Then Murray added, “A missive arrived earlier today during the commotion. It was from Laird Mackintosh. Before supper I did meet with her about the matter, but she wasn’t concerned. She said Egan had inquired about his so-called wedding present.” Murray chuckled. “I promised to report how well the new mare had been received, and how much we are looking forward to the wealth of foals she will no doubt provide Clan Brodie.”
Declan nodded his approval. “It will serve him right to know how we have, as ye said, Nathan, taken his insult and made it our gain.”
“Indeed,” Nathan replied.
He fell into easy conversation with Declan and Murray while he waited, hoping that Elora would glide out from behind the screen and claim her seat next to his. But as the trestle tables began to empty and the villagers returned to their homes, it became clear that she was not going to make an appearance.
Incapable of waiting any longer, he made his excuses to the other men and hastened toward her chamber. Just as he was about to rap his knuckles on her door, it opened, but it was Mary who stepped out.
“Good eventide, Nathan.” A basket of folded laundry was perched on her hip, but she still managed to curtsy.
“Good eventide, Mary.”
Easing the door shut behind her, she said, “My lady is not in her chamber.”
Brows drawn, he asked, “Do ye know if she is sitting with her sister?”
Mary shook her head. “Nay, I’ve just come from Lady Tempest’s chamber and she was alone.”
Nathan raked his hand through his hair. “Of course. Thank ye, Mary.”
Mary curtsied again, then started down the hallway with her basket. But a moment later, she turned back around. “Often my lady will walk the battlements when she wishes to clear her head.”
He dipped his head in thanks to Elora’s young maid, then with renewed purpose, he continued his search. Taking the steps two at a time, he rounded the circular stairwell to the battlements. Several Brodie guards were in position but Elora was nowhere to be seen. Next, he checked the solar and then the kitchen. When he still could not find her, he headed out into the courtyard where the guards at the front gate assured him that she had not left the castle.
He stiffened with frustration when, at last, he had to concede to the possibility that she was intentionally staying away from him. Standing in the great hall, his gaze was drawn to the door that led to the kitchen. His body ached with desire, his pulse raced. One visit to the buttery for a drink would take it all away. But he shook his head and took a deep breath. This time, he did not want his feelings to diminish.
Before he could change his mind, he turned on his heel and retreated up the stairs. After storming down the hallway, he threw open his chamber door and his breath hitched.
Lady Elora stood near the hearth, dressed in her linen night gown.
“Elora,” he gasped.
She turned and their eyes locked. Without a word, she closed the distance between them and pressed herself against him. Rising up on her toes, bringing her lips a breath from his, she whispered, “Ye set my soul on fire.”
A groan of ecstasy fled his lips as he crushed her against himself. His mouth descended on hers. He kissed her with all his hunger, all his need. Soft moans rose up from her throat as she met his passion with a fire all her own. Tearing their lips apart, she whispered, “I want to feel ye, skin to skin.”
With a growl, he tore off his plaid and lifted her into his arms. He crossed the room and gently eased her down onto the bed. Then he kissed her with wild abandon. Her tongue met his, hungry and consuming. Her fingers wove through his hair, pressing herself harder against his body. He cupped her firm breast and she moaned, arching into his touch. His lips covered her nipple, flicking the hard peak through the fabric of her nightgown with his tongue. Her body pressed into his touch. “Closer,” she begged.
A devilish smile curved his lips as he tore the fabric of her nightgown asunder. His mouth descended upon the rosy peak of her swollen nipple. His tongue caressing, suckling, teasing. Her soft moans of desire fueled his own hunger. His mouth devoured her, moving from one creamy mound to the other while his hands explored the soft lines of her waist and hips and the silken skin of her stomach.
She squirmed beneath him as she explored his body, her hands stroking the length of his back and curving over his bare shoulders. Fire spread where she touched, consuming, igniting his passion to greater heights. He burned with a need he had never known before. Passion raged through him. He had to touch and taste every inch of her.
