by Lily Harlem
The duke on the other hand had over a dozen. At present they stood in their neat red and white uniforms with pistols and daggers. Most wore expressions of confidence—no doubt feeling secure because of their numbers—but a few had hesitation in their eyes.
And so they should. McTavish had a reputation as a fine Highland warrior for a reason. Since his marriage and becoming a father, his ambition to see Scotland in all her free glory had only intensified. This in turn had made him fight with renewed fervour and passion.
“You really think you can defeat me?” Cambridgeshire laughed. “When you’re on English soil surrounded by English soldiers waiting to spill the blood of you and your fellow heathen Scotsmen.” His laugh deepened. “I pity your naivety in following my trail. I’ll confess I never thought you would.”
“If one drip of my men’s blood hits the earth it is I who will have your blood.” McTavish took a step forward on the woodland floor, his feet crunching over the first fallen leaves. His men flanked him. Raif had his sword already half drawn. Callum had a dagger in each hand.
The Englishmen copied their movements and the distance between them shortened.
Overhead the September wind rustled through the canopy and a branch to McTavish’s left creaked.
“Perhaps it would serve you well,” the duke said, tilting his chin. “To surrender now and get on your knees.” He levelled his pistol toward McTavish. “Before I make you kneel with bullets to your kneecaps.”
Adrenaline spurted into his veins, as it always did when looking down the barrel of a gun. But he kept a handle on it. He’d get out of this, he always did. Why would today be any different?
I have to believe that.
I have to get home to Isla and the bairn.
“I will tear ye guts from your body,” Callum said and flicked his hand in front of his face, swiping at a huge wasp.
“You and whose army?” the duke laughed yet again.
The wasp flew around McTavish’s head, tickling against his ear. He batted it away. He hated that the lying duke was enjoying himself so much.
Overhead the branch creaked again.
He glanced up.
Sat against the trunk was a large pale papery mound. It had a small hole in the upper section and a black swarm hovered around it.
Hornets.
He returned his attention to the gun and switched his hold from his sword to his dagger.
The nest was high but not too far away.
He glanced at Callum and Raif then up again.
He had to give it a go, for all his bravado they were seriously outnumbered. Plus they didn’t have any pistols like the Red Coats.
God, give me a good aim.
Stepping back, he kept his focus on the nest, drew out his dagger and with a fast flick of his wrist sent it upward.
It hit the centre with a crunch, direct hit, then fell to the ground.
Holding his breath, he watched as the contents of the nest tumbled out, a dusty mass that crashed to the ground beside an Englishman. Hornets circled wildly around their wrecked home in the tree and on the ground. The accompanying buzz was deafening.
“What is that?” The duke stared upward as did his soldiers.
“We have to get out of here,” McTavish said in Gaelic. “Now.”
As he’d spoken a black swarm hovered between him and the English.
“You bloody idiot.” The duke pointed his pistol at the hornets.
“I don’t think that will work.” McTavish stepped backwards, his hand on his sword again. “Though feel free to give it a try.”
One of the Englishmen let out a yelp as the black cloud surrounded him. “Argh! Help.”
“Go.” McTavish turned. “Get the hell away.”
“Good plan.” Callum broke into a sprint.
Raif did the same as did the other two Scots.
McTavish hesitated. His attention landed on the duke who was also being surrounded by the swarm. Perhaps it was their bright red coats attracting the insects.
The duke spotted McTavish, swung his pistol around and took a shot.
The bullet landed in the ground beside his right boot, a pile of leaves burst upward.
Another fired and hit a trunk to his left, splintering off a chunk of bark.
McTavish decided enough was enough. He turned and took off at a fast pace, following in the footsteps of his men.
The sounds of screams and shouts echoed in his ears as he pounded the forest floor. Several hornets accompanied him the first hundred yards then he outran them.
* * *
Isla stood at the window of Caerlaverock cradling her son. The copse of trees in the distance were turning red and gold as fall approached.
McTavish had been gone for five weeks now. Longer than he’d anticipated and she missed him desperately.
And for the last twenty-four hours she’d had a bad feeling about the forest her husband was in. Not that she knew for sure he was in woodland, but the vision of a dark, leaf-littered ground and the scent of mulch had lingered in her nose. Plus her attention had kept returning to the trees surrounding their home.
The distance between herself and her husband was wide too, she could sense that in her bones. He’d journeyed a long way south—a long way into England, which wasn’t good for a Jacobite.
She moved to the fire and with one hand tossed another log onto the flames. She could have rung the bell and had a servant do it, but she was perfectly capable of keeping a fire aglow.
And she still hadn’t quite gotten used to being Lady McTavish of Caerlaverock and the status that gave her. When she’d been on the road with her husband and his men, she’d slept on the ground if they had, or in barns of sympathetic farmers, or inns with all manner of interesting clientele. But the moment her belly had swollen with child, McTavish had taken her to his home—a very grand home near Inverness—and insisted she stay there safe, and with some of his men acting as guards at the entrance.
