It was quicker to take the front entrance than the one at the back and they entered the warm front hall. Delicious smells and merry laughter were coming from the dining hall and Victoria looked toward it before turning back toward the stairs.
They made it to the stairways when a cold voice shot icy words at their back, “So, yer tha cursed Moore woman.”
Hector spun on his heel to face the glacial face of Sir Brandubh, and before he could say a word the elder man snarled, “Are ye happy, lass? Ye hae brought death tae this house, woman, just like yer cursed Aunt did. Yer whole family has brought nothin’ but pain, sorrow, an' death tae this house. Hector should hae snapped yer neck tha moment ye approached him, but like his fool faither was, he’s taken onto ye. Noo oor men who hae families, wives an’ bairns are goin’ tae leave their kin tae fight fer ye, a worthless mound o' English trash!”
“Brandubh,” Hector snarled, leaving out the title entirely, “Tha’s enough! Leave or I will nae be responsible fer me actions. Yer me elder but I am yer Laird! Ye will nae disrespect me guest in me home!”
Hector vaguely noticed some people who had drifted out of the nearby dining hall at the sound of Sir Brandubh's thundering voice. Ignoring them, Hector advanced on the older man and stopped a respectful few feet away, “Ye raised me faither an’ I respect ye fer tha' but I am nae him. Ye may say I’m followin’ his path but I’m doing it me way. Leave me presence, noo.”
The man shot a disgusted look up at the staircase before he turned and left, muttering dark words under his breath. Hector briefly saw his mother. Her face was a bit strained, a look that silently told him that though she didn’t approve of his way of handling the confrontation, it couldn’t have been avoided.
Turning away, Hector spotted the empty place Victoria had been in and cursed under his breath. Not even acknowledging the people who were watching on, he raced after his love. He found her in their room and on the balcony, hunched over the thin railing and cloaked by the night’s air. He didn’t have to ask if she was crying. Crystalline tears were dripping down her chin.
Gently, he pried her cold hand from the stone barrier, and pulled her into his chest. Tears were falling but silently and once more, Hector marveled how strong this lady was to not even utter a sound in her misery.
“Dinnae listen tae tha old fool, m'eudail,” Hector consoled. “He’s spoiled from what happened decades ago an’ stuck in his anger, love.”
“But he spoke the truth,” Victoria said so quietly that it was nearly indecipherable. “We all know it’s true. I’m sorry, Hector.”
Pain throbbed through his chest when he knew that even if he tried to say anything, his words would be hollow. He could only hold her close and whisper soft Gaelic comforts in her ear. Her tears dried but she was still upset. Slipping an arm under her knees, Hector lifted her and carried her back inside, and gently rested her on the edge of the bed.
“It’s been a long day fer both o' us,” Hector said moderately. “Let’s get ye changed an’ try tae sleep this horrible day away.”
It was dark but Hector saw the red in her eyes and wiped the trails of tears from her chin. “Ye’ve been so strong fer so long - just hold on a little more, love.”
She didn’t say a word but only rested the side of her face on his stomach. I swear tae God an’ his saints’, I’ll make anyone who hurts this woman pay an’ pay dearly, starting wi’ ye, Duke o' Crowland.
Meanwhile somewhere in the South English Sea
If there was one thing Geoffrey had learned from his father it was that it was fitting to play dirty in warfare. In order to triumph over an enemy, one had to be smart enough to outmaneuver them. Let them think an attack is coming one way while the real one is coming in a way they would never expect.
That was why the Duke found himself staring into the dark waters of the English Channel off the coast of Guernsey heading toward Dublin and from there to Crinan Harbor.
The Duke of Crowland scoffed. Approaching on foot was pure stupidity to him as it allowed spies to report to the MacTavish Clan and it took too much time. This way, they got to the heathen land even faster - three days at sea was much quicker than nine days on horses - as the sea didn’t need to stop and rest.
He expected the Scottish imbecile thought he had over a week to prepare as his enemy would be arriving on foot. Oh, what a pleasure it would be to take MacTavish unawares.
“Your Grace,” Sir Davenport, a retired navy captain and owner of his own brigantine, the HMS Battalion said as he greeted his approach. The ship was smartly modeled after swift Dutch warships, and was noted for its large square-rigged mast that propelled the vessel at record speed. “How are you this night?”
The Duke tore his eyes from the fathomless depths and turned to face the captain. Davenport was once a Commodore of the English Navy but a leg injury had forced him to step down from the post. For his twenty years of service the Crown had given him his own ship - one that Geoffrey had conscripted into his service for a thousand guineas.
“I am on the horns of a dilemma, my good sir,” the Duke replied, “Should I slaughter the men who took my daughter on sight or carry them to the Crown for a worse punishment?”
After he had conscripted Severus Crane’s two sons to be his generals, the Duke had called up his personal band of fighters. To many, a hundred might seem small, but to the Duke it wasn’t quantity that mattered, it was quality.
Each of his men were proficient in using swords, pistols, maces, daggers and lances. If it was a weapon, they knew how to use it. The Duke reasoned it gave him an advantage over the barbarians who only knew how to use a sword.
