The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  Sean covered her mouth with a languid kiss while he slid a finger inside her core. Her moan rumbled through his entire body. He had now taken control, but the movement of her hips circling around his finger brought on a renewed surge of blinding want. In and out he slid his finger while his thumb caressed her pearl. Her breathing sped. She was close. He wanted to peak with her.

  But Sean continued on until she arched her back and clawed at him. “Sean, please.”

  With a growl, he grasped himself and slid inside.

  Gyllis’s eyes flew open. “All the way.”

  He moaned, so close to spilling, he didn’t know if he could make it to her length. He clenched his muscles and pushed through her slick sheath. “My God, you are delectable.”

  Relentless, she sank her fingers into his buttocks and demanded he thrust. Her gasps of breath grew louder. Sean could control the pace no longer. Giving in to the thrill of their joining, he allowed her to dictate the tempo with her demanding fingers tugging his buttocks. She cried out, reaching her peak. The liquid heat gushing around him had him enraptured, the fire in his groin had never burned so hot. Over and over, he thrust deep inside her until stars crossed his vision. Shattering through the precipice of ecstasy, his seed burst.

  Powerless to pull out this time, he filled her, and by God did he intend to claim her for his own. The woman beneath him would be his wife, even if he had to face every last Campbell in Argyllshire.

  27

  After the most amazing experience of her life, Gyllis had fallen asleep cradled in Sean’s arms. She’d thought nothing could top the last time they’d made love, but oh, how wrong she’d been. And how on earth was Sean able to be so virile after all he’d endured?

  She, too, had been exhausted, yet exhilarated at the same time. She sensed the same raw passion in him, driving him to the point of release. Together nothing could stand in the way of their love. They were made to be together. Their souls were one.

  Destiny had to be the only reason Sean had fallen in love with her—a cripple. It was almost as if he needed to protect her. He’d always handled her as if she were as fragile as a bird. Yet he made love to her with the sort of raw passion she’d seen from him when he sparred in the courtyard. Sean MacDougall would not be bested—not in the bedchamber—and not by the sword. He was solid Highlander through and through. Without an ounce of fat, his muscles were sculpted like the pictures of Greek statuary she’d seen in books. He was an Adonis and he was hers.

  As Gyllis woke, she snuggled into the bedclothes and released a satisfied sigh. So satiated with love, she could spend the entire day abed. She moved her foot back to interlace it with Sean’s leg, but was met with cold linens. Opening her eyes, she peered across the dim room and found herself alone.

  She moved her hand over the spot where Sean had slept. Cold.

  The bed rattled as she clutched the bedclothes under her chin and sat up. Sean was nowhere to be found, though a fire crackled in the hearth and her clothes were neatly stacked on the table beside last evening’s meal.

  She exhaled. At least the servants hadn’t come in and found her in the chieftain’s bed. Goodness, I’d be mortified. She wrapped herself in a blanket, crossed the floor and locked the door—Sean could knock when he returned.

  Stretching, her entire body ached. She looked at her blistered palms, now crusty with scabs. Her arms and shoulders punished her most of all. She tried to raise them above her head and her muscles ached worse than they did at the height of her paralysis. But she knew rowing all that way would take its toll. Rubbing her neck, she vowed not to let a few sore muscles put a damper on her euphoria.

  After pulling on her breeks and shirt, she splashed her face at the basin and used some mint to clean her teeth. She hissed at the pain when the water seeped over her palms. Last night she’d been too numb to notice the pain overmuch. A pair of leather gloves rested beside the basin, and she slid them on, stretching out the fingers. They were big, but the doeskin would protect her skin from further injury.

  She moved to the window and pulled the furs aside, clammy chills coursed over her skin, and it hadn’t been caused by the breeze. No longer dawn, the hour was later than she’d thought.

  Sean’s gone to face Alan.

  As fast as her legs would allow, she dashed to the table, picked up the remaining bread and shoved it in her satchel.

  Why did he not wake me? She pushed out the door and headed down the stairwell only to be met by Jinny.