ELORA THREW HER HEAD back as his lips explored her body, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her. Then his touch journeyed over her stomach. His hands gripped her hips, which bucked of their own accord as the ache between her thighs became too much to bear. His tongue moved lower and lower until he parted her thighs. He nibbled at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She gripped the headboard, wild with desire. He was so close to where the ache surged with indescribable pain and pleasure. Then suddenly his mouth descended, and he tasted the very heat of her.
She cried out as sweet agony consumed her. He slowly stroked her sensitive womanhood with his tongue, delving deeper, teasing, tasting. Just when she thought the torment was too much, he shifted over her. She spread her legs wide as he guided his body into hers. His thick length burned, pressing deeper, stretching, hurting. She gripped his shoulders and held on tight. And then he burst through her innocence. She cried out. He froze, his body taut beneath her fingers. But after a few moments, the pain subsided and slowly, he began to move within her, thrusting, gently at first, then harder and harder. She gasped in sweet agony. Together, they moved, hot and hungry, soaring higher and higher as waves of ecstasy pulsed through her. And then she shattered, exploding with pleasure as his own cry of release mingled with hers in savage harmony.
Chapter Seventeen
Elora awoke tucked snugly in the fold of Nathan’s embrace. His body curved around hers from behind. She savored his closeness and the warmth of his steady breathes on the back of her neck. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his masculine scent. Her mind burned with the memory of his strong hands gently massaging her breasts, his tongue tasting and teasing as he journeyed down her neck to the rosy peaks of her nipples, then down to the curve of her hips and lower still. Just the memory made her body ache with desire. She remembered how he had let his plaid fall to the ground, revealing the sinewy lines and hard ridges of his muscular physique. The fire that he had ignited had built until she could no longer control herself.
More than anything, she wanted him to possess her again, to cry out her name as he had the night before.
But a new day was nearly upon them, bringing with it heartbreaking clarity.
She knew what she had to do.
A sharp pain cut through her heart as her thoughts turned to the inevitable. Choking back her tears, she slowly eased herself free from his arms and slid out of bed. Her footfalls were silent as she padded across the floor. At the door, she stopped and looked back at him. His black curls partially hid the sleek lines of his exquisite profile. The blanket slashed low on his hips, revealing his warrior’s physique.
Her chest tightened, and a knot gathered in her throat. “I love ye,” she whispered.
Then she straightened her back, steeled her shoulders, and opened the door. Forcing herself not to look back again, she eased the door closed and made her way to her chamber all the while feeling as if her heart was shattering into a million pieces.
Once in her room, she set to work, fearing that she might unravel if she paused for even a moment. Using water leftover from her evening ablutions, she washed away the slickness between her thighs. Then, she crossed to her wardrobe and selected a deep blue tunic, over which she pulled on a surcote that laced on the sides. Using her fingers to untangle her curls, she wove her hair into a simple plait down her back. Swallowing hard, she opened the shutters and glanced out her casement. The hour was long before Lauds. With a deep breath,
she turned away from the dark sky, opened her chamber door, and quietly made her way down to the solar.
Her heart pounded when she saw her table, for she knew what awaited her—a missive from Egan. Although she had told Murray that the chieftain of Clan Mackintosh had sent a smug message asking after the high-strung mare he had gifted their clan, that had been a lie. Sitting down at the table, her hand trembled as she picked up the parchment which spoke of the coming doom.
Through fresh tears, she read the blackguard’s message again...
Expect my coming the morrow following Easter when the Lenten season has passed.
A weight settled in the pit of her stomach. The meaning of his words were clear. On that day she would be married—if not to someone else, then to him.
With a deep breath to quiet the torrent of emotion fighting to reach the surface of her heart and mind, she straightened her spine, steeled her shoulders, and reached for a clean piece of parchment. With her stony composure in place, she willed herself to make the sacrifice she knew she must. Dipping her quill in ink, she began to compose a new missive, one she believed would secure the best outcome for her people.
