The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  She used a cloth to wipe away the blood now caked in Colin’s hair. It still seeped, though he’d lost most outside. So much blood in such little time.

  “’Tis best to stitch it before you wake.” Margaret spoke to him as if he could hear. After bathing his wound with St. John’s wort, she threaded a fine bone needle. Her fingers trembled a bit. She’d never stitched anyone before.

  A knock resounded from the door.

  “Enter.”

  Effie hobbled inside, wringing her hands. “I just heard.”

  Margaret held up the needle, managing to keep it steady. “He needs to be stitched.”

  The nursemaid glanced at Colin, wariness darkening her eyes. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Snip off one suture at time?”

  “Aye. Let me help.”

  Margaret gripped the needle tighter. “I’d like to do it.”

  “Of course. I’ll attend you with the shears.”

  Margaret swallowed. She should allow Effie to stitch. The nursemaid had probably made countless sutures. Margaret had once practiced on a leg of pork. It was fleshy, unlike Colin’s temple, which was ridged with bone. But he was her husband, and hers to care for. He mightn’t want much to do with her, but by God, she’d prove herself useful to him. She made the first stitch, pushing the needle straight down, then pulled the thread through the jagged opposing edge.

  She bore down to stop her stomach from convulsing.

  “Good,” Effie said. “Now make the knots firm, but not so tight they tear through.”

  Margaret bit her lip and prayed Colin’s skin was as tough as pork. If pigheadedness had anything to do with it, he’d be fine. Winding the thread around the needle, she pulled the knot snug against his flesh and looked at Effie. The nursemaid snipped and nodded her approval.

  With a deep inhale, Margaret tied off three more sutures.

  Effie snipped the last threads and examined the wound. It didn’t look half as bad now it had been closed. Located at the side of his temple, his hair would cover most of the scar. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

  “Really?” The tension in Margaret’s shoulders eased. “Thank you—that means a lot coming from you.”

  William and Fionn strode in with the physician. Black robed, with a black coif framing a gaunt face, he looked more like an effigy of death. He shouldered Margaret toward the wall and examined her work. “I daresay there won’t be much of a scar.” He looked back at the men. “How long has he been unconscious?”

  Margaret stepped in and placed a protective palm on Colin’s crown. “In the time it took for the men to carry him above stairs and for me to stitch his wounds—no more than two turns of the hourglass.”

  The physician frowned. “’Tis grave indeed. You did right by sending for me.” He placed his black leather kit on the edge of the bed, untied and unrolled it. He picked up a tarnished lancet and a tin cup. “I believe a healthy bleeding will do him good.”

  Is he mad? Margaret forced her body between the physician and the bed. “You must be jesting. Lord Campbell lost at least a pint of blood in the courtyard—he hardly has any to spare. I’m quite certain.”

  The older man puffed out his chest, turning a brilliant shade of scarlet. “M’lady, you dare question a learned physician? Why, I’ve the king’s charter—”

  “I care not if His Eminence the Pope sanctioned your abilities, you will not stick that knife in one of my husband’s veins. Not when he has already been bled.”

  The pompous man grumbled something about useless women under his breath, then stared Margaret in the eye. “Madam, if you do not move aside, I cannot attend the patient, and I assure you I am far more qualified than you.”

  Margaret’s gaze slipped to the wooden-shafted blade in his hand. Her resolve strengthened straight up her spine. “I think not. I will see to Lord Glenorchy’s care myself.”

  Effie clasped her hands over her heart. “M’lady?”

  “That’s my final decision on the matter.” Margaret turned to William. “I want a sentry outside this door day and night. Effie, return to Duncan. I shall send for you should there be any change.”

  The assortment of tarnished lancets and picks made Margaret shudder to her toes. She rolled up the physician’s kit and handed it to him. “I believe this is yours.” With an air of confidence, she turned to the sentry. “Fionn, please escort Master Hume to his horse.”

