The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  Hot blood thrummed beneath her skin as he studied her lips. His breath smelled of mint laced with a hint of aged whisky. Her tongue slipped out and wet her bottom lip.

  Please, kiss me again.

  With a tilt of his head, Sean plied her with his sultry mouth. Gyllis’s knees wobbled, making her body crush into his hard chest. Her breasts molded into him, filling with desire. She closed her eyes and melted. If there was a heaven, she’d found it in his arms.

  He spread his lips slightly and probed with his tongue. Gyllis’s eyes flashed open and she tried to tug her head away, but Sean’s hand slid up and cradled her crown. Relaxing, she parted her mouth. It felt too good not to play along. Then he stroked her tongue. Shivers coursed through her body.

  This kissing is earth shattering.

  Again closing her eyes, she followed Sean’s lead while he swirled his tongue with hers, as if their mouths were dancing. Then he trailed feathery kisses along her neck.

  “Now that was a kiss, lass.” His deep voice rumbled with intoxicating resonance.

  Floating. I must be floating. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted you to do that.”

  “Aye? I reckon I’ve thought about it for quite some time myself.”

  “Honestly?” Gyllis still could not believe she stood there in Sean’s arms. “Why did you wait so long?”

  He chuckled. “Your brother isn’t overly fond of the idea, considering he and I are both the king’s enforcers.”

  “If it were up to my brother, I’d live in spinsterhood the rest of my days.”

  “I doubt that, but ’tis hard for him to see his younger sister in the arms of a man.”

  She skimmed her finger along his bearded chin. “Would you feel that way—if you had a sister, that is?”

  “Aye, I suppose I would.” His breath skimmed hot on her face as he drew nearer and kissed her cheek. “I cannot bear to think of another man kissing you.”

  She grew bold, rose on her toes and kissed his lips. “I like kissing you.”

  “Mm.” Sean slid his fingers along her neck and splayed them through her tresses as his mouth again plied hers with the most rapturous kiss imaginable.

  Swooning in his arms, Gyllis wanted this moment to last forever. If only she and Sean were completely alone and not at a fete with people mulling about, she’d keep her arms wrapped around him and kiss him until the sun came up.

  “Unhand her, MacDougall,” demanded a gruff voice. “Taking advantage of the Lord of Glenorchy’s sister? I always kent you were a cur.”

  Sean tugged Gyllis behind him and faced Alan MacCoul. “You’re prying where you have no business.”

  “Am I now?” Alan sauntered toward them. “You were holding the lady in your arms and I’ve heard not a word of your betrothal.”

  Gyllis started to step forward. “Mr. MacCoul—”

  Sean stopped her advance with a straight arm, glaring at Alan. “Why are you always poking your nose in my affairs?” In an instant, Sean’s voice had gone from soothing to a deadly growl.

  Alan fingered his dirk, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve never been able to tolerate a spoilt chieftain’s son.”

  His dirk hissed from its scabbard. In one motion Alan lunged.

  Gyllis screamed.

  Sean sprang to the side and grabbed Alan’s arm, twisting him away from Gyllis. The dirk dropped. As she skittered against the wall, Sean flipped the blackguard onto his back. Before she could blink, the MacDougall warrior had him pinned to the ground with his fingers clamped around his neck. “Why my father tolerates your shite, I’ll never know.”

  Alan choked and kicked his feet to no avail. “You-you’ve no clue who I am, do you?” he croaked.

  “What are you talking about?” Sean leaned in. “I ought to—”

  Duncan barreled into the courtyard, brandishing his enormous sword. “Gyllis! What are you doing out here?”

  She clutched her fists under her chin and shot a panicked glance to Sean. “I…I…I…”

  “Get your bonny arse inside and find your mother. Bless it, must I weld a ball and chain around your ankle?”

  “But…” She scooted past Sean and Alan, her hands trembling. “He protected me.”

  Sean kept his eyes on Alan, but inclined his head toward her. “I shall see you anon, Miss Gyllis.”

  “Until the morrow, Sir Sean.” She hastened to the door, but before entering, turned to watch.

  Duncan pointed his sword at Alan’s temple. “Be on your way MacCoul. This is a time of truce, no matter your quarrel with MacDougall. All can be settled with a bit of healthy competition.”

