The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  “I do hope everyone will be all right.”

  He ambled beside her with an easy stride. “I doubt there’ll be any altercation at all, m’lady. Sir Aleck wanted to see things for himself.”

  Helen cringed at the mention of her husband. After last eve, she shuddered at what Sir Eoin must think of her.

  They walked for a bit and he shifted the basket to his far arm. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of my men, but would you mind if I had a look at your bruises?”

  Stopping, she clapped her hands either side of her linen wimple. She and Glenda had chosen it because silk would have been too sheer. “I wouldn’t want to take this off. Without my chambermaid, it would be difficult to secure it back in place.”

  He smoothed his fingers atop the back of her hands. “We don’t need to take it off. I just would like to see the marks now that we’re in the light.”

  “But why?” she asked. “Looking at them will not make them fade any faster.”

  “No.” His eyebrows pinched as if he were very concerned. “However, there may come a time when I need to bear witness to Aleck’s treachery.”

  That made her mouth go dry. Helen nodded and lowered her hands. Yes, people at the castle had made offhand remarks, but no one had ever alluded to helping her. The thought was rather terrifying, yet liberating. “Glenda said I looked awful.”

  He examined the linen appreciatively. “She did a wonderful job with your wimple. No one will know.” He pulled out the right side and encouraged her to angle her face toward the sun. “Devil’s bones, it does look far worse than it did last eve.” He tried to tug on the neck cloth, but it was wound too tight.

  Helen dropped her gaze to her toes. “’Tis humiliating.”

  “Does it hurt you?”

  “Aye, but only when I smile.”

  He raised her chin with the crook of his finger until their gazes met. “’Tis a folly, for you are most beautiful when you smile.”

  Mercy, must Eoin look so fetching when saying something as nice as that? Didn’t he know Helen wasn’t accustomed to praise of any sort? She cast her gaze to the path and patted her wimple where he’d mussed it. “We should keep going.”

  12

  Eoin enjoyed the fresh air and walking through the pastoral countryside with Helen more than he should have. The leaves on the trees shimmered, alive with a bright verdant color only seen in the Highlands in spring. The season must have enlivened his very soul, because he felt like humming—not because he’d just examined Helen’s bruise—the fact that Aleck had struck her abhorred him. But walking beside the lovely lady made him a bit giddy. Who wouldn’t want to hum with birds singing while puffs of clouds gently sailed above? The mere idea made him thank the stars his men weren’t there to give him a good ribbing.

  Perhaps that’s why the old hens call it spring fever.

  If only he could talk to Helen more about last night’s incident with Aleck, but she seemed so reluctant and embarrassed. Bloody hell, he hated seeing bruises on her porcelain skin. What had Eoin concerned the most, however, was her future safety. When Glenda had found him last eve, she’d told him Aleck had grown more abrasive since the birth of their daughter. What if, God forbid, Helen gave birth to yet another lass? What reprehensible acts would MacIain resort to then?

  Lady Helen might have the will of a warrior woman, but in stature, she was fragile. In no way could she withstand beatings from that barbarian. Not that any woman should ever be forced to endure Aleck MacIain’s ire.

  Helen pointed ahead. “I always stop at Mistress Cate’s cottage on the way into town. She’s an elderly lady and cannot move about all that well.”

  “Does she live alone?”

  “Aye, but her son and daughter-in-law till her lands. They live in the village and check on her every day.”

  Eoin followed Helen up an overgrown path to a small lime-washed cottage with a thatched roof.

  “Mistress Cate?” Helen rapped on the door. “I’ve brought you some cheese today.”

  Eoin grinned. Lady Helen might be married to the Devil’s spawn, but she was certainly an angel. It was good to see her carrying out charitable activities on behalf of the clan. That was an important role of the chieftain—to provide safety and support for his people. Unfortunate not all chieftains remember that fact.

  “A moment,” a voice called from inside. When the door opened, a haggard face framed by grey hair, crinkled more by a toothless grin. “Good morrow, Lady Helen.” The woman’s gaze inspected Eoin with a hint of unease. “And where is Sir Grant today?”