  “Good morrow, Miss Gyllis.” The woman sounded chipper for someone who most likely thought her a harlot.

  But Gyllis kept herself guarded. Scanning the great hall, her fears were confirmed. Sean was nowhere to be seen. She dipped her head respectfully. “Good morrow. Has Sir Sean left for Dunstaffnage?”

  “Aye. He rode out before dawn.”

  “Before?” Gyllis clutched her satchel to her chest. “Bless it, he was on the brink of death.”

  She folded her hands at her waist. “There’s no need to tell me how stubborn our chieftain is. He’s been the same since he was a bairn.”

  “You knew him as a babe?”

  “Aye, always the adventurer, that lad.”

  “Evidently some things never change.” Gyllis headed toward the big double doors. “Since he did not wait for me, I must travel to the castle alone.”

  Jinny hastened beside her. “He mentioned you might not want to remain behind.”

  “Oh did he now?”

  “Aye.” The woman had the gall to wink. “And he told me you’ll be the lady of the keep right here at Dunollie soon.”

  Gyllis stopped. “He said that?”

  “Aye. Honestly, I’d never thought the lad would set his eyes on just one lass, but ever since he returned from the borders, I swear, he’s not looked at another woman.”

  Gyllis knew Sean had a reputation for liking the lassies, but would have preferred if it were a little known secret. She cringed.

  “Do not worry yourself.” Jinny patted her hand. “When a woman catches a wandering man’s heart, he’s changed for good.”

  She nodded, preferring not to pursue the conversation further. There were many things that needed to be settled before Sean could make an official proposal, the first being he survives this day. “I need the lend of a horse.”

  “I’ll send for Cadan. He’ll escort you.”

  Gyllis spread her gloved palms to her sides. “You’re not going to try to stop me?”

  “Sir Sean told me to keep you occupied.” Jinny grinned broadly. “But I kent a woman who’d recently suffered a bout of paralysis and practically rowed the whole coast of Argyllshire to singlehandedly rescue the Chieftain of Dunollie would not be content to stay behind and roll the dough for an apple tart.”

  A chill tickled Gyllis’s shoulders. She’d found an ally right there at Dunollie—someone who understood her. She grasped Jinny’s hands between her fingers. “Thank the Lord you understand. Please have Cadan meet me at the stables. I’ve already frittered away enough time.”

  Alan MacCoul sat in Dunstaffnage’s second-floor solar alone and sipped a dram of whisky. The early hour could be damned—he needed a drink. He hated waiting, and the longer he waited, the testier his men grew. He’d promised them riches and knighthoods. The final seal of success was so near he could taste it. If only the king’s reply would arrive, he could end this bloody siege and his power would be recognized. At last people would bow to him, honor him.

  The standoff had intensified. More clan armies were arriving, and every day Alan’s odds decreased. In addition to the daily volleys of arrows, Campbell’s men had broken through the outer barbican walls. Now Alan held the inner courtyard, the towers and keep. But the person sitting in the king’s solar had the power. He had the power. Stationed on the battlements, his men weren’t forced to be spread out, a good vantage point to battle a larger army if it came to a fight. Alan was still in control. Besides, their numbers would be more effective from the inner curtain wa
ll. But Alan didn’t like being squeezed. And the bastards down below would pay with their heads when the king gave him due recognition.

  Brus pushed through the door. “We’ll be out of foodstuffs within two days.”

  That was another thing that had Alan on edge. The livestock were all housed in the outer barbican and beyond. His two hundred men were stuck with the rotting food in the cellar. Alan tossed back his whisky and gave the insolent cur a sneer. “Wheesht. This will be over before the stores run out.” By God, it had better be.

  Trevor filed in behind Brus. “By my account, we’ll be out of arrows by morning.”

  Alan shoved back his chair and clapped his palms on the table. “You imbeciles. Can you not think for yourselves?” He leaned forward. “What about the arrows they’re firing at us?”

  “Most are hitting the wall and dropping. We’re firing far more than we’re reclaiming.”

