The Highlander's Secret Vow

by Eliza Knight

  “I promise, lass, when we make love for the first time, it will be incredible. But I canna do it now in good conscience with ye injured.”

  “Injured people make love all the time.” She was going to try just one more time.

  Liam’s brows raised in question, perhaps with a bit of surprise. “How would ye know that?”

  “I’ve seen it.” She shrugged, trying to keep the lie steady on her tongue. “After battles.”

  “Oh, is that right? And ye’ve been witness to how many battles?”

  She hated that he was calling her bluff. She’d not actually seen anything, but she’d heard whispers of it, especially amongst the servants who talked about the moving blankets in the great hall after a battle. “A few. But I’m right, am I not?”

  He grinned. “Aye. Ye’re right. But I still think we should wait.” He leaned down and brushed his lips tenderly over hers again. “Even if ’twill be a torment.”

  A torment… Well, she was glad he was feeling as tortured as she was. “You’re not…waiting, because you still think I might be…tainted?”

  “Tainted? Nay, lass. What do ye mean?”

  “I’m English.”

  “That means naught to me. My mother is English, too.”

  Cora smiled. “Would you tell me if you did?”

  He chuckled and skimmed his lips over her cheek to her ear. “I told ye before, and I’d tell ye again.”

  “What if you…don’t come back?” That was a very good possibility. He was going to battle. Men didn’t come back from battles all the time. Her heart skipped a beat in panic.

  “Then ye’ll be free.” He stroked her cheek. “But I promise I’ll come back, lass, and ye ken I keep my promises.”

  Her heart melted at that. “Aye, you have.”

  “And I’ll have something to keep me warm at night.” He winked, and it sent a thrill rushing through her.

  “What’s that?”

  “The thought of your kiss, and what it will be like to make love to ye when I return.”

  Cora sighed and couldn’t help trying to tempt him once more. “If we made love now, you could take that memory with you.”

  Liam chuckled and bent forward to nibble at her lip. “Ye’re right. But, lass, I stand by my decision not to make love to ye until your hands are healed.”

  Cora was definitely disappointed, but she also admired him for making that choice. Part of her wondered though, had he made the choice to keep her intact in case he did change his mind, or in case he didn’t come back? He was leaving her with the only true currency a woman had—her maidenhead.

  “But I will leave ye with a parting gift, lass.”

  That drew her attention. “A gift?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “Another promise.” He kissed her again, slowly, until the warmth in her blood heated again, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. He touched her as he’d done before, teasing her nipple with his fingers and then replacing them with his mouth. She cried out, arching her back at the delicious sensations rippling through her. This was indeed a gift. He tugged at her gown until her nipple popped free, and then he covered her bare flesh with his hot mouth, and she saw stars as pleasure erupted.

  Liam’s fingers skimmed over her bare leg, inch by delicious inch, and she found herself restless with energy at the delicious sensations he was evoking. When she thought his touch might cease, his fingers rose higher beneath her skirts until he was cupping the very heat of her.

  Cora’s body bowed in reaction to the intimate, delectable touch. He caressed her gently, stroking over her folds, pressing against a spot that had her crying out and her mind soaring. What was happening? She’d thought his kiss a gift. Thought his mouth at her breast a delightful offering, but this… His fingers played over her folds as though she were a harp in need of strumming, and the music his touch elicited sent her into another world.

  Liam kissed her deeply as he touched her, stroke after stroke of his fingers and tongue. She gasped and sighed, and then the world seemed to take her by storm. Something inside her shattered, bliss echoing off her insides and radiating outward, as though her body itself had burst with rapture.

  “Oh, my,” she cried out.

  “Oh, aye,” Liam said against her mouth. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, felt, heard.”

  “It…it…was.” She panted, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes, hazy from the pleasure, focused on his face. “That was my gift?”

  Liam gazed down at her, a smile of satisfaction on his lips. “Did ye like it?”

  “Yes,” she crooned, stretching out her body. “You’re good at giving gifts.”

