The Sins of the Sire: Dark Highland Passions, #1

by Emily Royal

  Another pair of eyes flashed across her mind—deep, black eyes lurking beneath a harsh, strong brow, streaked with mud; a voice uttering obscenities before she was thrust to one side and an explosion of pain had sent her into the darkness of oblivion.

  “The barbarian! Where is he?”

  “Dead.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Aye.”

  “You… you saved me?”

  He bent his head over hers until his chin touched her head and he nodded against her, his voice a soft whisper.

  “Aye.”

  “Why did you save my life?”

  He tightened his hold on her. “Why did you free me, lass?”

  He ran a light finger down her cheek before reaching her chin and tipping her face up to meet his. His clear, steady gaze shattered her defences, compelling her to tell the truth. Who was this man who penetrated her thoughts? Strong in body and mind, reduced to the status of mere livestock at the hands of his jailers, yet he had stood proud and defiant as they flayed the skin from his back.

  “Why, lass?”

  “I-I could not bear the thought of you coming to harm,” she whispered.

  A soft smile played on his lips.

  “Nor I you.”

  He brought his mouth down on hers, caressing her lips in a soft kiss. A rush of warmth flooded through her, and she drew a sharp intake of breath at the pulse of desire, her body rewarding her with a burst of coughing, sending shards of pain deep into her lungs.

  Concern flickered across his eyes.

  “You need water.”

  A large hand stayed her movement.

  “Nay, lass.”

  A glint of metal made her flinch. He had her knife. Was he going to slice her throat with it? He shook his head before handing it to her.

  “You need not fear me; I owe you a debt. I give you my word I’ll never harm you. Not all men are like Morcar’s people—or Edward Morland.”

  He brushed his knuckles against her bruised face.

  “We must find somewhere less exposed. These woods are full of predators.”

  He lifted her in his arms, silencing her protests, and carried her towards the sound of the water until they reached a river. He stopped beside a large rock which jutted up at an angle, providing some shelter from above. Setting her down as if she were a delicate bird’s egg in danger of breaking, he motioned to her to remain still while he brought water from the river, cupping it in his large hands. The cool, fresh liquid eased the ache in her throat and removed the foul taste of smoke.

  When she had finished, he reached into his loincloth and pulled out a handful of berries.

  “It’s not much, but it should lessen the hunger.”

  Too tired to care whether he intended to poison her, she ate the berries, savouring the rich, sour taste as they burst on her tongue in an explosion of flavour.

  “Rest now. I’ll keep watch until the morning.”

  She sank to the ground and drew her cloak around her. The last thing she saw before sleep overtook her was a broad silhouette—her guardian angel, a silent sentinel watching over her. Her Highlander.

  When she opened her eyes, slivers of grey streaked through the trees, forming a soft backdrop against the solid body of the man. She lifted her head, and he moved almost immediately. He must have watched over her through the night.

  “Have you had no rest?”

  “Dinnae bother with me, lass. I am well.”

  She shook her head. “You must rest also. I can watch over you. As I can trust you, so can you trust me, sir.”

  “Nay, lass. We need to keep moving. Food is scarce, and I need to get you to safety.”

  “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “I can take you to someone to arrange safe passage back to… to your own people.”

  The contempt in his voice as he uttered the last three words cut through the air.

  “You hate us that much?” she asked quietly.

  “The English murdered my sister.”

  “Is that why you were captive?”

  “The English have taken our homes, bled our land dry, and raped our women. I pay the price for making a stand against the tide of evil.”

  “You cannot believe all of us are evil?”

  “My clan has been all but destroyed, woman. My sister tortured and murdered by your English lords, all under the guise of the law of the land.”

  She shook her head. “The king would not condone such treatment of women. He’s a just man who wants peace.”

  “Peace?” he cried. “Peace! Hundreds of my kinswomen have been raped and beaten with Longshanks’ blessing. I petitioned Longshanks to bring my sister’s murderer to justice, and he laughed in my face! My reward has been two years in captivity, subject to the mercy of your betrothed. Is this the peace you crave?”

  She shook her head to disperse the images of innocents being violated, but they clung to her mind’s eye with a stubborn fervour, the most potent image that of the young girl in her father’s dungeon.

  “Speak no more!” she cried, “I cannot bear it.”

  “Aye,” he scoffed, “what greater burden it must be for your delicate ears to hear of it, while my people suffer it every day.”

  “Forgive me.”

  He drew her to him.

  “Nay lass, ‘tis for me to ask forgiveness. How can you know what your countrymen have done? You have suffered at Allendyne’s hands as much as I. More so, for you have no allies to plead for your cause.”

  “Allendyne. Is Edward… is he dead?”

  “Morcar’s men do not take prisoners. They don’t value human life.”

  “Then I’m free.”

  He offered his hand, and she took it, reassured by its solidity as his fingers curled around hers, his thumb caressing her wrist.

  “Come, lass, we must leave now to cover a good distance by nightfall.”

  Nodding, she let him lead her. She may not know where he was taking her, but she was safer in this rough Highlander’s hands than she had ever been in those of Edward Morland.