  “My lord,” Alan emphasized. “I will be shown my due respect.”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “I saw that.” Alan barreled around the table and drew his dirk. “Do either of you question my rightful heritage? If you do, I’d gladly prove it here and now.”

  Trevor held up his hands. “N-no m’laird. Both of us have stood beside you through bad times and good.”

  “Aye,” Brus agreed.

  “But there’s one more thing.” Trevor took a step back. “Campbell’s dragons are moving cannons through the outer barbican. They aim to blast the castle to hell.”

  Alan spun around and kicked over a chair. With all his strength, he slammed his dirk into the table. “The bastard thinks he can attack me with cannons?”

  Trevor and Brus stared at him, both red in the face. They should be on bended knee, bowing their heads. Alan tried to yank the dirk from the table, but he’d slammed it so hard, the blasted thing held firm. With both hands, he bore down and wrested it out, then he turned and threw it at a portrait of King James.

  “Where is that fool-born messenger? The king will approve my claim on Dunollie and name me the Lord of Lorn. I alone hold Dunstaffnage, Scotland’s gateway to the Hebrides. I have held off the pompous Duncan Campbell and his cowardly Highland Enforcers. I have shown the king exactly who should be lord of these lands. I am the firstborn son of the great Alan MacDougall, not Sean. I am the true heir, descended directly from the sovereign Somerled, king and founder of this land.”

  “Aye, you are the heir.” Brus bowed. “We’re in your service. Of that you’ll never need to question…ah…m’lord…if you’ll excuse us, m’lord…”

  Alan shook his finger. “My name shall be feared throughout the Highlands.”

  The men backed out of the door, but Alan followed them, his finger held high. “Now that I have disposed of the usurping Chieftain of Dunollie, the egotistical Lord of Glenorchy will bow to me!”

  28

  Wearing a hood low over his brow and outfitted with his old weapons, Sean dismounted outside the tent flying the MacDougall pennant. Still early morning, the men in the camp had only begun to stir. Sean watched Angus push out the flap and hobble to a bush to relieve himself. More grunts and flatulence came from the old man than Sean had witnessed from the whole band of Highland Enforcers when they were on the trail.

  Sean tugged his linen shirt away from his skin. The sores riddling his body were still raw, but he’d steel his mind to the pain. It wasn’t the first time he’d ignored his wounds to face the devil. He doubted it would be his last.

  Sean chuckled to himself and skirted around the tent. No use making an announcement of his presence. If he did, he’d lose the fabled ghost moniker, something he wasn’t yet ready to part with.

  He peered from the corner to find Angus still releasing his water. Bloody hell, will the man go on all morning? Silently, Sean slipped behind him and whispered in his ear. “We’ll not allow my father’s bastard to kick up his heels in the king’s castle for one more day.”

  Blanching pure white, Angus’s entire body convulsed as he dropped the hem of his surcoat and reached for his dirk.

  Sean clamped ahold of Angus’s wrist before the henchman did something rash. “Hold onto your braies, friend.”

  Angus sucked in a gasp. “M’laird? You escaped?”

  “Kerrera, aye.”

  “Kerrera? But I thought...everyone thought.”

  “I ken what you group of bull-minded battlers thought, and if it hadn’t been for Miss Gyllis’s strong-willed determination, I’d be dead by now.”

  Angus shoved his dirk into its scabbard. “Jesus Christ, she asked for my assistance and I told her to go away home.”

  “Aye, just like her brother and every other miserable knight she asked for help.”

  Angus spread his hands to his sides. “I didn’t intend—”

  “I expect you to apologize to the lady later.” Sean again tugged his shirt away from his skin to ease the burn from his lesions. “Where is Lord Duncan?”

  Angus pointed toward the barbican. “We took the inner bailey. He’s set up command in the guardhouse tower.”

  Sean shook his head. “I cannot believe we haven’t yet driven them out.”

  “MacCoul has amassed quite an army. We estimate two hundred or more.”

  Sean headed toward the barbican gates. “How the hell did that scum-sucking weasel manage to find that many men to follow him?”