  Helen graciously introduced Sir Eoin as her dear friend from Glen Orchy. And when she rattled off his title, Mistress Cate’s apprehension spread into an adoring grin. Stepping aside, she promptly invited them inside. The stone-walled cottage comprised one room with a bed on one end and a cooking hearth on the other with a table and benches in between.

  The elderly woman ambled toward the hearth. “I’ve some onion broth over the fire. You will stay and have a bowl with me?”

  “Of course we will.” Helen sat and motioned for Eoin to do the same. “And how is your rheumatism?”

  Mistress Cate bent down and picked up an iron ladle. “Coming good now the weather is warming.”

  Helen nodded with a warm smile. “Och, I am happy to hear it.”

  “And how long will you be visiting Mingary, Sir Eoin?” Cate asked.

  “A month, mayhap two.” He didn’t want to alarm the poor crofter with the reason for his visit.

  The elderly woman placed a wooden bowl of broth with one sliver of onion in front of him. “Do you think those MacDonalds will leave us be?”

  Evidently the rumor mill was as alive and healthy in Kilchoan as it was in every other Highland village. Eoin cleared his throat. “I hope so, mistress.”

  Helen lifted her wooden spoon. “Sir Aleck sailed this morning to inspect the MacDonald lands in Sleat. Are you aware Alexander MacDonald threatened the king?”

  “Aye. ’Tis disgraceful if you ask me.” Mistress Cate tottered over with a bowl for herself and lumbered onto the bench beside Eoin. “Times are changing. The Highlands are now part of Scotland just like Edinburgh or Glasgow or Inverness—No more Lord of the Isles ruling over us.”

  Helen dabbed her lips. “Aye, and the young King James has done much to bring us together.”

  “Unfortunately the MacDonalds do not see it that way,” Eoin said. “And I suppose Clan Donald has lost the most, though they have no grounds for complaint. Their lands are vast.”

  “Too vast if you ask me.” Cate spread her arms wide. “All I need is this cottage and a wee parcel of land to till. Why a man needs a dozen castles is beyond my imagination, even if he is an earl—or a king for that matter.”

  The old woman certainly was sharp for her advanced age. Eoin watched Mistress Cate hold forth while Helen listened, thoughtfully eating his abominable broth—it hadn’t a lick of salt, though that commodity was worth its weight in gold.

  After Helen had eaten every last drop, she stood. “As always, I want to thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

  The old woman rose, wringing her hands. “Must you leave so soon?”

  Helen patted Cate’s shoulder. “I’ve many others to see today, but I’ll come around again in a sennight.”

  “Will you bring Sir Eoin with you?” She batted her eyelashes at him with her endearing toothless grin.

  Helen glanced at Eoin and blushed. His stomach made some sort of irregular jumping motion that must have been caused by the broth. Why on earth would such a question make Helen turn red? But the lady maintained her poise. “I’ll wager Sir Grant will be back from their sortie by then,” she said.

  “Well then.” Mistress Cate grasped Eoin’s hand and squeezed. “’Tis not every day a Highland chieftain comes to call.” She then clasped his upper arm. “And by the size of you, you’re a good fighting man as well.”

  He bowed. “I do what I can m’lady.”

  Afte
r picking up her basket, Helen headed for the door. “Hopefully Sir Eoin will return to Glen Orchy without having to wield his sword.”

  Eoin wished it would be so, though with every passing day, war became more eminent.

  Not long after they resumed their journey down the path, the village children came running, calling Lady Helen’s name. Her visage instantly brightened. “Hello everyone.” She crouched to be on eye-level with the littlest one. They all had a barrage of questions from, where is the bairn, to how old is the bairn, to can you bring Maggie to play with us. Helen answered every question as if it were of the utmost importance. Then she fished in that basket of hers and gave each child a coin before she sent them on their way.

  “They adore you,” Eoin said.

  “They are all very special to me. I think visiting the village is my favorite part of being lady of the keep.”

  Eoin cringed inside. Indeed he was a chieftain with lands, but his clan was armigerous to the Campbells. The MacGregors were governors of Campbell lands, but Eoin had no castle of his own. His clan lived in a village of long houses, which by rights were as functional as a keep. However, though his rooms were spacious, it wasn’t a castle akin to that which Lady Helen had been accustomed her entire life. Truly, she would frown upon such meager living quarters as he possessed in Glen Strae.

