Matthew bent down several feet away and yanked an arrow from the ground. “It just missed its mark.” Then he motioned to a rock near the tree. “I’d wager she fell when the arrow grazed her and hit her head.”
“Then, she’s been rendered unconscious,” Fiona said absently as she took hold of the woman’s hand. Thick lashes fluttered against the woman’s pale cheeks. Fiona guessed they were near the same age. “What is her name?”
“Holly,” he said. “She is Balloch’s sister.”
In answer to her questioning look, Matthew told her, “Balloch is the warrior ye spoke to when we first arrived.”
“They are here,” a deep voice bellowed.
Matthew’s face brightened. “And here he is now.”
From out of the woods, Balloch appeared, holding a young lass in his arms. At his side, with her arms wrapped around his thick waist, trudged a willowy-framed woman with long, red hair. Behind them more than a dozen people followed.
Fiona jumped to her feet. “They survived,” she squealed to Matthew before racing toward the villagers. “Praise be to Mary and all the Saints,” she cried when she reached Balloch. The wee lass in his arms had hair every bit as red as the woman at his side, but her eyes were rich brown like his.
Tears streamed down his rugged cheeks. “My lassies,” he said, his voice breaking. He pulled his wife close.
Fiona’s face crumpled beneath the weight of her relief. She stood by and watched the families embrace and console one another.
“Where were they?” she asked Matthew when he reached her side.
“Jamie had the warriors dig deep pits in the woods hidden amid the bramble and thicket in case of an attack.”
Balloch’s wife turned to them. Her blue eyes weary but relieved. “When we heard the watchtower bell, we hid.” Then her face crumpled. “It was dreadful, the shouts of the men and the roar from the fires. They searched the forest, but praise be to the good Lord, they did not find us.”
“It was so scary, Da,” the wee lass said, turning big brown eyes on her father.
“’Tis all right now, lass,” he crooned.
Fiona nodded. “Yer da’s right, little one.” Then she stepped back and cupped her hands around her mouth. “If anyone has suffered injury, come forward.”
Several people turned to her with scrapes that needed bandaging while others just needed a shoulder to cry their fears on. She prayed with them, giving thanks to God for his mercy.
“My lady.”
Fiona looked down at Balloch’s daughter who reached her arms high. “Oh, ye sweet wee lass,” Fiona exclaimed, scooping up the child. She held her close, bouncing ever so slightly. Her wee body trembled in Fiona’s arms.
“I was so scared, my lady,” she cried.
Fresh tears stung Fiona’s eyes. “Ye’re safe now, sweetling.”
Suddenly, the thunder of hooves drummed in the distance. Fiona sucked in a sharp breath.
“Back to the woods,” Matthew shouted
“It will be all right,” Fiona told the girl before handing her back to her mother. “Go,” she shouted. “Run!”
Then she whirled around, her gaze fixed on the sloping moors. The pounding of the hooves matched the rhythm of her quaking heart. She held her breath, waiting. Then riders appeared over the hills, their banners flapping in the wind. “’Tis the MacLeod,” she shouted. Her heart nigh leapt from her chest. “Matthew, ‘tis Jamie!”
She raced toward the riders. One broke away from the others, pushing his horse harder. Golden hair shone in the sun. “Jamie!”
When he drew close, he slid from his horse. In breaths, moments, his arms were around her. He held her in a crushing embrace, lifting her feet clear off the ground. Then he set her down and cupped her cheeks. “Are ye all right? Are ye hurt? Why are ye away from the keep?”
“I am well,” she assured him. “I came to help.”
He kissed her lips, then looked past her to the destruction.
“They’re all alive,” she told him. “Everyone survived.”
Relief instantly shone on his face. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her toward the people who had turned back from the woods. As Jamie and Fiona drew near, the children rushed to their laird. Tears streaked their sooty faces. Jamie released her and knelt to the ground. He opened his arms wide in time for the collision of wee bodies against his chest. Closing his arms, he held them close. Fiona cried into her hand at the sight of Jamie embracing the children.
