The Highlander's Claim (Highland Romance)

by Jessica Knight

  I fully sheath my rod inside of her and hold it there. She moans my name softly, and I begin to shudder. Then the dam inside of me breaks, and my staff begins to pulse. A moment later, a growl bubbles out of my throat as I burst inside of her. She clings to me, kissing me hard, swallowing my moans as I feel my thick, sticky seed spurting into her.

  I press my forehead to hers, our eyes locked together as I drain the last of my seed into her. She flashes me a mischievous grin as she gnaws on her lower lip, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are sparkling with a sultry gleam.

  “Tell me you’ll see me again,” I tell her.

  She laughs softly. “You should probably work on your courting skills.”

  I give her a small shrug. “That was one thing I didn’t learn abroad − how to properly court a noblewoman.”

  “Well, it is never too late to learn something new.”

  I flash her a wide smile. “Aye. It’s not.”

  I help her down off the trunk, and we both dress quickly. Catherine does her best to put her hair back up as it had been but finds it difficult. She looks to me for a brief moment before shaking her head and looking away. She ends up putting it in a loose braid that hangs down to the middle of her back.

  “It is not as if those cretins will notice a difference in my hair anyway,” she says primly.

  After we dress, I escort her back to the village but stop her before she can round the corner that will take her back to her hospital. I press my lips to her, giving her a chaste kiss as I look into her eyes deeply.

  “See me again, Catherine,” I urge. “I can’t bear not seeing you.”

  A small smile touches her lips. “We must be careful, Malcolm,” she admonishes. “This is not a situation we can trifle with.”

  “I understand. But I need to see you again. Soon.”

  She sighs. “I will send Maggie to market with a time to meet.”

  “Soon,” I say.

  “Yes. Soon,” she giggles.

  “Good.”

  I give her another long kiss, putting all of the emotion I feel for her into my lips. When we pull back, we stare into each other’s eyes. And in her gaze, I truly see the depth of her feeling for me, and it sets my heart aflame.

  Reluctantly, I let her go, and she disappears around the corner, leaving me there to anticipate the next time I’ll get to see her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Catherine

  “Where have you been, Catherine?”

  Maggie casts an inscrutable look at me before she turns and scampers off as my uncle strides down the corridor toward me, a sour look on his face. He stops a few feet from me, his gaze colder than the nighttime air outside. I stand up straighter and lift my chin, giving him a haughty expression.

  “It is well after dark, and there is a storm bearing down on us,” James sniffs. “Where have you been?”

  “You know very well where I have been since I told you before I left,” I reply.

  A peal of thunder splits the sky outside, reverberating through the stone corridors of the castle as if the storm was announcing its arrival. We made it back just in time.

  “You were due back several hours ago −”

  “There were more who needed my aid than I had anticipated,” I snap. “I am here, alive and well. That should be enough for you.”

  I walk down the corridor, headed for my chambers as my uncle falls into step beside me. He is glowering at me, his expression dark and filled with animosity.

  “I know what you were doing,” he says. “I know you saw him.”

  A hot bolt of fear tears through me, and I have to keep myself from letting it show. He is guessing. He is trying to rattle me and get me to say something that will be incriminating. That is how my uncle operates, and I must remain vigilant to guard against that.

  “Well, it seems you have it all figured out, Uncle,” I spit. “Therefore, there is no need for this conversation to continue.”

  “Be as glib and flippant about it as you wish, dear Niece,” he says. “But when your father finds out that you continue to debase yourself by lying with these animals, he will be most displeased. That much I can assure you of.”

  “Just be sure to have proof of my indiscretions this time,” I tell him. “I would so hate to see you take the lash for attempting to sully my reputation. Again.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would be heartbroken.”

  The corridor that branches off and leads to my chambers is just ahead. All I want is to get to my door and lock it behind me. I want nothing more than a hot bath and to luxuriate in my memories of the afternoon’s activities. And also to ponder what it is that I am doing in regard to Malcolm. This situation is getting deeper and more complex than I had intended it to.

  My uncle moves around me and steps into the rounded doorway, blocking me from getting to the corridor that leads to my chambers. I pull up short and cross my arms across my chest, my gaze burning with rage.

  “Remove yourself from my path, Uncle,” I spit.

  “You sully your own reputation, Catherine,” he says. “Really, a noble Lady of House Seely, giving herself to one of these animals. How much lower can you go?”

  “I ask that of every woman I see leaving your chambers.”

  A grin quirks one corner of his mouth upward, and a soft chuckle passes his lips. He shakes his head and looks at me.

  “With your intelligence and scathing wit, you would make a grand Duke,” he states. “It’s too bad you were born with tits and not a cock.”

  “Some might see that as a virtue,” I respond. “Since most of you men tend to carry your brains down in those cocks you treasure so much.”

  He leans close to me, his eyes shining bright with his hatred for me. “What is it about these animals you find so attractive?” he asks. “What is it that makes you want to spread your legs for them?”

  “Get out of my way,” I demand. “Now. I have had a long day and wish to rest.”

