by Emily Royal
Was this what Mamma had meant when she’d told Elyssia she would never be a lady, having neither the body nor the inclination? To be the perfect wife in this world did a woman need to be biddable, meek, and have the body of a waif?
Perhaps, then, Elyssia’s disgrace was also her freedom. Knowing that no one would want her now, she could be true to her principles. If nobody else would tend to the boy, then it was up to her.
A soft snore echoed in the passageway. Ross had fallen asleep. Not expecting anyone to defy his master, he’d even left the key in the door. She slipped into the chamber, pocketed the key, and closed the door behind her. Placing her candle on a table, she approached the bed.
The white skin of Callum’s back glowed in the candlelight which cast her shadow against the wall. She sat beside him and removed the lid of the jar of salve she had brought with her.
The lashes formed a neat pattern; Arran’s careful handiwork. Callum’s back rose and fell with each breath, accompanied by a soft moan, his forehead furrowed in pain.
Dipping her finger in the jar, she spread the cool salve along the length of each wound, and he cried out in his sleep.
“Shhh…” She stroked his forehead until he grew quiet. He might hate her, but she couldn’t blame him. A young child whose heart had been broken at the murder of his sister, a boy who looked up to his brother and yearned to prove himself worthy of him. Callum was not evil—merely misguided.
A sob broke from his chest.
“Iona, where are ye?”
“Here.” She took his hand.
“Iona, I’m sorry for hurting her. It was wrong.”
“Be still,” Elyssia whispered, “do not distress yourself.”
“I wish I could undo what I did,” he whimpered. “She was only protecting her sister. I want to hate her, but I cannot.”
“I understand.”
“Will she ever forgive me?”
Elyssia squeezed his hand. “She already has.”
His breathing grew steady, as if by giving him assurance of her forgiveness she had eased his heart. His hold on her loosened and his breathing steadied and grew deeper.
Checking Ross was still asleep, she slipped through the door, but not before she heard Callum cry out in his dreams.
“Why, Margaret? Why?”
* * *
As the day drew to a close and the shadows lengthened, Tavish sent for Elyssia. Finlay shifted uncomfortably in her doorway, his eyes drifting towards Alice who clutched her doll and blushed.
“Forgive me, but I’m to take you to his chamber.”
So, the routine was to resume; a whore’s duties awaited her.
When Finlay knocked on the chamber door, that familiar deep voice resonated from within.
“Enter.”
A fire blazed in the hearth, and numerous candles flickered in the warm air, sending shadows dancing across the stone walls. A tray laden with a platter of food, a flagon, and two goblets had been placed on a table by the bed. He sat beside it, eyes sparkling like emeralds in the candlelight.
Who was he tonight: her captor or her Highlander?
“Come here.”
Even as her mind rebelled, her body yearned to obey the soft command, and she crossed the floor, drawn to him as the falcon returns to her master’s wrist, to settle in his grasp, no longer drifting, but anchored to him.
The door closed behind her, and the faint echo of Finlay’s footsteps faded into the distance. She withdrew her hand. No longer would she be his whore. She must fight her body’s instincts to yield.
He poured wine into a goblet and offered it to her.
“Will you dine with me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She set her mouth into a hard line. “Do you intend to take me again tonight?”
His eyes narrowed, and he set the goblet down, spilling its contents.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you’ve no use for me. Let me return to my sister.”
“No!” The sharp command froze her limbs. “Do you not ask why I’ll no longer take you into my bed?”
Closing her eyes against his hatred, she turned to leave. Isla had told him about the child. He had no further use for her.
“Aye,” his voice softened. “I know a child grows within you. Isla told me when she tended to… to your wounds.”
“Then I understand,” she replied. “You’ve done what you set out to do. I would only ask that you tell me what is to be done with me now.”
“With you?”
Bitterness rose in her throat, thickening her words. “Will you turn me out now you have done the deed? Or will you wait?”
“Wait? What for?”
“For the day you can take my child,” she spat, “and claim it as your bastard.”
Before she reached the door, he was upon her, firm hands grasping her arms as he pulled her to him, silencing her angry words with a brutal kiss, his mouth hard and unyielding against her own, hungry lips claiming, taking. He silenced her cry with a sweep of his tongue, swallowing her protests and pleas for mercy.
She ripped her head away. “Let me go! Haven’t you done enough! You took everything from me. Give me back my freedom!”
“No!” he roared. “Do you know why I’ll not force you into my bed? It’s because I want you too much!”
“You only wanted revenge. Everything you did was to make me pay for Papa’s sins. I’ve paid the price, Tavish! Surely I have earned my freedom now you no longer want me?”
“Oh, Elyssia!” he cried, pulling her close, her struggles no match for his broad arms and iron-hard muscles, “I want ye, woman. I want ye so badly I ache with it, and have ached ever since I first saw you when the fire in your eyes burned into my heart. I took you without asking, I know that. But I will never regret the sweet joy of having ye in my arms.”
He pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his own, lips teasing, caressing, tongue probing, pleading gently against her lips before she parted her lips and invited him in.
“Oh, Elyssia, my love,” his voice cracked in a hoarse groan. “I would have ye come to me willing—or not at all.”