  Margaret stood, arms crossed, guarding Colin’s bed like a mother hawk while she watched everyone file out the chamber. When the door closed, she allowed herself to exhale. Shoving an errant strand of hair under her veil, she turned to Colin’s peaceful form. Her stomach turned upside down. She had no idea if she’d done right by sending the physician away. Her gut told her yes, but looking at her trembling hands gave her doubt. She now held Colin’s life in those palms, and if his situation declined, it would be her fault.

  Margaret clenched her fists. “I will see you wake and rise from this bed Lord Colin Campbell of Glenorchy—even if ’tis the last thing I do on this earth.”

  Margaret dipped the cloth in the basin and wrung it out. After folding it lengthwise in quarters, she replaced it on Colin’s head. Morning had turned to late afternoon, followed by dusk. The sun had set long ago. She’d refused to eat—couldn’t, really. Not with Colin lying abed, still unconscious.

  The priest had come and gone, making the sign of the cross and praying for Colin’s recovery. The holy man started reciting last rites, and Margaret had abruptly stopped him. Colin would not die in her care.

  But pray for him she did. She prayed for God’s mercy and swift healing. She asked forgiveness for her errant thoughts. Her mother had been right. Margaret could be headstrong to a fault. She’d not given Colin a chance, even after Effie had explained how much he mourned Jonet’s death. Margaret had lost her grandparents and remembered the lingering pain. How much more difficult would it be to lose a spouse, someone you lived with and cared deeply about as Colin so obviously had cared for Jonet?

  Margaret’s insides shredded. She’d been selfish, wanting and expecting Colin to shower her with attention, calling him a blackguard and feigning disgust and hate for him.

  Colin’s chest rose and fell beneath the bedclothes. Her heart crumbled. The great man seemed so peaceful. Margaret studied his face. His eyebrows were darker than his hair, arched boldly above his eyes, masculine yet not too thick. Due to the lateness of the hour, a dark shadow deepened the angular contour of his jaw, surrounding his perfectly formed lips. Oh how she remembered kissing those lips. Not brutally, but softly, reverently, with passion. What could she do to entice him to kiss her again?

  His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed, his lips parted slightly and he inhaled, his tongue clicking as if his mouth were dry. Margaret lifted a tankard of mead from the bedside table and used a spoon to ladle in a few drops. His Adam’s apple moved again. Closing his lips, Colin moaned.

  “Would you like some more?” she asked.

  Colin opened his mouth ever so slightly. Margaret’s heart thundered in her ears as she spooned in a somewhat larger portion. Colin swallowed and seemed content. She set the tankard down, and he shivered. The bedclothes had slipped down, completely exposing his chest, smooth and hard as a sheet of steel. Margaret brushed her fingers across his flesh. Tingles jittered up her arm. Her breathing shallow, labored. If only he could find it in his heart to love her.

  Colin was so exquisitely firm, a far cry from her soft breasts. He moaned at her touch. “Margaret.”

  She snatched her hand away, her gaze darting to his face. But his eyes remained closed. “Colin? Can you hear me?”

  He uttered not a word. Margaret pulled up the bedclothes and tucked them around his shoulders. She too felt a chill, and added some peat to the fire. She moved to the window and pulled the fur aside. The moon sat low on the western horizon, clouds sailing beneath it. Could the moon see Dunalasdair right now? So much had changed since she’d left her home. Wer
e her parents well?

  “Margaret…I…so…”

  She whipped around and dashed to the bed. Colin’s cloth had fallen from his head, but he was still unconscious. She dipped the linen in the basin, and he thrashed his head from side to side. “Margaret.” His voice was louder.

  “I am here.” Margaret touched the cloth to his head. “Easy now. Lie still.” She kept her voice as soft and soothing as possible. His face glowed amber in the candlelight—so gentle in slumber. Licking her lips, she leaned over him and kissed his cheek. She lingered there, the scent of spice filling her every breath. Swallowing, she studied his lips, then kissed them—warm, ever so soft, disappointingly unresponsive.

  “I want to kiss you. Only you, husband. Will you ever let me in?” she whispered.

  His breathing resumed a slow cadence. Wherever his mind was, he had spoken her name. What did that mean?

