Then George struck his hands together lightly back and forth, as if dusting them off from manual chores. “Leaving us time to discuss the state of the clans.”
If it were not for the promise of a rendezvous with Ursula, Alasdair may have dreaded the necessary clan briefing, but keeping up with the latest developments would be critical to his success as he returned to Skye. The meeting with King James had been the reason for his journey from home, but he couldn’t discuss that with his good friend.
After they settled in George’s massive solar, with Alasdair’s chalice filled, his friend suggested they sit at the circular table in the middle of the high-ceilinged chamber.
Alasdair stretched out his legs and crossed them as George unrolled a large parchment in the center of the table and anchored each end with an empty goblet.
His host pointed to Urquhart Castle on the map and made an arc with his finger to Kyle of Lochalsh. “From Urquhart to Glengarry, you will be well-protected by Clan Cameron. But once you cross this range and move into the Glen Shiel, you must be on your guard.”
Alasdair rose and braced himself on the table, leaning over the map to get a better look, his eyes following the arc George had traced.
“I have at least six men I can spare who will travel with you from here to Dunvegan. They wear my coat of arms, which is neutral to even the MacDonalds. You must wear it as well, Crotach.”
Alasdair’s head whipped up. He’d never been asked to hide who he was.
“Crotach, I know it goes against everything you stand for, but ’twill be a guaranteed passage.”
Alasdair considered his friend’s offer. He was never quick to make a judgment and had learned the hard way that calculated movements, even on the battlefield, merited greater success than impatient action.
“You are right my friend of the good,” Alasdair finally said after the long contemplation. “I’ve proudly worn my family’s colors since I was a swaddled babe.” He turned to pace in front of the massive fireplace that burned as hotly has he felt. If it weren’t for Ursula and Ethan, Alasdair could travel without Gordon’s protection.
“I’m no use to my clansmen if I’m dead, so I shall accept your offer and wear your colors.”
George met him at the fireplace. “Our colors are different, but our hearts are the same. We share the same hatred for the MacDonalds. And in that unity you will find peace.”
Alasdair nodded. “Aye. Now what of Eilean Donan? What can you tell me of her laird?”
“Clan MacDonald ousted the MacKenzies. A brute named Ian is her laird.”
When Alasdair fisted his hands, George said, “The clan has nae had a strong hold there for much time. The ownership you know has been debated.”
Alasdair nodded and knew as much.
“Aye, after the death of Colleen MacKenzie, her English husband took control as I recall,” his host offered and gestured to the chairs.
Alasdair stood steadfast at the hearth.
George touched his fist to his forehead. “Of course, the rendezvous,” his friend said, chuckling. Then with a curt nod, he led Alasdair to the door, but turned back with a smug smile. “It’s clear she’s bewitched by you.”
Alasdair snorted before he barked out a laugh. “My friend, ’tis the other way around. She’s bewitched me.”
Chapter 22
Not only rare flowers but exotic herbs permeated the Urquhart Castle gardens. As Ursula strolled the grounds, enjoying the flora, she wished for Rosalyn as fine a display for Fyvie. Given the time and resources, she’d like nothing more than to build a bountiful private haven for her sister of the heart.
There were many rare varieties scattered among the common perennials. Her eyes lit on a particular rose, and for a moment, there was a flicker of hope that she’d found the guelder. But that would have been too convenient.
Solitude had been a rare commodity, so Ursula basked in the quiet. Thanks to Alasdair, she was enjoying this reprieve as he’d had a hand in saving her from Ethan’s beratement. He’d been suggesting they share a room. Of course, she’d refused, and Alasdair had handily put Ethan in his place by coming to her rescue.
The two men barely tolerated each other. They were complete opposites. Ethan full of angst and lust. Alasdair playful and amorous. She did enjoy the attention from both. One more than most. And thanks to their pursuits, her pain of Joshua’s loss was fading.
Over the last few days, especially aboard the ship and with a change in her routine, Ursula had thought long and hard about Joshua. Although she had cared for him, she had not truly been in love. She’d settled.
Long ago, her virginity had been stolen from her. Most men would consider her soiled. But her mother had said purity was of spirit not body. They were witches after all and were not expected to adhere to the social norms of the royals or upper class.
She’d understood the faerie code but had never abused the freedom her spirit allowed. Only with Joshua had she explored those urges. He had helped her appreciate her body in ways she may never have discovered without a lover like him.
She shivered a little as if his spirit had just touched her cheek. Although she was a seer, she could not see the dead, unless they were stuck between worlds like Moaning Molly.
Taking a seat by an ornate table near the hearth, Ursula unpacked the herbs from her silk bag. After the garden visit, Lord Gordon’s servant had led her to this private solar at the end of a long hallway, explaining she would be needed for healing services before bed.
She was happy to oblige. As a guest in his household, she was willing to repay the laird for the generosity of providing his hospitality. Of course, she carried most of the herbs needed for common ailments.