Slipping a hand inside his shirt, she traced a line along his chest, palm pressed against the muscles which grew taut at her touch. She met his gaze, the fire within the deep green pulsing in a rhythm of desire as she moved her hand lower until her fingers met his hot, hard length—the silken exterior surrounding the firm hard steel. A deep rumble echoed in his chest as he pulsed in her hand, thickening with his need for her.
“God help me,” she whispered, sealing her fate, “but I am willing.”
“Would you give yourself to me?”
“Aye.”
“Then I claim you as my woman.”
He pushed her onto the bed. She cried out in pain as she fell back, fire pulsing through the lash wounds on her skin.
“Shhh…” he whispered, “come with me.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a low chair beside the table. Sitting back, he placed her on his lap, straddling him. She parted her thighs, and he inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring at the scent of her which thickened the air of the chamber.
Claiming her mouth once more, he groaned a deep rumble in his chest. She lifted his plaid and took him in her hand, caressing the smooth skin at the tip, spreading the bead of moisture which erupted as his body shuddered with tightly coiled need.
“I gladly give myself to you,” she whispered before easing herself onto him, his member nudging against her core. She pressed her lips against his. Taking her head in his hands, he drew her close, tracing a path of kisses across her neck until he reached her ear, and took the lobe between his teeth.
“Then I claim you as my own, here and forever,” he whispered, his breath sending a current of desire through her as he thrust upwards.
“Ahhh…” She met his thrust and impaled herself on him, an act of irrevocable submission.
Her body rippled from within. Fisting he
r hands in his shirt, she arched her back, crying his name in surrender, declaring herself as his, wholly his.
“Oh, Elyssia!” He fumbled at the laces of her gown and pressed his lips against her throat. Her breasts tightened with longing, nipples hardening to painful points. With a groan, he took her breast into his mouth, teeth grazing against her sensitive skin.
“I want you, Elyssia. I can wait no longer.”
With a growl of frustration, he grasped the front of her gown, the sharp sound of material tearing followed by a rush of cold against her heated skin. Burning heat replaced the cold as he brought his mouth down on her nipple and gave a deep pull, drawing her into him, nipping her skin, nuzzling her flesh, deep growls of pleasure erupting from his chest, glorying in his complete ownership of her now she had given herself to him.
“Tavish!” she cried out, back stiffening as her body shattered around him, and with a roar, he exploded inside her.
Pulling her close, he crushed her against his chest, sending a burst of pain across her back. Still inside her, he held her tightly as if to acknowledge his ownership of her. Ignoring the pain, she let him claim her. No longer Agatha de Montford, she was Elyssia of Glenblane Castle. She belonged to Tavish. He would take care of her—and their child.
Leaning against him, she let their flesh mould together as they became one creature.
“Do not return to your chamber, my Elyssia,” he sighed. “Stay with me.”
“Aye, my love,” she whispered against his warm skin “I’m yours. Forever. I will never leave your side.”
* * *
The morning sun filtered into the room, the warmth of the light caressing her skin. With a sleepy smile, she opened her eyes. Tavish lay beside her, his chest rising and falling. With a deep sigh, he rolled onto his side, facing her. He looked at peace, the furrows which had once torn across his face now smoothed into oblivion. His full lips curled into a smile. She ran a fingertip across his chin before reaching his mouth, his lips soft against her touch.
“Elyssia…” Her name escaped his lips in a warm breath, tightening the skin of her fingers.
“My Elyssia.”
Her Highlander had, at last, descended from her dreams to claim her in the daylight as his own.
He opened his eyes, love in his soft green gaze. He took her hand, eyes narrowing in guilt as she winced. Despite the bandages, it still pained her. But as the wounds in her flesh healed, so did the wounds of her heart. She had forgiven him. He wanted her; not for her fortune or to make alliances, nor purely for their child. He wanted her for herself.
“You’re mine now I’ve claimed you,” he whispered.
“Aye,” she replied with a smile.
“I must decide what to do with Margaret,” he sighed, “but she’ll come to accept it.”
Would he find Margaret a new husband now Elyssia was to take her place? Margaret did not deserve to be abandoned, but the people here looked after their own. Perhaps Duncan could marry her. Such a union would not disgrace her. In time, she might forgive Elyssia, and the two women would become friends.
“I must think of her, Elyssia.”
“You are kind, Tavish, and I love you for it.”
“I’m so glad you understand, my love.” He kissed her, soft lips caressing her own, tongue probing before she opened for him—her master, her lover.
“Of course you cannot remain here, but I’ll find a home for you. And your sister.”
What did he mean?
“Once Margaret and I are married, you cannot live in the castle. It would not be fair to parade my mistress in front of her.”
“Married?”
“She has waited patiently ever since I returned. She bore my absence with such fortitude. I cannot make her wait any longer. But I’ll take care of you. Though her children will carry my name, yours will want for nothing.”
“My children?”
“Aye,” he said sleepily, “and I’ll make you a promise.”
A ray of hope sparked in her heart which his next words extinguished.
“Bastards though your children may be, I will never utter that word in their presence.”
