled his eyes in annoyance and swallowed before replying. “Just like the lass ye were hot on last spring, Catrina who was. Hesitant, unsure how tae respond, but quickly caught her stride. I can tell ye though, her lips are sweet, I wouldnae mind tastin’ them again.”
“An’ ye wouldnae mind usherin’ her into womanhood either, I ken,” Donald mused while staring at the wood behind Hector’s head, “But I still hae me reservations aboot this lady.”
An idea sprung to Hector’s head and though it was a reasonable one, he couldn’t afford to risk it and lose Aria’s help. Pushing the empty dish away, Hector looked at his friend. “I’d like ye tae meet her so ye can release yer doubts but no’ so soon, Donald. I hae tae find oot all I can before I figure oot what tae do wi’ Moore.”
“I unnerstan'.” Donald replied quietly, “Ye ken that I only hae the best fer ye.”
A soft pleasure to hear Donald say that ran through Hector, “I do, thank ye. Ye ken that yer goin' tae be me groomsman at me weddin’ an’ me chief advisor, if I’m made Laird, Donnie.”
“Donnie? Ye hae nae called me that from when we were lads,” Donald laughed, “Speakin’ o', d’ye remember when ye swore ye’d kill yer first deer when ye were ten an’ when ye came upon tha’ buck, two heads higher than ye, ye almost pissed yerself?”
Hector glared, “Just as when ye tried to train a falcon an’ tha’ bird pecked yer face tae pottage? Dinnae go throw stones me frien’.”
The two bantered about their childhood antics for most of the night until Donald listed to sleep. Hector stayed up for a bit longer, thinking about Aria and drifted off to sleep with her fair skin and golden hair slithering through his mind.
Dawn came and Hector was up just as the soft yellow rays came through the window. He stayed there, motionless as his mind went back to Andrew. He needed to find him – the urge was there like a constant itch under his skin he couldn’t scratch.
“Aye,” Hector sighed, “Where are ye, brother?”
Shifting on his bed, he felt a stiffness in his limbs, and silently mourned his lack of physical activity. A snuffling snort came from the still-sleeping Donald. From the loft, where Ronan had his bed, Hector heard the heavy breaths of the other man.
Grabbing his sword, Hector left the house into the soft dew of the morning. The sun was rising softly, the sky hued with soft pinks, balmy yellow, and the receding blue of the night.
Hector used the outhouse first, before cleaning up, and then went to a small clearing at the back of the house.
Recalling his training, Hector stretched his stiff limbs and let out a deep groan when his muscles freed up and the joints cracked back into place.
“Oi!” Roran’s deep rumble cut through the air and Hector’s head snapped up to the see the older man coming toward him with his sheathed broadsword slung over his shoulder, “I cannae tell ye how much I was hopin’ fer a sparrin' partner all these lonesome years. Are ye up fer a guid match?”
Grinning, Hector grabbed his sword laying just a few feet away and unsheathed it just as Roran did the same. Taking a fighting stance, Hector grasped the wrapped pommel and swung his blade around twice before beckoning to the other man.
Roran rushed in with a quickness that Hector hadn’t expected for the man’s size, and the Laird had to re-encounter faster than he believed he could have. Pushing back, Hector slashed up to be met with a clang of metal-on-metal and felt the exhilaration of a good fight run through him.
The O' Brolchain’s strength was remarkable and it took a lot of effort for Hector to counter the strikes and blows. The rush running through him was motivating, though, and he put out all his best to spar.
While blocking another ham-fisted strike, Hector, through the corner of his eye, spotted Donald at the edge of the plot looking on. The spar took almost two hours and by the time the sun was high in the sky Hector had to cry peace as he was bushed.
Roran, however, was still energetic and gestured for Donald to come over. While resting under the shade of a tree, Hector watched the two fight and laughed when Roran sent Donald to the ground over and over again. His mind did stray to Aria once or twice but he made himself focus on what he was looking at. It was nearly midday when the two stopped and shook hands.
It was just barely after the noonday meal and Hector found himself wishing that the day would pass quickly – as in the blink of an eye quick – until he got to Aria later at dusk. It was so strange, this pull toward a lady he had met only twice, but he didn’t question it.
“Ah, Hector,” Roran said, while stomping his boots at the door of the house. The man was fresh from his bath, as shown by the wet curls of his hair and beard. “I hae two full grown bucks that I need tae limb, salt an’ smoke. Can ye gie me a hand? It's dirty work.”
Glad for the distraction, Hector emphatically said, “Aye, I’d be happy tae help.”
Following the man to the smokehouse, Hector stood aside while Roran unlocked the door and dragged the heavy partition out with a grating slog. Stepping inside, Hector spotted two deer hanging from a broad iron girder over a large roughhewn trough where the blood from both animals was collected.
Roran handed him a knife, “Careful, that blade is sharp. Ye ken how tae skin a deer, eh?”
“Aye,” Hector replied while eyeing the buck and fingering the knife’s handle. “Kent that from me first hunt.”
“Guid,” Roran said while grabbing his knife and his deer, that was to the left of Hector’s. “Oh, put this on.”
