Highlanders To Surrender To: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  “I wish—” Davina began, then shook her head. “She only has a little while to wait. Lucky girl!”

  He could hear the sadness in her voice, underneath the forced cheerfulness, and felt extremely sorry for her. “I’m quite lucky too!” Lyle pointed out, laughing. “And now I had better get home before my mother sends out a search party. Thank you for the wine, Davina. I hope to see you all soon.”

  There was a chorus of goodbyes then he left. He had never been so glad to be leaving anywhere in his life. Poor, poor Davina, he thought, what has she done to deserve this?

  50

  Seduction

  “What are we going to do?” Ruaridh asked desperately as they lay in bed that night. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”

  “It must be someone with a grudge against us,” Una said tonelessly. “And he’s going to a lot of trouble to discredit our daughter.”

  They lay for a long time in silence, listening to the sound of the wind

  howling outside.

  “I need to think who I have had business dealings within the last few months.” Ruaridh’s voice was hoarse with frustration. “I don’t understand. Why? Why? Why?”

  "Try to sleep on it, sweetheart," Una said, "we'll find the answer tomorrow."

  But neither of them slept that night. In the end, they decided not to tell Davina, at least for the time being. They had spent all night discussing it and had decided that Ruaridh would try to acquire some more information before they took any action.

  A few weeks before Lyle’s wedding Maura came up from Fort Augustus to attend it. This time she was staying with the Shaws since they were old family friends and consequently she came into Athol’s orbit again. Lyle’s father was not a laird but a gentleman farmer and his estates were not as extensive as the Anderson’s, but he was comfortably wealthy.

  Lyle and his mother and father were holding a ceilidh for the wedding guests which Athol was attending. Athol was dressed in his best clothing and looked magnificent, so when he saw Maura he was glad that he had made the effort. Her shining russet-red hair had been braided and wound into a crown on top of her head, showing off her long, swan-like neck around which she wore a thick rope of pearls. She looked like a queen.

  He had all but forgotten her in the past months, but now she was back and she was as desirable as ever. He could never remember wanting a woman so much. He threaded his way through the crowd and stood at her shoulder waiting for her to finish her conversation with one of Lyle’s aunts. She took her time. She had seen him but decided to make him wait. After all, a woman did not want to seem too eager to meet an attractive man. It gave him an inflated idea of his own importance.

  Maura was used to manipulating men. She had been doing it since she first became a woman and she was an expert. When she turned to him, at last, she pretended to start a little in fright. “Oh,” she said prettily, “you startled me, Mr. Murray!” She gave a light laugh.

  “I beg your pardon, mistress!” He smiled his widest and most winning smile. “I wanted to tell you how lovely you look tonight!” He looked at her rust-red gown which was almost the same color as her hair. “What a beautiful dress!”

  She looked surprised and flattered. “Thank you, Mr. Murray,” she replied, “you are looking very good yourself!” She took in his snow-white shirt, great kilt, and jacket with its silver buttons. On his feet, he wore soft black leather boots and he looked every inch a prosperous laird, which, for all intents and purposes, he was. However, he was also a working man, so riding and lifting bales of hay and sheep for shearing had given him impressive muscles. He rarely sat in his father’s office.

  Maura felt her body stir as she looked at him. Now, she gave him another engaging smile. There was to be no dancing that night, just good food and conversation, so Athol made the most of it, asking about her likes, dislikes, her life in Fort Augustus and her friends and family. He wanted to find out as much about her as he could. She, in her turn, was happy to tell him everything he wanted to know.

  She told him that she loved to ride, to read, and to walk her dogs, of which she had six, of all different shapes and sizes. She also had a ginger cat whom she called Minx who was presently nursing a litter of kittens.

  “Now you,” she said, laughing. “I am tired of talking about myself.”

  Athol blew out a breath and frowned. “I work,” he said simply, “and I work. And when I have finished that I work a little more, then I sleep!”

  “What a boring life!” she exclaimed. “Is there no lady in it?”

  He shook his head, an expression of sadness on his face. “Sadly not,” he replied, “too busy.”

  “I am sorry,” she replied, “but I do not believe that. There must be some lucky girl somewhere who has claimed your affection? Surely you have found someone?”

  “I think I have,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. The expression on his face left her in no doubt as to whom he meant.

  “Do you mean—” she began.

  “Yes, I do,” he replied, “may I ask your father if I can court you?”

  Maura sighed with regret.

  “Athol…” She shook her head. “My father is dead and Annabella is my only family. Thank you for your kind offer, I am most flattered, but I am going to be betrothed any day now.”

  “To whom?” he asked, with a heavy sigh.

  She pointed across the room to a tall man with long fair hair. “Grant Anderson,” she said regretfully, “I do not love him, but since when has that mattered when two people marry?”

  Athol stared for a moment at Grant, then bowed to Maura. “I will take my leave.” He smiled wistfully at her. “I wish you joy.”

  "Wait!” She put a hand on his arm to detain him. “I want to show you something. I will leave the room and you must follow me a few moments later.”

  'Why?” he asked, puzzled.