  Walking through the muddy lane, a beggar hailed them. “Lady Helen, have you a tot of whisky for me today?”

  “Nay, Hamish, but I do have a parcel of food for you.” She handed him a leather-wrapped bundle.

  He took it and pulled the thong. “I’d be a mite bit happier if you brought me whisky.”

  She held up her finger. “Now you know I cannot bring you spirit.”

  He grinned pinching a bit of chicken with grimy fingers. “Och, but I can keep asking, m’lady.”

  Spending the afternoon with Lady Helen was like watching a saint flit about—one who wasn’t entirely aware of the effect she had on others. Everyone she touched smiled at her with their face aglow. It was as if she’d strolled into the village illuminated by her own ray of sunshine. She handed out tinctures for cough and a salve for a burn, and by afternoon, her basket was nearly empty.

  Eoin took note of dark clouds rolling in from the west and pointed. “Are you nearly finished, m’lady? It looks like we could be seeing some rain.”

  “Oh my.” She pressed her gloved fingers over her bow-shaped lips. “We’d best be heading back.”

  Eoin took Helen’s basket and led her out of the village and past the turn to Cate’s cottage. They’d nearly traveled a mile when a sloppy raindrop splashed Eoin’s cheek. “We may have left a bit late.”

  She walked briskly beside him. “If we hurry we might make it.”

  A streak of lightning fingered across the sky, followed by a thundering clap. In the blink of an eye, the skies opened with a deluge.

  “Ack!” Helen lifted her hem and hastened her pace.

  The rain came down in sheets and they hadn’t even traveled halfway to the castle. Worse, Mistress Cate’s cottage was a good half-mile back.

  Eoin peered left then right—searching for anything that could provide shelter. Nestled against a hill was an old lean-to. Eoin grasped Helen’s elbow. “Come.” He tucked her beneath his arm and held his cloak over her head. “’Tis not much, but it will do until the downpour eases.”

  She leaned into him. “I hope this squall doesn’t last long.”

  He helped her step over a fallen tree. “The clouds are thick, but I’ve never seen a torrent like this last for more than an hour or so.”

  When he led her inside, Helen shivered. “Brr, I’m soaked clean through already.” Her wimple had been pushed from her hair and her mantle draped flush against her shoulders like wet bed linens.

  Eoin removed his cloak. Though it had been oiled, it was too wet to be of any use in warming her. He hung it on a nail. “Take off your mantle and I’ll hang it beside mine.”

  “I doubt they’ll dry.” She handed him the garment.

  “But you’ll catch a chill if you remain wrapped in wet garments.”

  She smoothed her hands across her face and over her exposed tresses. “I’m afraid that cannot be helped.”

  Eoin’s gaze dipped to her chest. Though wearing a high collared neckline, her wet gown clung to her breasts like a second skin. A twinge of yearning hit him deep in the gut. His gaze dipping lower, her nipples stood erect through the woolen fabric.

  Devil’s bones, his cock came alive like a waking dragon.

  Helen pulled her arms across her body, her teeth chattering. “Unfortunate we’ve no hearth and flint.”

  Eoin placed his hands on her shoulders. “Allow me to warm you, m’lady.”

  Her lips parted and she drew in a sharp breath as if she were going to issue a rebuttal. But she offered a shy nod.

  Cautiously, he slid his palms around her back. Wet woman molded to his chest, her breasts plying him. The points of her nipples teased as if begging him to untie her kirtle and suckle them. Eoin stiffened when her mons brushed his cock. Not a maid, she would be aware of his arousal.

  Helen suddenly stood very still. She did not pull away, nor did she push into his erection. When she slid her hands around his waist, Eoin gasped. Damnation, the lass felt better than any woman he’d ever held in his arms before. His heart thrummed, his cock ached to push into her and rub. But this was Lady Helen. He couldn’t force himself upon her and take advantage of his best friend’s sister, a woman he’d known since he was four and ten—a woman who was…married.