When she finished, she set her quill down and read over her words. For a moment, a breath, her selfish heart fought to be heard. Her chin quivered, but she clenched her jaw, fighting for calm.
She had to be strong for her people. She tilted her chin higher, assuring herself that in time, she would forget. But a sob pushed past her defenses. Her breath hitched.
She could never forget.
Dropping the missive on the table, she hung her head in her hands.
“Elora, what is it?”
With a startled gasp, Elora looked up and met her sister’s gaze. Tempest hastened across the room.
Elora took a deep breath. “Ye should be in bed.”
Tempest waved away her concern. “I slept most of yesterday and all through the night.” Then she squeezed Elora’s hands. “What is it? Tell me what weighs on ye so.”
Elora shook her head stiffly, struggling to contain her emotions.
“Ye promised not to shut me out again,” Tempest reminded her. “We need each other.”
Elora slumped back in her chair. “Ye’re right,” she said softly. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Ye know why I have a distaste for marriage, but I’ve never told ye this.” She took a deep breath. “Before she died, mum made me promise her that I would never marry.”
Tempest expelled a long breath. “But, Elora, ‘tis an impossible promise for a lady to keep.”
Elora straightened in her seat and looked her sister dead on. “I have labored and labored for a way to keep my promise—not only to honor our mother’s final wishes—but to safeguard our people. Imagine what could befall our clan should I surrender my will and judgement to the wrong man.” Elora stood and began pacing the room. “Make no mistake, once I vow to honor and obey my husband, I lose all control.” She whirled around and met her sister’s wide gaze. “And If I choose poorly, then what? Do I go back to the days of slinking behind a tyrant’s back to ensure my people are clothed and fed?”
Tempest scrunched her brow. “I understand yer fears, Elora, but I do not see how we can carry on for much longer without a laird. Egan has made his intentions clear. And when word spreads of our vulnerability, others chieftains will set their sights on our lands.”
“Ye’re right,” Elora said softly. She sat down again. “I have no choice but to break my promise.” She handed Egan’s missive to her sister who quickly opened it and scanned the page.
“That scoundrel,” Tempest snapped as she stood and started to pace the room while she read. Then her eyes flashed wide. “He writes to say that he journeys here the day after Easter.”
She nodded. “My time is up. It would seem as I have no choice but to marry William Grant.”
Tempest whirled around. “What?”
Elora gave her sister a challenging look. “I have to make the choice that is right for our people. It will be years before William comes of age—years that I can lead our clan without hindrance. And by the time he is old enough to take on the role of laird, I will have had time to train him properly.”
Tempest shook her head. “But ye love Nathan. Ye cannot deny yer feelings to me!”
“My feelings are unimportant,” Elora snapped. “They come second to the wellbeing of the clan.”
Tempest’s eyes flashed with passion. “How can ye say that? Ye speak as though ye’re somehow separate when ye’re as much a part of this clan as any other man, woman, or child.”
Elora shook her head. “Ye don’t understand.”
“Don’t say that,” Tempest hissed, slamming her hand on the table. “Yer fear is lying to ye, making ye believe ye have no choice.” Tempest’s eyes became beseeching. She circled around the table and knelt at her sister’s feet. “Hear my words, Elora,” she began softly. “Yer heart is good and true. Ye want everything for me and for our clan, but nothing for yerself.” Tempest seized her sister’s hands. “Let yerself matter, and ye will be a better lady for it.”
Elora swallowed hard. “I...I don’t know how?”
Tempest cupped her cheek. “Start by listening to yer own heart. Ye love Nathan.”
Tears stung Elora’s eyes. “But what do I really know of him? Other than he’s a renegade who left his clan. For pity’s sake, I found him in a tavern, draped by whores and drowning in his cups. How can I be sure he will be a fair leader?”
“Aren’t we all drowning in something?” Tempest asked pointedly. “For years, ye’ve been suffocated by yer own rigidity whilst I’ve been struggling beneath the weight of self-pity. Whatever Nathan has been running from, ye cannot deny that he is a good man with a kind heart. What more could we hope for in a laird?”
