He drank deeply from the cup in his hand and shook his head. Mayhap that was exactly what he needed tonight? His journey all over Scotland this summer had been long, the negotiations tenuous at times and lengthier than he’d expected, and a night wrapped around a willing and welcoming lass would not be the worst thing he could do.
“Are you looking for someone, Duncan?” Iain asked as he motioned for a servant to fill his cup once more. “Try this mead, one of the villagers makes it and it is the smoothest brew I have ever tasted.”
One mouthful proved Iain’s words true, but Duncan took another to avoid answering the question. It worked for only a few seconds.
“Do you seek someone?”
This time Iain’s voice was pitched lower and seemed to coax a reply from him he did not want to give. But it was there, in his thoughts.
Mara was not there tonight.
He’d searched through the crowd, looking from face to face and she was not there. Something flashed through him—disappointment? Lust? Longing? It must have been written on his face for Iain leaned in closer and spoke.
“I would not have the man upon whose favor the success of our negotiations rests to be unhappy here…or to have any need go unmet, Duncan. Speak her name or say what you need and I will order it done.”
Some insane desire sparked within him at that moment. He wanted to call out her name, call her to him and demand what he wanted from her. The thought of bedding her, peeling off her garments to see what truly lay beneath them and making her blush with the same pleasure that riding his horse had given her was one thing. And the urge to say it and demand it grew so strong, he drank another mouthful of the tasty brew to keep the words from flowing out.
He heard Hamish cough then and knew it for their signal, but his head swam now with thoughts and desires of Mara and the warmth brought by the mead. And again Iain plagued him.
“Well, Peacemaker, what say you? Is there someone that you fancy? Someone I can call to your chambers to offer you a night of pleasure? There are many who would be willing.”
Duncan’s body responded to the words and the offer. His cock hardened as it had when he held Mara in his arms and he’d noticed her ample breasts almost in his hands. That part of him had no indecision in it—it was ready and able for her touch and her taking. All he had to do was speak her name.
“…speak her name,” Iain urged temptingly in a whisper.
He shook his head, grasping the now-empty cup as he fought the battle within. A servant reached over his shoulder and filled the cup. Heat poured through him, but he tossed the mead down and watched as the room swayed before him.
Mara was not here. Mara was the name he wanted to scream.
Mara…had begged him not to.
He knew he could drink all night and not be affected, but this felt different. The villagers seem to melt together as they moved to the music that swirled around him. Tavis waved to him, but Duncan found that his hand did not move fast enough and Tavis had already moved past him when he did raise it.
Waves of heat surrounded him and he knew he needed to get out into the cool night air. Duncan tried to make his legs move, but they would not. The only part of him moving was the hardness between his legs, for it pulsed and throbbed and reminded him of what he really wanted this night.
Mara.
Pushing the hair back from his face, he leaned away from Iain who seemed not to notice the heat at all. Though he moved slowly, Iain’s face twisted and smeared into something not quite a face at all. But his voice never stopped echoing through Duncan’s head.
“You have but to speak her name and it will be so.”
“Speak her name….”
“Her name…”
Duncan stood then, fighting the words, fighting the heat, fighting the urges that grew and filled him and threatened to explode. His stomach tumbled inside and he felt the need to empty it…and soon. Searching for the door that would lead him out of the hall and the keep, Duncan found, not Hamish, but Iain at his side.
“Come, friend. You look to need some air,” he said, while guiding his steps down from the dais, through the celebrating crowds, along the corridor and out through the door.
The cool night breezes gave him some ease, but did not clear his head as he’d hoped. And the growing desire to touch Mara did not lessen, either. He cared not where their path led, so he allowed Iain to guide his steps away from the keep and into the quiet of the village. In a moment or some while later, they stopped.
“She did not come tonight,” Iain said.
Duncan looked up and realized they stood before Mara’s cottage. No light shone in the window and no sounds could be heard.
“She knew you favored her, yet she did not come as commanded,” the laird said. “She was told you wished for her presence at the feast, but she spurned you.”
Something was not right here. Part of him, the logical, calm part he relied on, was being pushed back and held at bay by some wild madness within him. His chest hurt and his breathing labored, his muscles trembled and his desire raged stronger by the moment. And the object of that desire lay just behind the door of this cottage.
“Mara is her name, Duncan. Say her name.”
Duncan took a step toward the cottage and felt her name on his lips. He just wanted to see her, to hear his name on her lips, to understand the strange and powerful feelings surging through him about her. Looking around, he found himself alone, standing just yards now from her door. The moonlight poured through the trees, dappling the ground at his feet and even the patterns seemed to urge his feet forward. The wind moved through the leaves and once more the voice whispered.
“Just say her name….”
Unable to resist it any longer, her name poured out of him into the dark of the night.
