The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  He shuddered as he gradually filled her. Meg moved her hands to his buttocks and grasped him firmly. Then she showed him what she wanted. His cock slipped so deep, it touched her womb. Arching her back, Meg closed her eyes and sighed—the most blissful sound he’d ever heard.

  A gasp caught in the back of her throat. The hands on his buttocks became more insistent. Duncan’s heart raced as he thrust his hips. She swirled her mons to increase the friction. Duncan tipped his hips forward to hit the spot he knew would drive her mad, but he could hold on no longer. His eyes rolling to the back of his head, he gave in to his basal desire. Like a blast from a cannon, his seed shot deep within her womb.

  Crying out, Meg came undone around him and gasped for breath. Duncan took his weight on his elbows and collapsed above her. “My God, you are decadent.”

  She swirled her palms on his buttocks. “As are you.”

  He covered her mouth and kissed her, taking his time. But as their mouths became more impassioned, he again grew rigid inside her.

  Three times they made love until Duncan’s hunger reminded him they needed to eat. “Are you hungry, my love?”

  “Aye. There’s some chicken and bread on the table.”

  He grinned. “How fortunate. We have no need to leave this chamber.”

  “And I must again tend your wounds.”

  As Meg spoke, Duncan was reminded of the needling pain in his back. At least the morning’s activities had given him relief.

  Meg climbed out of bed and reached for her shift, but Duncan grasped her wrist and tugged it away. “Are you cold?”

  “A wee bit.”

  He pulled the plaid from the foot of the bed and draped it over her shoulders. “This will keep you warm, but do not close it all the way. I want to gaze upon you whilst we eat.”

  “Very well.” She arched her brows while her gaze meandered down his body. “Only if I can watch you as well.”

  “Agreed.” He chuckled and led her to the table. Definitely not a fancy display. He held up the flagon. “It looks like we’ve only whisky to drink.”

  “Aye, well, Eoin brought up the food when we arrived last night.”

  Duncan poured two modest tots and took the seat opposite Meg. The smell from the chicken made his mouth water. They’d had little to eat on their mad dash from Edinburgh—oatcakes and some bully beef. But rather than savagely dig in, he held the trencher up to Meg. “M’lady.” She tore off a leg and devoured it while he cut off half the breast. “I see I’m not the only one famished.”

  “Apologies.” Meg clapped a hand over her mouth. “I could eat that whole chicken myself.”

  Duncan chuckled. “When did you last have a good meal?”

  Meg tore off a piece of bread. “Goodness, it must have been before I left Tantallon. Once I reached Edinburgh Castle, I was too busy worrying about you to think of eating.”

  He washed a bite down with a swig of whisky. “We shall have to see that you’re well fed. You need your strength to keep up with the likes of me.”

  An adorable blush rouged her cheeks, and she looked down, as if suddenly shy. “Aye.”

  He reached out and covered her hand with his palm. “I haven’t asked you about Arthur. Where has he been through all this?”

  “He has business dealings in France.”

  “Ah, that explains it.” Duncan cast his gaze toward the hearth. The Earl of Angus has no idea she’s here. He bit his bottom lip.

  “What?”

  “Aside from proving my innocence to the king, I’ll also need to mend fences with your brother.”

  Meg stopped chewing and folded her hands in her lap. Clearly the mention of her brother concerned her. Duncan wanted this to be a happy occasion, so he tore off the other leg and handed it to her. “Not to worry—we’ve plenty of time to sort out the ire of kings and earls. And presently, we’ve nothing to enjoy but each other.”

  She accepted the leg and ate it—like a lady this time. “I’d like that.”

  “Aye.” Since he was unable to sit back, he rested his elbows on the table and studied her. Never before had he been completely smitten, but he would not complain if he were forced to sit in that spot and stare at Lady Meg for hour upon hour. He reached out and spun a curly lock around his finger. “You are so fine to me.”

  Meg sipped her whisky and coughed. “It would be nice to have some watered wine.”

  Duncan stood. “I shall call for some.”