  “I will show you in a moment,” she replied. She turned and walked out into the courtyard then turned left before passing out of sight. He counted slowly to two hundred then followed her. He saw her standing at the bottom of the stairs that led to the bedrooms.

  She was smiling at him seductively and as he came up to him she leaned forward to whisper something in his ear before taking his hand and leading him upstairs. She stopped outside her bedroom and unlocked it then tugged on his hand to pull him inside. He hesitated for a moment. He felt helpless. He knew he should not be doing this, but his brain was telling him one thing while his body was giving him the opposite advice.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked huskily, “Do you not want me?”

  “You are betrothed,” he said weakly.

  “Not yet,” she replied, “and neither am I married.”

  She put both hands around his waist and pulled him into her room and then he knew he was lost. When her lips touched his he gave an involuntary moan, and let go of all his pent-up longing for her. She had been wearing a fur-lined cloak and when she dropped it from her shoulders she was naked underneath. Her body was perfectly sculpted, pale as rich cream, and he gazed at it greedily while she took off his garments. After a moment, before she had undressed him completely, she stopped.

  “I have to tell you something,” she said hesitantly, looking away from him. He could have screamed with frustration, but he made himself wait since this was obviously very difficult for her.

  “A-a few years ago, when I was still a girl, I was—” she broke off for a moment, biting her lip as she sought to regain control. “I was attacked. I was rescued but I am no longer a virgin.”

  He looked into the gooseberry-green eyes and kissed her. “I am sorry that you had such a dreadful experience,” he said, his voice soft and husky, “men can be savages sometimes, but I will be very, very gentle, I promise.”

  She nodded. “I know you will,” she whispered. “I sensed it.”

  Then they both gave themselves up to pleasure. Her skin was unbelievably soft as he ran his hands over it. He molded the contours
of her breasts, her thighs, her buttocks, then followed his hands with his lips until she was moaning with delight. She pushed her hands through the thick dark mass of his hair, then he arched his head back and she kissed the hollow of his throat. She ran the tip of her tongue over his Adam’s apple then down his neck to his chest. After that, she dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his arms and chest, causing him to cry out with pleasure and pain.

  “Now,” she whispered, then they came together and began to move in the oldest of all rhythms, looking into each other’s eyes. Her breath quickened and she cried out, then a moment later he too reached fulfilment and lay beside her, spent. He felt wonderful. He ran his hand over the flat plane of her stomach and stuck his finger in her navel. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him.

  “I knew this would happen the moment I saw you tonight,” she said softly. “You looked so masculine and strong. I wanted to submit to you. I wanted you to overpower me, but slowly and gently, the way you just did. I just wanted to be a woman. After what happened I did not think I could ever lie with a man, but you have proved to me that I can. Thank you, Athol, thank you so much.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said with a laugh, then his face became solemn. “Will you still be betrothed?”

  “I must,” she said sadly, “I have hardly any family, so I must marry. But may I see you next time I am here?”

  Athol hesitated. “You are not yet betrothed or married,” he pointed out. “After you marry this will be adultery.”

  She buried her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck. “Oh, God, Athol, I don’t want to get married,” she whispered. He could feel tears leaking from her eyes and running onto his chest. He pulled her tighter and after a while, they became aroused again.

  “Someone will come in,” Athol whispered urgently, “or miss us.”

  “The door is locked,” she replied, “and we can say we went for a walk around the tower.” Then she pulled his head down to hers and it began all over again.

  51

  A Death

  Athol rode home that night with a warm glow inside him. It was the first time in an age that he had been with a woman—and what a woman! He felt like screaming for joy, but resisted the urge, since there were other travelers on the same road, but he could not get the smile off his face. When he went to bed he relived every moment of his and Maura’s encounter. He had to see her again. He just had to. Maura went back to the party for a while and joined Grant. They made a handsome couple as they circulated around the gathering.

  But Lyle was uneasy. There was something about Maura he did not trust. She was a stunning woman, but she was rather too fond of herself for his liking. He could not pin down quite what it was, but he did not like her. He felt instinctively that there was something sneaky and deceitful about her.

  Maura's and Grant’s betrothal ceremony would take place two days hence, and he wanted it to be done with so that she and Grant could go back where they came from. Fort Augustus was a long way away. Lyle was very glad that she did not live in the Sutherland region, for he sensed that she spelled trouble. Little did he know that the trouble had already started.

  Later that night, when the gathering had dispersed, Maura welcomed another lover into her bed. He came in very quietly, then undressed and lay down beside her.

  “Is our plan working?” he asked. There was a smile in his voice. “You snared the prey?”

  “Indeed, I did,” she said smugly, “he is well and truly trapped—ours for the taking!”

  “You clever, clever girl!” He laughed triumphantly. “We make a good team - in every way!”

  “We do,” she said seductively, “now show me our other kind of teamwork.”

  “You vixen,” he growled and kissed her.

  Maura and Grant’s betrothal ceremony was a very quiet affair attended only by the Shaw family, the betrothed couple, the Murrays, and the Andersons. After it was over they had a feast in the dining room at which a moderate amount of wine and a lot of whiskey was drunk. Athol drank more than anyone else to dull the pain inside him. Maura looked gorgeous and it almost broke his heart to watch her.