  Sean released his grasp and stood, palming a dagger. “I shall relish such an opportunity.”

  Alan scrambled to his feet, retrieved his dirk and shook it at them both. “This will never be over. I will imprison you in irons and laugh while your body rots in a dank and musty cave.” The hatred in the man’s voice was palpable.

  Why on earth is he so bitter? Chewing her lip, Gyllis darted inside and skirted around the noisy hall before Duncan could chastise her yet again.

  Clasping her hand taut to her chest, she raced toward Helen.

  “Gyllis, Ma has had us searching all over for you. Where have you been?”

  She grabbed Helen’s hands and tugged her toward the stairwell. “Hurry. I’m bursting at the seams to tell you.”

  “What is it? You look like you could dance on the rafter beams.”

  Gyllis waggled her eyebrows. “I probably could if someone gave me a lift.” She raced up the winding steps and into the tiny chamber where all four sisters were appointed to sleep. She closed the door and caught her breath. “You’ll never believe it.”

  “What?”

  “I know not what was more romantic,” Gyllis bubbled. “The kiss or that he fought for my virtue.”

  “A kiss?”

  Gyllis grasped Helen’s hands and spun her in a circle. “Aye. At last Sir Sean kissed me.”

  Helen giggled. “Honestly? How scandalous—and here at Beltane with so many people about?”

  Spinning off across the room, Gyllis hugged herself. “Aye.” She stopped and swayed in place. “It was glorious, Helen. I felt like I was floating away on a wispy cloud.”

  Her sister drew her hand to her lips. “And you said he fought for your virtue?”

  “After he kissed me, Alan MacCoul came out and drew his dirk—said all sorts of vile things.”

  “Oh no,” Helen gasped with her eyes wide. “That dreadful man.”

  “Aye, but in the blink of an eye, Sean disarmed him and wrestled him to the ground. Why I’ve never seen a man move so fast.”

  “Did he hurt him?”

  “I do not think so.” Gyllis rolled her eyes. “Then Duncan came charging out of the hall like a mad hornet and sent Alan on his way.” Her shoulders dropped. “And then he ordered me inside, the brute—spoilt all my fun.”

  Helen pulled her onto the pallet and sat facing her. “Goodness, it sounds as if you had enough excitement to last the duration of the games.”

  Emitting a long sigh, Gyllis grinned. “The best part?”

  “Aye?”

  “’Tis only the first day.”

  4

  The next morning, Sean found a place behind the stables to stretch his aching limbs. Though he was accustomed to sleeping on hard ground, the floorboards in the great hall provided no comfort. At a gathering like this, rank mattered not. A single man spread his plaid in any available space, unless he was an earl.

  “There you are.” Gyllis strode toward him, smiling like sunshine. She held out a white kerchief. “Will you take this for luck?”

  He accepted the token and turned it over in his hands. Embroidered with bluebells, he couldn’t help but hold it to his nose. It smells like a mountain of heather. “My thanks.” He offered a sheepish smile. Duncan had given him a good earful last eve, and he’d been right. Sean never should have asked Gyllis to meet him in the courtyard—especially after dark, with
out an escort, and with so many clansmen about. Any number of people could have assumed the worst and tried to ruin her reputation. Bloody hell, Sean could have been forced to marry the lass on the spot.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He blinked, thinking for a moment that marrying her would have been rather fun. “Nay.” Blistering barnacles. Sean didn’t have time for a wife even if he could convince Duncan he was worthy to marry his sister.

  “Then why are you looking at me as if I’ve got the ague?” Gyllis was too perceptive. But that’s another thing he liked about her. Not only beautiful, she was sharp as a hawk and quick with her tongue.

  He resisted his urge to grasp her hand and pull her into his arms. Instead, he nervously wrapped her kerchief around his pointer finger. “I’ve a fair bit on my mind.”

  She looked at the cloth and then her gaze trailed sidewise. “Would you…um….prefer not to carry my kerchief?”

  Damn his hesitation—he’d offended her. He took a step in and cupped her cheek. “I am honored to carry it.”

  She turned up her face and pursed her lips, eyelids fluttering closed.

