“Tell me,” he said as soon as the spoon hit the bottom of the wooden bowl. Fiona looked down at her wringing hands with a sigh.
“I dinnae want to tell ye afore because I dinnae want ye to look at me differently.”
His hand appeared in her sight as he covered her hands with his. “I could never.” His raspy voice still managed to convey his utter sincerity.
She nodded, still avoiding his eyes, but she held onto his hand with both of hers. “I told ye that Laird Hunter was fatally wounded in the fighting when we came tae rescue ye. What I dinnae tell ye…” She looked up, catching his eyes, her own filling with moisture. “...was that ah’m the one who injured him.”
He squeezed her hand, his eyes compassionate, but let her finish. “I...he was...we cut ye down from the tree. Ye werenae breathing and...he ordered his men tae collect ye. He was laughing.” Fiona swallowed. “I couldnae take it. I thought I had lost ye and he was laughing. I rushed at him, just...seeing red. He was surprised, he dinnae expect tha’. None of them did. I slashed at his hand and ran him through. The bloodlust, it just descended on me. I dinnae even remember it weel. It was like a dream.”
He squeezed her hand tighter and her eyes shifted to his. “I was so bloodthirsty.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “It shocked ye, that ye should feel such things.”
She nodded slowly. “Aye.”
“And now ye dinnae ken who ye are anymore. The genteel daughter of a laird or a bloodthirsty killer.”
She dropped her head, lashes falling to hide her eyes. “Aye,” she said even more quietly.
His strong hands closed over her arms and he pulled her close so that her head was laying on his chest. “Ye can be both ye ken?”
She sniffled, blinking rapidly to dispel the moisture from her eyes. “Can I? Who wants a bloodthirsty killer frae a wife?”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Me.” She could hear the laughter in his voice and looked up to see him smiling, his eyes shining. She searched his eyes for evidence of a lie but they were lucid and sincere.
“Really?”
“Aye.”
Slowly, she laid her head back against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist, closing her eyes. “Weel, thank God for that because ye’re stuck wi’ me.”
He laughed softly, her head bouncing on his chest with the movement. “Guid.”
Fiona walked into her uncle’s study, having left Daividh sleeping peacefully. “Alrigh’ then, tell me,” she said.
Her uncle looked up from his papers and paled, mouth pursing with fears. He nodded, however, and gestured toward the straight-backed wooden chair across from him. Fiona took a seat, folded her arms, and watched him expectantly.
“Yer faither was no just kin tae me. He was my bosom friend…” He lowered his eyes, his cheeks pinkening. “And he had everythin’ I could ne’er have.”
Fiona’s brow furrowed. “What d’ye mean?”
“He had a family that loved him.” Donnchadh looked up finally. “He had children. I cannae have any. I dinnae ken if ye ken tha’.”
Fiona shook her head, swallowing her sympathy.
“Weel, when Padraig Hunter got in my ear aboot it, I dinnae ken why but I listened. He fueled my barely acknowledged resentment toward Murdo. He played on my fears and my pride. He convinced me that Murdo had it coming. That he took advantage of my friendship and disregarded my pain. That he flaunted his family in front of me. I think, deep doon, I kenned it was all hooey but still, I listened. I let my resentments fester. And when Padraig told me to withdraw my men, I did it. I dinnae question it. I kenned he meant ill towards Murdo but…” Donnchadh shook his head, a lone tear falling down his cheek.
“So ye jus’ continued tae do as he told ye,” Fiona said coldly.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
Donnchadh shrugged. “He said we would share the gold. I could go to the New World and begin agin’. Find me a woman awready wi’ child and raise it as my own. A new start, he said. That there wasnae anything for me here except misery and disappointment.”
“The gold from the mine?”
“Aye.”
Fiona leaned forward, glaring at him. “If ye had asked him, my faither would ha’ gi’en ye the gold ye needed.”
Donnchadh shook his head. “No. He always said it was frae his lassies and he would allow no one tae touch it but them. He made sure of it. The documents were ironclad.”
Fiona turned away. “And so ye conspired to have me married to Hunter so ye could tak’ it all frae me?” She stared at her uncle’s lowered head. She could see the tears falling on the desk.
“I was a fool.”
She sighed, turning towards the door. “I shall gi’ ye the gold ye wanted sae badly, Uncle.”
The man looked up in shock.
“Aye, I will. And ye will tak’ it and go tae the New World as ye wanted. I cannae trust ye at my back so I want ye gone.”
Donnchadh deflated completely but did not say a word. Fiona turned back, staring intently at him. “If’n ye come back here, there shallnae be any mercy. Do ye ken me?”
The laird did not lift his head. “Aye, Lady Fiona. I ken.”
“Guid. The lassies, Daividh, and I will be leaving in the morning for Braenaird Keep. Ye’re nae invited tae the wedding.”
With that, she walked out and slammed the door behind her.