  “Nay.” She didn’t want their time to be interrupted any more than he did, but she would stop sipping whisky this instant, lest she fall into her cups. “We can wait until the evening meal.”

  “Very well.”

  She stood and gestured to the bed. “Now, let me apply my salve and bandages.”

  He lay face down, as he’d done several times for her now. “I think this new concoction is the best yet.”

  “Truly? When I returned to Tantallon, I began studying the healing arts with the gardener.”

  “A gardener?”

  “Aye, he’s the most knowledgeable healer I know.”

  “I’d reckon so, if he taught you to concoct that potion.”

  “’Tis avens oil. Hubert says ’tis the most important herb in a garden.”

  She dribbled some of the oil on Duncan’s back and tenderly rubbed it in. “I wish we could stay here in your chamber forever.” Honestly, since they’d eaten, she’d been worried about how they’d face everyone. Now there would be no question that she was ruined. What would Duncan’s family think when she descended the tower stairs?

  “Aye.” His voice sounded dreamy—the avens oil must indeed be working a miracle. “But too many folks are relying on us.”

  “You perhaps, but no one cares overmuch about me.”

  Duncan rolled to his side and grasped her wrist. “I never want to hear you say that.” He sat up then pulled her into a tight embrace. “I care. I will always care.”

  “But what will everyone think when we leave this chamber?”

  “I am the master of these lands. They will think whatever I want them to think.”

  If only she could believe him. “’Tis easy for you to say.”

  “It is—”

  When the ram’s horn sounded to announce the evening meal, Meg’s stomach squelched. What will Lady Margaret say?

  32

  Once Meg had wrapped Duncan with linen bandages, they dressed. After he helped her reaffix her wimple, they headed down the tower stairs. Her nervousness grew with every footfall. What would everyone think of her now? Duncan had said a number of endearing words, but never once had he mentioned marriage. Meg wanted nothing more than to stay with Duncan, but without a contract of marriage, her brother would interfere for certain.

  Before they rounded the last bend, Meg took in a deep breath to steady her wits. Duncan glanced at her with a half-cocked grin. “Everything will be all right, lass.”

  She emitted a nervous chuckle, but there was no time for a rebuttal. Stepping into the great hall, benches scraped across the floorboards. Everyone stood, clapping and singing the pibroch of the Campbells.

  Duncan puffed out his chest and tightened his grip on Meg’s arm while they strode through the center aisle. When they reached the dais, he held up his palms and requested silence. “Friends, family, Campbells, I am happy to say I am back with you once again. I suffered greatly at the hands of the king. Lady Meg assisted in my escape and brought with her a salve that has worked wonders to bring me from the very edge of death. Though I stood wrongfully accused, I fear this ordeal has not yet come to pass. On the morrow, we must prepare for battle.” He scanned the hall, all faces gaping at him expectantly. “But tonight we celebrate!”

  The hall erupted in a raucous applause. Duncan resumed his grasp on Meg’s elbow and led her to the seat beside his.

  Once situated, Meg looked to her right. Lady Margaret nodded politely. “’Tis quite a stir you’ve caused around the keep.”

  Meg clapped her hand to her c
heek. “Gracious, I was afraid to come down.” She bit her bottom lip. “But I worked so hard to care for Duncan’s wounds.”

  Lady Margaret raised her eyebrows knowingly, as if she had a peephole through to Duncan’s chamber. It was a look that said, I am well aware of what you’ve been up to, so do not bother trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

  “Ale?” Duncan asked.

  Meg rapidly nodded. “Please.”

  “Duncan, we must talk,” Lady Margaret said.

  “Aye, Mother.” He raised his tankard. “I’ve a great many plans to discuss with you.”

  The lady gave him a smug nod.

  Meg wished she could pull Duncan back up to his chamber for a quiet meal. The world had been so perfect when they were alone and shut away. She glanced across the table. The Highland Enforcers all grinned at her the same way Lady Margaret had.