  Hours later, she sank to the ground once more. They had followed the river, picking their way over rocks when the riverbank had grown steep, forming the walls of a gorge where the rush of water had eroded away the rocks over centuries. Was this what her countrymen were doing to the Highlanders? They might defy Longshanks, standing tall and proud as granite, but the water was patient, unyielding, and relentless, wearing away the rocks’ defences.

  Deep lines furrowed the Highlander’s face, dark circles beneath his eyes. His mistreatment at the garrison was taking its toll.

  He had stopped several times to let her rest while he searched for food, but pickings were slim. There were few berries that would not upset the stomach, and he was unable to catch any fish. They made do with water, and her stomach growled in protest.

  They would not be able to maintain such a pace with so little to sustain them. Her body grew weaker, and though he insisted on carrying her when the ground grew rough, his arms shook each time he held her. Yet still, he insisted she be the one who rested. When he almost dropped her, his exhausted body trembling, she refused to heed his warnings. The forest may not be safe at night, but their danger would be all the greater if he were too exhausted to defend himself.

  To her relief, he relented and dropped to the ground beside her.

  She drew her cloak around her, grateful for the now tattered, filthy garment. The absence of clouds ensured a sharp frost would prevail. He curled his body around hers, letting her lay her head against his chest. But sleep would not come. The sharp, musky scent of him heightened her senses, warming her body from within, yet his own body jerked and shivered.

  Reaching up, she touched a muscled shoulder. His skin was freezing.

  “You must take my cloak, sir.”

  “You need it yourself,” his voice rumbled back, laced with cold, teeth chattering.

  “Then we’ll share it.”

  She unfast
ened her cloak and drew it around them both. His breathing grew steady, and he relaxed, muscles softening with each breath as they lay cocooned in their shared body heat. She sighed against his chest.

  “Are ye well, lass? You do not fear the perils of the night?”

  “I feel safer now than I have ever done,” she whispered, “with you.”

  He nuzzled his face against her hair, whispering words of comfort. She tipped her face towards him, and his lips claimed hers, affirming the bond between them—the bond which had been forged the moment he had looked into her soul.

  Tongues touching, probing, tasting, his body called to hers, and in turn, she responded, tentatively at first, but her movements became more eager as a burning need flowed through her. A need to resume the dance of desire they had shared in her chamber.

  Soft, gentle nips skipped across her chin, growing sharper, more urgent before he soothed them with his tongue, his hot breath tightening her skin where his wet mouth had cooled it just before.

  A hardness pressed against her belly—hot, insistent, seeking entrance. Not understanding the exquisite need which had set her body alive, she shifted her legs to accommodate him, feeling him pulsing hotly against her thigh, close to the centre of her longing. Instinct propelled her into the unknown, and she parted her thighs, her body understanding before she did that it was the first step on the journey to ease her craving.

  “Oh, lass.” He tore his mouth away from her, his body shuddering with suppressed yearning. “I can go no further. I cannot touch you again.”

  “Please,” she whispered, “I want you. I know not how, but I want you.”

  “Aye, lass, I understand,” he said through gritted teeth. “That is why we must stop before it’s too late. I cannot take you, though I greatly desire it. There’s no greater pleasure than to be the one to take a woman for the first time, but I do not have the right. ‘Tis not for me to take you on the forest floor like a common whore. Your worth is greater than that, lass. Your maidenhead will be taken by your husband—by a man who pledges to protect and honour you until death. Now Allendyne is dead, you can find a man to love you as you deserve, but I am not he.”

  “I care not.”

  “It cannot be, lass. We are enemies.”

  She shook her head. “How can you say such things? Because our people are at war? Am I to be tarnished for the sins my people have committed against yours? You and I are not enemies—we are merely a man and a woman.”

  He cursed under his breath.

  “May God forgive me, lass, I want you. I will not take you, but I can show you the pleasures a man can give a woman, though you will remain intact.”

  Pulling her to him, he covered her mouth with his once more, this time unleashing the tightly coiled spring of passion within him. It had swirled in the depths of his eyes even when tethered to the whipping post, helpless and at the mercy of her sadistic fiancé. Now she lay in his arms, completely at his mercy, surrendering herself, trusting him with her body and her heart.

  Hands tugged at her gown, fingers fumbling at the laces, soft caresses danced across her body sending fiery trails into her throbbing core. Words of passion reverberated in his chest and the pulse of his heartbeat sang a gentle melody, his own body moving to the rhythm. His hands joined the dance, fingers caressing, stroking, coaxing until her body began to hum. Her voice joined the chorus, and she cried out. Her body burst into life as the berries had exploded on her tongue, bringing forth its own sweetness.

  Clinging to him, she wept aloud with joy, her limbs writhing as the dance intensified before she sank back into his embrace, glorying in his strength, lulled into rapture by the soft pulsing in her body, echoes of their song of passion.

  She opened her eyes to meet his soft gaze, eyes crinkled into a smile. He bent his head towards her and brushed his lips against hers.

  “Sleep now,” he whispered.

  A comforting warmth spread throughout her body, her eyelids growing heavy, and she closed her eyes again, burying her head in his chest, not wanting the moment to end.