Although she was pleased to provide a service to her host, she was concerned she would no longer be able to fulfill the promise she’d made to Alasdair to provide an antidote for her potion and to take a look at his battle wound.
The door opened abruptly with no knock. When Ursula turned to see who had entered, her mouth flopped open and shut like a fish. She had no words.
“You look surprised.” Alasdair’s brow rose. “We had an appointment.”
“You startled me,” she confessed. The last time she’d been alone with him was in the captain’s quarters when his kissing had gone wrong.
She had been disappointed their intimate moment together had ended so abruptly, before she could explore the possibilities. But the time and location had been a poor choice. But the memory of them laying on the floor together in a tumble made her smile at him.
Alasdair swept into a low bow. “My apologies, my lady.”
When he rose, he was wearing a mischievous grin. And as she studied the laird more closely, she noticed he was wearing different clothes than before, a rust-colored linen shirt with a wide open ruffled collar. And instead of a kilt, he was sporting snug leather breeches and soft slippers.
Alasdair caught her staring at him.
His face reddened when he glanced down. “Och! You do nae recognize me in George’s clothes.” He captured her gaze on the way back up with his own sheepish one. “Our host insisted his servants wash my clothes.”
She had to admit she was shocked to find Alasdair transformed from a rugged warrior to a refined gentleman. He looked more like a spoiled Englishman who’d never dirtied a hand in the Highlands or waged a war with an enemy.
“I suppose an annual washing is preferred by some,” he said, crossing the room. He took a seat on the other side of the table. “For me, that is still too often.”
She stifled a laugh, still off-balance by the two of them unchaperoned. She was not naïve, but it was a bold move to have her meet him alone in a bedchamber after dinner.
“If you cannae fix my obsession for you, I will have no course of action other than to remove your clothes and ta
ke you to bed.” He’d declared his intentions as if he’d just asked for more mead at the head table.
Ursula blinked hard. She’d yet to have a word, and she did not need to read Alasdair’s thoughts, because he was speaking them aloud.
He rose and approached her slowly. “You must be considering my offer. Otherwise, I’d have a black eye by now.”
Was she considering his offer? She was smitten. Captain Quinn had called it. Aye, this man who’d tugged at her heartstrings aboard the Merry Maid was stirring wanton feelings in her now.
Had the antidote worked, or was she affected by the herbs in her stew? But aside from her feelings of lust and confusion, Ursula was overridden with guilt. His infatuation was her fault.
She reached for her silk satchel by her feet, but by the time she’d raised her head and brought the bundle to her lap, Alasdair was down on one knee before her. He reached for her hand and helped her rise to her feet.
Towering over her, he said, “On second thought, I am nae sure any antidote would work.”
Ursula swooned a little, and Alasdair’s hand was behind her back in moments, keeping her from toppling over. His other arm wrapped around her waist. This close to him, she marveled at how tall he was.
“I promised you relief from your injuries,” she said, holding her silk pouch between their faces as if it were a shield she could use to protect herself from his flirtatious gaze.
He gently pushed her hand down and grinned at her when he could see her face again. “That ’twas not what I had in mind,” he told her as he turned her toward the massive chamber bed covered in a dark-blue velvet that matched the canopy above. Both were richly appointed with golden ropes and tassels.
She resisted his progression toward the bed. “Nay, Alasdair, I did not promise a rendezvous in this secluded Highland castle.”
He chuckled at her feeble attempt to refuse him. She tugged harder at his hand and stopped in her tracks.
His solution was to sweep her off her feet. It was her turn to chuckle. “You are persistent. I’ll shall give you that.”
Alasdair closed his eyes.
She sucked in a sharp breath before his mouth claimed hers. What could she do but kiss him back? This was no time for an argument. She relaxed and let herself be swept up in the moment.
Alasdair’s lips were gentle and aggressive at the same time. A lot like how he was when she was with him.
Maybe the sheer size of him intimidated her when she stood close to him. Yet every time they’d been alone, even in the captain’s quarters when he’d kissed her after Sid’s wedding, he moved like he was taking her prisoner, attacking her with a subtle seduction, leaving her wanting more.
His groan brought her back to the chamber, back to her senses when she broke the bond of their entwined lips.
“What was that?” she asked, surprised her breathing was labored.
“A kiss.” His lips cocked up on one side.
How could she be perturbed by this man and his gentle humor? She sputtered before she answered, “Your intention?”
He looked at her as if he felt sorry for her. She likened it to an idiot asking a scholar a question.
“You promised me relief from my injuries?”
“Aye, I did promise, but I had an herbal remedy in mind.”
“You and I do not see eye to eye. I had a physical remedy in mind.”
“How will we come to a truce on this?”
“You agree to try my way first, and if that does not work, then we’ll try your way.”