Marian sat up at the sound. More like an animal bellowing in pain than a man speaking, she drew the blankets up around and over Ciara before climbing from the pallet and going to the door. Checking the bar, she knew the door was secure against most dangers, but what lurked outside this night? Grabbing her cloak from a hook, she wrapped it around her shoulders and peered into the darkness through the small, high window.
The light of the nearly full moon made much in the area around her cottage visible to her, but she did not need light to recognize his voice when he spoke. The MacLerie’s man.
“Mara!” he called again, leaning over with his hands on his knees.
Sweet Jesus! He would wake not only Ciara but the entire village if he continued bellowing like a wounded bear. Deciding to take a chance that she could quiet him better face-to-face, she slid the bar up and set it aside. Lifting the latch, she opened the door a bit so she could speak to him.
“Sir Duncan,” she whispered. “My daughter sleeps within.” Marian stepped out and tugged the door closed behind her. “As does the rest of the village. Can we not speak of what concerns you in the morn?”
He stood up then, rising to his full height that made him tower over her and he strode directly to her. More than anything, she wanted to scamper back in the cottage, close the door, drop the bar and gain any protection that the croft could offer, and she did try. But, he moved too quickly. He blocked the door with his foot, making it impossible for her to close it. His hand slid up the edge of the door, making any thought of keeping him out a hopeless one.
“Please, my daughter…” she began in a whisper. Glancing at the pallet and seeing no movement there, she stepped forward to block his view into her home.
“I need to see you, Mara,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “Come out, so I can see you.”
He stuttered his words and Marian suspected he was in his cups, but that did not make him less dangerous. But, her choice was clear—her safety or her daughter’s—so she released her hold on the door and stepped away. His gaze was hot as it passed over her, from her head to the toes that peeked out from beneath the bottom of her chemise. She tugged her cloak closer around her and walked outside.
> Marian could see him out of the corner of her eye and she watched as his hands curled and relaxed, curled and relaxed and then again. He allowed her to walk past him and then he followed where she led—away from where her daughter could see or hear them. She suspected how this would end and she did not want Ciara to witness it. When she reached a small clearing in the trees next to the path, she stopped and turned to face him.
His eyes were wild, but there was a sadness and longing deep inside them that made her heart hurt. Her chest tightened and she found it difficult to take in a breath as she waited for him to do something. When his touch came, the tenderness of it was the true surprise. With only the tip of his finger, he traced the edge of her chin and then her mouth. His hand shook as he did it and her body began to tremble beneath his touch.
“You did not come,” he said.
“I could not.”
“I wanted you there. I wanted to see you,” he whispered, closer now, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. Then he kissed her neck and the heat of his mouth sent chills through her. Still, she dared not move. “I wanted to taste you.”
He lifted her face to his and leaned down until his lips met hers. It was only a moment before the kiss changed from tender to possessive and she lost the ability to think or to move. Now, heat raced through her and centered itself in that place deep inside. He guided her face to one side and she felt his tongue pressing against her lips. Opening her mouth to him, Marian discovered that her limbs lost the ability to support her and she leaned toward him.
When he’d called out her name and told her to come out, she’d been completely prepared to fight or reason him away. Now, though, she was not so certain. He slid his arms around her, touching her stomach, her thighs and then her breasts as he did. Instead of giving her the strength to resist, the caresses excited her, making the place between her legs throb in some unrecognizable way.
Was this passion then? Was this what made men lose their minds and what brought clans to war?
That thought cleared her senses and she dragged her mouth from his, drawing in several ragged breaths.
“We must not do this, Sir Duncan,” she said, hoping he could still see reason in the muddle of the desire.
“I willna hurt ye, lass,” he whispered, kissing her softly once more. His arms loosened not their hold on her and his hands never stopped their teasing caresses. “Tell me ye dinna want this and I will walk away.” His mouth took hers again in a kiss that filled her with wicked thoughts of the act to come.
Though she doubted his ability to do that, Marian was more shocked in that she did not want him to walk away. She wanted to feel the rest of the passion that a man and woman shared, a passion she knew was not meant to be for her. He wanted her now, the proof of his desires stood hard between them and he rubbed it against her belly even as her own body readied itself for him. Her breasts felt heavy and the tips of them tingled and tightened beneath her chemise. He drew back this time and watched her mouth, waiting for the word she would speak…the word she wanted to say.
She would never remember how it happened, for in the next instant everything changed. Marian never spoke the word, for he stumbled and fell against her, taking her down to the ground beneath him. Tangled in her chemise and cloak and still wrapped in his arms, she could not protect herself in the fall. His dead weight landed on her, forcing the breath from her body, but it was the unseen rock under her head that took her senses away.
Chapter Six
He’d seen a man’s head shatter once in battle, the force of an ax crushed the skull and everything inside it poured out in a bloody gush. Duncan thought that must be happening to his own head at this moment for the pain was so strong, it made him want to vomit. His guts heaved and he rolled to his side and let it happen. Truth be told, he had no choice in it. When his stomach calmed, he climbed to his feet.
