Highland Lady

by Colleen French

  "Ye nae know?" Elen cried furiously as she grabbed the dagger and stabbed the blade into the tabletop. "Ye tell me ye nae know?"

  "Elen." Munro appeared suddenly behind her, his hand steady on her shoulder. "Joseph probably knows nothing. He never enters the castle walls. 'Tis why Cerdic sent him."

  Munro turned to the boy, his tone gentle when he spoke. "Nae be afraid, lad. Have ye been within the walls in the last week?"

  Joseph shook his head emphatically.

  "What of gossip? What says the great hall of my sister's capture?"

  "Nobody don't say nothin'," Joseph said, his eyes round, as his gaze skated from Elen to his master and then back to Elen. "We been told to keep our holes shut and nae ask questions. They been quieter than a mouse, them stone walls."

  Munro let out a sigh and stepped back.

  Having heard the entire conversation, Elen forced herself to take a deep breath. Never kill the messenger, her father had always said. Maybe Finley could get him something to eat in the kitchen and question him there, but chances were Munro was right. He knew nothing.

  "Donald," she said softly. "Get this boy something to eat. A coin for his trouble."

  At that point, Elen realized everyone in the hall was staring at her. The room was startlingly quiet, save for the sound of footsteps as the boy from Rancoff was escorted from the great hall by her bailiff.

  Elen felt sick to her stomach. She felt angry. Betrayed. She had tried beyond reason to believe, to rationalize, that her sister had nothing to do with the kidnapping. How could she believe that now, for what prisoner was permitted to send such expensive gifts?

  Suddenly Elen felt as if she could not breathe. Her stomach tumbled and she feared she would be sick. She was embarrassed in front of all of her men. Embarrassed for Rosalyn. Embarrassed for herself for taking so long to believe what must be the truth.

  "I have to get some air," she whispered, her voice unfamiliar to her ears.

  Munro clasped her arm tightly to steady her and moved back the bench with his boot so she could get around. "This way. Outside."

  "I don't want them to think me ungrateful," she said under her breath, her gaze falling to the heaps of woolens, embroidery, and eggs her guests had brought her. "Everyone has been so kind." She was so angry, so hurt that she couldn't think clearly.

  "Just outside, Elen." Munro led her around the bench. "Minstrels," he called with such authority that all looked his way. "Play!"

  The minstrels struck up a tune, and the focus of the great hall shifted.

  "Thank ye," Elen breathed as he directed her toward the door.

  "What do ye think ye do?" Finley asked, stepping in front of Munro, blocking his path.

  Munro met Finley's gaze with a look Elen found frightening. "Step aside, Finley. Your mistress needs air."

  Finley reached for her other arm. "I will take her."

  "Nae." Munro ground his teeth.

  Finley tightened his grasp on her arm. "I said—"

  "Enough, both of ye." Elen broke free of the men flanking her. "I amnae an invalid. I only wish to take a turn in my bailey."

  "I'll go with ye," Munro said quietly, the threat still in his voice.

  "Ye'll go nowhere but the hole," Finley muttered under his breath.

  "Finley, please." Elen took a deep breath. "Please remain here and see everyone is well fed, that there is plenty to drink. See if Donald got any information from the boy from Rancoff. Perhaps he has heard some wee bit of gossip and feared to repeat in front of me and his master."

  She could not tell Finley she wanted Munro to go outside with her, though surely he read her implication.

  Finley hesitated for no more than a breath. "Aye, m'lady. As ye wish."

  Elen hurried out of the hall, through the entryway, over the oubliette, and pushed through the heavy hewn door into the darkness. The air was so cold tonight that it hit her like a wall. She took deep breaths, hugging herself for warmth as she paced back and forth on the frozen ground.

  Munro gave her a moment to gather herself before he spoke. "A mantle? 'Tis cold."

  She shook her head.

  He breathed deeply and exhaled. "I suppose this tells us for certain we have been duped."

  "We?" She whipped around, pacing in front of a burning torch that lit a small area of the inner bailey. "There is no we about this. My sister has tricked me. How or why, I nae ken, but she has tricked me and made a fool of me before my men."

  "Nay. She has a made a fool of no one but herself. Ye acted in good faith. Ye responded as any would have, given the circumstances."

  She gave a laugh that was without humor. "Aye, acted on good faith. I have kidnapped my neighbor and held him nearly a fortnight, and for what? I nae want to consider what my sister is doing in yonder keep." She gestured angrily in the direction of Rancoff.

  Munro caught her hand. She tried to yank it free, but he held fast. "Elen."

  "Let me go." She was near to tears.

  "I willnae."

  She attempted to struggle free, but he caught her other wrist and pulled her against him. She fought for only another second and then met his lips with fiercer want than she had the last time they had kissed.