He was her husband, and like any true laird, he was father to their people.
Chapter 26
The laird of the MacLeod had, indeed, brought home an army.
Fiona gazed out across the great hall in wonder. MacDonnell warriors filled the trencher tables, sitting among the Làidir MacLeod and the MacLeod warriors from the Isles of Harris and Raasay. Smiling, she waved to her kinsmen. The evening would be perfect if only her father was present, but Gordon MacDonnell had stayed behind at Castle Creagan to safeguard his fortress against attack. Still, he had ridden out to meet Jamie with nearly two hundred warriors to aid their cause.
“I wish my father could be here to see this,” she said to Jamie.
“He had a glimpse of our clans together when our men gathered at Loch Ewe. I’m sure he won’t mind me telling ye that he shed a tear or two at the sight.”
Fiona’s gaze darted across the room, following a pack of wee ones racing after Broden with wooden swords raised high. The tall, handsome warrior laughed as he jumped up on one of the tables, then skirted platters of roasted meat and good-natured diners to reach the other side. But the children were already waiting for him. He raised his hands in surrender, and the wee ones squealed with delight.
Everywhere Fiona turned, people were laughing and toasting the day that had begun with tragedy but ended in gratitude. At one table near the front of the hall, she spied Esme and Abby. They both looked radiant with their hair unbound, skimming their waists in flaxen waves. Clearly, Fiona was not the only one who appreciated her maids’ beauty. Sebastian had his arm wrapped possessively around Esme’s waist while Thomas straddled the bench at Abby’s side and held her close. He wore a soft expression as he grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Fiona smiled when her maid blushed in response.
“Love seems to be blossoming,” Fiona told Jamie.
His gaze followed hers. “Aye, in fact, both Sebastian and Thomas made mention of their growing affection for yer maids on our journey to Loch Ewe.”
Fiona smiled. “I am glad. They both seem like fine men.”
Jamie nodded. “Thomas has proven himself a natural warrior. He works hard and is eager to please his captains. Sebastian has a keen mind. He will be a captain one day, but his true passion is for the land. If he had his way, he would trade his sword for the plow.”
She raised her cup to Jamie. “To lives saved and love found.”
He joined her, lifting his tankard of ale. “There could be no finer reasons to celebrate.” Then he motioned to the room. “Never did I dream this could be possible.”
She laughed. “And to think, the same bustling merriment fills our courtyard and the land beyond the outer wall.”
Jamie smiled. “I told ye I would bring home an army.”
She leaned close. “More than anything, ‘tis yer homecoming that fills my heart with joy.”
He shifted in his seat, turning to face her. “Thank ye for the selfless way ye aided my people today.”
“They are my people now, too,” she said softly.
He cupped her cheek. “Our people.” His eyes glinted with hope. “We will have our peace, Fiona. This I do not doubt.” He leaned closer, his face earnest. “Our children will know peace.”
Fiona’s breath caught. She swallowed hard. “Our children,” she repeated, her heart hammering in her chest. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, causing the room to erupt into cheers.
That night, Fiona stood in front of the hearth. Her he
art raced but not from fear—it was need.
It was hunger.
Hunger for her husband. She wanted to be his, body and soul. She wanted to feel the heat of his hands on her skin, to feel the passion of his kiss. The last few nights alone in that empty bed had only fueled her desire. But how could she tell him that she was ready, ready to feel his touch, ready to be his? Dare she speak of her heart’s longing? Or mayhap, she could just leap—throw herself into his arms and boldly kiss him. It was within her rights, was it not? Or was it just the husband who could make demands of his wife’s body? She took a deep breath. Somehow, she would give herself to her husband that very night.
~ * ~
Jamie paced outside his chamber door. He wanted his wife.
Nay, he needed her.
He hungered for her. Desire hardened his body, making his heart pound.
But what if she wasn’t ready? What if she still feared his touch?
He stopped pacing and faced the door. Once he brought her body to the heights of glorious passion, she would forget her fear.
He threw the door open.
She stood near the hearth but whirled to face him as he entered the room.