  Margaret pulled her chair closer to the bed and rested her hand on his shoulder. Her eyelids hung heavily over her eyes, but she fought her urge to sleep. Colin’s steady inhales became hypnotic. She finally gave in and rested her head on the mattress. She’d only close her eyes for a moment to regain her strength. But oh, that mattress had to be the most luxurious collection of goose down she’d ever placed her head upon.

  18

  Dunstaffnage Castle, 11th November, 1455

  Sugared lavender. Colin awoke to a fragrance so heavenly, he thought he’d died and was attended by angels. However, there was only one person on earth who could smell as sweet—the woman he’d vowed never to allow entwine her lacy ribbons around his heart.

  But she had.

  The devil claim his soul, somehow the green-eyed vixen had inched her talons under his skin. Colin rolled to his side. His head pounded with a fury that churned his gut. Someone pushed into the length of his body and sighed. Headache be damned. He opened his eyes.

  Margaret’s soft bottom nestled against him, brushing his cock oh so suggestively. Colin nuzzled into her mane of chestnut locks and moaned. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a voice mumbled something disagreeable, but with one more deep inhale of Margaret’s sweet fragrance, the inkling was completely suppressed.

  He slid his hand around the dip in her waist and tugged her closer to his body. The shaft of his cock cradled between her buttocks. Blessed merciful mercy, heaven sent him a gift. If it weren’t for the incredible pounding in his head, he’d swear he was dreaming. Margaret in his bed? How had that happened?

  His cock throbbed and he rocked his hips. He cared not how she ended up beside him. A stone-hard erection consumed his mind. He’d suppressed his desires for so long, it was as if insatiable lust permeated his body. Colin slid his hand to Margaret’s breast, full, round and utterly unbound.

  “Mo leannan,” he whispered the Gaelic endearment only reserved for someone very cherished.

  He lingered, kneading lightly before he teased her nipple through her woolen gown, making it jut proudly against the fabric. A long sigh skimmed through her lips. Colin rose up on his elbow. Still asleep, she shifted her buttocks into him. Christ, her mere friction could make him come.

  Slowly, he slipped his hand down and swirled his fingers around her mons. Margaret moaned louder and arched her back. Colin clenched his bum cheeks and held his cock against her bottom. He closed his eyes, and his head thundered like he’d been bludgeoned. Is that why she’s here? He cast his mind back. The last thing he remembered was Margaret’s startled eyes, her hands clasping over her mouth. William—the overzealous warrior slammed me in the head.

  Margaret moved again. Colin’s balls tightened with a renewed rush of heat. He didn’t care if he’d vowed not to love another. Margaret had no right to be lying beside him rubbing her buttocks along his manhood. Any red-blooded man would lose his mind, attacked by her ungodly, alluring scent and heart-shaped hips that begged to be in his hands.

  Colin grasped her skirts and tugged them up little by little, until his fingers threaded through the downy soft curls at her apex. His cods ached, his cock at the brink of losing his seed.

  He strained for a glimpse of her womanhood, but settled for the smooth porcelain arc of her hip. He closed his eyes and slid a finger between her parting. Blessed be the saints, steamy moisture pooled there, as if she were waiting for him to enter her.

  Margaret moaned and rocked her hips like a seductress. Colin wished he could slip himself between her legs and take her from behind. If it weren’t for the blasted bedclothes separating them, he’d caress her with his sex rather than his finger.

  He circled his hand around the nub of women’s pleasure. Margaret pushed into him and spread her legs slightly. A drop of his seed spilled into the linens. “Margaret?”

  Her leg jerked closed, and Colin ran his arm up across her shoulders to keep her from leaping off the bed. “Let me touch you, wife,” he said with a low growl.

  “You’re awake?” Her voice cracked, and she tried to shrug out of his grasp and tug down her skirts. “I should…”

  He held her tight to his chest. “No, mo leannan,” he purred. “I want you here.”

  She relaxed a bit. “How did I end up on the bed?”

  He brushed his lips along her neck. “Did you not lie beside me?”

  “Nay, the last thing I remember, I was in the chair, allowing my eyes to close for a moment.”

  “Perhaps you climbed up in your sleep.”

  “Perhaps you pulled me.”

  He slid his hand to her flat belly and nibbled at her nape. “It matters not.”

