The footsteps faded, but the dropped torch remained dimly lit in the corridor. Ursula took solace in the momentary light. She shivered as if the torch brought warmth that was fading with the glow. Total darkness had been dreadful.
“Oh, God, please help me,” she called out in desperation, collapsing to her knees, sobbing.
Alasdair’s strong arms lifted her gently into a warm embrace. “Hush now. I’ll help you,” he said with tenderness. Her sobs subsided as he draped over her like a protective shield, his chin resting lightly on her head.
“Faery Queen, I’ve missed you,” Alasdair whispered softly in her ear. Instantly, her belly did a flip, and her fear was replaced with hope.
She sighed. “I’ve missed you, too.” She slid her head out from under his chin. “Why did you leave me to Ethan?”
He gazed at her lips as if he did not care what she’d said. She was about to light into him about what had happened, but he smothered her next query with a kiss full of passion and purpose.
He started with a gentle assault of her lips. Then he flicked his delicious tongue in and out of her mouth as if she were a dessert he wanted to take his time consuming.
After teasing with his kissing skills, he began to fondle her arse, squeezing each cheek, alternating back and forth, and she giggled against his lips.
And if that wasn’t already exciting wanton feelings inside her, Alasdair began to bunch up her skirt under her bum, while he played a dueling game with her tongue, aiming to conquer her mouth and render her senseless in his arms.
She welcomed his touch, his caressing, his adoration of her, telling her how beautiful she was. How could she have allowed Ethan to undermine her trust in this man, who by all accounts had acted in her best interests? She’d been foolish to trust Ethan and leave Alasdair. She only hoped these were not their final hours together while Ian determined their fate.
The torch fizzled out, and darkness enveloped them, requiring her to feel her way about his body with exploratory intention. As much as she enjoyed the distraction he was providing, and how she succumbed to his charms, she could not read his expression or gaze into his eyes for the authenticity she sought.
Even as Alasdair took her breath away, she wondered what would become of them. Would this be the last time he held her in his arms? A future heir potentially grew inside her. Would they try again anyway? Tonight, in this darkness, with a hope for a future.
“You are mine,” he said softly. “My fur will be our bed,” he told her, releasing her for a moment.
She stepped back in the darkness, her body tingling with anticipation and also her need for his warmth in the dank dungeon. Somehow Alasdair’s earthly scent had doused the dungeon’s stench.
“Come,” he coaxed and guided her down to the fur, then slid beside her.
“Alasdair, what—?” But before she could finish, he placed a finger against her lips.
“Shh,” he soothed. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded with his finger still pushing gently against her mouth.
“Good, for I will keep you safe and find a way to save us.”
As much as she wanted to believe him and fall under his intoxicating lure, she needed to know his plans.
“I’m grateful you sought me out when you could have returned home to your clan and forgotten me.” She paused when her lip trembled, but she needed to tell him how she felt. “Ethan is gone, and I know not what happened to Conn’s men,” she told him, her voice shaky. “You’re my only hope.”
Alasdair shifted slightly on his side and drew her close. “I’m pleased to be your only hope, for you are mine.”
“How can that be?”
“My grandfather used to speak of my great-great-great-grandmother with awe and respect, promising one day I would meet a woman like her. Faerie born, full of folklore and magic. A woman who could steal my heart but keep it safe with a spirit equal to mine own. A soul mate for all time.
“For years I’ve searched for a woman like you. Assured, sensual, smart, and otherworldly. My soul mate.”
Did she dare dream? What had begun as a flirtatious and almost disastrous start might blossom into something she could hold on to?
She’d learned the art of healing from her mother and grandmother, but she had expected to live out her years alone.
Not until she met Joshua and became his lover did she believe there was a match for her in this life. And when he died, her flickering hope for a life with a partner had died with him.
Was this Highlander from Skye the secret to her happiness? When she’d decided to devote her life to the care of others, she’d expected her own care would be sacrificed in return.
“You did nae hear my question?”
Ursula shook off her rambling thoughts like a dog shedding water. “What was the question?”
“Now my feelings are hurt. You were not listening to my adoration of you?”
“Nay,” she said, letting out an embarrassed laugh, “I heard everything and am in awe. Speechless, actually.” She paused, considering the right words, then they came to her. “You give me hope.”
“Good, for you can nae give up.” He ran the back of his hand gently down her cheek. “I’ll repeat the question. Clearly, I stunned you senseless with my compliments. How did they kill Ethan?”
She shivered. Not from the cold, but from the cold-blooded nature of men like Ian MacDonald.
“He was shoved off a wall and into the sea loch,” she replied flatly, not sure it mattered. Perhaps he wanted to know if the MacDonalds might torture them on the morrow.
“Do you know how to swim?”
Ursula’s head spun, thinking back to the horror of seeing someone shoved off a wall, helpless, into the tremulous seawaters of the loch.
“His hands were tied,” she said with exasperation.
“That did nae answer my question.”