  Liam laughed then, his head falling back. His body fell to the side, taking some of his heat with him. “Och, lass… I will definitely be remembering this moment all the nights through.”

  Cora rolled over, curling up into him. “I am sleepy now. Your gift may have been more potent than Lucas’s whisky.”

  That made him laugh all the more.

  She was surprised by how comfortable she felt lying beside him. As though it were the easiest and most natural thing in the world. Was that because of how he’d made her feel? The way he’d made her body respond? Or did it come from years of knowing, hoping, that some day she’d be with him?

  “I have something of yours.” Liam untangled himself from her limbs and stood, his large body moving easily as he lifted his foot onto a chair.

  Cora watched as he slipped his fingers into the thick wool of his hose, the fabric bunching as he slid it down toward his boot, and then produced a small, familiar dagger.

  “My dagger,” she gasped.

  “Aye. I know ye canna use it as of yet, but I found it discarded near the dungeon. And when ye mentioned ye’d lost yours, I thought perhaps this one might be it. The craftmanship is…familiar.”

  Cora grinned, using her elbows to push herself up to a seated position. “You don’t remember? It’s the dagger you gave me as a wedding present.” She chewed her lip nervously at that admission.

  “Ye kept it?”

  “I never left my chamber without it. Just in case.” She shrugged, trying to make it all seem casual, when it was anything but. The dagger had been a precious treasure to her, and losing it had been heartbreaking, though she’d soothed herself with the notion that she was with the very man who’d given it to her.

  “Where did ye keep it?” He sauntered back toward the bed.

  Her face flushed, and she bit her lip. “Strapped to my leg.”

  Liam wiggled his brows. “Your calf or higher?”

  “Higher.” She sounded like she was choking.

  “So, all these years, my wedding gift to ye was very close to your—”

  “Don’t say it!” she squealed.

  Liam chuckled. “That’s something I’d have liked to find a few moments ago.”

  Cora laughed even through the heat in her cheeks.

  “Be careful, lass, and dinna trust anyone.” He unhooked a leather strap from around his ankle. “This willna fit right, I’m sure, but ’haps having it on will make ye feel a little safer. Ye’ll be safest here, I ken that. But as ye said, just in case.”

  He lifted her leg so that her foot rested on his thigh and strapped the leather around her calf, where it fit perfectly. Then he tucked the dagger inside.

  “Thank you,” she said, gazing up at him.

  “When ye wake, I’ll be gone. But I promise, I will return to ye.”

  Liam bent low, her foot still propped on his thigh, and kissed her again, deeply, and with the overwhelming sense of goodbye.

  Chapter 13

  The journey to Castle Ross in the Highlands took four arduous days, made more laborious by having to backtrack several times to shake anyone who might be following. When they’d left Stirling before dawn at the start of their journey, Liam had been certain eyes were on them. Just whose eyes, they’d yet to discover, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was the same ones that had followed them from the
borders.

  An ally would show themselves, which left only the opposite—an enemy.

  With Liam’s extensive evading tactics, they’d lost their shadows two days since, but he was not at all relieved. He still didn’t know who’d been there, or what they’d wanted. His scouts couldn’t get close enough to identify the cunning bastards.

  Liam feared their evasive trackers would lose interest and turn back to Stirling. That perhaps they’d been following to get at Cora. The thought of her in danger was enough to make him turn his horse around—thrice—but each time, Tad coaxed him off the ledge.

  Trusting that she would be safe in the castle was difficult, but he had to force himself to do so. Stirling was well fortified with a high, thick wall, a weighty iron portcullis and the king’s heavily armed men. But that meant little when he reminded himself there was a traitor in their midst—possibly already within the castle walls.

  Bloody ballocks!

  Beneath him, Robin let out an irritated snort, and Liam eased on the reins. He was probably driving the poor horse half mad with his stream of thoughts that came out through his body language.