  Shortly after Ruaridh, Una, and Davina had gone home, Ruaridh began to complain of stomach cramps. He had a fever and was sweating copiously. His face was twisted in pain as he bent over and vomited on the ground outside the castle. He was as red as a beetroot.

  “What do you think is wrong?” Una asked fearfully.

  “I think,” Davina said dryly, “that it’s a combination of shellfish and alcohol. They are two things that do not marry well, Mother.”

  Una laughed or tried to, but she was desperately worried. “But we all ate the same things, Davina,” Una pointed out.

  “But we didn’t drink quite so much,” she replied, “and our bodies are all different.”

  Just then Ruaridh came back in, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “How are you feeling, Father?” Davina asked. “Any better?” She looked at him anxiously and he gave her a weak smile.

  “Better now, my darling.” He smiled, then grimaced. “Get me to bed. I’ll be fine soon.”

  They both put an arm around him and led him upstairs.

  “I’m sure he’ll be better in the morning, Mother,” Davina said, wrapping her arms around Una. “Probably had too much to drink, as I said.”

  “You’re right,” said Una with a tremulous smile. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” They hugged each other then went to bed.

  In the morning Ruaridh was feeling much better and was able to get out of bed, although he could not even look at a plate of food. He was able to drink some ale and a nibble a bannock a while later. By noonday, he was walking around quite normal again.

  Una sighed with relief. “I thought he was really ill,” she said, tears glinting on her lashes. “He looked so feverish and… I was so scared.”

  “Well, he’s going riding now, Mother,” Davina said and laughed. “So, I would say he’s fine, wouldn’t you?”

  Una paused for a moment then shook her head. “Go with him,” she pleaded, “please. Just to make me feel better.”

  “But Mother—”

  * * *

  “Please.” Una took Davina by the shoulders. “I’m sure everything is fine but… just in case.”

  Davina scanned her mother’s face, frowning. She had never seen her look like this before. She nodded and hurried out. When she caught up with Ruaridh, he turned around and smiled widely at her.

  “Davina!” he said delightedly, “this is an unexpected pleasure! I can’t remember the last time we rode together.”

  “Must have been this time last year,” she replied, thinking back. He looked at her and smiled.

  “You’re such a good girl,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. “I don’t deserve a daughter like you.”

  “Nonsense, Father!” She picked his hand up and kissed it. “It’s I who don’t deserve you. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” He smiled at her sweetly and disengaged his hand from hers.

  A few seconds later, as if in slow motion, Ruaridh slumped forward in the saddle and fell off his horse. His head hit the stony ground with a sickening thump. Davina slid off Daisy in a fraction of a second and bent over the limp figure of her father. His head was thrown back at an odd angle and as she put a hand in front of his mouth she realized that he was not breathing.

  He was dead, and she shook her head in disbelief. This was her father. He could not be dead! Not her father! She pulled him up and shook him.

  “Live, Father, wake up, wake up!” she begged, but his body was limp and his head lolled back on its broken neck. She threw back her head and howled. “No!” she screamed. She stood up and looked down at him, wondering what she should do. Eventually, she leaped onto Daisy again and spurred her into a gallop.

  When they got to the castle they skidded to a stop and she dismounted then ran inside, screaming for her mother. Una came running down the stairs and Davina threw herse
lf into her arms.

  “Father’s gone,” Davina wailed, “he fell off the horse and hit his head on the ground. I could do nothing.”

  Una took her by the shoulders and hugged her tightly. To Davina’s surprise, she was quite calm. “I knew something was wrong,” she said softly.

  Davina was crying uncontrollably. Una stood holding her for a while longer, then gently pushed her away. “We have to go and retrieve his body,” Una said softly. There were unshed tears in her eyes, but she would not let them fall. “Did he say anything to you? Any last words?”

  “He told me he loved me,” Davina replied, still sobbing.

  Una nodded and smiled. “Thank God,” she whispered breathily, “his last words were so typical of him. He is - was - a very loving man. What am I going to do without him?” She paused for a moment then visibly pulled herself together, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. “I’m going to get a cart, but I am riding out to see him, to make sure they are gentle with him. Do not come with me. I need to be by myself for a few minutes.”

  Davina nodded, then watched as her mother went outside and began to organize the transport of her husband’s body back to the castle. She dragged herself upstairs, threw herself on her bed and sobbed her heart out. She remembered days on the beach with him when they would pick over the sand for seashells then take them home and put them in clay bowls. They would skiff flat stones across the surface of the waves and see whose would go the farthest.

  There were nights in front of a log fire when he sat her on his lap and held her tightly, singing to her and rocking her to sleep. She remembered his smell, a spicy oil that he used to rub on his face and cheeks, a faint odor of sweat and another smell that was just him—just her father. It was unbelievable that she would never see him again.

  Then she had another thought. What had killed him? What had made him so sick the night before? And what had caused him to lose consciousness and break his neck? Oh, Nanny, she thought sorrowfully, I wish you were here to help me.