The beam of sunlight grew blurry, light dispersing as moisture pooled in her eyes. She blinked, and a hot tear splashed onto her cheek. Making no attempt to wipe it, for it would soon be joined by others, she closed her eyes against the cruelty of her fate.
She shifted her position but he only held her more tightly, his arms no longer loving and protecting, but possessive, dominating, sealing his ownership.
Her hopes, at first so bright, dulled to a black shadow. The previous night, with her voice and body, she had sealed her fate, not fully understanding that fate until now.
She was his whore. Nothing more than a vessel for his lust for when he grew bored with his wife.
This was the final payment for her sins. Her captor had violated her body. Now her Highlander had destroyed her heart.
Chapter 18
“My dear, might I speak with you?”
Margaret’s soft tones interrupted Elyssia’s conversation with Alice on their way to the kitchens. Elyssia had resumed her duties, finding comfort in the occupation and companionship of the servants. Her hand still burned with pain, but she needed to keep busy. Soon Tavish would banish her from the castle and establish her in an outbuilding as his whore, after which the members of the household may not be willing, or even permitted, to visit her.
Papa had always kept his mistresses far from de Montford Castle. They had lived in exile, the subjects of servants’ gossip and Mamma’s hatred. Though Papa’s bastards were given positions in the household, the chatelaine treated them poorly, the thin veil of respect which Papa demanded barely concealing the contempt beneath.
As a child, Elyssia had heard rumours of death—one of Papa’s mistresses struck down by a violent sickness too swift to be a disease. Unable to temper her curiosity, Elyssia had followed the servants to the cottage and watched as they dragged the bodies out—a woman and a baby. Whispers of poison echoed in the hall of the castle, the only change in her parents’ countenance a sly smile on Mamma’s lips and a blackening of Papa’s mood until, only a few days later, smoke rose from the chimney of the cottage once more; evidence of a new occupant.
Was this to be Elyssia’s fate now? To be set aside as a whore, waiting for the day when she, too, would be disposed of by a jealous wife and replaced by another who would serve the lustful husband?
A hand touched her shoulder, the iron-like grip sending a bolt of pain into her flesh before the woman relaxed her grip.
“Might I have a word? In private?”
The smile on Margaret’s lips almost reached her eyes, which flashed in the morning light.
Alice tightened her hold on Elyssia’s hand.
“You can have nothing to say that my sister cannot also hear. We have no secrets from each other.”
“Very well.” Margaret fell into step with them, reaching for Elyssia’s right hand which she touched gently, her fingers caressing the bandages.
“I want to reassure you that I will accept you in your position as Tavish’s mistress.” At the final word, Alice tightened her grip on Elyssia’s hand. Her sister had noticed the subtle change in Margaret’s tone. Margaret had her own demons to fight. She, too, would struggle to accept their circumstances. How was it that the men of the world had ownership and mastery over so many lives, yet the women must themselves be owned and mastered?
Margaret’s eyes hardened a fraction, an edge of steel underlying her soft voice.
“I trust you will accept my status as his wife.”
A gentle squeeze sent a needle of pain through Elyssia’s palm, and she winced and withdrew her hand.
“You must not show anger, my dear,” Margaret chided as if admonishing a petulant child. “Clan MacLean would never accept you—unchaste, English, and de Montford’s daughter. They call you whore and say you have cast a spell on Tavish with your body. Whether he wished it o
r no, he could never wed you.”
Elyssia pulled away, but Margaret raised a hand in a placating gesture. “Trust me, my dear, I understand your plight. As women, our lives are not our own. You think I wish to be confined in the role of a wife, my world restricted to running a household and bearing children? There is a whole world outside of Glenblane which I will never see, for I was not born a man. We must both bear our burdens with fortitude and accept them for the sake of others, not just for ourselves.”
“Do you love him?” Elyssia almost choked on the words.
“I have known and loved him all my life, as he has known and loved me. My duty is to help him govern Clan MacLean and give him sons.”
Margaret took Elyssia’s hand and pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead.
“I trust we understand each other.”
“Aye,” Elyssia replied. “Completely.”
Margaret’s smile broadened. “I’ll let you resume your duties while I return to mine.” She let go of Elyssia’s hand almost as if it burned her before taking her leave, her light footsteps almost inaudible as she disappeared into the darkness of the passageway.
Alice sniffed. “I don’t like her, Lyssie. She’s evil.”
“Hush, Alice!” Elyssia hissed. “How can you speak so? Few women would be so accepting of us. We must make the best of our life here, and we’ll need her as an ally.”
“He loves you.”
“But he’s marrying her. At least she has a kind heart.”
“She does not!” Alice cried. “She may speak kind words, but her eyes and soul betray her. They’re black and rotten.”
“What nonsense! To say such things here when we know not who may be listening? Are you so deficient in wits you cannot understand the danger in uttering such foolishness?”
“Think on what Margaret says to you,” Alice pleaded. “Always she speaks of how you’re called whore and the devil’s daughter.”
“Those are words she has repeated from others, Alice. Not her own words.”
“Are they not? Perhaps she manipulates others to her will?”