Elora closed her eyes, returning in her mind to a place where Nathan’s strong arms surrounded her, where his kiss made her wild with need, and where his body set hers free.
Could she really choose love?
She eyed the two missives on the table, afraid that somehow the oppression the letters represented could somehow reach out beyond the page and snatch her freewill.
“Elora, look at me,” Tempest said firmly, drawing Elora’s gaze. “Trust more, fear less.”
Her sister’s beautiful face blurred as a fresh wave of tears flooded Elora’s eyes. “How did ye grow to be such an amazing woman?”
Tempest smiled. “I’ve had the most selfless, strong, and determined older sister to emulate.” Her smile stretched wider. “Do ye trust me?”
Elora blinked away her tears, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Aye, I trust ye.”
Tempest’s face brightened even more. “Come on,” she said, laughing as she seized Elora’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “I know just what ye need at this moment.”
Never letting go of her hand, Tempest led Elora through the sleepy castle to the stables. Together, they saddled Rosie and Hazel, but before they mounted their mares, Tempest rushed to Storm’s stall. “Do not fash yerself, lass. Once my head is fully healed, I’ll ride ye clear to the Firth of Moray.”
Elora called to her sister. “I’m ready.”
Tempest turned and passed a scrutinizing gaze over Elora. “Not quite.”
Her sister’s nimble fingers made quick work of the laces on Elora’s surcote, which was soon cast over the side of a stall. Then, she loosened Elora’s braid, letting her hair fall unbound down her back.
Tempest smiled. “Now, ye’re ready.”
Once they passed through the gates and circled around the outer wall, they set out at a trot. Darkness still blanketed the land, painting the earth in shades of silver and violet. Stars shone brightly overhead, and yet the sky at the horizon had begun to lighten, revealing dawn’s promise. Elora breathed deep this promise—a new dawn meant a new day and a new life, in which fear would no longer be her guide.
When they reached the last field, rolling moorland stretched out before them. Tempest re
ined her horse in. Fire lit her blue eyes. “I dare not gallop until my wound has fully healed. But ye, Elora, ye must! Go! Ride! Lose yerself! Only then will ye find yer joy!”
The wind picked up, lifting Elora’s unbound hair. A shiver coursed up her spine as she held her sister’s powerful gaze.
“I love ye, Tempest,” she said, her heart full. Then she shifted her gaze to the distant moors where a streak of fiery light now ignited the horizon. Adjusting the grip on her reins, laughter bubbled up her throat. Then she threw her head back and whooped to the sky and drove her heels into Rosie’s flanks, setting out across the sea of dusky hills. A thrill shot through her. The wind whipped her hair. For the first time in her life she felt free and fluid as a wave crashing toward shore. Her passion unleashed, she cried out, “Faster, Rosie!”
Cresting to the top of a grassy swell, she reined in her mount and gazed at the beauty of their land, Clan Brodie’s land. Tears streamed down her face, but they were not tears of suffering as her mother’s tears had always been.
They were tears of triumph.
Tears of joy.
She threw her arms wide. Her joy was inside herself, and all she had to do was let it come to the surface. She could feel the walls of her constraint crumble. No longer would she rely on control and rigidity to protect herself. She was part of a clan. Just as she had always cared for her people and raised them high, she, too, could count on her kinfolk in times of need.
And then silver eyes, raw and honest, came to the fore of her thoughts. “And I have love,” she whispered aloud.
Without hesitation, she turned Rosie around and raced back the way she’d come. Reining in her mount beside Tempest, she burst out, “I found my joy!”
“In the ride?” Tempest asked.
Elora shook her head. “Nay, I found it in me.”
Her sister’s smile widened.
“Come on, Tempest. There is a man awaiting me at Castle Bròn who I plan to marry, but not days from now when the Lenten season ends. I’m going to ask him to marry me this very day.”
The Renegade (Rebel Hearts, #1) Page 12