She couldn’t help it. The tears started falling now. She didn’t even try to stop them.
“I love ye,” he whispered, staring at her ardently. “Ye are my lass, now, for better or worse. I cannae escape it any more than I can escape my own beating heart.”
She gazed up at him, transfixed. The words washed over her, healing her. Tentatively, she reached a hand out towards his face, caressing it gently.
The effect was immediate. He turned his face into her palm, passionately kissing it, pressing his lips into her flesh. Then he grabbed her hand in his own and pressed it against his chest.
“Can ye feel it?” he whispered fiercely. “Can ye feel the beating of my heart? It beats for ye. Only for ye.”
She gasped. “I…I love you, too. I never meant to. I tried to fight it.” She took a deep breath. “But I know now that I would never have given myself to you if I had not already been in love with you…”
He gazed down at her fiercely, his green eyes glittering like jewels. Slowly, he reached down, taking her lips in his own.
The kiss was tender and gentle. It felt to her like a promise. It felt like a vow between them—a seal of their love.
Slowly, he started caressing her, his hands moving over her body, in an almost blindly agonizing way. And slowly, his lips moved away from her own, trailing down her chin to her neck.
She gasped, as he nipped her, biting down on the soft flesh and tasting her. She moaned softly. It was both pleasure and pain.
His lips trailed further downwards until he had reached her breasts. With a free hand, he pulled aside her bodice, his mouth seeking a nipple. When he finally latched onto it, pulling and sucking, she arched her back, twisting with abandon.
She was in a haze of sensation by the time he finally let the nipple go. In a daze, she realized he was pulling her gown up, and the skirt was bunched around her thighs. He was moving slowly downwards towards it. Her eyes flew open, watching him. What was he doing?
Abruptly, she gasped as his head reached her most intimate area. He parted her legs gently, caressing her there until she felt the liquid almost pouring out of her. Those wild fluttery sensations were beginning again.
He stared up at her, his eyes shining before he dipped his head. She bolted upright in alarm.
He had put his mouth on her where his hand had just been. And he was licking her, over and over, like a ripe peach. At the very core of her.
He placed a reassuring hand onto her stomach, willing her to be still. Without warning, her head rolled back, as the sensations that had started intensified. How could it be possible? And yet, it was.
He kept licking her, nipping sometimes. She felt herself flush painfully, even as those wild sensations rolled over her, each one more intense than the last. Was it decent for him to put his mouth on her like that? She had never heard of such a thing…
Suddenly, he was sucking right between her lips just like he had been sucking her nipples. An explosion of sensation overwhelmed her, and she abruptly arched her hips, screaming with the ecstasy of it.
Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her, and she felt herself gush liquid. It was flowing out of her as the sensations hit a peak. He didn’t let up for a minute. If anything, he sucked her harder, and then she felt him slipping a finger into her, pressing upwards.
She tossed her head from side to side in complete abandon. She had never dreamed that such a thing was possible. Had she died and gone to heaven? The sensations slowly lessened, her bucking hips lowering back to the ground. He carefully removed his mouth, caressing her thighs tenderly, feeling the quiver.
She opened her eyes, so dazed that she barely could remember who she was. He was above her, now, his face dark against the sun behind him. She heard a rustling, and suddenly, she felt his manhood pressing against her. He slid into her like putting on a glove, groaning loudly.
She was so wet that he drew instantly deep, filling her completely. She groaned with the pleasure of it. Aftershocks were still coursing through her, as he moved inside her, gently at first, then with increasing pace. Her hips started to buck again, rising to meet him. It seemed imperative that they do this, as if they had a mind all their own.
He gazed down at her, his green eyes shining. He was slamming against her, so that her head was pushed backwards into the earth. Suddenly, he grabbed her hips, pulling them upwards even harder so that she met him at every thrust. Amazingly, the sensations that had only just dimmed were slowly growing again.
She started panting, moaning, twisting her head from side to side. It was happening again. She reached a sudden, blinding peak, crying out the pleasure of it. He gripped her quite hard, thrusting with a grunt of pure need. He convulsed, moaning loudly, still gripping her hips, as if he was wringing something out of them. Abruptly, he collapsed across her, spent.
After a minute, he raised his head, looking down at her. Now that she had come back to herself, she avoided his gaze, embarrassed by what he had done to her.
“Roseann,” he whispered. “Look at me, my love.”
Slowly, she did as he asked. His narrowed eyes pinned her to the spot.
“Ye are beautiful,” he said slowly. “All of ye. There is no need to be shy of what I just did to ye. It is natural, just a part of lying together, like all the rest. To taste ye down there is a pleasure for me, and to give ye such delight is a joy.”
She flushed, not knowing what to say for a moment. Eventually, she found her voice. “Other people do that, then? It is just a part of what men and women do together?”