He’d been around mostly for her pregnancy and for the weeks after the birth, but this trip to finally meet with the Duke of Cambridgeshire was too important for him to miss.
So she’d been instructed to stay home under the watchful eye of five of his men and with a staff of three to tend her and baby Conner’s every need.
It was a beautiful home too. With large rooms decorated with tapestries, fireplaces big enough to stable a small horse, and polished furniture from both Scotland and France in every room. The garden pleased Isla too; it was well stocked with herbs and flowers, meaning she could continue to source the potions she needed for healing.
Right now wee Conner had marshmallow root and thyme balm on his chest as he’d been coughing in the night. It was helping and he was sleeping peacefully, his rosebud lips parted and his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He was so beautiful, perfect in fact. She loved him with every beat of her heart. Her child was the most precious thing on Earth to both her and McTavish. And she loved her husband all the more when she saw him with their son. His big hands were tender, his smiles quick, and he spoke of the future he wanted for his son in Scotland now, and not just of Scotland—becoming a father had made her husband all the more determined to seat the worthy king on the throne.
Which in turn was why he wasn’t at Caerlaverock right now.
A small movement on the horizon, just past the copse caught her attention. She stepped closer to the window.
Four horses were headed their way. They weren’t galloping, but walking slowly as if both steeds and riders were weary.
She peered closer.
Is it him?
McTavish?
Yes, she was sure of it.
Quickly she rang the bell to call her maid.
Within a minute Mari was at the door.
“Mari, the master is home. I can see him in the distance.”
Mari smiled. “He is?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Isla rushed to the window. “Come and see.”
Mari joine
d her. “I do believe you’re right, m’lady.” She rested her hand on Isla’s. “And I’m so pleased for you. I ken how worried you have been.”
“Thank you, Mari.” She nodded at the door. “I’m sure he’ll want to bathe, and eat and drink. Can you organize that?”
“Yes, m’lady, straight away, m’lady.” She hurried from the room.
Isla couldn’t take her attention from the horses as they grew closer. Her heart was skipping beats. She could barely tolerate this last wait to be in her husband’s arms again. To feel his body naked against hers. To have him inside her, pleasing her and hearing the sounds of his joy as he released his pleasure.
The horses went out of sight as they rounded the house to the courtyard. Isla kissed her sleeping son’s brow. “Your father is home,” she whispered. “Thanks be to the great Mother for her generosity and for bringing him home safe.”
Five minutes later the door to her chamber opened.
McTavish stood there, feet apart, his clothes muddy and torn and a thick black beard covering his jaw and chin.
“My love.” He stepped into the room.
She smiled and a rush of love filled her chest. “You came home.”
“Always.” He stepped close and stroked his hand over her hair. “Wherever you are, I want to be. I will always return for you.” He pressed a kiss to her lips then looked down at the sleeping babe in her arms. “Our son is well?”
“Yes, he had a chesty cough but is much better now.”
McTavish stooped and kissed his son tenderly on the tip of his nose. “I guess it pays him well to have such a talented mother who can concoct remedies for every complaint.”
“I do my best.” She glanced at the locked cupboard to her right.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “It’s never nothing with you, dear wife, and I will learn of it.” He stepped away and glanced down at himself. “I’m going to clean up, eat, and then I’ll return.”
She studied an angry swelling on his forearm. “What’s that?”
“Damn hornet sting. It’s much better now than it was.”
“I will get you something for it, and I’ll call for Mari to put Conner down in his cot.”
“Thank you, and yes, it would be for the best for Conner to go to Mari.” He tugged at his beard and his gaze skimmed over her. “Ensure you’re naked when I return, and on your knees before the fire.”
A surge of excitement raced through Isla. It seemed her husband had missed her as much as she had him. “Yes, sir.”
He turned and strode from the room, his boots clipping on the hard floor.
Before the door had been closed for even a minute, Mari appeared. “Shall I take the bairn?” she asked, holding out her arms.
“Aye, thank you.” Isla passed Conner over, even though she didn’t like the empty feeling it gave her.
“I’ll take good care of him, m’lady. I’ll call you if he coughs again.”
“I’m hoping that episode is over now.”
“Very good, m’lady.”
Mari slipped from the room.
With her pulse thudding in her ears and her body heating, Isla began to strip. She laid each item of clothing over a chair then stepped up to the fire. The rug beneath her feet was red and blue with a swirling pattern containing Celtic knots. She stared at it as she lowered to her knees, enjoying the anticipation of waiting for McTavish to come to her and of the flames warming her skin. There was something very primal about being without clothes by a fire, vulnerable too.
She steadied her breathing, counting as she inhaled then blew it out again. Her breasts rose and fell, and she concentrated on the air slipping down her throat as she did this over and over.
Time passed, she wasn’t sure how long, and she didn’t mind the wait. For she knew it would end, and then she would be with her lover and master.
Eventually the door opened.
McTavish stepped in and locked it behind him. He wore only a kilt, his feet were bare and he was clean shaven once more, his hair a little damp from bathing.
“Good lass,” he said, his attention raking over her.
