by Terry Spear
"I am sorry, lass." Ronan left the chair and came over to the bed and sat beside her. He ran his hand down her silky hair and looked into her tear-filled eyes. "I would never hurt you."
She looked away.
He sighed. "If things had been different…"
She turned to look at him again.
"If I were no' the clan chief…" He let out his breath in exasperation. "We have a problem." More so than his not wanting to wed the Montgomery lass and desiring to marry Sorcha instead. "Laird Montgomery had a visitor—one of the men of the MacNeill Clan. This man knew that Montgomery was coming here with his daughter to see me. The MacNeill clansman wished to learn if there was a woman here by the name of Sorcha of the Barclay clan, suspecting you were living with us when they never received word concerning you. The MacNeill thought Montgomery might learn the truth, if we were not forthcoming about it. We didna know Montgomery had any knowledge of you. In any event, the man says Laird MacNeill wishes word of you if Montgomery learned you were here. Laird Montgomery said naught of the matter until I chased you down during the meal this morn."
Sorcha's eyes widened. "What…is he going to tell Laird MacNeill?"
"He didna like that I interrupted the meal to chase after you. This eve, after he had learned you were no' one of my kin, he said he would send word to Laird MacNeill that you are here living with us."
"Nay. I must leave at once."
"Nay, listen to the rest, lass. He said if you were to wed his son, he would tell Laird MacNeill that he wishes to come to an agreement with him. I would wed Montgomery's daughter, and you would marry Abboid Montgomery, who someday would become clan chief."
"What?" Sorcha's face reddened with fury. "You think I would want to marry him to become the Montgomery clan chief's wife? Nay! That lad? Of what? Six and ten?"
Glad to hear how she felt of the matter, Ronan still couldn't curb his own irritation over the matter that the Montgomery chief would dictate such terms to him. "I have no intention of allowing this to come to pass, unless 'tis something you wish." He growled the words, giving her a look that said she wouldn't wish this. He could understand her anger and he didn't blame her. Well, actually he was glad for it because he was worried she might entertain the notion of wedding the whelp, to be entitled to a position as clan chief's wife. So he was glad she did not wish it.
When she began to get out of bed, he quickly placed his hand on her shoulder, not wanting her to show off her near nakedness when he was already having trouble keeping his thoughts pure with regard to the lass. "You are no' properly dressed."
"Remove your hand from my person at once!"
He had tried to be a gentleman. He sighed and dropped his hand before he rose from the bed. "We will work something out, Sorcha. You willna be leaving here."
She yanked the covers aside and he caught sight of her long shapely legs right before she jerked her chemise down. He realized he was staring at her, his jaw hanging. She was beautiful and he couldn't help desiring her even more.
Someone knocked on the door.
"Aye?" Ronan called out.
"'Tis me, Fagen. You wanted to know if the women began to gather again to train with their wooden dirks."
"You knew?" Sorcha sounded shocked.
His gaze again riveted to her as she pulled her léine over her head, but not before he witnessed her dusky nipples through the thin chemise.
His blood roared with that male condition that couldn't be quashed whenever he was near the lass like this, and certainly not when she was practically naked.
"Aye. I know all that goes on here. The women will be waiting for you. I will leave so you can dress." Though he should have done so long before this.
His blood hot and his need for her raging, Ronan left her then, feeling as though there was so much more to be said, and yet he couldn't say what he truly wanted. "Same place as before?" he asked Fagen as he shut the door.
"Aye, my laird. Only this time Laird Montgomery and his son are watching. I heard the beardless whelp is interested in marrying the lass. You willna let him, will you? Many of us would love to have the opportunity, and we dinna want her leaving here."
Ronan cursed under his breath. Sorcha belonged here and no one was taking her away. As to any of his men marrying her? He didn't want to even consider that possibility. But if one of the men appealed to her and she was agreeable, hell and damnation, he would have to agree.