“This mission of yours…” Davenport said while sidling up to the Duke, “It is categorized as Martial Law, correct? If so, you are hereby free to act upon any sort of retribution you see fit.”
“You’re right, my friend. Honor has long passed as the currency of the realm.” The Duke replied, “I have been dishonored, Sir, and reclaiming what is mine, they will know to not cross me again. And the MacTavish heir will be the first to learn this.”
Chapter 30
Victoria’s mind was not at peace. Four days had passed since her arrival at the MacTavish Castle, and though she wasn’t received gracefully by some, and she constantly worried about what her father was planning, those matters were not the ones possessing her mind - she was worried about Andrew. Just as she had been when she had told Hector about Andrew’s birthmark.
The leads Mr. Johnson had given them were clear and concise but somehow, Victoria felt they had missed something along the way. What had they overlooked? Had they not asked the right questions or not interrogated the right people? How was it that an old woman could disappear so completely without a trace?
Her thoughts were troubling, doubling and tripling back on themselves as she retraced their steps. On the face of it, they had done all they could, but she still felt they had missed something. Besides her worries about Andrew, Hector was gone for most of the day, from dawn to dusk, preparing the castle for an attack and she was left alone.
From her window, Victoria saw carts bearing arms - swords, shields and lances, trudging up the slope of the hill. She saw wagons of food - potatoes, pumpkins, butchered animals, and barrels of flour and grain coming to kitchen, and she saw people - old and feeble, being placed in the bailey for safety. A hollowness settled her stomach every time another family was ushered in or when wagons came rumbling over the carriage way as this was all because of her.
Ever since Sir Brandubh had snubbed her in the foyer, Victoria sequestered herself in Hector’s rooms. Time and time again, Hector had assured her that she wouldn’t face any more disgrace by his people but Victoria knew better. If one thought that way, many others probably did.
It was dusk and she was standing by the window watching another cart bearing newly sharpened swords being driven up the slope with the setting sun behind it. While her eyes saw it, her mind was once again upon Andrew. There were times when she felt th
e cause was lost and that Andrew was dead. However, she knew that if the boy was anything like his brother, he would have fought, tooth and nail, to stay alive.
But where was Andrew? Was it that Andrew didn’t know who he was? Was he lost among the thousands of men in the villages all over Scotland? Where was he?
The jarring of the door alerted her to Hector’s arrival and she spun to see her lover entering with both a harried and exhausted look on his face. This morning, Hector had been gone before dawn and Victoria had woken up alone.
Since their first union, they hadn’t indulged in any more amorous activities, mainly because Hector was gone for too long and when he came back he was too heavily affected, mentally or physically, or too tired to do so. Victoria had to settle for his warm kisses and possessive hugs at night, hoping that when this was all over, they could be free to make love any time they wanted.
Instantly, Victoria knew something was wrong, and dutifully asked him so. Hector scrubbed a hand over his face, a gesture that Victoria had come to be familiar with. It told her that Hector had a dilemma with at least two solutions, neither of which was acceptable to him.
“I cannae…” Hector sighed, turning unsettled eyes upon her, “I am no’ sure I made tha right calls wi’ tha preparations fer war…”
Now, Victoria was concerned. “Why not? We both know that my father isn’t going to take my departure lightly. That I ran away with you, his enemy, is even more incentive.”
“Up tae noo there’s nae word from tha man.” Hector said stiffly, “If he was tha' concerned he would hae been on tha march from day one. Noo, there’s nothin’, nae words from tha marsh clans, o' Englishmen in their territory, or anythin’.”
He flopped down on the table’s seat and hunched over, scarred hands raking though his thick locks. “I’m wonderin’ if I made tha right call, love. Did I pull men from their wives an’ bairns fer nothin’? Did I move oor elders into tha bailey under a suspicion an’ did I hoard food tae let it spoil…ach.”
His indecision was plain, but Victoria knew that though he hadn’t seen any proof of her father’s actions, that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Coming up behind him, Victoria rested her hand on his shoulder and sat on the edge of the table
“Hector, you cannot be questioning yourself now.” Victoria advised, “It might look foolish but it’s better to have and not use than not having them at all and needing to use. If nothing happens, you can easily divide the food and give it to the families for an apology, but I am sure something will happen. My father might be delaying as permission from the Crown has not come through, or he might be drawing you out to make you drop your guard.”
Or he has bribed or killed anyone who knew about his approach to keep it quiet Victoria mentally added.
“You’re doing the right thing, Hector.” Victoria pressed, “Please don’t doubt yourself.”
The Laird’s green eyes still looked troubled but he took her words in faith. “I pray so.”
Standing up, he kissed her softly, “Let me get oor supper. I heard Nessa made some sugar pies t'day, d’ye like sweets, love?”
Tracing her fingertips over his cheek, to his forehead, and down his nose, Victoria felt small shivers under his skin from her touch and felt satisfied, “I do, thank you.”
