They groaned together as the hardened length of him pressed into her mound, her thighs spread for him, wanting him, her nipples stiff points that brushed against his chest. She opened her eyes to half-mast and met his gaze. He was glad the gloaming was still upon them and he could see how her eyes had darkened with her heightened need, how the passion he could feel pounding through her veins had tinged her skin pink.
“God’s blood,” he murmured, his voice so thick with desire it was almost unrecognizable. She would be pink and flushed everywhere, a darker, glistening pink at the center of her. He couldn’t help grinding himself against that spot as he thought of it, imagined how it would look. How it would taste. He thrust once, long and slow, and even though the material of their plaids still bunched between them, his knees shook.
“What do yo—ohhhh.” Her voice hitched halfway through her question as he hit the nub at the top of her sex. Her eyes fluttered shut and she arched her throat.
He slid his hands from below her arse and stroked up her belly and rib cage. When he reached her breasts and cupped them, they filled his palms and overflowed onto his fingers.
Gavin groaned. They both did.
He’d already seen the size and shape of her breasts when the candlelight had shone through her shift, but the feel of them—soft and full, the tips dragging across his fingertips—almost had him losing his seed against his plaid like a boy of fourteen.
“The way you feel,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her temple. “How you smell. Your heat and softness.” He kissed down her cheek to the corner of her mouth, his big palms sliding over her breasts and up her neck to cup the side of her head. “Your mouth. I’ve been dreaming about your mouth since the first moment I saw you.”
“Then stop talking and kiss it.”
A laugh huffed past his lips. “Aye, Deirdre. I’ll kiss your lips.”
He lowered his head, but then hovered just above her mouth—the rose-petal temptation of her just inches away.
What am I doing?
His moment of laughter had cleared away the haze of lust and desire just long enough for guilt to hit him like a punch to the side of his head. Cold wind gusted across his neck and down his back, making him shiver, but he was shivering also from the realization of what he was so close to doing. What he couldn’t take back.
He was taking advantage of a fragile and vulnerable woman. In this moment, after the emotional upheaval she’d just gone through—that he had encouraged—she did not have the ability to make a rational decision. She’d knocked down all her protective barriers, and her body and heart were wide open. She was vulnerable and exposed. How could she say yes or no when she was in such a state?
Not only that, but she was under his protection. And as Ewan’s mother, she might fear he’d take Ewan away from her if she didn’t agree. Or she might agree and then later regret it, and her home here might not feel comforting or safe for her any longer.
He dropped his forehead to hers and rested it there as he tried to rein in his need.
She pressed closer. Slid her hands into his hair and tried to pull his mouth down to hers. He resisted. As much as he wanted to kiss her, even just a chaste press of lips like she’d already bestowed upon him in Ewan’s bedchamber, he didn’t trust himself not to get caught up again. To lose himself in everything Deirdre.
“I canna,” he said, regret like a wet blanket weighing him down. He lowered his hands to her thighs and pushed them down from his waist. When she was solidly on the ground again, he stepped back—close enough to stay connected and read the emotions in her body and face, but far enough apart that they weren’t touching.
She blinked—slowly, like she was just waking up. She raised her hand to her face and rubbed it over her forehead where he’d kissed her, then brought it down to her lips.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, sounding lost and confused.
“Nay, Deirdre. I did something wrong. I should ne’er have done what I did. You were emotional and vulnerable. I took advantage of you.”
That crease formed in her brow again. The one he wanted to rub away with his thumb.
She nodded, but he knew it wasn’t in understanding, more just a placeholder. Something to do while she tried to comprehend what had just happened.
God’s Blood! Why didn’t I just take her back to her room!
“Oh. I…I’m sorry.”
His brows shot up. “You’re sorry? Deirdre, you have naught to be sorry for. ’Tis my fault. All of it. Thank God, I was able to stop before we…”
She raised her eyes to his, and he couldn’t read what was in them. Usually she was so open. She dropped her gaze and nodded. “Aye.”