“Aye,” he whispered, smiling. “And women do it to men, too, ye ken. But I will not ask that of ye.” His smile widened to an almost wolfish grin. “Yet.”
She lowered her eyes and blushed painfully. It hardly seemed possible, and yet he claimed that it was. But there was no denying the pleasure he had given her by doing it to her. She eyed his manhood, now resting small against his thigh. It hadn’t been that size when he had been inside her. She wondered what it would be to have him in her mouth as he had her. But it was too much. She just couldn’t think about it anymore. It was too shocking.
He laughed abruptly, standing and pulling her up with him. They stared at each other.
“Come,” he said. “I have food and drink in my bag back on the horse. Let’s sit by the loch and talk for a while. And then we should get back to the castle afore it gets dark, and they send out a search party.”
Domhnall stared down at her face resting in his lap. Her long dark hair was spilling over his legs, as she peered up at him, her eyes shining.
Tenderly, he reached down, twisting one long dark curl around his finger. “Ye have bonnie hair,” he said, gazing at the curl. “It is as dark as the night, but as soft as silk.”
She smiled up at him. “You have bonnie hair, too,” she said, her eyes traveling over him. “It is so red!” She blushed. “Your hair down there is the exact same color…”
He laughed, leaning down to kiss her when suddenly he heard horses’ hooves in the distance. He looked up, warily.
Two riders were heading straight towards them. They were too far away yet, to see what plaid they wore or if they were indeed Scottish at all.
Roseann heard them, too, lifting her head off his lap, staring at them.
“Get up,” he said, jumping to his feet. “And stay behind me.”
He reached onto the ground for his sword and pulled her behind him. His whole body tensed, ready for attack.
He suddenly realized how vulnerable they were, out here alone by the edge of the loch. His eyes narrowed. Whoever it was, they would get a fight unto the death, if need be.
15
He had drawn his sword and was standing defensively, as the riders came closer. Suddenly, he saw who they were. He lowered his sword, putting it back in his scabbard with one swift move.
“Do nae worry, lass,” he whispered to the quavering woman behind him. “It is just Fearghas Grannda and Lachlann MacTavish. Two of the men who
escorted ye to Scotland the first time, ye ken?”
She sagged with relief for a moment before becoming thoughtful. “But why are they here?”
He was just wondering the same thing himself. His relief that they weren’t enemies had gone, and with it came a sense of disquiet. They had left Coirecrag over a week ago, but they must have been back to the castle to know where he was now.
He watched them dismount, his unease growing. The men looked like they hadn’t slept in a week, and they had blossoming bruises and cuts on their bodies.
“Lads,” he called, trying to keep his voice even. “How have ye found me at the loch? Why am I seeing yer ugly faces again so soon? I thought ye would be gone for a month or more.”
“Laird,” said Fearghas, nodding his head. He grinned, spotting the woman behind him. “Lady.”
Roseann blushed. Saying nothing, she smiled.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” said Domhnall sharply, staring from one to the other.
Fearghas cleared his throat. “Laird, we have returned quicker than expected for a reason.” He hesitated. “We wouldnae have disturbed ye out here, if we dinnae have to.” He stared at Roseann pointedly. “We could discuss it out here, but it might be better back at Coirecrag, ye ken?”
Domhnall slowly nodded, his unease growing stronger. “To Coirecrag, then.”
Domhnall stared at the men sitting around the table in the great hall. They were filthy and disheveled. Many had cuts and knife wounds, which were still bleeding. They should have been resting and having their wounds attended to, but they were determined to make their report before that happened.
He leaned forward. “Tell me again, exactly what happened. Do not leave a thing out, ye ken?”
Fearghas sighed heavily. “We were resting at the inn in Keelieock, having a few quiet ales and a feed.” He took a deep breath. “Then there was a commotion. We looked up to see English soldiers raiding the place…”
“They smashed it up,” continued MacTavish gravely. “Tipping over tables, grabbing the serving wenches. Outside, we could hear more of them, terrorizing the village.”
“We fought them,” said Fearghas, matter of factly. “Ye can see that we did not take it lying down. Most of us are here, now, staring at ye.” He hesitated, his face somber. “But we lost Padraig Morgan and Rob O’Cain to the bastards.”
Domhnall swore underneath his breath. “They were good men,” he said slowly. “I shall see that their families are well taken care of.” He paused. “What I dinnae understand is why they did it. There is no wealth at Keelieock nor wanted men. What was their purpose?”
Fearghas’s face tightened. “It was him, Laird,” he spat. “The English officer who was running havoc over Greum Dubh and Lios lands when yer faither was Laird. I saw his face with my own eyes. God rot the bastard to hell.”
Domhnall’s blood ran cold. He leaned over the table towards Fearghas. “Ye are sure? Ye have nae made a mistake? They can all look alike, these English when they are in their uniforms…”
“I am not mistaken,” said Fearghas firmly. “I remember well when I last laid eyes on the blaggard. I will never forget his cold face. I only wish I had gotten a chance to run him through before we had to flee the village.”