  They weren’t far from Castle Ross now. From their position in the forest, he could make out the crenellations at the very top of the castle, and a few tiny dark blobs on the walls that were likely Ross guards.

  “We’ll rest for now,” he advised his men. “And two hours past sundown, we’ll attack. We want the element of surprise. We’ll not fight fair. Chivalry is unknown to the Ross Clan, and the only way to defeat them is to fight the way they do.”

  The men all agreed and started to settle into camp. Liam followed suit, dismounting and feeding Robin, stroking his mount’s neck and flank, thanking him for his hard work in getting them here. He sent out three scouts to check their perimeter and the castle. With his eyes on the fortress he could just barely see through the trees, Liam sharpened his claymore and chewed on jerky. The steady strokes of the blade against his sharpening stone was methodical and relaxing.

  Tad and a few others took the time to nap, resting up for the battle ahead. But sleep would not come to Liam until this fight was over.

  Not that sleep had come easily since he’d left Stirling. He worried over Cora, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d felt in his arms. Her kiss had been filled with passion, hunger. As though when he touched her, he unleashed in her a passionate woman begging to be set free. And the way her body had bowed… Good God, he’d be lucky to ever sleep again.

  Just thinking of her had him growing hard, desire pummeling through his veins bursting to be let out. It was a shock he hadn’t taken what she offered. There she’d been, ready to give herself freely, and he’d denied her.

  Nay not denied. Delayed.

  Was her desire a game? Or did she genuinely want him? The look in her eyes and the soft cries from her lips had him believing she was genuine. Damnation, he hated that he kept wondering. His own mind was playing bloody tricks on him.

  Until this mystery was solved, this battle over, he would likely not have all the answers. And that had guilt eating away at his insides. He should trust her. She’d asked him to plenty of times. When he looked at all that had happened to her, she appeared the very image of innocence on the surface. But Liam knew better than to trust someone based solely on the surface.

  Ina Ross had taught them all that. As well as Cora’s own father, if Liam were to take into account the story of him agreeing to a treaty with the Scottish king only to back out of it at the last minute.

  It was a fact Liam didn’t trust Lady Segrave. There was something sly about her. And though she played a victim and mourning wife well, the way she waffled between being Cora’s champion and not made him wonder. How could a mother so bent on rescuing her daughter from what she considered an unwanted marriage be so callous and willing to give that very daughter up when it came to her secrets?

  Tad thrust a wineskin toward Liam. He set down the stone and claymore and

  sipped the watered wine, grateful he had Tad to look out for him. Tad reached forward and slid the pad of his thumb on the blade.

  “Any sharper and ye’d cut yourself wielding it,” Tad chuckled. “Scouts have returned. Shall I bring them to ye?”

  “Aye.” Liam put the sharpening stone back in his satchel and re-sheathed the claymore at his back.

  “Sir.” The scouts bent at their waists.

  “No need for such formalities. What did ye see? One at a time.”

  “We are alone in the forest, though there are signs of travelers having passed through recently. From the looks of the hoof marks, mayhap a dozen. No fresh campfires or game bones. I didna see any sign of our shadows.”

  “Good.” Liam nodded to the next one.

  “The castle is well fortified, as ye’d guessed, sir. The drawbridge is raised, and from what I could see, there is a thick iron portcullis. Men are on the walls, but not as many as I would have suspected for the hour. Maybe a half dozen? There are few lights in the castle windows, which makes me think that no one is living inside, or perhaps only a few people. The castle is likely being cared for by a steward, and it may be that the guards on the wall are the majority of the small army inside.”

  “Aye,” Liam said. “If Ughtred took most of the men south to the borders, and Ina lost many in the battle before she was caught, this could be true.”

  “The village also looked quiet, sir,” the third scout reported. “I passed several abandoned crofts on my way toward the village. And within the village, I would guess perhaps only half the houses appeared occupied.”

  “They are fleeing.” Liam glanced at Tad.

  “Or hiding,” Tad offered.

  “Aye. Either way, I believe this will be easier than we thought.”

