A Very Highland Holiday

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “I don’t know what to do. I feel something…” She moaned as he filled her with two fingers.

  “Let go, Elspeth,” he whispered against her cheek. “You’re so tight for me. You’re ready. Let yourself fall. I’ll catch you.”

  He increased his pace, and her body began to shudder. Her muscles clenched around him. She cried out his name. Spasms racked her thighs as she dug her fingers into his back.

  Though he wanted so badly to bury himself inside her, Tavish knew he should stop. They were not wed, nor were they really handfasted. She deserved to know that he wouldn’t leave her.

  He rolled to his side. “Elspeth.”

  Her eyes opened, but just barely. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. I’m right here.”

  “But we aren’t finished.” She put her hand on his hip, then slid it down to curl her palm around his cock.

  Tavish groaned softly. This was not helping his resolve. “Elspeth,” he rasped. “We should wait.”

  She turned her head toward him. “Wait? For what?”

  He cupped her cheek. “Will you marry me?”

  Chapter Eight

  Elspeth froze in shock. Had she heard him right?

  “What did you say?”

  He cracked that half smile that never failed to squeeze her heart. “I asked if you would marry me. And I swear it’s not because you’re touching my cock.”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed. So hard that she put her other hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forgive me for not joining in your amusement. I’m afraid that while you’re touching me like that, laughter is not the reaction that comes to mind.”

  She slitted her eyes again and stroked her hand along his length. “What is?”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Good Lord, woman, are you trying to torture me?”

  “No, I’m trying to arouse you. Is it working?”

  “Quite. But, truly, we should wait.”

  “Why? If we’re to be wed, I see no reason for us not to consummate our union right now.”

  He rolled over on top of her, settling between her legs, which she bent to accommodate him. “Does that mean you’ll be my wife?”

  She hesitated. “We really could handfast, instead of pretending to. We’ve hardly known each other.”

  “As you said, handfasting is little more than a temporary arrangement—or something like that.” His eyes darkened, sending a flush of longing through her. “And I wasn’t pretending. I want you, Elspeth. In my bed, in my life, in my heart.”

  She’d been afraid to admit that she was falling in love with him. What if he didn’t feel the same? Yet here he was, proposing marriage, and not just because she was touching his sex. “Yes,” she said softly, joy and wonder filling her. “I’ll marry you. Now, will you finish?”

  He laughed finally, just before he kissed her again. He took his time exploring her mouth as he pressed between her thighs. She still held him, and began to move her hand along his shaft.

  He put his hand over hers. “Take me into you,” he said against her mouth.

  Together, they guided him into her sheath, already sensitive from the pleasure he’d given her. He went slowly, filling and stretching her, until he was completely inside. She moved her hand to his backside, skimming her palm over him as he moved. Sliding from her, he pressed forward again, the muscles of his backside growing taut.

  “I think I could just enjoy fondling your arse,” she said before she nipped his ear with her teeth.

  “Elspeth.” He gathered her in his arms. “Wrap your legs around me—tight.” Then he truly began to move, his hips thrusting as he filled her again and again.

  She held him close, kissing his neck and squeezing her legs around him as the release she’d found a short time ago began to coil within her once more. She hadn’t known what to expect before, but now she did.

  “Come with me, Elspeth.” He kissed her as her muscles tightened again. He’d told her to fall, and she had. Now she dove off the edge willingly, plunging herself into the darkness, knowing he would do as he’d promised and catch her.

  He moaned as he drove into her, then cried out. She dug her fingers into his flesh and clutched him as the storm raged within and around them. Eventually, the air calmed. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her neck, then slid from her body, rolling to his back.

  Elspeth smiled as she brushed her hair back from her face. Before she could open her eyes, the sound of a door crashing open jolted her upright. Tavish did the same.

  She looked toward the door to her chamber, but the sound hadn’t been that close. Loud voices filtered from somewhere downstairs—the common room, most likely, which was below her room.