She was taken by the Highlander in more ways than she could count and wasn’t opposed to time in his company. It had been too long since she had experienced this kind of pleasure.
When she closed her eyes to contemplate her options, Alasdair’s lips locked with hers. She wanted to argue with him about his proposal, but she groaned into his kiss before she could control her response.
He growled back, quickly conquering her mouth with a surprise invasion, his tongue probing about like a brave soldier ready to take her emotions hostage.
She was not afraid. She was not uncertain as he laid her on the bed, climbing in next to her.
Of course, Ursula had been kissed before by Alasdair, but not like this. Even his attempt on the Merry Maiden seemed self-indulgent compared to the intensity of his adoration for her in this moment.
If anything, she’d have expected the herbs’ effects to have faded. But instead, Alasdair’s complete infatuation with her had only intensified.
And she did not mind at all. No, she could not control the sensations of pure lust coursing through her.
Even when he stopped to catch his breath, the short distance between them seemed too great.
“’Tis all your fault,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes after he rose to brace himself on one arm and gaze at her adoringly. “I cannae keep myself from wanting to worship your soft curves, your pouty mouth, your face that reminds me of another time and place.”
“Do nae apologize, for it is I who have put this curse on you,” she said, reaching up to run her finger across his swollen lips.
If she remembered what her mother had told her about the herbs he’d taken, Alasdair’s memory of their time together tonight would fade as the herbs’ potency faded. This would serve her well as she’d not have to explain her actions to him later.
He touched the space between her brows. “Do not be concerned. We will be discreet. No one will think less of you if they find out you’re sleeping in my quarters tonight,” he promised.
Ursula grinned wickedly at Alasdair, and the knot in her brows relaxed, for public opinion was furthest from her mind.
Public opinion be dammed. Because the public damned witches. But she was more of a shaman, more of a faerie, more of the otherworld than a witch.
If Alasdair worshiped the ground she walked on for tonight, no one else’s opinion mattered.
His devotion liberated her. From the moment they’d first met, he’d treated her with respect and dignity. A spark of attraction had ignited on the parapet at Fyvie Castle. Nothing but raw emotion guided their feelings then and now.
We’ll start slow,” Alasdair said, rubbing the back of his hand across the rise of her breasts, which were straining against the bondage of her traveling dress.
But that’s not what Ursula wanted, and she wasn’t going to wait. Pushing him down on the bed beside her, she boldly reached for the buttons on his breeches.
“Then we’ll go fast,” she promised as her hand pressed against his hardened shaft, willing to give him pleasure instead of taking her own.
Alasdair swore softly in Gaelic before he rolled her over on top of him. He simply gazed at her for a long moment before he said, “We have nae been together long, but I cannae shake the feeling I’ve known you from afore. How can that be?”
She had the same sense, too, as if their history had been written by scribes and whispered in her ear as a babe. She sensed a connection to Alasdair that scared her, but fear would not stop her from exploring his body and freeing his spirit.
“Your birthing faerie should have determined your fate, perhaps our time together is predestined.”
Her words deepened his grin. “My mother spoke of a Norse fate, our Nornir, who was in charge of our future.”
“Only time will tell,” she said as he gathered her in his arms. His lip twitched in the most appealing way, and he moved his hand over one of her taut nipples straining against her dress.
“Modesty will rule the night, but you will choose where we go,” he promised, kissing down her neck and poking his tongue between her cleavage.
Ursula sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm her rioting emotions. As much as she wanted to behave as if she would have no regrets, she was happy Alasdair woul
d not rush her, or force her into an intimacy that would not serve her right now, but she could allow his provocative exploration to surprise her.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” His words came slow and thick with longing.
Silence stretched between them. Their breathing shallow and labored. When she finally kissed him with her passion unleased, Alasdair had his answer.
Chapter 23
Alasdair studied his profile in the long mirror as he stood in George’s chamber, smiling slyly at his reflection, the memory of his body tangled with Ursula’s still fresh in his mind. But those moments had ended too soon, and he could remember very little.
He straighten up. Stood taller. But then the pain in his scar flared again.
“God’s teeth, you are ugly,” he swore to himself, crumbling back to his hunched position but relived to be dressed in his kilt and sporran again.
“Crotach, I am ugly, but I do nae expect you tell me so.”
Alasdair doubled over laughing, happy to have his good friend to distract him from his frustration. George walked to the mirror and stood next to him.
“Here,” his host said, offering the House of Gordon’s blue-and-purple tartan.
“You think this disguise will hide me from the MacDonalds?” Alasdair asked him through the mirror’s reflection.
“I shall need to provide a larger piece of plaid if you plan to hide from them,” George replied in a logical tone and serious face.
“God’s nails,” Alasdair swore again, but this time he laughed. “’Tis true. The fabric is too small, but I would never hide from the MacDonalds.”
“You will be less of a target without the MacLeod colors and the Faery Flag.”
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 15