“They burned the houses, Laird,” said MacTavish, his voice shaking slightly. “Keelieock is destroyed. The livestock has all been driven into the hills. The English dragged the bonnier women away with them, no doubt to ravish them, afore they let them loose to wander the moors…”
Domhnall cursed loudly, slamming his fist onto the table. He was so angry he could barely breathe.
Officer Eric Howard. The man who had terrorized Greum Dubh lands for so many years. The man who had necessitated the pact between his father and Baltair Crannach, the Laird of Lios, whose lands bordered theirs to the west. They had always been uneasy allies, but a common enemy had united them, at least for a time.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He had not lied to Roseann. Officer Howard had disappeared over a year ago; whether he had been lying low, or stationed elsewhere for a time, no one knew. All he knew was that the threat seemed to have gone, but now it was back, worse than ever.
He swore under his breath again. Keelieock was a major village and the largest on Greum Dubh lands. To have attacked it so blatantly, and so viciously, was the man sending out a clear message to the new Laird of Greum Dubh. A clear message to him.
Fearghas sighed again. “They are gathering more men, Laird. I saw their camp as we escaped, and it was big. I would say well over two hundred men with more joining them every day.”
“How can that be?” growled Domhnall, his eyes narrowing. “Where are they coming from?”
“Renegades, Laird,” said MacTavish darkly. “The bad eggs, who cannae take the discipline of the army, but like to pillage and ravish. Howard welcomes the most cutthroat of them all. He isn’t fussy.”
Domhnall sighed. “Go and clean yerselves up,” he said roughly. “Get some food and ale and rest. I will think on what can be done.”
The men stood up gratefully, trailing out of the room. Only Fearghas lingered, staring at Domhnall.
“Laird,” he said. “Their numbers are growing. We cannae take them on by ourselves, not if we hope to defend every village on Greum Dubh.” He paused. “We may have to honor the pact, Laird. The pact with the Laird of Lios.”
Domhnall closed his eyes. “I ken which pact ye mean, Fearghas! I told ye I would think on it. Go and rest now, man. Ye have done well, but I dinnae want ye collapsin’ at my feet.”
Fearghas nodded. “I think ye are about right, Laird.” He paused, his face darkening. “What they did to that village was terrible. I dinnae think I will close my eyes tonight without seeing it again in my mind.” He turned abruptly and left the room.
Domhnall sank down in his seat and put his head in his hands. His mind was spinning like an axis on a wheel. How this could all be happening again, after he had believed the threat gone or at least contained, was making him feel sick to his stomach.
Keelieock, he thought darkly. It had been a prosperous village and thriving, the villagers as happy as any he had seen. He had been there only last week, standing in the village square, officiating minor disputes.
And now it was gone. Wiped off the land. Its houses were burning, its men dead or dying, its women ravished. All because of him.
He had seen him only once, many years ago. Eric Howard, the leader. He had been on horseback, charging into a village, his sword raised, and a look of sheer hatred on his face. Domhnall knew that such a man did this for only one reason. He didn’t kill, pillage, and plunder because it was his duty – King Edward had not authorized such activities. He did it because he enjoyed it. He did it because his hatred for the Scottish people was so strong, he wanted to destroy every one of them.
You couldn’t reason with a man like that. You couldn’t negotiate. It was either kill or be killed.
He was growing stronger. Fearghas had said his camp was growing. Domhnall knew that even with every Greum Dubh man pulled from his job, they would still not have enough men to combat it. He could order the stable hands to leave the stables, the bakers to leave the kitchens, and the shoemakers to throw down their tools. But they weren’t warriors. Most had never picked up a sword in their lives. It would be leading lambs to the slaughter.
He sighed again, gripping his head. They needed more warriors. They needed trained fighting men who knew how to battle. It was as simple as that.
The pact.
His heart seized. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to be beholden to the Laird of Lios. He didn’t like the man; he never had. He was a cold, calculating man, who spoke little, but was always concocting something. Domhnall managed to avoid him most of the time. He certainly didn’t want to put the fate of his people and his lands into the hands of such a man.
He slowly put down his hands and rested them on the table. There was another reason, of course,
that he didn’t want to honor the pact.
He grimaced. Roseann. My love.
Everything he had told her was true. If he honored the pact, calling in the Laird of Lios’ men to help fight Howard’s marauding camp, then he would have to honor his side of it, too. He would have no choice but to become betrothed to the Laird of Lios’ daughter.
His chest tightened. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it to Roseann. He would lose her; he was sure of it. She had only lain with him because she believed that the betrothal was not going to go ahead. She was a woman of honor. She would never stay here as his mistress, playing second fiddle to his wife. And he didn’t want her to be his mistress.
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 11