She smiled and clasped her fingers together in the small of her back. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“And I you. I don’t wish us to be apart for such a length of time again.”
“The uprising is important.”
“Aye, it is. But so are you and Conner.” He stopped directly in front of her and cupped her chin. “You’re more beautiful than I ever could have remembered, wife of mine.”
A lovely, honeyed glow went through her. His words were spoken with such truth, and with the love shining from his eyes, she ken he was telling it from his heart.
“Open up,” he said, flicking aside his kilt. “I’ve been thinking of your mouth on my journey.”
She did as he’d asked, her jaw stretching and her tongue flat on the base.
He was fully erect and cupped his shaft. “We have other matters to attend to, but first this.”
He stroked the tip over her lips, teasing her.
She moaned, desperate for his taste, for the feel of him against her tongue.
“Don’t worry, it’s here for you,” he said, raking his free hand through her hair and bunching it at her crown. “Now keep still.”
She had no choice. His hold on her was tight as it always was. McTavish liked to have full control when he took her mouth.
Staring up at him, she held her breath as he slid in. His flesh was hot and hard, silk on steel, and he tasted of soap and man. She adored this moment, the first thrust in because he always released a low, throaty moan that made her pussy clench.
“God above, I’ve been dreaming of this,” he said, withdrawing.
She sucked in a breath. Her hair roots pained her a little, he was holding her so tight, but the sensation added to her excitement.
He canted his hips, thrust in then pulled back, setting up a fast rhythm. She stayed with him, catching her breath when she could.
Soon pre-cum coated her tongue. He was gasping, panting. Her breasts jiggled with each of his shoves. He was close, very close.
“Ah, my love.” He held her hair with both hands, pulling it, trapping her, and slid in deep.
She held her nerve, despite her gag reflex threatening to react. He was so deep.
And then it was there. His pleasure released and she swallowed it down. His cock pulsed against her tongue and her nose became lost in his wiry public hair.
He groaned long and low and another rope of seed filled her throat. “Aye, like that.”
She swallowed again, knowing he liked the sensation of her tugging on his tip when she did so.
His grip on her hair slackened, and after a moment he withdrew.
He was breathing fast, so was she.
Again he cupped her chin. “Stand.”
She did, her knees a bit stiff from kneeling. He kept his palm under her chin as his kilt fell back over his cock.
“I should tend to your hornet sting,” she said.
“Nay, it’s not a bother now.” He glanced at her potions cupboard. “What I want to ken is what you couldn’t tell me earlier.”
Isla stared down at her feet. She’d done something he’d told her not to. Found it impossible to resist and now she must pay the price. But haps he would be pleased and have a use for it.
“What is nothing?” he asked, tipping her face up so she had to look at him again.
“I… I…”
“Spit it out, lass.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or is it something I will have to cane out of you?”
“No, no, it’s…” She swallowed. “There was nightshade in the copse yonder.”
“Nightshade?”
“Aye, and I collected it.” She nodded at the cupboard. “I made a concoction.”
“You made a concoction of deadly nightshade even though I instructed you to never make such a lethal potion?”
> “Aye, and I’m sorry.”
He released her chin and slid his hand to her right breast. He cupped the heavy underside and ran his thumb over her nipple.
Her flesh tingled under his touch and her nipple hardened.
“Sorry isn’t enough,” he said quietly, though she could hear the anger she’d anticipated in his tone. “I specifically warned about having something so deadly in our home. It is where you and our son live, I do not wish for such harm to be lurking in a cupboard.”
“It’s locked away, sir.”
“And if someone was to find the key?”
“They won’t.”
“Where is it?”
“Beneath the books on the mantel, in a small box. I have a single hair wrapped around it, I’d ken if it were disturbed.”
McTavish glanced at the mantel. A frown creased his brow.
“I thought it might be of use, for the cause.”
“Aye.” He pressed his lips together. “I understand your trail of thinking, but it’s still not enough to excuse your disobedience.”
“Perhaps the Duke of Cambridge could—”
“He is not a friend, and aye, I’d happily drop a wee splash into his dram, but that won’t happen now. His true colours have been shown.”
“I’m sorry about that.” And she truly was. Her husband had been hoping to gain support from the duke.
“That’s not of my concern right now.” He turned and walked to the corner of the room. He picked up a piece of furniture Isla both loathed and loved.
It was a bench, the legs the exact length of hers. Sturdy and made of solid oak, the top was padded and covered in leather.
He set it before the fire then stood back with his arms crossed. “Over you go.”
A tremble caught in her belly. She could have kept it to herself about the nightshade but he would have found out eventually and then her punishment would have been even more severe.
“I’m sorry,” she said, biting on her bottom lip.
“I ken you are but you still did it.” He nodded at the bench. “And as I said, over you go.”
Her legs were a little shaky as she stepped up to it. She bent double with her breasts pressing on the cool leather and her knees butting up against the hard legs. The heat of the fire continued to lick over her skin as a shiver of anticipation travelled down her back and over her buttocks.