The older man than handed him a leather smock. “Ye dinnae want tae be covered in blood.”
Hector snorted while slipping the smock over his head, “I was goin' tae bathe, anyway.”
Covered and ready, Hector grabbed the deer by a hoof and starting at the groin, slipped his knife’s point under the skin, blade up. It was a familiar process, skinning game for salting and smoking. By the time they had deboned the deer and salted some and stacked the rest up for smoking, dusk was creeping in.
“Aye,” Hector said while looking out the tiny window to the sky and wiping his hands off, “That should do it.”
“I agree,” Roran replied while admiring their handiwork, “Noo get ye washed off fer tha’ lass, it isnae proper fer ye tae smell like death when I ken ye want tae make a life.”
At the back of the outhouse he found the covered drum, removed the wooden lid, and stripped. The cool water was a reminder of how he would bathe in the loch every day, and feeling a similar chill was a small comfort. Clean, he once again found his mind straying to Aria as he recalled the kiss, but this once, he allowed his mind to stray further, thinking how it would be to have Aria gasping in pleasure under him. Her golden hair would be strewn over me bed, like a gossamer curtain an’ her body as bare as tha’ day she was born. Breasts plump an’ full, nipples tight and stiff wi’ want, her lips – red, tender and open – as she gasps in air an’ her eyes, dark wi’ lust fer me. Me shoulders would be red and torn, ragged from her nails rakin’ o'er me arms, grabbin’ at me while I pleasure her. Ach, she’d be glorious.
Hector donned his last clean change of clothes, his Clan’s tartan kilt and a tighter tunic, and went to meet Aria. Taking the same route she had taken yesterday to the abandoned guardhouse, Hector did so, and after he rounded the corner spotted Aria, sitting on a blanket with her back turned to him.
Her hair was in a braid this time, resting over a dark blue dress, with her cloak lying beside her. From her position, Hector saw that her hands were resting on her lap. To make sure not to startle her, he made his footfalls heavy.
She turned, and to his eyes, the sun above seemed to dim in comparison to her radiance. Long tendrils of hair were framing her face, and her eyes were brighter with the dark blue of her dress as a background. Every question Hector had planned to ask her about how she had come to the knowledge of his family disappeared from his mind as he sank to the ground, and reached out to her.
There was a quick moment of hesitation before Aria leaned into his hand. Her skin was so soft, pale and luminous, that he feared that pressing too strongly on it would mar her. She tilted her head up and he couldn’t resist kissing her softly. When the kiss broke, she cleared her throat, “I think we have time to tell you the rest about Andrew.”
He couldn’t resist fingering one of the strands of hair framing her face. “Go ahead.”
“The servant woman feigned the death of the babe and hid him in her quarters for the night, nursing him with warmed milk. The next morning, before anyone was up, she took the child to a man in the village, a known messenger, and paid him to carry the child to his father. The man left but never got there, and the child was gone.”
Aria’s eyes were lowered to her lap while she spoke and her tone was laden with sorrow. Hector could feel her grief for the child, and it confused him even more. How was it that Aria seemed to…mourn for the child?
“The servant woman searched for the messenger but he did not come back to the village, and there was no word if the child had gotten to his father.” Aria sighed while plucking at her dress, “But she did not have to wonder for too long. Lord MacTavish came to the Manor and besieged it, coming to claim his woman and child, but both were gone - one forever and the other unknown.”
Aria twisted to look over her shoulder and pointed, “Do you see that part of the house, the one with the newer looking roof? Lord MacTavish set that wing afire before he left, grieving for his dead love and his missing child. It was rebuilt after he was gone.”
“That I ken.” Reaching out, Hector gently turned Aria to him. It was time for him to know how she knew all this.
“Thank ye fer telling me Aria, but me mind isnae at ease...how do ye ken all this, it is supposed tae be a secret, isnae it?”
Aria’s calm blue eyes held his, “My mother died when I was a child. The servant woman who took care of Lady Emily, she was a mother to me, raised me, and told me all she knew of the family’s scandal.”
That answered his first one, but he had two more, “In yer first note, ye said that ye spent years searching fer him, why would ye do so Aria?” Hector asked gently. “How could ye do so?”
Her head bowed, “I feared you would ask me that, but I did so because I…I felt such an injustice was heartless. I became connected with the boy because I know what it was to lose a parent…but to lose two must be heartbreaking. I could not imagine the pain he felt if he was still alive.”
<
br /> She still hadn’t answered the last question, but Hector left it alone for now. He knew he’d find out the truth. Aria’s tone was laden in grief, and Hector felt his soul mirroring her pain. He pulled Aria close to him, closer so that their breaths mingled. “Ye hae a soul that is so much more merciful than tha rest o’ tha world, Aria.”
Her eyes this close were large and shimmering, and before Hector knew it, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was light and tremulous, and Hector took charge of it before her bravery ran out.
Bracing her chin, Hector slowly licked her top lip, wordlessly asking for entrance which she readily gave. He gently explored her mouth, retreating softly to allow her to explore his, before coaxing her into bolder movement. He pulled back to softly bite at her lips which evoked a low moan from the middle of her breast.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 10