  Tavish leapt from the bed and ran to the window. He pushed the curtain aside and looked down.

  “What is it?” Elspeth asked, sliding to the edge of the bed.

  He swore, then came back to her and immediately began to dress. Elspeth left the bed and found her shift, then pulled it on.

  “I’ll go investigate,” Tavish said after he had his breeches on. He dragged his shirt over his head. The sound of men yelling from the landing made them both freeze.

  Tavish swore again, then raced for Lann Dhearg on the other side of the bed. “There’s no time. They’re here for the sword.”

  He went to the window. “Thank God these are newer windows.” He opened the sash, then turned his head. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Don’t tell them I’m here. I need to be able to surprise them.”

  Fear sliced through Elspeth—not just for her, but for him. For Aunt Leah. For everyone at the inn. She ran to the window. “You think it’s the men who attacked Dougal Kerr?”

  “I do. There’s a knife in my boot. Close this behind me.” He stared at her intently, a determined fire burning in his gaze. “Don’t be afraid.” And then he was gone through the window.

  She wanted to watch what he did, but the sound of men outside her door made her close the window. Before she could find some clothing to throw on or grab Tavish’s knife, the door flew open, crashing against the wall.

  A man came over the threshold. He was tall with dark, clubbed hair, though lank strands hung against the sides of his thin face. “Look here, I’ve found myself a right Scottish lass, haven’t I?” He spoke in an English accent—southwestern, if Elspeth had to guess.

  The door adjoining her room with Aunt Leah’s opened. Another man steered Aunt Leah into Elspeth’s room. Aunt Leah, sobbing, ran to embrace her.

  Elspeth held her tightly. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered.

  “Let’s get downstairs,” the other man, who was shorter, with a scar across his cheek and nose and also an Englishman, said.

  “Surely you can let me dress,” Elspeth demanded.

  The thin-faced man came toward her, his gaze menacing. “Move!” He narrowed his eyes. “Is the window open?” He checked the sash, then touched the curtain. “The fabric is cool.” He looked around at Elspeth’s clothing strewn about. “Was there someone in here with you?”

  “No.” Elspeth lifted her chin and prayed he believed her.

  He squeezed her arm, his strong fingers digging mercilessly into her flesh. “Don’t lie to me. Who was here?”

  “No one.”

  He pulled her from Aunt Leah’s arms and brought her face close to his so that she could smell his stale, whisky-laden breath. “I’m not supposed to touch you, but I will.” He let his gaze drift over her barely clad body.

  Elspeth twitched with revulsion.

  “Stop it, Marley,” the other man said.

  Aunt Leah grabbed Elspeth’s hand and pulled her away from Marley.

  “Downstairs, then,” the scar-faced man said.

  “You let me put on a banyan,” Aunt Leah said. “Let my niece do the same.”

  Marley took a pistol from his waistband and waved it at them. “Go!”

  Elspeth put her arm around Aunt Leah and started toward the door. �
��It will be all right.” She was at least grateful she was still wearing her stockings so that her feet weren’t bare.

  When they arrived in the common room, their situation became wholly and horribly apparent. Several villains stood around the perimeter of the room while the inn’s guests, Balthazar, and Carrie sat in the middle.

  Balthazar sat at a table with Carrie, his brow furrowed and his eyes spitting fury. Carrie sat stiff and straight beside him. Elspeth decided she and Leah should sit with them. She wanted to somehow communicate to them that Tavish was going to save them.

  Weaving through the tables, Elspeth led her aunt to the innkeeper and his daughter and helped her to sit. “I promise—everything will be fine,” she whispered before kissing Aunt Leah’s soft cheek. It was damp from her tears, and Elspeth wanted to lash out at the men who’d caused her distress. She settled for glowering at them before sitting down herself.