Ursula took in a long, deep breath and reflected back on her childhood. Aye, she had learned from her uncle before they’d gone fishing in a river where the waters ran rapid. He had taken her to a shallow lake before the excursion, and he’d shown her how to float on her back if she stiffened her body like a board. He’d held her head until she’d felt brave enough to go it alone.
“I know how to float,” she said proudly.
“That is not swimming, but better than drowning.”
She let out a tiny whimper, and her heart almost stopped beating at the thought of being pushed into the sea and trying to float like a board.
“Floating is almost swimming. You just need to kick your feet, and that will propel you,” Alasdair said, squeezing her a little tighter.
She relaxed more in his arms.
“Do you nae think they’ll hang us?”
“The history of hanging in the Highlands is a long one, lass, but I can tell you the practice is more popular in Edinburgh.”
“That’s not comforting. My mother and grandmother were hanged in the Highlands, so my history may be different than yours,” she said with a huff.
He nuzzled her neck before he began kissing his way toward her breasts with tiny pecks of sweetness. “If my words do nae comfort you, let my actions.”
It wasn’t long before Ursula had forgotten what tomorrow held, for tonight was bright with promise. Promise of love. Promise of a future. She would set aside her doubts and fears and dream of a future with Alasdair.
In the darkness, without words, he began his subtle seduction. Her traveling clothes were loose enough that he had little trouble slipping the fabric from her body.
As Ursula lay in the darkness on the warm fur, tingling with anticipation, she wanted nothing more than Alasdair to give her hope. And she was grateful it did nae take long before nothing separated them but the breath between their sighs.
<
br /> Alasdair moved about in the darkness, kissing and stroking her in all the right places. Aching for him, she offered sweet moans and groans of encouragement.
Ursula’s heart skipped a beat when he straddled her and gently rubbed his chest over her breasts, tickling them with his soft hairs.
Gone was Alasdair’s tentativeness, for his scar was invisible to her here as he moved about her like it never was. His hands treating her body like a master potter would a fresh lump of clay, with loving, generous strokes.
Alasdair made her feel regal, raunchy, and riotous, all at the same time, as he murmured lovely words of adoration. When he sank deep inside her, she gave a squeal of delight.
She was slick inside when he settled into her channel, and his manhood moved with a powerful force intent on providing her pleasure.
Just when she was certain Alasdair’s thrusting hips and nipple licking had taken her to her limit, he coaxed her into wanting more.
He was the master of a dance, one with the promise of sweet rewards. Fast and slow rhythmic movements. Their bodies intertwined. Words of endearment lacing their lips.
Alasdair came to his climax, and convulsions of pleasure surged through her. Collapsing next to her, he snuggled her neck, and she sighed with a feeling of satisfaction.
After a few lovely, indulgent moments of rest, his heart beating with hers, Alasdair took her hand and gave it a sweet kiss on the back. “My Faery Queen, will you take my throne?”
“’Tis not likely I’ll aspire to be Laird of Dunvegan,” she replied in a teasing tone. “Nor would I dare take it from you, even though you’ve offered.”
He chuckled into her neck, giving her a few sweet pecks after. “The throne beside me, wearing your Faery crown.”
Dared she dream of a life with this clan laird when another held their future? She could only hope their fate lay in the loch not the noose. At least then, she might have a chance to answer Alasdair’s question.
Chapter 33
Was it night or day?
Alasdair had never spent time in a dungeon as a prisoner until now, and he marveled at the simplicity of the torture. Not all underground lairs were constructed like this one. But stripping a person of light, of their perception of time, was one of the worst punishments Alasdair could imagine.
Fortunately, MacDonald had thrown them in the same cell. Yet, Alasdair didn’t want to underestimate the laird. In his small-minded way, Ian MacDonald could have a more devious plan in place than Alasdair imagined.
He wrapped his bearskin cape around Ursula, then quickly dressed. When he sat back on the floor to pull on his boots, she let out a satisfied sigh. Disappointed he couldn’t revel in her beauty has she slept, he settled on picturing a look of contentment on her face instead.
She’d sidestepped his proposal. But she’d been a willing lover, and he would cling to that because the future held only uncertainty.
Alasdair shuffled over to the cell bars in the dark. Although he’d been distracted by his feelings for Ursula, it was time to see if he could do anything to weaken the door like he had the adjacent one.
With both hands firmly in place, one on the door and the other on the frame, Alasdair took in a deep breath and shoved as hard as he could against them.
The metal whined against his weight, creaking with age, but the mechanism holding the cell door closed did not yield.
Undeterred, Alasdair put his good shoulder into a second shove, but the try delivered the same result even though the aging iron grumbled in response.
He was about to give it another go when the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. A dim, wobbly, golden glow made its way toward him.
Alasdair’s stomach grumbled. It had been well over a day and a half since he’d eaten. Roasted rabbit meat at midday and a few wild berries. The last thing he expected, though, was to be served a meal.