  By sundown, the men had gathered their weapons, mounted their warhorses and were preparing to ride on Ross Castle. But when Liam raised his hand to call his men to head out, the ground beneath them rumbled with the approach of riders.

  “Steady,” Liam warned. “Shields. Swords.”

  Where was his scout? They should have been warned of an impending ambush. Saints, but he hoped the man was all right. They’d yet to have a casualty on this mission. Liam’s gut clenched.

  They prepared for the surprise attack, weapons drawn. Liam was ready to call for his men to defend themselves when the leader of the group of two dozen warriors came into view.

  “Da,” Liam said, bewildered, giving an order for his men to stand down.

  The Earl of Sutherland, a near mirror image save for his age, nodded to his son. “We came to join ye. Followed ye from Stirling. Ye played a good game of cat and mouse, we were never able to quite catch up with ye.”

  Liam shook his head and grinned. “Ye’re lucky we didna set a trap for ye.”

  “I’d have liked to see ye try.” His father laughed.

  “Would have been a massacre I’m sure,” Liam teased.

  “And your mother would never forgive ye.”

  “Fair enough. I’d not wish Lady Sutherland’s wrath on anyone.”

  Magnus tsked. “Be kind to your mother, she labored hard to push your arse into the world.”

  Liam laughed at that. “A task I thank her for daily.”

  “As do I, son.” Magnus rode forward, and they clasped each other in a tight hug, ending with several masculine pounds to their backs.

  “We’ll be glad to have your added numbers, Da, and I’m certain ye’ll gain much satisfaction out of seeing Castle Ross in Sutherland hands.”

  “Aye.” A dark look passed over Magnus’s face before his features lit with mirth once more.

  “Would ye be wanting to lead the attack?” Liam was more than happy to give his father the credit and honor. The man deserved it after all he’d been through with the bloody Ross clan over the years.

  Magnus shook his head and gave another rough pat to Liam’s back. “Nay, son. I’ll not be taking that glory from ye.”

  “’Twould be a
n honor to follow ye, Da.”

  Magnus grinned. “Aye, but an even greater honor for me to follow the best warrior in Scotland—my son.”

  Pride welled in Liam’s chest. “Thank ye, Da.”

  “And when we finish here, we’ll talk about…your wife.”

  Mo chreach… “How did ye…” The king! His father had mentioned that he’d come from Stirling. King Robert had probably explained all of it. Ballocks. Liam had wanted to share the news with his father himself—and explain why he’d kept it a secret all these years.

  “We’ll talk later, son. ‘Tis the time for fighting now.”

  “Aye, we’ve a castle to conquer, and a clan to subdue.” Liam nodded to his father and then raised his fist in the air. “We ride!”

  For the first time since the fire, Cora stared down at the extent of the injuries to her hands. Her stomach felt fuzzy at the sight, and her vision blurred a little. But the effects only lasted a few minutes, and then she was able to fully look once more. She’d expected to see charred skin. Like burnt game upon a roasting fire. But there was nothing charred or crispy. In fact, she was grateful for what she saw—healing.

  “Ye’re recovering remarkably.” The woman who sat before her was the healer for Stirling Castle. She had a soft voice, and a face that seemed permanently etched with compassion. Gray plaited hair woven with rosemary sprigs wrapped round her crown. “They took good care of ye so far.”

  “With onions.” Cora wrinkled her nose.

  The healer cocked her head to the side. “Onions?”

  “Aye.” She shrugged, having no further explanation as to why they chose that route, only knowing she would be glad for the scent of onions to leave her.

  “Seems to have worked a miracle almost,” the healer mused, holding Cora’s hands closer to her face.

  Cora nodded, staring at the place where her hands had once been soft and flawless. They were virtually unrecognizable now. The tips of her fingers were still pink, as were the lower part of her palms, but the space between was angry, red in places, and darker in others. She squeezed her eyes shut, any bravery she’d felt a moment before evaporating.