  “Well.” Angus twisted his mouth. “Between you, Campbell, and the king, I do not think it would be difficult.”

  Sean stopped and ran his palm over his dirk. “Pardon? Your words border on treason.”

  “Forgive me, m’laird.” Angus bowed. “’Twas not my intent. I’ll die defending you and Clan MacDougall, but all the outlaws we’ve evicted—all the work you and Lord Campbell have done in the name of the king—good deeds, mind you. But any time you take up the sword and enforce the law of the land, someone’s going to feel slighted.”

  “Och aye, you’re right there.” Sean clapped him on the back. “Tell me, what else does Duncan have planned for my father’s bastard?”

  Angus cringed as if Sean’s words had just sunk in. “Alan told you did he?”

  “Aye. Had I known, all this mightn’t have happened.” Sean tugged on his hood to ensure his face was still hidden. “I would have at least tried to talk with him, give him his due.”

  “It seems the past has come to haunt me. I beg your forgiveness, m’laird. I made a promise to your father on his deathbed—vowed I would never reveal his secret.” Angus stopped. “But there is one promise I broke.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you figured out the coffers were being skimmed, I told Murdach I’d have no part in it. Your father wanted to keep his mistake a secret, but once you became chieftain, we had no right to continue sending MacCoul coin. Especially after you’d banished him.”

  “I ken.” Sean continued on toward the gatehouse. “I overheard you saying as much to Murdach. ’Tis why your head’s still attached to your neck.”

  Angus’s Adam’s apple bobbed as his hawk-like gaze met Sean’s in silent thanks. They walked past the guard and ascended up the stairwell.

  “Duncan’s shipped the cannons down from Castle Stalker,” Angus said loud enough to be heard over their echoing footsteps.

  Sean exited on the first landing—he’d visited this guardhouse enough times to know where Duncan would be located. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled under his breath. MacCoul had certainly dug himself in. Let’s see how long it will take to ferret him out.

  Duncan looked up from a map of the castle. His jaw dropped and he blanched as white as Angus had earlier. “By God, now I know you’re a ghost.”

  Sean grinned. There was nothing more satisfying than confounding the leader of the Highland Enforcers. “Good to see you as well, m’lord.”

  “How the bloody hell did you get away? We haven’t fired the cannons because I did not want to take a chance before we spirited you out.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
“Not yet anyway.”

  Sean pulled up a chair and reclined with his knees wide. “Bloody MacCoul chained me in irons and left me to rot in a cave on Kerrera.”

  Duncan’s jaw dropped. “My God, Gyllis was right.”

  Angus stepped behind Sean. “Exactly what I said m’lord.”

  Sean relayed the story of how Gyllis had found him on the brink of death—after receiving savage hospitality from his bastard brother. He held up his shirt. “No thanks to MacCoul’s smithy.”

  Duncan hissed. “You should have Lady Meg see to that.” Then his face went dark and his eyebrows knit together. “God’s teeth, Gyllis was supposed to be assisting my wife this whole time.” He cracked his knuckles. “When I get my hands on my wayward sister I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Sean leaned forward. “No one would listen to Gyllis except your lady wife. If the lass had allowed you to ship her back to Kilchurn, the buzzards would be feasting on my eyeballs this morn.”

  “Jesus.” Duncan plopped into his chair. “But witnesses saw him cart your body into the castle.”

  Sean reflected back to the cave. “He boasted about spiriting me out an old sea gate—said it was on the Firth of Lorn side of the castle.”

  “An old sea gate, you say?” Duncan studied the map then looked up. “Angus—dress two men in fishermen’s garb and have them locate this gate.”

  Angus bowed and headed for the door. “Right away, m’lord.”

  Duncan pointed at the map. “We can attack from all sides—blast the cannons and end this siege.”

  Sean placed his palms on the table, fingers splayed. “I want Alan’s head. He imprisoned me in irons without so much as a drop of water and left me for dead. I want to see the look in his eyes before I take his head.”

  “But you’re—”

  Sean held up his hand. “Let me slip through the sea gate.”