And found himself surrounded by Robertson and MacLerie men carrying torches. None looked happy as he would have expected after such a feast. And no one met his gaze, staring instead at something on the ground next to him. Pushing his hair back out of his face, he rubbed his eyes to clear them and turned to see what they were staring at.
Mara lay on the ground, in only her chemise, not moving. Her garment was hiked up nearly to her waist and pulled down as well, exposing her legs, arms and most of her breasts to those watching. Her cloak lay in a heap next to her, so he quickly leaned over and placed it over her. He paid a dear price for such quick movement, too.
“Mara?” he said, touching her cheek. She breathed but did not move. “Mara, you must wake up.” This time he tapped gently on her face and her eyes began to move under their lids.
“Get away from her, MacLerie,” Iain shouted as he approached, dragging Duncan from his place next to her and nearly throwing him to some of the waiting Robertsons. “Have you not done enough to her?”
In addition to the pain that circled and crushed his head, a thick fog of confusion filled his thoughts. He could not remember most of the feast, could not remember leaving the keep or coming here. And he most certainly did not remember seeing or doing anything to Mara. He held his head in his hands and tried to bring forth memories of what had happened here, between them. There was only darkness in his head.
“I…I…” he stuttered out. He could give no explanation for he had none. Hamish stood across from him, arms crossed over his chest, in the wide stance of a warrior and Duncan knew he was in no danger, but that did not help matters.
Turning, he watched as Iain helped Mara to her feet and spoke words only she could hear. She kept touching the back of her head as though hurt there. And she never looked at him or any of the other men while the hushed conversation took place. A few moments later, Iain confronted him.
“You have dishonored my sister, MacLerie. I expect that you will make things right.”
Nothing could have shocked him more. Mara would not meet his gaze so he could find no truth there. The grumbling among the men grew louder until Iain stopped it with a shout.
“This is Marian Robertson, my sister and the only daughter of Stout Duncan,” Iain declared. “And you have dishonored her.”
“Ye canna dishonor a whore,” one of Duncan’s men shouted in reply and then he spit on the ground. It had taken such a short time for them to make the connection and identify the woman who stood trembling before them—disheveled and half-naked. But, ’twas a challenge to be sure.
It was only another moment before chaos reigned in the small clearing. Duncan had no sword, but he pushed his way through the men to reach her. He needed to know what had happened. Just as he reached her side, so did her daughter.
Shaking in fear, Ciara cried out for her mother and clutched at her even as Mara, Marian, wobbled precariously. Duncan watched as she tried to shield the girl from the fighting with her own body. Duncan reached out to get them both out of the way of fists and swords, when Iain’s shout stopped them all.
But it was Iain’s expression that was more shocking than even this situation for he’d lost all color in his face and just stared at Ciara as though seeing someone long dead.
“Order your men to stand down, MacLerie,” he said on a ragged breath. “We will handle this at the keep in the light of day and not out in the shadows of night.”
With a nod, he gave the order; a nod that made his head pound even more, reminding him of all he could not remember.
“Marian, get inside and take the child with you,” Iain ordered.
She glanced at him then and he saw not guilt or anger there but pity. Leaning down she took Ciara by the hand and guided her back inside the cottage. He heard the bar drop into place and waited.
“Escort the Peacemaker to his chambers and place a guard,” Iain said.
He would have answered both the threat and the insult, for it could not be missed in the tone or words of the laird, but Duncan realized there were too many gaps in his knowledge right now. He needed to be clearheaded before he could ans
wer the charges made tonight or find a way out of the dilemma in which he now stood. One thing was obvious—Marian was deeply involved.
“And place one at her door as well,” Duncan said, not demanding but making it plain to everyone there that he wanted her protected through whatever happened. And he could not be certain from which direction danger could come.
“Very well,” Iain accepted with a nod of his head.
Duncan allowed himself to be escorted to a horse and back through the village to the keep. With the way his head swam and the pain and nausea kept threatening to overwhelm him, he had no choice really. Hamish would make his way to Duncan’s chambers as soon as he got the men organized and under control. He knew which of the men had called out the insult and he would be apprised of his error. An error that should never have happened.
Like so many other occurrences that night.
Morning did not dawn bright the next day, but the rain and thunder seemed more appropriate than a shining sun would have. Word spread throughout the village and keep of the incident and every man and woman waited for the outcome. Hamish appeared at his door, but it took some wrangling before he was permitted to see Duncan.
“They were as shocked as we at finding out who she is,” Hamish admitted as he closed the door behind him. “The laird only agreed to allow her back after his da passed and only on the condition that she live a proper life with the child.”
“Ranald did not tell me of her.”
“Chances are Ranald didna know the truth. Verra few did.”
Duncan walked over to the tray of food that had been delivered to him and tore off a piece of bread, the only thing his stomach could tolerate this morn. The pain in his head was not so raw now, but the remnants were strong enough to threaten to return at any moment…which led him to believe…
Possessed by the Highlander Page 6