***
Sorcha didn't care if Ronan saw her half naked. She didn't care about anything, except to leave here as soon as she could. But for now, she tried her best to show the women how to block, parry, thrust, and slice again, then she stood back to watch and offer comments to improve their efforts.
Elspeth soon joined her. "Did you know Laird Montgomery's son, Abboid, is willing to wed you? One of the kitchen servants overheard Laird Montgomery say to my laird brother that he would speak to Laird MacNeill about making arrangements to marry you to his son."
"Nay!"
All the women stopped practicing their moves, probably wondering which one of them had done something wrong.
"Continue." Sorcha motioned for them to keep practicing. "The Barclays gave me to…" She hesitated to say. They had given her to Laird MacNeill as part of her sister's dowery! Would the laird want to pay a dowery to Laird Montgomery for clan alliances? Maybe. Or maybe Laird MacNeill would just want her returned so he could make some other clan alliance. What if to punish her for running away, he was agreeable to her marrying the lad?
Och! This was a nightmare.
"Laird Montgomery doesna want you here. Nor does his daughter, when she weds my brother. He believes our laird wishes you to be his mistress."
"I will be no man's mistress!"
Everyone stopped their practice and Sorcha motioned to them to continue, her body hot with embarrassment, knowing full well that whoever was listening on the wall walk could have heard her outburst. Yet it was the truth. She would never be a man's vessel to slake his desire, if he was not her husband.
She still couldn't believe Ronan had kissed her early that morn. And worse, that she had returned the affection, loving the moment for all time. Why did he have to be the one who came for her? And then to show up at her chamber? She was certain he was fighting his feelings for her, knowing he had to wed Ita. But none of it mattered when he was going to marry the lass.
Sorcha couldn't stay here. Not even to watch them marry. But now she really had no choice at all. Not when Montgomery intended to send word to Laird MacNeill.
The women continued to practice, but she no longer saw them. Before Laird Montgomery could send word to her kin, she had to leave. The problem was everyone watched her too well. She didn't even have anything she could use to bribe anyone. Though she didn't want to get anyone in trouble with Ronan, and she knew he'd learn who the traitor was before long.
Suddenly, gray-haired Taithleach thrust her practice dirk at Sorcha—a test to see if she was really watching them. Which she hadn't been, she was so wrapped up in what she had to do.
Sorcha quickly hit Taithleach's dirk with her own, using such force, the washerwoman's weapon went flying. Taithleach laughed, then went to retrieve it.
The other ladies looked on in astonishment.
Sorcha smiled. "You always have to be prepared for any eventuality."
She thought it over and decided she just had to tell Ronan exactly what she was going to do. No attempt at slipping away on her own. Maybe he'd allow some of his men to escort her to a village nearby and she could live out her days there.
Once she and the women were done and everyone left to retire for the night, Sorcha stalked off to Ronan's chamber where she intended once and for all to tell him what she was going to do.
She was not marrying Laird Montgomery's son. She could just imagine how angry Laird MacNeill would be if he learned she was here. And he would be angry with Ronan also for keeping the secret.
She saw candlelight underneath the door to Ronan
's room and knocked on the solid oak.
"Come," Ronan said.
She hesitated. She suspected he thought she was one of the men or a servant bringing him something. He wouldn't think it was her.
"I wish to speak with you about my leaving."
Chapter 7
Standing at Ronan's bedchamber door, Sorcha felt a little disconcerted when he didn't answer her right away. Was he angry with her for wanting to leave? She wanted to stay. With all her heart she wanted to. But she couldn't. Not with the way things stood between them now. Then footfalls stalked across the bedchamber floor, and he swung the door open abruptly. Ronan's plaid was hanging down about his belt, his chest bare, wet, as if he'd just washed up a bit. He looked as braw as the day she had seen him working on the wall.
Mayhap she should have spoken to him another time. Nay. She was running out of time. She had to say what she needed to now.
He considered her expression as though he was trying to determine if she was serious.
She folded her arms. "I will be going at…"
He pulled her into the room and shut the door, then led her into his bedchamber. "Nay, you willna be going anywhere."