He stepped back and reached down to wake Ursula. She had dressed before falling asleep after their lovemaking, but she’d best be awake for their visitors.
“Sweet one. On your feet. Quickly.”
He gave her his hand and helped her up. And by the time she was at his side, the torchbearer was at the gate.
Two sentries peered in. They were dressed in the customary kilt, leather vest, and bearskin cape. One carried a torch and sword, the other a key.
With quick movements, the soldier at the gate unlocked the door, then shoved it open.
“You.” He pointed at Alasdair. “Just you.”
What? He’d assumed he and Ursula would face their fate together.
She spoke before he had a chance. “Where Alasdair goes, I go,” she said with a clear voice and an arrogant resolve, as if she was a queen commanding an army.
“Orders are for us to take only him,” the man with the sword told them, gesturing to Alasdair.
“Take me anyway. My fate and his are tied,” she insisted.
“Are you husband and wife?”
“We are bound to each other,” Ursula said with conviction.
The two soldiers looked at one another.
“We are not criminals,” Alasdair said, sensing some compassion from the two men standing outside the cell. “We are all Highlanders, lovers of Scotland and loyal to King James. What quarrel do you have with us?”
“We have no quarrel, but we must follow orders,” the one with the sword told them. “Let’s go,” he ordered, seemingly out of patience with Alasdair.
What hope Alasdair had for compassion was squelched by the demand. Even if he could take one of them down, he was outmanned, his hands his only weapons. And the last thing he wanted was Ursula to get hurt.
Instead of fighting, Alasdair turned and embraced Ursula. Under his breath he said, “Go along with this, love. The worst may be getting pushed off the seawall.” When she stiffened, he held her tighter. “Remember, float and kick.”
Then he brought his lips to hers, pressing into their softness with a hunger and passion for more. A kiss to remind her of the bond she’d spoken of moments before. A kiss that said more than words. A kiss to show her who she was to him now, and how they would never be the same again.
A bond was a promise. He refused to believe they wouldn’t see each other again and was determined to fight for their future, even as he was led down the corridor without her.
Not long afterward, Alasdair was shading his eyes from the glaring sun as he was led from the buttery into the walled courtyard facing the sea.
After passing the two checkpoints where he’d left Conn’s volunteers, he wondered what had become of the men. Most likely they’d been found before they could sneak out. But because they had no quarrel with the MacDonalds, he hoped they’d been set free.
Without fanfare, Alasdair was led to the center of the courtyard where close to twenty clansmen stood facing the ocean. The soldier with the sword told Alasdair to stop.
In a few short moments, the other tied Alasdair’s hands in front, then he was led before the men with his back to the sea loch.
Ian Macdonald waited in the center of the line. “I should have killed you when I killed your father.”
“You did nae have the skill,” Alasdair shot back.
“You had that damn flag with you.”
“You believe in faeries, do you?”
Alasdair’s gaze roamed the clansmen, and he caught most of them holding back a laugh.
“Donnae have anything to do with faeries. ’Twas me men who were spooked by the legend, and they failed me.” The MacDonald laird stepped forward and walked toward Alasdair.
“Those men did not live to fail me again.” He turned and gestured to the soldiers behind him, all wearing the MacDonald tartan. “These men are different. They will nae be frightened by legends, faeries, or”—Ian got within a
breath of his face—“a MacLeod.”
A whooping and a hollering followed the declaration, and Ian’s men looked ready for blood. Perhaps Alasdair had underestimated their plans for him. Two things were certain. He needed to leave this castle isle alive, and he had to save Ursula. No matter what the means, he was willing to make the sacrifice.
“You’ve taken this castle from the MacKenzies,” Alasdair said. “Do you nae have more hate for them than the MacLeods?” He looked Ian in the eye and did not blink. “They are your true enemies.”
Ian’s right cheek flinched. Then he spun away from Alasdair and began to pace.
Just a little farther.
As Ian droned on about the MacKenzies in their ability to defend an important Highland outpost like Eilean Donan, he walked farther and farther from Alasdair, and his clansmen’s gazes followed their leader.
A few more feet.
When Ian’s back was completely turned, Alasdair made his move. In one great rush, bounding across the courtyard toward the seawall, he ran until he reached it. Heart racing, chest heaving, Alasdair hurled himself over the wall feet first toward the water.
He inhaled a big gulp of air and plunged through the rock-hard surface, dropping as deep as the distance he’d jumped. Holding his breath tightly, Alasdair kicked with all his might, looking up toward the sun through the waves.
When his breath waned and his lungs burned, he didn’t panic. Thoughts of saving Ursula and concern over being discovered kept him focused while he kicked hard and steered himself toward the island’s foundation.
Finally, he broke through the blue canopy, sucking in a huge breath. As his gaze traveled upward, he found himself hidden under the wall where he’d jumped.
As much as he wanted to start around the castle now and make his way back to camp, it would be safer to hide under the ledge until dark. No doubt MacDonald’s men were armed and searching for him.
But, he’d never be free until Ursula was free.
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 22