After grasping her hand and kissing the heel of her palm, Hector was out the door. Softly clenching her hand, Victoria hoped that they could have some time to relieve the consuming fire that had taken them both while making love. Feeling his lips on her skin had awakened parts of her that longed for a more intimate touch.
Going back to the window, Victoria waited with bated breath for Hector to come back and when he did, arms laden with succulent food, she felt a more pressing hunger - for him.
Hector settled the tray on the table, loaded with slivers of beef in thick gravy, warm bread, herbal tea sweetened with honey, and thick slices of pie filled with apples and raisins, covered by a delicate lattice crust. Despite her urges to have Hector stroke her body to the heights of pleasure, she hated to waste the food, so she sat to eat.
The taste of the fare and warmth of the tea didn’t make much impact until she tasted the pie. Memories of having pie just like this in her childhood bombarded her senses and before she knew it a low moan of satisfaction left her mouth. Hector’s eyes had darted up to her but he didn’t say a word, not until after Victoria had eaten the whole rich slice.
“Enjoyed tha', did ye?” Hector’s voice was a timbre lower than usual and Victoria swore she heard lust in his tone.
“Immensely,” she admitted, with some guilt for her loss of decorum.
Hector pushed away from the table and extended his hand to her. Taking it, she was led away from the table and into the cold night air blanketing the balcony.
With her forearms braced on the cold stone, Victoria held in a shiver when Hector pressed himself to her back and circled her waist with his arms. His warmth was a buffer to the cold as he pulled her back to rest on his chest.
“D’ye ken tha language o' tha stars, love?” Hector asked in her ear.
“Yes,” Victoria replied heavily, and though she was more concerned with Hector holding her than contemplating the heavenly orbs, she continued anyway. “They tell tales, of heroes and gods.”
“An' stories o' love,” Hector added. “Stories o' men an' women, mortals an' immortals. Most o' them in love but some were ill-fated.”
Standing there, with his arms around her and his deep voice casting a spell over her, Victoria listened deeply to tales of lovers, and knew that she had made a right choice in falling in love with him. His words, so fluid and lyrical, gave away his mind - Hector had a mind she loved.
The words she had said to Ruth that night came back to her, “Is it too much to ask for a man with an education, well–read, handsome enough and able to support himself and me? I do not need all these to the extreme extent, but a fraction of each that make up the whole will do.”
Hector was all those things and so much more. Fickle fate had decided to give more than her ‘extreme extent’, and she was going to be damned if she let it go. Turning around in his arms, she kissed him mid-word, lacing her hands in his hair and feeling the fluttering flames of desire start to surge through her. Hector’s kiss was deep and when she pulled back, he said, “Yer no’ only me lover; ye’ll be me wife an’ help me lead me people. They need a lady like you, wunnerful in e'ery way.”
Very slowly, he tugged her back into the room, lit by moonlight and heated gazes. Victoria was divested of every stitch of clothing she had. Hector kissed every sliver of skin he uncovered and when she was bare, lifted her naked form and carried her over to their bed.
The hands that tightly grasped her bottom gently deposited her on the bed, only to have him cover her body with his, and start to worship it. Pleasure overcame her mind at the feel of his tender touches and soft kisses.
Hector briefly pulled away to discard his clothes before joining her. Looking up, Victoria framed his face with one hand.
“Hector…” she trailed off as the words of love and devotion she had in her throat just couldn’t transfer to her lips. Hector, however, knew her intention and uttered, “Me tae, love.”
Kissing a tantalizing path down her torso and between her breasts, Hector caressed her belly where his teeth gently bit the flesh there. A startling image of her belly filled with his babes flashed before her and she gasped deeply, which Hector took as pleasure.
Hector slid a hand between her legs and felt the soft nectar there. His touch enflamed her and unconsciously, she spread her legs further, ready and willing to accept him. Hector, however, had other ideas.
Sitting up, he pulled Victoria onto his lap, and held her knees until he positioned himself. “I want tae see yer eyes, love, close tae mine.”
Sinking slowly down on his thick length, Victoria had to grab at his shoulders. Deep! She cried within herself, so deep!
Resting on his lap and connected with him, she f
elt Hector start to move her hips, and taking his silent command she rocked on him. This close, she saw every shift in his face, the fire that blazed in his eyes, and the tightening of his jaw when the pleasure seemed too strong to bear.
His hands on the small of her back pressed her close as she moved and they kissed. Her elbows were braced on his shoulders while her hands were in his hair. The rise and fall was slow, mesmerizingly deep, and the heat between them only climbed.
Victoria felt spurred, and she rocked harder, using her knees as leverage, as she chased her fulfillment. Hector felt it, too, and his hands were bracing guides as she rode him. Her body was painfully taut as the glimmers of ecstasy built in her mind. Suddenly, she was on her back with Hector driving into her.
Her cries rent the air as her legs wrapped around his waist tightly. Hector was driving them to the edge - it was too much, way too much to bear - and when she fell over that edge, her gasp and his shout of completion hung in the air. Victoria didn’t want to let him go and despite his kisses and soft words she hung on tightly, until large thunderous bangs, a scream, and shouts cut through the air.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 25