"Laird Montgomery—"
"Doesn't tell me what to do with regard to my own clan, lass."
"His daughter—"
"Doesna either."
"If you marry her—"
"I am no'," he said, then he smiled.
She frowned even harder. "He will tell Laird MacNeill that he wants me wed to that wee bairn, Abboid."
Ronan shook his head.
"I…dinna understand."
Ronan took her hand, pulled her close, and rested his hands on her shoulders in a tender, intimate gesture. "'Tis you that I want. Ever since you threatened me with your dirk. I surmise if I left you to protect the keep while I am away, you could do it singlehandedly."
She didn't smile. She didn't believe what he was saying. Oh, aye, about his feelings for her. He'd been lusting for her the day he had rested between her legs when he'd pinned her down. But any man in the same circumstance would have felt the same way.
"Why did you no' eat with us at the meal this eve? Elspeth said you ate very little at the nooning meal."
"I…" She lifted her chin. "I wasna feeling well."
"Because you thought I was marrying Ita."
Sorcha squared her shoulders.
He rubbed them tenderly and smiled again.
She didn't like the feelings she had for him. The growing need, just as lust-driven as his own. Not when she knew nothing good could come of it.
He kissed her cheek. "I had no interest in food either. No' when all I could do was worry about you. If I marry you…"
She stared at him in disbelief. Did he really mean it? That he wanted her and no other woman? She barely breathed, anticipating his very next words.
"Aye, lass, you know verra well that I canna think of anything else."
Yet there was too much at stake. He couldn't be serious. "But Laird Montgomery…his daughter…his son…Laird MacNeill. You…you are no' just saying so to…to, well, do you mean to wed me, or no'?"
He laughed and swept her up in his arms and kissed her soundly, surely, deliberately, with every ounce of passion he possessed.
Her heart pounded with excitement and delight. Once she'd been sent off to Laird MacNeill's keep and he had shown his interest in her, she hadn't dreamed she could ever be happy again.
She wrapped her arms around Ronan's neck and kissed him right back. Then she broke free of the kiss and looked up at him with tears in her eyes, unable to smile. She worried for him and his clan should Laird Montgomery be angered enough to retaliate. Did he even know Ronan didn't want to agree to a marriage with Ita? "But…Laird Montgomery? And Ita."
"If you had been at the meal, you would have seen me talking to him, and Ita was in tears."
"I am sorry."
"Nay, I am the one who is sorry that I have avoided this for so long."
"But Laird MacNeill. Montgomery will send word, especially since you declined the marriage to his daughter."
"Aye. And so that Laird MacNeill doesna get any notion that you are his to give away, we will marry on the morrow. If…'tis what you wish."
She smiled so broadly, he beamed in response, the crinkles beneath his dark brown eyes appearing, his eyes now nearly black, and his so-kissable mouth just begged for her to kiss him again.
"Aye."
"Tomorrow then," he said. "If Laird Montgomery and his party dinna leave right away, we will wed. He can take that news to Laird MacNeill himself."
"What if Laird MacNeill wishes to fight you?"
"He can either do that, or we can negotiate an agreement that would result in the same thing as I would have had with the Montgomery clan, should I have married Ita. Instead of an agreement with the Clan Montgomery, I will have one with the Clan MacNeill. Although I could do the same with the Barclay clan, since they are your true kin. And neither your uncle nor your brother by marriage will control your destiny any further."
Tears filled her eyes and she couldn't believe how weepy she became around Ronan.
"Ah lass, dinna fash so."
"You are no' doing this just to save me from marrying that young son of Montgomery, are you?"
He just smiled at her and shook his head. "I have wanted to do this since I first met you. I will return you to your chamber and tomorrow…"
"Nay." She tightened her arms around his neck, not about to let go, or lose this chance, or risk that he would change his mind in the morn, or that someone would try to change it for him.
He studied her, frowning a bit. "You dinna…"
"In the ancient way, I wish to wed you and I betroth my heart to you." She pulled his face down to hers then and began to kiss him, to show how much she needed his loving, not on the morrow, not after the wedding, but now.