Pushing away from the wall, she turned toward the door, and her shoulder hit his chest. She stumbled and he caught her. She sucked in a breath. “Nay, please. Doona touch me. You’re right. I don’t feel well. I need to lie down.” She pulled on the door, but it was too heavy for her.
“Let me,” he said.
She leaned on the wall while he opened the door. He stepped inside and reached for the candle, holding it away from the wind.
“Come inside, Deirdre.” He wanted to help her, to grasp her hand and steady her, but she was obviously still feeling the effects of what they’d done.
What I did. Bloody, inconsiderate arse!
“Put your hand on my arm.” She used him for support as she came inside and then he went down the stairs first. “Lean on me from behind if you need to.”
“Aye, thank you.”
It felt like the stairwell circled down forever. When they reached the level where their bedchambers were located, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He’d just entered the passageway and intended to walk her to her door, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “I can go the rest of the way by myself.”
She squeezed past him, her head down, and he grasped the tips of her fingers. She stopped, her arm outstretched behind her, but she didn’t look back.
“This is your home, Deirdre, and you’re under my protection. I doona think either one of us expected what happened up there to…happen. That’s not to say I didn’t want it to happen—I did. But we canna jeopardize your place here—for your sake or for Ewan’s.”
She turned her head. Met his gaze…and nodded.
He squeezed her hand. “You’re married, love. I canna see any way past that. Otherwise…”
Otherwise, what? He’d marry her? His eyes drifted over her, remembering her shape, how she felt. The fullness of her breasts and the small, flat expanse of her belly.
Was she barren? Had she and Lewis tried for children and she’d failed to conceive? Maybe if she was barren… Nay, there was no maybe. If they went ahead and she conceived, his child would be born out of wedlock.
It surprised him how much that thought appealed to him. Her conceiving his child. Carrying their bairn in her belly for nine months, suckling their baby at her breast.
Loving their child.
It would be nothing like when Cristel had conceived. He’d ne’er been allowed to touch his wife after that. She’d encouraged him to find a lover—to have as many bastard children as he liked. She didn’t care, for either of them.
But that didn’t matter anymore, because Deirdre loved Ewan. Would she love Gavin too if they were married? What would it be like to have her adoring eyes turned on him?
He filled up with contentment and bliss just thinking about it.
“Gavin.”
He raised his eyes. Her gaze wasn’t adoring now. It was frustrated and a little bewildered. And she tugged on her fingers, which he hadn’t released.
Idiot.
He did so and watched as she made her way along the passageway, her hair still tied back in a ribbon—his ribbon, tied by his hands—her hips swaying from side to side under her skirts.
He
sighed and scraped his hand over the bristles on his jaw only to be met with smooth skin. He’d forgotten he’d shaved. He’d trimmed his hair too—or rather, someone else had done it for him. All so he could look nice when he gave Deirdre her gift. Which said what about him, exactly?
After he’d married Cristel, she would let him into her bed only if he was freshly shaved. His hair, of course, had been past his shoulders then. Was that what he’d intended all along with Deirdre? Without realizing it?
A married woman under his protection. His son’s mother.
He was worse than an idiot; he was a blackheart.
Gavin waited until she disappeared inside her room before heading to his solar. Sleep was a long way away—if he slept at all tonight. And not because he worried about his son, this time, but because he wanted something he couldn’t have.
Kerr was sitting at the desk when Gavin entered his solar—a desk that had been in Gavin’s family for generations. Made of pine, it was solidly built with drawers on both sides and built-in wells for both ink and sand.
The MacKinnons had ruled this land and this castle for centuries.
Gavin stood at the door, watching his foster brother write with a quill on a parchment. The fire burned brightly; the wooden shutters stood open so the chamber didn’t overheat. Two candles burned on the desk and several more in wall sconces.