  The men who’d brought them downstairs went to the fireplace, where a handsome man with loose, shoulder-length dark hair and a close-cropped beard stood. While they spoke quietly to one another, Elspeth leaned over to talk to Carrie and Balthazar.

  “Mr. MacLean is outside,” she whispered. “He will save us.”

  Balthazar grunted as he tossed a hate-filled stare toward the fireplace. “They said they have the stables, and the grooms have been dealt with.” He sniffed. “It’s likely MacLean has already suffered the same fate. They won’t tell me what they did with my dogs.” He blinked and sniffed again, then wiped the back of his hand over his nose.

  Elspeth’s insides twisted, and her breath stuck in her lungs. She tried to breathe but couldn’t.

  Aunt Leah reached over and took her hand but said nothing. While Elspeth appreciated the attempt at comfort, it didn’t stop the terrible cold spreading through her.

  “We shouldn’t tell them about MacLean,” Carrie said quietly from Elspeth’s right.

  Elspeth looked to the other woman and nodded. Carrie clasped her hands on the table, and it seemed to Elspeth that she was perhaps shaking.

  Elspeth glanced around, taking stock of who was in the room. “What about Dougal?” she whispered.

  Carrie gripped her hands tighter so that her fingers started to turn white. “They tied him to the bed in my chamber.”

  They were interrupted from further conversation by the voice of the handsome man at the fireplace. “Good evening, friends.” He spoke in a crisp, slightly foreign accent, perhaps Dutch, but Elspeth couldn’t be sure.

  “We aren’t your friends,” Elspeth spat.

  He looked pointedly at Elspeth. His mouth curved into a beguiling smile. “Perhaps it’s too soon to expect that, but I hope that will change.” He lifted his gaze to survey everyone. “We are here to find something. Help us do that, and we will leave immediately.”

  Lann Dhearg. Elspeth exchanged a look with Carrie, then was careful to turn her attention toward the man at the fireplace.

  “I think one or more of you probably already know what we seek.” He slowly perused the room, his gaze boring into each person in turn. “Come forward now, and you can go about your evening.”

  Elspeth’s heart beat so fast, she was sure someone would notice. She worked to keep her outward appearance relaxed, but feared she was squeezing Aunt Leah’s hand rather tightly. Giving her an encouraging smile, Elspeth loosened her grip.

  The silence in the common room grew. Everyone looked around, mostly in fear. In addition to Elspeth and her aunt, the guests were one single man, a married couple, and three women.

  “I’m disappointed no one will speak,” the man said, frowning. He inclined his head to a man standing not too far to his right. Then he pointed at Elspeth. “Her.”

  “No!” Aunt Leah grabbed Elspeth’s arm.

  “Don’t fret, Aunt Leah,” Elspeth said with a calm she didn’t feel.

  The man came toward her. He was very tall, with wild, straw-colored hair and small, intense eyes. He held a flintlock pistol and had a sword strapped to his hip.

  Elspeth stood and squared her shoulders, hoping the posture would give her some much-needed courage. “What do you want with me?”

  The man at the fireplace gestured for her to come forward. “Kent, bring her.”

  Kent reached for her, but Elspeth hurried around another table and went to the man who was apparently their leader. She gave him a defiant stare as she arrived at his side.

  The leader’s eyes glittered with impatience. “My men said your room was cold. Tell me why.”

  “I was overheated. I had the window open.”

  “Then why were there men’s boots in your room?”

  Oh, hell. She hadn’t even had time to consider that. Heat rushed to her face, and she didn’t think it was possible he wouldn’t notice.

  “They’re mine,” she said with only the barest hesitation. “I sometimes dress as a man. Undoubtedly, they also saw my coat.”

  Pulling back his lips in an exaggerated smile, the leader bared his teeth. “I find that hard to believe, Miss…?”

  “Why does my name matter? Besides, I don’t know yours.”

  “I am Hurst Grover. I work for an organization, and we are here to find a sword that rightfully belongs to us.”