  Jesus strike me dead now.

  She rested her head against his chest, yet still said nothing.

  Eoin inhaled and tightened his embrace, settling his cheek atop Helen’s head. She smelled purer than a newborn lamb. God, he’d do anything to turn back time and offer for her hand.

  When her fingers pressed into his back, Eoin almost moaned for the soothing caress of her touch. But he controlled his longings and held absolutely still. He even kept his breathing shallow.

  Ever so gently, she plied his lower back with deft fingers. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s gentle touch. Too long. And Helen’s fingers were caressing him so lightly—like a timid kitten.

  Eoin pressed his lips into her silken hair and closed his eyes. Drinking her in, he wanted to savor this moment. Fate had led them into this rickety shelter and, by the grace of God, the only woman he’d ever loved was wrapped in his embrace.

  Ever so slightly, Helen relaxed into him.

  Had he imagined it?

  Her hands slid up his spine, fingers massaging as they slid back down.

  He shivered.

  Good God.

  Insatiable hunger stirred in Eoin’s lower belly, his heart swelled in his chest. The tip of his tongue slipped from between his lips. Taking his time, he trailed kisses from Helen’s temple to her ear, then down the side of her long, feminine neck.

  Helen sighed—a high pitched, breathy sound that told Eoin she wanted him. Needing no more encouragement, his heart took over. His hand slid up and cupped her face as he gently plied her lips with a lingering kiss.

  Her heartbeat drummed an intoxicating rhythm that carried to the tip of that bow-shaped mouth.

  Sliding his fingers under her wimple and through her tresses, he brushed his tongue across her lips and coaxed them open. Once inside her mouth, she ensnared him, and all the gold in Scotland would not be payment enough to entice Eoin to pull away. She tasted fresh as the rain dripping from the eaves, but warm and soothing like a blast from a brazier. Opposed to the cold air surrounding them, her silken mouth welcomed him. Eoin’s legs weakened with the stirring of desire in his groin. He tightened his thigh muscles to regain a modicum of control.

  She returned his kiss with another intoxicating sigh. Deeper his tongue probed while she ignited a bone-melting fire that thrummed through his blood. Though Eoin wanted to rush, to unlace her kirtle and fill his palms with Helen’s breasts, he
was lucid enough to realize that attacking Lady Helen with such wild abandon would be folly. Taking his time, he controlled the pace with languid strokes of his tongue.

  Helen swooned in Eoin’s arms. Overwhelmed by the tenderness of his touch, she was so lightheaded she couldn’t breathe…or stop.

  Mm.

  Aleck had never kissed her with his tongue—never turned her body to molten honey. And that’s how Eoin tasted—warmed, raw, delicious honey.

  She’d been aware of Eoin’s manhood pressing into her nether parts since he first wrapped her in his embrace. She had stood very still for a moment, not wanting to encourage him, but not wanting to pull away either. His body felt so exquisitely warm, so powerful. For the first time in five years she knew sanctuary. A man with a caring heart like Eoin’s would protect his own. He was trained to be a knight by Helen’s father. Deeply-seated within his soul was the sense of right and honor.

  Honor.

  Helen’s entire body tensed. She forced herself to ease away from his kiss. It didn’t matter how much she wanted this man. He was not hers to covet. “We cannot.”

  He tightened his grip and pressed his lips against her temple. “Forgive me.”

  She chuckled. “I should thank you.”

  “Why?” he whispered, his voice strained.

  It was difficult to admit she’d never been kissed like that before. How could she put it? Her cheeks prickled with heat and she lowered her gaze.

  The rough pads of his fingertips brushed along her jaw. “Are you all right?”

  “Aye,” Helen said hoarsely. She looked directly at the lips that had just plied hers so reverently. They were slightly pursed, full and, by the stars, she wanted to kiss them again. “I’ve never…” She released her grasp and turned away. It was too humiliating to tell him.

  She heard his quick inhale as he stepped behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Eoin’s simple touch filled her with warmth. How could anyone sap her resolve with a mere touch? I should step away.

  But Eoin’s breath caressed her cheek. “My guess is he is not tender with you.”