Gavin crossed the wool rug on the floor and sat in one of the chairs facing the desk. Kerr glanced up briefly, then returned to his letter. “You’ve shaved. I haven’t seen you without your whiskers since before Ewan was born. And you’ve trimmed your hair.”
A niggle of guilt squirmed in Gavin’s gut. “Are you my style advisor now?”
“Nay. Just an observer. And cousin to your son’s married mother.”
It was no secret what Kerr was implying.
“I haven’t lost sight of that fact,” Gavin replied, his jaw tight, knowing full well that he had lost sight of it many times. The most recent time almost leading to a mistake he wouldn’t have been able to rectify.
Kerr huffed in disbelief. When he finished writing, he sprinkled his letter with sand to absorb the excess ink, then blew it away. He folded the parchment, took off his ring, and sealed it with hot wax from one of the candles.
Kerr sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze on him. “Have you considered killing Lewis so you can marry her?”
Gavin’s brows rose. “I’ve considered killing him but for the abduction of my son, assuming he was involved. And I’ve considered killing Deirdre’s father too.”
“For Ewan, then. Not for Deirdre.”
Gavin scrubbed his hand through his hair. The urge was there to yank on it, to feel the pain of the strands coming out, but his hair was too short for that now. “It would be unjust to kill a man simply to marry his wife.”
“’Tis nothing simple about it if you’re in love with her. I would kill any man who stood between me and Isobel.”
“Anyone stupid enough to do that would deserve to die,” Gavin said dryly. “But the only one standing between you and Isobel is Isobel.”
Kerr grunted and tucked the letter he’d just written into his plaid. “And your mother, making you promise on her death bed to let Isobel choose her husband. She ne’er liked me.”
Gavin smiled. They both knew that wasn’t true. His mother had adored Kerr and taken him under her wing like a mother hen. She’d wanted Kerr to come live with them to keep him safe from his father, but both Gregor and her husband had explained repeatedly why Kerr had to stay with his clan if he was to someday lead the MacAlisters.
“Who’s the letter to?” Gavin asked.
“My man in charge at home. I want them on high alert, and I want extra men on the border with the Campbells. All of you have been attacked now except me and Gregor. And fortunately, so far, you’ve all prevailed now that you’ve found Ewan alive.”
Kerr rose and moved to close the shutters. The wind had picked up and was blowing inside in cool gusts. “Whether the attacks were part of the same conspiracy, I doona know,” he continued. “But I do know that other forces are involved. And that we doona know what clans are supporting them. The man who approached Deirdre today with the offer to help said he was neither a MacIntyre nor a MacColl.”
“And the group who attacked Callum and Maggie weren’t MacDonnells or Sinclairs.”
“Aye. So, who’s leading the charge? If we’re going to defeat this conspiracy against us, we need to cut off the head of the snake.”
“Is it even a Highlander? Could it be a Lowlander?”
“I doona think so. Highlanders are a closed, stubborn bunch.” Kerr crossed to the other chair beside Gavin and sat down. “If the conspiracy is as big as it appears to be, another Highlander would have to be pulling the strings.”
“Someone smart enough to stay hidden, then. And to know that if he wanted to rule the Highlands, he’d have to go through the six of us first.”
They fell silent for a moment, then Gavin reached across his desk for some opened parchments and began rifling through them. “We’ve had news that Laird MacIntyre and Boyd MacColl are on the move, heading in our direction. A few days at most until they’re here. What have you heard from your spies?”
“Not much that we didn’t know already. The relationship between Lewis and his father is strained. Laird MacIntyre has gone through several wives in the past decade, trying for a son.”
“Several wives?”
“Three to be exact. They keep conveniently dying. He has one daughter who lives with her mother’s family. Lewis visits her on occasion. Her father does not.”
“And what of Lewis? What do we know of him?”
Kerr sighed. “I doona know what to make of it.”