Their eyes locked.
“Fiona,” he blurted.
“Jamie,” she gasped, stepping forward.
Her skin was flushed. Her unbound black hair fell in waves over her shoulders, skimming her trim waist.
“Fiona,” he groaned, drawing even closer.
She reached for the ties at her shoulders and tugged. The fabric of her kirtle slipped down her sleek body and puddled at her feet. Her eyes smoldered, licking at his with flames of sweet desire.
“I want ye to make me yers,” she rasped, opening her arms to him.
He seized her, pulling her into a crushing embrace. His lips claimed hers, desperate, hungry. His hands explored her naked flesh. He caressed her soft curves, his hands coursing down her bare torso. Her skin was smooth and silky. He scooped her into his arms, his gaze devouring her round, luscious breasts. Nipples, pink and hard, made his mouth water. He licked his lips as he laid her on the bed. Climbing over her, his kiss started at her lips. Her mouth opened for his tongue. He stroked and teased, delighting in her gasps and how her tongue danced with his. Then he trailed his kiss down her neck.
She groaned. He savored the sound. Her skin tasted so good, so sweet. He moved lower, drawing one of her taut, rosy nipples into his mouth. She arched her back.
“Jamie,” she cried, her nails biting into his shoulders.
He gently squeezed her firm breast, palming her nipple while he continued to suckle her other peak. His lips, trailed over her tender flesh. He caressed the curve of her waist, smoothing his hand down the flare of her hips. As he journeyed lower, tasting, licking, caressing, his tongue found her navel. Her hands raked through his hair. He trailed kisses down her stomach. Then he eased his hand between her thighs. He lifted his head, meeting her gaze.
“Open for me,” he rasped. Her eyes were limpid slits of vulnerable desire. “Spread yer thighs.” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands flew to her face. She squeezed her thighs tight. But then her hands fell away.
“I must leap,” she cried out and opened her legs, revealing her body to his gaze. He touched her honeyed warmth, his fingers gently grazing her sensitive nub, stroking, touching. She bucked her hips. He slipped one finger inside her, stoking the flames of her desire, plunging deeper and deeper. She was so tight, so hot.
She gasped, her breaths quickened.
“Oh, Jamie,” she cried.
Fueled by her passionate response, he lowered his head between her thighs and breathed deep her rich scent.
“Nay, Jamie, ye mustn’t.”
“Oh, but I must,” he breathed.
For so long, he had wanted to taste her. He circled his tongue, teasing the very heat of her. She cried out. He trailed his lips and tongue over her hot skin. Savoring, her sweet warmth. He slid his hand under her round buttocks and lifted her hips, plunging his tongue deep inside her. He tasted, teased, swirling his tongue, making her moan and gasp. Her hands reached down, weaving her fingers through his hair. She moved against him, her breath quickening, her hips bucking. She writhed beneath his tongue.
“Jamie, please,” she cried, trembling, rising. “Oh, God! Oh, Jamie!” Reaching her climax, she shuddered again and again, her legs curling around him.
“Oh Jamie,” she sighed.
Never could Fiona have imagined such sensations.
Through half-closed lids, she watched him stand and remove his belt. His plaid dropped to the ground. Her eyes widened at the sight of his thick, hard length.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he climbed onto the bed. He advanced toward her on his knees, like a predator hunting his prey. But she was his willing victim.
She reached for him, wanting to feel his body, to touch and taste him in the same way he had her.
His lips found hers. He kissed her long and hard. Then he shifted over her, covering her body. She had never felt so protected and so vulnerable at the same time.
“Open yer legs for me again,” he rasped.
This time, she needed no convincing. Closing her eyes, she spread wide, straining for his touch. The ache within her body rekindled. She felt his hard shaft against her. Slowly, he eased inside her. She winced as he stretched her, easing deeper and deeper, and then he plunged into her body, breaking her maidenhead. She cried out as pain shot through her.
He held her close, his body taught and unmoving between her legs. Slowly, the pain faded. The tension in her body released.