  No, it didn’t! Elspeth pressed her lips together.

  He stepped toward her. “Now, you are…?”

  She felt the breath of the other man—Kent—behind her. “Miss Marshall.”

  “Lovely. Now, Miss Marshall, where is the man who was in your room?”

  “I told you, the boots and coat are—”

  She didn’t get to finish because Grover’s hand shot out, striking her across the mouth. Pain streaked through her lips and cheek. She tasted blood. Her aunt’s cry filled the common room, and Elspeth could hear others murmuring. But she didn’t turn her head to look. She kept her gaze—and all her fury—directed at Grover.

  “I know where it is.”

  Now Elspeth swung her head, as did Grover, toward the person who had spoken.

  Carrie looked at him, her eyes devoid of their usual brightness.

  “Carrie, don’t,” Elspeth said.

  She turned her gaze to Elspeth and pushed herself up from the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Nine

  Leaving from Elspeth’s window proved more difficult once Tavish got outside. He’d found a footing in the stonework, then a gust of cold wind had nearly blown him to the ground. The sound of voices in Elspeth’s room nearly drove him back inside, but he didn’t know how many men he would face. Better to assess the situation and hopefully recruit the pair of grooms in the stable to help him.

  As he made his way along the stones toward the corner of the building, he was simultaneously grateful for his bare feet and annoyed. He was able to use his toes to grip the stones, but they were absolutely freezing, and the wind was fierce, so that by the time he rounded the edge of the building and dropped onto the roof of the lean-to, his feet were quite cold.

  Ignoring his discomfort, he lowered himself from the roof, then pivoted toward the stable. Lanterns hung on either side of the wide entryway. In the middle stood a man—not one of the grooms—with a musket. Bloody hell.

  Tavish waited until the man’s head was turned, then dashed over to the building, pressing himself against the icy stone. Moving quickly, he crept along the shadows. Damn, he wished he had his boots, and not just because his feet were cold. He wanted his knife. Except that he hoped Elspeth had been able to grab it.

  He couldn’t use the sword because it would flame as soon as Tavish was threatened. The last thing he wanted to do was set his opponent on fire and have that fire spread to the stables. Lann Dhearg was a powerful weapon, but in some instances, it was a nuisance that only compounded an already dangerous situation.

  Except…his grandfather had once told him that the flame could be controlled, but he didn’t know how. Tavish wished he knew. He tried to think of something that made sense, but he didn’t have time. Also, his mind
was too stressed.

  He continued along the building and felt a surge of relief as he reached the wide opening of the building where the man stood. A pitchfork stood against the edge of the entryway.

  In one quick move, Tavish grabbed the implement and raced toward the man. He used the pitchfork to knock the musket out of his hand. The weapon flew out, and Tavish dove to catch it, nearly losing his balance. He swept around and used the butt to hit the man in the head. The villain crumpled to the ground.

  Tavish searched the man and found a knife at his waist. Removing the weapon, Tavish considered how he could take it with him. He had no pockets or any other way to carry it. He was already burdened with the sword since he didn’t have the scabbard.

  He tossed the knife away and dragged the unconscious man just inside the stable.

  “Fitz?” a man called from deeper in the stable to Tavish’s right.

  Tavish pressed himself against the side of a stall. Dammit. He needed that pitchfork. Or the musket. Or the bloody knife. Having none of them, he waited, his breath coming hard.

  The man rounded the corner of the stall. Tavish knew the moment he realized Fitz was no longer at his post. The villain unsheathed his sword and swung around.

  There was no help for it. Tavish had to use Lann Dhearg. He hefted the sword, and red-orange flame started at the base, licking its way upward as the other man’s eyes widened. Tavish launched, and their swords clashed.

  The other man was a good swordsman. They thrust and parried, circling each other several times before Tavish knocked the other man’s blade away. It would be too easy to finish him, but his body would go up in flames and the stable would catch fire.