  I’ll be burn in the fires of hell for certain. Meg hid behind her tankard. And now that everyone knows I’m ruined, what will become of me?

  Duncan carved a slice of pork and set it on her plate. “You must eat. The chicken we had was hardly enough to sustain you.”

  She looked at the piece of meat and her stomach squelched.

  At the far end of the table, Gyllis waved and grinned. At least her smile was more innocent and welcoming than the others.

  Lady Margaret leaned close. “You might want to sleep with Gyllis tonight.”

  “I’d love to spend time with Gyllis again. She’s so friendly.”

  “Yes, she is.” Lady Margaret rested her eating knife on the table. “Where, pray tell, is the Earl of Angus? Is he aware of your presence here?”

  Meg could have crawled under the table. “He’s in France on business.” Couldn’t the lady let sensitive matters rest until after the meal, and in a more private setting?

  “I see.” Lady Margaret frowned. “And what of your marriage prospects? Or are you still thinking of taking up the veil?”

  Meg pushed her piece of meat around her pewter plate with her knife. Honestly, she had no answer for Duncan’s mother. She dipped her chin and turned so that only Lady Margaret could hear. “I’ve not discussed my future with Arthur since I returned from Alnwick.” That wasn’t the complete truth, but after all, Arthur hadn’t announced her engagement. She forced a smile. “With any luck, my brother is concerned with too many other affairs to worry about me.”

  Duncan leaned forward. “Come now, speak up so we can all hear.”

  Lady Margaret reached for the bread. “I’m ever so glad to see you in acceptable health, son.” She gave Meg that knowing smile again. “Locked in your chamber all day, I’ve been worried you’ve been on the brink of death.”

  “After being whipped and splashed with molten lead, followed by two days of hard riding, I believe a day of rest was not unwarranted.” He gestured across to his men. “I’d wager you all slept late.”

  “Aye, past matins,” Eoin said.

  Lady Margaret cut her pork. “That may be, but we’ve more to worry about than the king’s men.”

  Duncan gave her a stern look. “Aye, and I shall meet with you in my solar at first light. Does that meet with your approval, m’lady?”

  Under the table, he grasped Meg’s claw then touched his lips to her ear. “Do not let Ma worry you. Deep down she’s an angel. I shall set her straight on the morrow.”

  The next morning, Duncan rose in a foul mood. His meddling mother had insisted Meg sleep with Gyllis, proffering the miserable excuse that the lassies got along so well. Never mind there were a half-dozen guest rooms in the main keep. Giggling, Gyllis took Meg up to her chamber shortly after the evening meal. Blast meddlesome women.

  He splashed water on his face and gingerly ran a razorblade over the morning’s beard. His back itched and needled him. If he’d had his way, Lady Meg would be near enough to apply her ointment. After he’d dressed, a rap came at the door. Hoping it was Meg, he strode across the floor and opened it wide. His stomach sank. “Mother.”

  She pushed past him. “We need to talk.” Ma had a maddening way of pretending she was in charge. She waltzed to the table and sat in his chair.

  Duncan combed his fingers through his hair. The best way to handle Lady Margaret when she had a hair up her arse was to face it head-on. He sauntered over and took the seat across from her.

  She frowned, which made her cheeks wrinkle against her grey wimple. “I’ll go straight to the point.”

  “Please do.”

  “What are your intentions with Lady Meg?”

  “I—”

  “I allowed your indiscretion to pass the first time she remained in your chamber and tended you, because your father convinced me you were unconscious and the headstrong lass would see it no other way. But when I learned you had been spirited into the castle yet again with unimaginable wounds.”

  Duncan opened his mouth to speak, but Mother held forth, gesturing with wide arms.

  “And the pair of you locked the chamber door. No one knew if you were dead or alive.”

  “But—”

  She shook her finger. “I had no doubt that you were conscious, and I can only imagine what went on in here.” She stood and paced. “Lady Meg is the daughter of an earl. She’s not some tart you brought home from the Taynuilt alehouse.”

  He cringed. “You knew about that?”