The wedding was a small affair; just Fiona and her sisters as well as their staff and tenants. Daividh had Simon at his side as well as a small delegation of Campbells that had managed to make the journey to Braenaird in time. They held the ceremony in the gardens with the local abbot officiating. Once the Christian ceremony was done, he took Daividh’s sgian dubh and slashed open Daividh and Fiona’s palms. They clasped hands and he tied their hands together with a kerchief.
“Repeat after me,” the abbot said. “Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.”
First Daividh and then Fiona repeated the words to him. He smiled in approval. “Ye will say the rest to each other the noo.”
He stepped back and they turned to face each other, eyes shining with conviction, saying the words together. “Ye cannae possess me for I belong to mysel’. But while we both wish it, I give ye that which is mine to give. Ye cannae command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve ye in those ways ye require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”
Their audience clapped and cheered with joy as Daividh leaned slowly down and laid his lips on Fiona’s. She parted her lips for him, tongue questioning slightly. His own tongue touched hers in answer and then he pulled back, eyebrows raised in promise, and smiled. Her hands were shaking as she grasped his and let him lead her to the awning where the wedding breakfast awaited them.
Once all the traditions were observed, the couple danced the lang reel around the estate, all their guests breaking off from the reel as they reached their cottages. At long last, Daividh and Fiona stood in front of the door to their chambers in the north wing of the castle. Not a sound was to be heard anywhere close by. Fiona’s heart pounded so fast and loud she was afraid that Daividh would hear it.
“Are ye afeared?” he asked, peering at her as he placed his hand on the doorknob.
Mutely, she shook her head and he smiled, taking her hand and leading her into the room. The bed was freshly made and scattered with petals of meadowsweet and marigold. Fiona took a deep breath and turned to Daividh.
“We’ve come a long way tae be here today.”
“Aye, my love.” He caught her by the waist, reeling her in with a grin. “And what a journey it has been.”
She snaked her arms around his neck, head inclined flirtatiously to the side. “Will ye take me the noo?”
His eyes shone and he leaned toward her. “Gladly.”
Their lips met in a searing kiss, hearts beating in synchr
onous excitement. Daividh’s hands trailed downward from her waist and squeezed her bottom tight, then pulled her into him so she could feel his excitement. His big hands closed around her legs and lifted her up.
She squeaked in surprise, holding on tighter to his neck as he took the two steps that brought them to the bed. Laying her gently on the cover, he began to divest her first of her slippers and then her stockings, his fingers igniting a fire on her flesh everywhere they touched. She bit her lip to keep from making embarrassing sounds but he shook his head, chidingly.
“Let me hear you,” he said and she let herself go with a sigh, leaning backwards and moaning softly as his hands tickled the underside of her feet before discarding her stockings on the floor. He closed his hand around her ankle, his grip firm, and squeezed as his other hand pulled at her arisaid and flung it off. She was left in just her shift, which he made short work of as she lay helpless, unable to decide what to do with her hands.
His own landed on her breasts, kneading gently as he feasted upon the sight of her unclothed body.
She reached for him, making a needy sound, and he leaned forward to kiss her lips, his body pressing down on hers. Instinctively, she widened her legs, making space for him to fit between them.
He groaned in her ear before mouthing at her neck, his hands reaching for his breeches and tearing open the buttons before he used his legs to pull them off.
She could feel him against her, hard as iron and big. For a moment her heart quailed in fear. Julieta had explained to her about where his manhood was supposed to go and she just did not think it would be possible.
He made soothing noises in her ear as if he could sense her fear, his hands caressing her thighs softly, gently. She relaxed, knowing that Daividh could never deliberately hurt her, and put her arms around him, surrendering completely.
Her submission drove him wild and he claimed her mouth, plundering it with fierce passion and unrestrained joy. His hand snaked beneath them, lifting her thighs and urging her legs to lock around his waist. She stiffened as she felt his fingers questing at her entrance, but he suckled at a sensitive spot on her neck and she relaxed with a moan. Before she knew it, his hand was rubbing at a sensitive nub inside her and she was squirming hungrily, needily into his touch.
“Daividh,” she murmured, pulling ineffectually at his sark. He used one hand to pull it up and off of him before increasing the pressure on her nub.
“Please,” she whispered, although she didn’t know what she was asking for. She felt his thickness against her as his hand disappeared, the wet soft flesh rubbing against that very same spot before pushing into her. She gasped, body bracing for invasion, and he kissed her neck softly, soothing her and urging her to relax.
He pushed in deeper, opening her slowly like a hot knife sinking into butter. She felt her flesh give way, stretching wide in a way she’d never experienced before. His hardness continued to invade her, sinking deeper and deeper until she felt a pull and then pain. She jerked and he froze, kissing her cheek and chin, murmuring apologies into her flesh. She breathed shallowly, trying to get used to it all as he waited patiently.
“Fiona?”
“Ah’m alrigh’,” she reassured him, though she was not sure it was true. He pushed further into her and she widened her legs to give him room. His hardness brushed against her flesh, heightening its sensitivity, causing bolts of sensation to shoot every which way, making her hungry for more.