  Sean couldn’t help but take note of all the people mulling about. Bless it, I cannot kiss her here. The resulting scandal would be unmitigated. It would ruin her for certain and send Duncan and the Campbells after him like a pack of wild dogs. Sean clasped her slender fingers and drew them to his lips, giving her a quick peck. Forget the heather. The scent of her skin smelled fresher than a pool of fragrant water lilies. He closed his eyes and inhaled again, until she slid her fingers from his grasp.

  With a look of bewilderment she cradled her hand and stared at it, as if she were no longer willing to look at his face. “I’m told the piping and drumming competition will be during the feast this eve.”

  “Aye? That should liven things up.”

  “Gyllis.” Helen came from around the stable’s corner. “Mother is looking for you. We must take our places for the race.”

  She grinned at Sean—though her smile had a twist, as he might have confused her with his reluctance to kiss her lips. “You’d best go, else you’ll miss the start.”

  He held up the kerchief. “I’d better. And thank you—this will bring me luck, I am certain.”

  Sean watched her disappear around the stable wall while clenching his jaw. He either needed to have a somber discussion with her brother, or rein himself in. And given his present state of affairs, he should do the latter. MacDougalls didn’t marry Campbells, not since the time of Robert the Bruce when the MacDougalls had lost over half of their holdings—some of which were unfairly dispatched to the Campbell Clan. Many a man loyal to his father still harbored deep resentment for the Campbells.

  The ram’s horn sounded, announcing the race would soon begin. Sean shook his head and headed off. He hadn’t come to the games to make merry with Gyllis. He’d come to earn the respect of his countrymen—to win these games and ensure MacDougall continued to be a feared name throughout the Highlands.

  Nearly fifty contestants formed a queue at the edge of Loch Etive whilst Lorn’s clerk launched into a proclamation of the rules. “There will be no backstabbing and no weapons of any kind…”

  Sean chuckled to himself. A Highland race wasn’t without its share of backstabbers. It didn’t surprise him to see Alan MacCoul halfway down the line leering at him like a venomed snake.

  Duncan trotted up beside Sean. “I nearly missed it.”

  Sean arched an eyebrow. “Is anything amiss? ’Tis not like you to be late to a contest of any sort.”

  “A missive came from the king.”

  “Aye? What did it say?”

  Duncan patted his doublet. “Dunno—haven’t opened it yet. If I had, I would have missed the start. Besides, a missive can wait a bit even if it is from his grace.”

  “Remind me to tell the king you said that the next time we’re at court.”

  Duncan smirked. “Should such a foul rumor come my way, I would deny it emphatically.”

  The clerk finished his oration and the ram’s horn sounded. Sprinting, Sean sped ahead to ensure he positioned himself at the front of the pack. And in an eight-mile race, he’d keep pace behind the leader until the very end.

  Duncan had the same idea and bloody MacCoul wasn’t far behind. Sean wouldn’t concern himself with that blackguard. He’d drop off soon enough.

  Everything proceeded in respectable civility until Sean and the leaders rounded a farmhouse at the halfway point. Two brigands wearing chausses and shirts sprang from nowhere, barreling straight toward Sean. Startled by the movement of the first attacker, Sean’s instincts took over. Ducking, he flung the bastard over his back. When the second one hit, he wasn’t so lucky. Walloped in the side of the head, he stagger-stepped sideways until he crashed to the ground.

  It was bad enough to have the contestants fighting each other, but now hoodlums had been planted? Someone must have a very large wager indeed.

  Sean scrambled to his feet, fists at the ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Duncan throw a boot into number one’s gut. Sean eyed the second man and aimed a blow at the hinge of his jaw. Hitting his mark, teeth cracked. The bastard’s hands flew to his face before he collided with the dirt.

  Duncan beckoned him. “Hurry.”

  Sean ran beside his friend. “Who were those swine?”

  “No idea.” Duncan took in a deep inhale. “But I’m certain they were waiting for you. They darted straight for you without a mind to the others.”

  Sean sped his pace. “We can still win if we push.”

  Duncan waved him on. “This is your sport. Go.”

  Sean sprinted for the leaders, more intent than ever to win. Someone had set a trap for him—knew he was the man to beat.