"And I wed you, Sorcha of the Barclay clan, and pledge to love you always."
He kissed her right back. His warm mouth pressed against hers, until he poked his wicked tongue between her lips and began to stroke her inside. His arm slipped around her back to keep her pinned against his growing arousal, his free hand sweeping down her gown, then cupping her arse and pulling her sinfully closer.
She loved the feel of his body as he molded to her. The way she made him desire her, as much as she craved him. Her heart was thumping wildly as she loved the way his hands were touching her so intimately.
"Lass, are you sure dinna want to…"
"Nay." She pulled free then, snagged his hand, and drew him toward his bed, her gaze on his, willing him to agree.
When he frowned at her and didn't sweep her up and carry her off to his bed, she worried then that he didn't want to do this. That maybe he needed to think it over tonight. That maybe he had been too rash in his decision.
"You are no' changing your mind about us, are you?" She feared the worst and stopped abruptly. That he should take his clan's needs into consideration first. That he should see if Laird MacNeill or her Barclay family would even agree to her marriage to Ronan.
"You are no' saying you want to marry me just because you dinna want to leave, are you?" He sounded so serious that she couldn't believe it.
She smiled then, and wrapped her arms again about his neck, looked up into his dark eyes, and pressed her body against his. "You think that this isna real between us?"
He gave her a smug smile, then reached down to pull off her léine. As soon as he slipped it over her head, he began to caress her breasts through her light chemise, his thumbs stroking her nipples, and then his hands cupped her breasts in the most delightful way. She thought she was in heaven just from pressing her breasts against his chest! This was a thousand-fold more pleasurable, and her body was torn between melting into the rushes on the floor, and leaning into his exquisite touch. He pressed his mouth against hers as she skimmed her hands over his hard muscles, higher, until she could palm his nipples and feel them pebble to her
touch.
He groaned against her lips, and she loved the sound of his raw, male need. She reached down to tug off his belt, the notion she would be performing such a tantalizing action so new for her. And with him. He smiled roguishly back and her heart did a little skip.
He quickly divested himself of his belt and plaid. He paused, running his hands down her arms in a gentle caress, waiting for her to agree to this one last time, as if removing her chemise would be her last defense.
When it was not. Her dirk was still secure in its sheath belted at her thigh. She would not have worn it if she had known she would be doing this with Ronan. But she always wore it everywhere, just in case someone decided to give her trouble.
Now, she worried what Ronan would think, when she had come to his chamber armed. Yet, who knew the kind of trouble she might run into between her own chamber and his?
He pulled her chemise up over her head and exposed the dagger strapped to her thigh. He peered down at her body, while she was giving his glorious muscles and staff a considering look. But then she saw him grinning, his gaze focused on her dirk.
He knelt and unfastened the sheath from around her leg, then tossed the weapon on top of her clothes. He ran his hands all the way up her thighs until he reached between them, stroking just once, startling her. Pleasing her. Making her want to beg for more.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed. "No more chances to change your mind."
"Aye, and you, neither."
He chuckled at that as if she had to be jesting that he'd ever consider doing such.
Before she knew it, she was resting in his huge bed, so much larger than her own, the mattress soft and cushiony and smelling of him—of heather and pine, leather and man. For a moment, his gaze traveled from her face to her body, which made her feel exposed and desired all at once. She took the opportunity to enjoy the way he looked, his staff jutting proudly from a bed of dark curls, his toned muscles ready for action, right before he moved toward her. She redirected her attention to his face.
He was smiling at her, but in a hungry kind of way, and she loved him for it. She was thankful when he joined her on the bed and kissed her again, his hand grazing over her breasts in such a light manner, almost tickling her if it hadn't been that they were so sensitive and aroused by his touch. She felt her nether region moistening, and tingling with heat, and that same ache she'd felt when he'd rested on her in the leaves in the woods, and again, when he'd pressed her tight against his body, traveling to his keep.