Suddenly he thrust fast and deep, bottoming out inside her in one fell swoop. She gasped, taken aback by the sheer immediacy of his presence. He surrounded her inside and out; he was around her and within. It was overwhelming.
“Are ye alrigh’?” he whispered into the flesh behind her ear.
She nodded shakily. “Aye.”
“Hold on to me then. Ah’m aboot to take ye for a ride.”
She tightened her grip on his neck as he pulled back and then thrust into her, again and again, seeming to cause sparks to ignite within, fueling a hunger for something she could not name. She cried out for him, pawing at him, pulling him closer as he moaned into her ear, his deep baritone fanning the flames of her desire. His pace increased, became more erratic as his breathing became jerky and uncoordinated.
His thrusts grew harder and faster, her head almost banging into the headboard with the force of it. He placed his hand over her hair to cushion her, his body pistoning into her. She closed her eyes, feeling something bearing down upon her like a cloud. It descended in a shower of sparks as her center seemed to explode and for a moment, everything went white.
His body went rigid and then he began to convulse, pouring wetness into her which her body gladly received, milking him for every drop. She flopped back onto the bed, breathing hard, eyes closed.
“Are ye alrigh’?” he asked, sounding extremely concerned.
“I am...fulfilled,” she whispered.
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Prologue
Sunshine bathed the rolling fields of heather as Moira bent down to pick more for her bouquet. It was the perfect day for wool-gathering in the fields. It was still early enough in the morning that the land around the keep was quiet, more so than usual. The festivities last night had left most people, herself included, still sleepy as everyone began their morning chores.
Moira still couldn’t believe that so many Sinclairs had gathered to celebrate her birthday. For as long as she could remember, the Hamilton clan had been at war with one clan or another, so it was rare that anyone remembered her birthday let alone celebrated it. It wasn’t that her family didn’t love her. From the letters, she knew her parents missed her dearly. When someone had attempted to kidnap her and use her as a pawn in an already deadly war, her parents had sent her to the Sinclairs for safekeeping.
At first, she’d been terrified to be so far away from everything that she’d known, but the Sinclair laird was a quiet man with a calm disposition. His daughter, Grace, only a few years younger than Moira’s sixteen, had helped her assimilate, even at times corrupting Moira with her fierce need to wield a sword. His youngest son, Alec, a few years older than her, was a flirt with a winning smile and a playful nature, and he helped her feel like part of the family.
But it was Connor, the eldest son and heir to the lairdship, that was the first thing on her mind when she woke up in the morning and the last thing on her mind before she fell asleep. She felt a strange tug whenever she laid eyes on him. The spitting image of his father, Connor, like his brother, had dark hair, but not very long, that whipped around his face when the Highland winds blew, and green eyes that sparkled with intelligence. With a broad face, strong jawline, and high cheekbones, he was far more mature than most of the men—make that boys—that she was used to, and his mind always seemed to be working. He chose his words carefully, so when he told her how much she meant to him, she believed it.
Connor would never lie or speak flippantly. They were meant to be together, and because the Hamiltons and Sinclairs were allies, she knew their parents would not object.
Straightening, she fastened her bouquet together with some twine. At her back, she felt the intensity of his stare and knew he was watching her, but he hadn’t said anything, so she didn’t interrupt whatever he was doing. When she finished her bouquet for Connor’s mother, she started one for Grace. It wasn’t until she had nearly finished that he spoke. “I expected ye to be in bed ’til noon after last night’s festivities.”
“I am not one to languish in bed,” she informed him a
s she turned. As always, the sight of him made her catch her breath. “Yer mother and sister hosted a wonderful party in my honor, and I wanted to show my thanks.”
“My mother enjoys a festivity. That in itself is thanks enough. And my sister, well, anything that will get her to stay in her dress and not wear trousers is thanks enough for all of us,” he said with a wry grin. “I did not get to see much of ye last night.”
It was true. Alec and his friends made her dance and dance until her feet ached and her body was exhausted, although she had loved every minute of it. Connor had snagged her for a few dances before his father had called him away. She still remembered the way he had smiled when he held her hands as they danced around the large bonfire lighting up the night.
“Ye and yer father were gone most of the evening. Was everything all right?” After the festivities, she had foolishly waited by one of the secret entrances to the keep. Connor had shown them to her not long after she had come to stay with them, and it was in the privacy of those tunnels that their romance had blossomed. She had hoped more than anything that now that she was sixteen, he might finally kiss her, but he’d never showed up, and when she could barely keep her eyes open, she had finally gone to bed.
“Everything is fine. There was something that he wanted to give me.” Walking slowly through the flowers, he approached her. “Something for me to give to ye.”
Rooted to the spot, her heart hammered in her chest. “A birthday present?” she asked as she clutched at the flowers in her hand.
“Aye, but something that will last the rest of yer life.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver chain that glinted in the sun. At the end was a small round pendant with a seal etched onto the scarred silver. Two swords crossing over a shield and a stag. Protection and strength.
Highlander’s Tempted Guard (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 14