  Most of the spectators lined the outer bailey wall-walk on the Loch Etive side of the castle, all straining for a glimpse of the leaders in the footrace. Gyllis stood beside Helen, barely able to contain her excitement.

  Yes, Sean had appeared a tad despondent when she’d given him her kerchief, but after all, he was preparing for a race. If they hadn’t been interrupted last eve, she would have given it to him then. But she didn’t want to think about that now. The weather was fine and Sean would sit with her during the feast just as they’d planned. She needn’t consider a thing beyond that at the moment.

  “There they are,” someone yelled.

  Gyllis cast her gaze toward the wood. Four runners barreled out of the trees, racing for the castle. The second man shoved the leader, who swung back his elbow. The closer they came to the finish line, the more the runners pushed with fists swinging.

  “How can they stay ahead of the pack when they’re fighting like that?” Helen asked.

  “The fighting has most likely just begun,” said a man behind them.

  A fifth man darted from the forest. Gyllis made out Sean’s long stride, close behind the fighting leaders.

  Alice shook her finger. “Look! Alan MacCoul is winning.”

  Unable to believe it, Gyllis leaned further over the crenel notch. Sure enough, Alan had shoved his way into the lead. “But Sir Sean’s speeding around them.”

  Shouts from the crowd grew louder.

  Gyllis hopped in place and clapped her hands. “Faster, Sir Sean!”

  Alice shook her fists in the air. “Run like the wind, Mr. MacCoul.”

  Gyllis gave her sister a firm whack on the shoulder. “Excuse me. How can you cheer for that blackguard after he threatened Sir Sean with his dirk last eve?”

  Alice stopped hopping up and down. “He did?”

  “Aye.” With a well-founded nod, Gyllis returned her attention to the race. Sean indeed was moving closer to the lead, now one or two paces behind Alan. Her gaze darted to the finish line. I don’t think he can make it. Heavens, if Alan wins, it will upset everything.

  Sean closed the gap. Alan struck out with his right. Sean clutched his arm and stumbled over the finish line right behind that blasted
MacCoul. Within the blink of an eye, the Lord of Lorn’s officials surrounded Sean.

  “He’s been cut!” someone yelled from below.

  Gasping, Gyllis started for the stairwell.

  “You shall remain up here, young lady.” Mother grasped her shoulder.

  “But Sir Sean’s been hurt.”

  Mother rolled her eyes with a tsk of her tongue. “I assure you, simply sparring with your brother has caused Sir Sean injuries much worse than a wee cut on the arm.”

  Gyllis huffed and resumed her place in front of the crenel notch. She couldn’t see anything. Sean was surrounded by any number of men and Alan was nowhere to be seen.

  “It appears you were right about Mr. MacCoul,” Alice said. “He definitely acts like he’s a bastard.”

  “Pardon me?” Mother stepped between them. “Mind your vulgar tongue.”

  Gyllis inched away until she was out of Ma’s grasp. Not knowing how badly Sean was injured twisted her stomach in knots. She could stand there no longer. “I’m heading out to see what I can do to help.”

  “Gyllis,” Mother called.

  She didn’t stop. If nothing else, she had to ensure Sean was all right. She dashed down the narrow spiral steps, pushing past people dawdling about, and ran out through the gate. Stopping in her tracks, Gyllis suddenly couldn’t breathe. The crowd had thinned and Sean stood with a woman wrapped in his embrace. The woman’s face was blocked by her wimple, but there was no mistaking it, Sean had his arms around the lass for a good long time.

  Dumbfounded, Gyllis stood and stared. Her hands shook. She wanted to scream, but could form no words through the tightening of her throat.

  A man walked past and brushed her shoulder. “I beg your pardon.”

  Gyllis blinked, but was still too stunned to acknowledge the man. She backed into the tunnel of the barbican and drew her hand to her chest. I’m a fool, a stupid romantic who will never find a husband because my family locks me away in a castle and hardly ever allows me to visit court. Beltane was my chance—and now if that mutton-head dares to come sit on my plaid this eve, I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him. Mayhap he’s double-crossed Mr. MacCoul—mayhap that’s why Alan lashes out at Sean at every opportunity.