  He doesn’t budge for a long moment, his eyes continuing to burn into mine. Finally though, he relents and steps aside. I brush past him and walk down the corridor, my footsteps thumping hollowly off the stones beneath my feet. Arriving at my door, I push it open, then slam it behind me and lock it.

  “I always love running into your uncle,” Maggie says. “He’s always so pleasant.”

  While I was dealing with James, Maggie had the chambermaids fill my basin with hot water. Tendrils of steam curl up from the surface and float toward the ceiling. Thunder booms outside and a moment later, I see a flash of light through the cracks in the shutters, all bolted tight against the oncoming storm. The storm beginning to lash the world outside seems to fit my mood perfectly.

  Maggie throws a couple of logs into the hearth, stoking the fire and filling my chamber with warmth. I give her a rueful grin as I slip out of my dress, letting it fall to the floor and then take my slippers off, dropping them on top of the dress. The chambermaids will be in to collect them for washing in the morning.

  Goosebumps march across my skin as I walk to the basin and climb in. I hiss as the hot water hits my skin but sink into the basin and moan in pleasure as the warmth seeps into my bones. I lean my head back against the basin and close my eyes, relishing the warm water on my body. I hear Maggie pull a stool to the side of the basin and the rustle of her skirts as she sits down.

  “So, how was your talk with Malcolm?” there is a grin in her voice.

  I give her a smile. “It was − fulfilling.”

  “Aye, I’m sure that it was,” she giggles.

  “Thank you for providing the distraction.”

  “It is me duty to usher you toward love,” she grins. “Not stand in the way of it.”

  “I do not know that I would use that word just yet,” I caution.

  She shrugs. “You don’t need to say it for something to be true.”

  I laugh. “And why is it you believe I love him?”

  Her expression grows more serious as she loo
ks at me. “Because I can see it in your eyes, Catherine. I see it in that glow in your face whenever you talk about him,” she tells me. “And I can see it in how sad you are when you’re not with him.”

  “Sad? I do not −”

  “Sad,” she confirms. “You mope around here with a dark rain cloud floatin’ over your head.”

  I laugh softly. “Even still, I do not know that I would call it love.”

  “Like I said, you don’t need to say it for it to be true,” she presses. “Saw it in his eyes too. First when I delivered that message in the market and again when I saw him in your hospital. The man’s eyes were shining with the love he feels for you.”

  I look up at the stone ceiling above me, thinking on all Maggie has said. Certainly, I feel something for Malcolm. It is deep inside of me, and it burns like the most intense fire ever. And he said he feels something deep and profound for me as well.

  “You two are dancin’ around that word like it’ll give you both the plague,” she laughs. “It’s obvious you both feel it. When are you gonna say it?”

  “I do not know,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  I trail my fingers across the surface of the water as images and memories of Malcolm float through my mind. But then a thread of sadness interweaves itself among them as I realize that as unexpected and amazing as what happened today was, that it’s not likely something that can be repeated.

  Getting out from under my uncle’s watchful gaze is difficult enough as it is. But it will likely get worse after tonight’s confrontation. He seems to be growing angrier, darker, more frustrated, and he seems more determined than ever to wage the war he wants so badly. He seems to be a powder keg simply looking for a spark, and I feel like he is building up to something. I do not know what it is yet, but I can feel it in the air all around me. Something is going to happen, and it is going to happen soon. And whatever it is, it will not be good news for Malcolm and his people.

  A hard peal of thunder explodes outside, and the ensuring flash of lighting is as bright as the noonday sun. Rain pelts the wooden shutters as the storm gathers momentum and lashes the world outside.

  “Tell me something, have you heard anything about my uncle planning something?” I ask. “Have there been any whispers or rumors that he is going to do something provocative to break the peace treaty with the Scots?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “If there’ve been whispers, I’ve not heard ‘em,” she responds. “Why do you ask?”

  I let out a small breath. “I just feel like he is up to something. Like he has an agenda.”

  “That man always has an agenda,” she laughs. “He’s always up to somethin’. And whatever it is, you better believe it will be bad news for us all − but especially for the Scots.”

  “That was my thought as well.”

  “But to answer your question, no I haven’t heard anything,” she says. “No whispers, no rumors − which either means he’s keeping it a secret or we’re just paranoid.”

  I laugh softly and run my fingers through my hair. Is it possible I am being paranoid? Of course. But I cannot escape the fact that my uncle has seemed more aggressive since my father left. His angry outbursts and vitriolic rantings have become commonplace. No, I do not believe I am simply being paranoid. My uncle is planning something. I can feel it in my bones.

  “I know that look on your face, Catherine,” Maggie says. “And I know what it means.”

  “I have no earthly idea what you are talking about.”

  She purses her lips and gives me a disapproving frown. “I know you mean to meddle in your uncle’s affairs,” she says. “So let me say up front that would be dangerous and stupid. He is not a man you want to be muckin’ around with.”

  “Nor am I a woman to be mucked around with,” I give her a sly grin.