  Margaret again tried to tug out of his arms. “Oh no, you mustn’t. You’ve had a severe blow to your head.”

  He held her fast. “But this makes me feel better.”

  She hesitated. “I would think you’d have a miserable headache.”

  “Smelling your delicious hair, I hardly notice it.”

  She chuckled, a soft, womanly sound that made her entire body vibrate. Colin’s aching cock reminded him of his dire need. But he would do this right or he wouldn’t do it at all.

  “Margaret.” His voice but a whisper. “Relax and let me touch you.”

  Heaven help her. She’d awakened, legs exposed all the way up to her…her most sacred folds, the place where he’d callously shoved himself on their wedding night. For some unfathomable reason, she was now ablaze with an inexplicable longing, as if her legs had grown a mind of themselves—they wanted to spread for him.

  Every fiber of her being told her to jump off the bed, but each time she tried, Colin pulled her into his hard, warm and very comforting chest. He slid his hand down and smoothed his fingers across her mons. If she were standing, she’d swoon. Then a chill ran through her blood. Did he intend to make her do that again?

  Margaret bolted from his grasp and sat upright. “My lord. I may not be well schooled in these things, but I believe the proper way to make love to a woman is to kiss her, not…ah…what you were just doing.”

  A devilish grin stretched Colin’s lips, and his eyes grew dark. “You want me to kiss you, wife?” He reached for her hand and tugged. “Come here.”

  Margaret hesitated. He didn’t release his grip, but didn’t force her, either. “You won’t hurt me?”

  With his free hand, he pushed away the bedclothes and bared his chest. “I promise I shall never hurt you again.”

  Her eyes drank in the banded muscles across his chest. A swarm of fluttering butterflies blossomed in her breast. How much she’d wanted him to show her tenderness. Oh yes, yes, yes, she wanted another kiss, just like the one in the bath. She hovered over him and gazed into his brown eyes. No longer reflecting the hard, coarse Highlander, they sparkled with a kindness she’d never seen before. Had the blow to his head knocked some sensibilities into him?

  He licked his full lips and slid his hand around the back of her neck, enticing her to his mouth. Masculine lips met hers softly. She inhaled. He smelled of rugged male and sweetness combined. Delicious.

  His tongue flicked o
ut and tapped her lips. With one more gentle tug, he covered her mouth and closed his eyes, his deep groan filling her as if she could breathe in his desire. Margaret’s heartbeat raced. She couldn’t understand why the deep flame inside her body burned for him with unbridled passion, but if he turned tail right now, she’d die.

  He inched his rough warrior hands down her spine. Her entire body trembled.

  Without pulling her lips away, she kneeled astride him and smoothed her hands across his naked, rock-hard chest. His nipples grew erect to her touch, increasing the heavy longing in her own breasts. She pushed up and studied each rosy bud, tickling them with her fingers. “The tips are like mine.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled from Colin’s throat. He moved his hands to her hips and guided her back a bit, atop his thick column of flesh. He was hard as a bedpost. Something clamped deep inside her loins with a driving, almost painful need for him to touch her. Beneath the bedclothes, he moved against her in a long, deliberate rocking motion. Margaret’s eyes rolled back as her womanhood desperately craved for more.

  This was nothing like their wedding night. His hands smoothed up the front of her bodice and kneaded her breasts, ripe and swollen with their desire for his touch. Oh yes. Heaven help her, this was sinfully magical.

  He tugged up her skirts.

  Margaret froze. Her eyes flashed open. She crossed her arms over her chest. Everything was so heavenly with the barrier of cloth between them. She didn’t want the sensual passion to end.

  “Lift your arms for me.” His deep voice resonated and flowed like sweet cream.

  She bit her lip. Oh how she desired more of his touch. Yes. He’d already seen her naked and hadn’t hurt her then.

  She met his gaze, filled with longing. Her breath stuttered. Slowly she raised her arms and let him remove her gown and then her shift. Completely bare, she continued to straddle him. Through the bedclothes, his manhood filled her crux. Driven by need, she thrust her hips and rode him until her body screamed “more.”