  “My Highlander, my love…” Though she uttered the words in her mind, he tightened his embrace.

  The following day, they continued their journey, their pace growing ever slower. Sticking close to the river, they at least had water, but food was scarce. After they made camp, he disappeared for a while, returning with another handful of berries and a fish he had caught from the river with her knife. The flesh, though raw and unappetising, was to Elyssia better than Papa’s banquets, for it had been provided with love.

  Huddling under her cloak, he brought her to pleasure again, warming her cold body with his hands and lips, murmuring tender words against her skin. Afterwards, he whispered to her of his home—a stone building set deep in the Highlands, surrounded by mountains where his people worked the land. In her mind’s eye, she saw hills tinged with purple from the heather, the warm, rich red earth from which they dug their fuel, the smoke from the peat fires at night to keep them warm against the harsh cold. Peasant and laird alike, his people were as one—loyal, loving. He spoke of his brother—a young, impetuous man who had inherited their father’s fiery temper and fierce loyalty to their cause—and his mother. His voice was tinged with sadness at her loneliness now his father had died and what the worry of his two-year absence would have done to her.

  “You love your family and your home.”

  “Aye,” he rumbled, pulling her close. “I miss my people and worry how they have fared during my absence. My brother Callum is too young, too hot-tempered to lead them. I only pray my mother has prevailed—her steady hand and clear mind temper his passion.”

  “Would that I could see it,” she sighed.

  “My people would never accept you.”

  “I understand, and I cannot abandon Alice.”

  “Alice?”

  “My sister. She suffers from poor health. It was for her sake I agreed to marry Allendyne, though I am the younger. She’s too frail to endure marriage. I must return for her sake, lest Papa gives her to another of his friends. He only needs one daughter to secure an alliance.”

  “You love her so much you’d be willing to take her place? Marry another man like Allendyne?”

  “Aye. She has none but I to care for her.”

  “Oh, lass,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. A large hand caressed her face, cupping her chin before turning her head to face him. His lips smothered her own, claiming her with his tongue until once more her body burst into life at his hands. This nameless man, her Highlander, had taught her that not all men desire power. Some, despite enduring humiliation and torture, have souls that are as pure as the clear water of the highlands.

  She drifted to sleep. If only she could lay in his arms forever. A voice in her mind told her they would soon be parted. He would resume his life of hardship and toil, and she would return to a life of duty, her consolation being that she could protect Alice to her last breath. God had seen fit to show her a brief glimpse of an honest union between a man and a woman. She would repay Him by doing her duty to her sister.

  * * *

  When Tavish opened his eyes, it was not yet dawn. Cold shards of light sliced through the sky to the East and the birds had begun to stir. What had woken him? Though the air was damp, the cold had yet to penetrate the thick cloak to battle with the warmth of the body of the woman sleeping beside him.

  He lifted his head, and she stirred. Her face, so tense when he had first set eyes on her at the garrison, now showed a peaceful expression. Brushing tendrils of damp hair from her forehead, he sighed at the thought of their inevitable parting. She parted her lips, and he traced an outline of her features with his finger before circling her mouth, the memory of her sweet taste burned indelibly on his tongue.

  Ignoring the stirring in his groin, he brushed his lips against hers. She opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. The intensity of their colour shone—a rich blue which looked almost violet in the growing light of
the dawn.

  His manhood twitched eagerly, and he shifted his position. The intense need had burned in his veins from the moment he touched her, thickening to a searing inferno the night she had offered herself to him. Had she been any other woman, he would have taken her in the dirt and eased his lust. But he had no wish to ruin her. She had saved his life. Whatever happened between them, he would return to his home as laird and marry another. But the woman in his arms—she would return ruined, disgraced. He hated the English and would have his revenge, but he could not do that to her.

  Silencing the voice in his head, he bent down to kiss her.

  A noise in the distance made him look up. So that was why he had woken! He motioned to her to stay still and set off to investigate.

  A small party of men picked their way across a path in a line, visible between the trees. Though mostly on foot, two men at the front were on horseback.

  English.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he almost cried out. The woman.

  “Shh.” She crouched beside him.

  “I told you to remain where you were,” he hissed. “There’s English ahead. ‘Tis too dangerous.”

  “Danger for you, but not I,” she said. “They can take me home.”

  The time had come for them to part. Though he knew it would happen eventually, he had wanted one more night with her—to feel her in his arms, to witness the joy of her pleasure at his touch.

  “Let us join them.”

  “Nay.” She took his hand and kissed it. “I must go alone, for they’d kill you. You are free to avenge your sister. But I would beg you—do not let your quest for justice destroy you. You might wish to dig graves for the men who wronged you, but a vengeful man must also dig a grave for himself. I have learned that some battles are not worth fighting.”

  Pulling her towards him for one final kiss, he blinked away the moisture in his eyes.

  “I’ll never forget you lass.”

  “Elyssia.”

  “Go with my blessing, Elyssia,” he said. “Your sister is fortunate to have you to care for her. I pray you find someone to perform such a service for you.”

  “My Highlander.” Kissing him back, she drew away, wiping the tears which soaked her cheeks. Motioning him to stay down, she stumbled away and called to the men.