Gavin put down the parchments he’d been scanning and stared at Kerr, his heart beginning to pound. “Tell me.”
“By all accounts he’s a good man, but he doesn’t spend much time at home with Deirdre. He has many excuses for his departures, saying he’s going to his father’s keep or on a journey for the clan or to a gathering somewhere, but no one believes him. And those who do know what he’s up to are tight-lipped about it.”
“Another lover?” Gavin asked. His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. As much as he wanted Deirdre for himself, the idea of her being hurt or betrayed by someone she loved was enough to send him into a rage.
“Possibly. Whatever it is, ’tis good we have her safely here.” Kerr tapped his fingers on his knee. “There was some mention of the lack of funds for the keep’s maintenance and for the care of Lewis and his family. His father sends gold regularly, more than enough to sustain them, but the steward sees little of it. You saw the state of the keep when we arrived.”
“Aye, and no guards to speak of. So Lewis is a good man who visits his sister, plays chess with his wife, and steals from his father.”
Kerr yawned. “’Tis too much for us to figure out tonight. Or too much for me, anyway.” He rose and stretched out his arms. “Is Ewan still coming in to sleep with you?”
“For the last two nights.”
“And Deirdre doesn’t mind?”
“She doesn’t seem to, but I’m sure she misses him.”
He nodded. “As you would if the situation were reversed. You look more rested. Are you sleeping yet, Gavin? You canna doubt now that Ewan’s safe, especially if he’s locked in your chamber with you.”
“I’m still awake for most of the night, but I’m lying down with Ewan once he comes in. Maybe I’m sleeping more than I realize.” He sighed and dropped his head back onto the headrest and looked up at the ceiling. “Something still doesn’t seem right. I fall asleep, but I canna stay asleep. I often wake up with my heart racing.”
“Maybe you just need time for your body to adjust. Or to have someone other than Ewan to be sleeping beside you—and I doona mean my cousin.
How long has it been?”
Guilt hit Gavin like a hammer this time and he straightened in his seat, pretending to turn his attention back to the parchments in his hand. “I haven’t slept with a woman since before Ewan disappeared.”
“And who was that? Cristel?”
“Not Cristel. Someone else. And only once. I hadn’t slept with Cristel since Ewan was conceived.”
“I’m sorry, Brother.”
“I was too, but if I hadn’t had Cristel in my life, I wouldn’t have Ewan. So my terrible marriage was worth it in the end.”
“And what about Deirdre? If Ewan hadn’t been taken, you wouldnae have her in your life either. And Ewan wouldnae have a mother. Does that make Ewan’s kidnapping worth it too?”
Gavin frowned. He folded the parchments and tossed them on the desk. Nothing and no one could be worth the two and a half years of worry and pain that he’d gone through after Ewan had been taken.
Could they?
He opened his mouth, tongue pressed behind his top teeth, ready to say nay, but found he couldn’t get the word out.
That was surprising.
Kerr grunted and headed to the door. “You doona have to answer. ’Tis something to ponder, that’s all.
“But if the answer is aye, start thinking about how to get rid of Lewis. Without killing him.”
* * *
Deirdre woke in the middle of her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin and her pillow wet beneath her cheek. The fire still burned low in the hearth and the room was warm, but despite being fully dressed in her woolen arisaid and chemise, she was freezing.
She’d come back into her chamber, barred the door, and then climbed straight into bed and sunk into sleep. Her dreams had been chaotic and jumbled, upsetting nightmares about her family and Ewan. Each dream felt like it was swirling her toward a black pit. But every time she neared it, Gavin would appear and pull her to safety—only to disappear again.
Was that why her pillow was wet? Bad dreams?
She felt her neck—perhaps she was getting sick. But it wasn’t sore. Her throat, however, felt like she’d shoved a torch down it and burned out her voice box. It didn’t hurt so much as it felt…used. And abused. And when she tried to make a noise, it came out almost a whisper.
Highland Captive Page 20