Holding his weight on his elbow, he looked at her with pained eyes.
“I promised ye I would never hurt ye again.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ye make my body fly.” She moved against him. “I ache for ye. Make me fly again.”
“He pulled out and thrust deep, again and again. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting each of his thrusts with a passion all her own.
Sweet torture filled her, building, cresting. She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. His own cry of pleasure mingled with hers.
He held her close and gaze into her limpid blue eyes. “Now, I will never hurt ye again.”
“Please,” she begged, smiling through her euphoric haze. “Please hurt me again.”
He nibbled her ear, raking his teeth gently down her throat. “Ye asked for it.”
Chapter 27
Jamie paced the length of his solar. He had amassed an army, five hundred strong. Preparations were underway to march and lay siege to the MacKenzie stronghold, but a sudden realization presented questions for which he had no answers.
“I waited for ye.”
He turned toward the door. Smiling seductively, Fiona stepped into the room, a silk robe lightly hugging her curves. “And then I could bear yer absence no longer.”
He expelled a breath and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs, reaching out his hand to her. She crossed the room to stand in front of him. He pulled her close, resting his forehead just beneath the full curve of her breasts. Her arms came around him.
“What is it?” she said softly. “What weighs on ye so heavily? And don’t tell me yesterday’s attack. I ken ye’ve something new on yer mind.”
He looked up at her. “Ye’re very perceptive.”
She lifted her shoulders, a sad smile curving her lips. “Like ye, my mother was lost to me when I was but ten. ‘Tis I who have watched my father pace his solar and listened to him talk out his concerns. I’ve a practiced eye. Ye can speak with me and count with every certitude on my discretion.”
Leaning back in his chair, he scrubbed his hand over his face, but then he straightened. “Actually, my dear wife, ye, more than anyone else, might be able to inform my quandary.” He stood and walked past her, resting his forearm on the mantle above the hearth and stared into the flames.
“We now have the numbers to march on Ranulf MacK
enzie.” He turned to look at her. “But do I march on my enemy or are we preparing to attack innocents—victims of the same devil who’s laid waste to our lands and slaughtered our kin?” Fury coursed through him. “This Ranulf MacKenzie, who has usurped his brother’s throne, does he have the love of the clan or have his loyal men forced the people to submit? Ye’ve spent time in the MacKenzie keep. What is yer judgement?”
Fiona sat down and pressed her lips in a grim line. At length, she said, “Donald MacKenzie was a good man as was his son. They valued peace. They were scholars not warriors. His captains were strong leaders, but they, too, were good men.” She slowly nodded her head. “I believe ye’re right to hesitate and think upon who the real enemy is.” She moved to his side. “The clan who welcomed me would not have supported the slaughter of women and children or the destruction of crops and stores. I can only believe they are under duress.”
Jamie took her hand. “In my heart, I know this to be true, but I cannot spare their lives at the sacrifice of our own. The attacks will only continue. Ranulf targets our crops and stores and kills without discrimination to force our surrender. What choice do we have but to retaliate?”
Fiona dropped his hand and furrowed her brow as she began pacing the room. Then she stopped and whirled to face him. “We need to get word to one of the captains.”
Jamie shook his head. “If the clan truly objects to their new laird, it is unlikely that any of the former captains walk free.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Ye do not suppose they’re all dead?”
He lifted his shoulders. “’Tis impossible to say. At the least, I would imagine they’ve been imprisoned. In any case, the captains will be watched.”
“Then we must seek out someone Ranulf would never expect.” Fiona’s eyes brightened. “There is a cottar on the very outskirts of MacKenzie territory. His name is Hamish, and he has a young son named Finn who is but two and ten. Theirs is the only home on that part of the coast. On a good day the waves tear at the shore, and when storms strike, Hamish’s peat roof often surrenders to the might of the wind. ‘Tis why no one else lives so close. But the fishing is fine. Late every afternoon, Finn rides to the keep and brings the cook a fresh basket of fish as rent. If we could get word to them, mayhap Finn could deliver a message. No one would suspect a mere lad.”
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