  She shook a threatening finger. “I know everything that happens in this keep.” She resumed her seat. “Now, as I see it, we have a grave problem.”

  Duncan gulped back his response and resigned to let her talk.

  “First of all, it appears Lady Meg’s brother has no idea she’s here. You must spirit her back to Tantallon forthwith before he returns from France. That is the only way we can cover up this mess without ruining the lass’s reputation, and to remain in the earl’s good graces.”

  Duncan stared at Ma’s careworn face. “You’ve got it all figured out, I see.”

  “Aye, well, someone must watch out for your reputation if you refuse to do so. For all that is holy, you were nearly killed in the Edinburgh dungeons.” She covered her mouth and blinked rapidly. “I couldn’t have borne it if I were to lose you, too.”

  “Ah, Mother. My incarceration was a misunderstanding, and I did not confess. But I’m afraid your plan for Lady Meg will not work.”

  She dropped her hand and feigned an exasperated expression. “Pardon me?”

  “I love her.”

  She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Duncan, there are rules of etiquette which must be followed. You simply cannot ride off with a noblewoman and send a missive to her family telling them you’ve planned to wed.”

  “But that’s exactly what I must do…and forthwith.”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “I cannot take her back to North Berwick, especially not with the king’s men in pursuit. I shall send the Earl of Angus a missive at once.”

  Lady Margaret sighed and sat back. “An alliance with the earl would do our family well—if he doesn’t have your head first.”

  “Oh ye of little faith, Mother. I swear, no one will take my head.”

  “I’m not happy about this state of affairs.” Mother watched him while he collected a piece of parchment, a quill and ink. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  Duncan dipped his quill. Now she asks? “I’d be better with a fresh application of Lady Meg’s avens oil, but otherwise I am well.”

  “I can apply the oil for you.”

  Duncan glared from his writing with an arched brow.

  “Never mind.” She stood and moved toward the door.

  Duncan shook the quill. “I will appoint Lady Meg with her private chamber. Since she will be remaining here, she will require her own quarters.”

  “Absolutely not. I do believe Gyllis and Lady Meg would prefer to share. They’ve grown such a fondness for one another.” Mother opened the door. “I shall send Alana to tend you.”

  Duncan scrawled with a bold hand. Why must hi
s mother meddle so?

  Duncan sent the messenger on his way with two missives. One was addressed to King James, explaining his innocence and requesting a pardon. The second was for the Earl of Angus, and it proved much more difficult to write. Duncan ruined three sheets of parchment before he was satisfied with the contents.

  He then met with his men in the solar. The six of them stood, staring at a map on the table.

  “I doubt they’ll come by sea.” Duncan scratched his chin. “They’d most likely ride by way of Callander.”

  Robert pointed. “Aye, but the king could commandeer the army at Dumbarton Castle and sail from there.”

  Duncan knew he was right. They could expect an attack from east or west. “We must post lookouts at all inroads. There’s no getting around it.”

  “I’ll see it done, m’lord,” Sean said.

  “My thanks. If fortune smiles upon us, the king will receive my missive before his men set out.” Duncan turned to Eoin. “After what you said about Lord Percy slipping away when you and Lady Meg gave testimony, I’m in hopes the king will grant me a pardon forthwith.”

  “One never knows,” Archie said from across the table. He was always the questioner of the group. “I reckon the accusation of the Earl of Mar using witchcraft was contrived in the first place.”

  “It matters not. We must now do what we can to regain the king’s good graces and continue our work in the Highlands.”

  “Hear, hear,” Eoin said.

  Duncan rolled up the map. “And in the interim, I need to reclaim my fighting legs. I’m afraid the king’s hospitality sapped me of my strength.”

  Eoin slapped him on the back. “We’ll see you set to rights.”

  Duncan’s knees buckled, and he braced his hands on the table. Showing weakness to his men would be a great folly. One he doubted he would ever live down. He hissed through his gritted teeth. “I’ll remember this when we’re sparring, friend.”