  “Be that as it may, the last thing I ever want to see is you gettin’ caught up in somethin’ bad,” she states, her voice choked with emotion. “I don’t want to see you end up hurt, Catherine. Or worse. That’s something I couldn’t bear.”

  As the firelight in the room glints of her eyes, shiny with unshed tears, I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze to reassure her. I give her a small smile.

  “My uncle would never dare lay a hand on me,” I respond. “He would not dare.”

  “Men in desperate situations do stupid things,” she tells me. “So let me just beg you − whatever it is you’re thinkin’, don’t do it.”

  I tighten my grip and give her a meaningful look. “The God’s honest truth is I do not know what I am thinking right now, Maggie,” I tell her. “All I know is that my uncle is planning something terrible. I know it as surely as I know my own name. And that I cannot let him do it.”

  She shakes her head. “Why can’t you just let it be,” she pleads. “Why can’t you just let the men settle it for themselves in whatever way they see fit? It’s not for us to get involved in − it’s not for you to get involved in the affairs of men.”

  My heart swells as I think about the violence that is coming. The bloodshed and death. I want to weep when I think about the children who will be left orphaned. The children who will be killed. But even that does not hit me as hard as the thought of my uncle killing Malcolm. I look up at Maggie, my jaw set, gripped by a steely determination.

  “Who would I be if I did not fight for the man I love?” I ask, my voice soft. “If I let my uncle murder the man who has my heart?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Catherine

  For the past few days, I have walked around Caldryn House, alert and listening for anything to indicate what my uncle is planning. I have had Maggie doing the same. But for the past few days, I have been frustrated in my attempt to glean any sort of insight into what my uncle is up to. If he is planning something − as I am positive he is − he is doing a very good job of being discreet about it.

  I pace the floor in my bedchamber, consumed by my thoughts. I cannot send for my father until I have proof that James is working to subvert his peace treaty with the Scots. I need to build an iron-clad case that it is James and not Malcolm, who is to blame for any violence here in the north. I know my father wants to give my uncle every benefit of the doubt and most often will, so it falls to me to build a mountain of evidence that not even he can find fault with.

  It falls to me to dig a grave from which my uncle may never escape.

  I step to the window, the storm has broken, but the sky overhead is a dark, ominous gray that will likely bring more rain to an already saturated world. I watch my uncle and brother walk through the bailey, shouting orders to the men below. I see them saddling horses and assume they’re leaving on patrol − which gives me the perfect window.

  I leave my bedchamber quickly and head down to the first floor where my uncle keeps his office. It is one of only four rooms in Caldryn House I am expressly forbidden to enter without permission − the other three being his, my brother’s, and my father’s bedchambers. Pushing the door open, I step inside and gently push it closed behind me. My uncle’s office is set up almost exactly like my father’s − though his art collection contains more weapons than actual art. But that speaks to his personality.

  I scamper over to his desk and begin rifling through the stacks of parchment on his desk. The trouble with what I am doing is that I do not know what it is I am searching for. I somehow doubt I will find a parchment titled, ‘How I plan to wage war on the Scots’, followed by a step-by-step checklist. It would be nice and make my job easier but is not bloody likely.

  A booming echo from somewhere freezes me where I am. My heart thunders in my chest, and my stomach gives a mighty lurch as I wait for the door to his office to fly open. It doesn’t though, and I let out a long breath of relief. Continuing to dig through the parchments, I see uncompleted missives to my father − most of them complaining about me for one thing or another. As I read some of the complaints about me, all I can do is laugh, given that my actions are either made
up or grossly exaggerated.

  Shaking my head, I set a sheaf of parchment down and pick up another. As I flip through them, scanning most of them after deciding they contain nothing important, I stop when I come to a few near the end of the pile. My eyes widen as I read the words, disbelief coursing through me. I have to read it a couple of times before the full import of the words on the page in my suddenly trembling hand fully sinks in.

  The parchment in my hand is exactly what I need to prove to my father that James is fomenting war here in the north. Evidence that he intends to slaughter the Scots, treaty or not. I stand there a moment, trying to decide what to do. I need to take this parchment as the proof I need, but I fear he will miss it, and of course, will suspect me of taking it.

  I nearly jump out of my skin, a loud squeak bursting from my throat when the door to the office flies open and bangs hard against the wall behind it. In the doorway is my uncle. His eyes widen in surprise to see me standing behind his desk, but then I see a feral grin spreading across his face. His expression of surprise melts away and is replaced by something darker and more sinister.

  “What are you doing in my office, Catherine?” he asks, his voice low and menacing. “You know you are forbidden to enter without my consent.”

  “You bastard,” I gasp. “You unbelievable bastard.”

  I shake the parchment in my hand at him, feeling a swell of rage and righteous indignation within me. My uncle looks at me and lets out a low chuckle.

  “Welsh conscripts?” I growl. “You have ordered Welsh conscripts? To do what, raid in the north? To murder Scots and bring about the war you so desperately want?”

  “Why − yes. That about sums it up properly.”

  My mouth falls open, and I stare at him wide-eyed. “And you admit it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, a hint of mirth in his voice. “It isn’t as if you will be around to spoil my fun.”