  Elen's mind was a jumble of thoughts; her heart ached. She was hurt and bewildered—and as angry as she had ever been in her life.

  Munro's kiss was long, hard, demanding. He did not release her until she was dizzy and breathless and her mouth tasted more of his than of her own.

  She pulled free and wiped her bruised mouth with the back of her hand. "What do ye want of me?" she demanded.

  He let his arms fall to his sides. He panted as she did. "I cannae say."

  They breathed big billowing white clouds that met and rose as one. Elen was cold, cold all over now, and all she wanted was Munro's warmth. His comfort.

  Without a word, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the tower house.

  At the door, he stopped her and caught her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him. "I would nae want to take advantage of ye, lass." He swallowed. "No matter how badly I want ye."

  She held his gaze in the shadows of a torch for a moment. "And if I want to take advantage of ye?"

  Munro lifted her into his arms and started up the great winding stone steps to her tower room.

  Chapter 10

  The tower house was silent and vacant. Every able-bodied man, woman, and child who claimed Dunblane as home was in the great hall or in their modest cottages, eating, drinking, and dancing. All were making so merry that Elen knew there was a good chance no one would realize she was missing... if she did not dally too long.

  Munro's footsteps rang in the cylindrical stairwell as he rushed up the stone steps, knowing what little time they had. Elen clung to the neck she had so admired, breathing in deeply the scent of his skin, pressing to her memory the feel of his hard frame molded to her softer one.

  I will not think, she repeated over and over in her head. For once I will not think. I will not contemplate the results of my actions or how it will affect myself or others a century from now. She rested her head on his muscular breast, savoring the feel of his chest as it rose and fell with each breath he took. For once, just this once, I will live for the moment, for myself, and the future be damned.

  At the doorway to her bedchamber on the fourth floor, Munro stepped over Alexi's pallet and halted at her door. "Are ye certain this is what ye want?" he whispered against her lips.

  She tightened her grip on his neck, pressing her aching mouth to his. "As certain as I have ever been of anything."

  A warm, tender smile that melted her heart lifted the corners of his mouth, and he kissed her again. This time his touch was gentle, reassuring. Almost loving.

  Elen had never thought of herself as a sensitive woman. It just was not in her temperament. But at this moment, her chest swelled with tenderness.

  "It's what I want... what I need," she murmured, still not understanding the urges she felt deep
inside, yet knowing she must follow them or shrivel and die.

  Munro pushed inside the door. Her father's chamber was dark save for the glowing light from banked coals in the fireplace. Still holding her in his arms, he kicked the door shut and fiddled with the latch. "A lock?" Again, he brushed her lips with his, as anxious as she was.

  "Nay, there has never been one."

  In the darkness, she saw him scowl. She knew what he was thinking. Privacy.

  She laid her hand to his jaw, turning his head to gaze into his eyes. "No one would dare enter without gaining my permission."

  He arched a dark brow. "No one?"

  He meant Finley, of course. She shook her head. "Nae even Finley. He would not cross that line. Now get me to bed ere ye break your back and are of no good to either of us."

  Still cradling her tenderly in his arms, he threw back his head and laughed. The sound of his deep male voice reverberated in the chamber. It sounded as music to her ears, so right in this room that had not held the sound of laughter or love between a man and a woman for too long.

  Munro crossed the room to the great bed and lowered her slowly onto her back as he covered his mouth with hers. She clung to him, unable to get enough of him, of the feel of his tongue in her mouth. A month ago, even a fortnight ago, if anyone had asked her if she would have allowed such an invasion of her body, she would have struck them for insolence.

  How could she have been so wrong about something so right?

  Munro kicked off his boots and then sat on the edge of the soft tick to remove hers. He slid his hands up her calves to just above her knees to pull down her stockings, and ripples of pleasure coursed through her.

  Munro tossed her stockings over his head and they floated into the shadows of the chilly room.

  Elen sat up, running her hands over his shoulders to meet his mouth again, overwhelmed by her urgency. A part of her haste was to avoid being caught by anyone, of course, but it was more than that. More primal.

  "My back," she whispered between kisses. "The gown ties at my back." She knew she need only lift her skirts to make love with him, but she was a greedy woman. She wanted more. What if this was the only time she ever made love with a man in her life? She would not be cheated. She wanted to feel her naked skin pressed against his. She wanted to lay bare breast to chest, to share his heartbeat.

  Elen sat up and leaned forward and Munro fumbled with the crisscrossed ribbon that held the bodice of the gown closed. Releasing her from its confines, he pulled the gown forward off her shoulders and she shoved it to her waist.

  But still there was more clothing between her breasts and his hand. She was also wearing a shift. This was why she did not care for women's clothing—too many layers.

  Munro pulled on the shoulder of the linen undergarment. He meant only to push it down out of their way, but in his haste, the thin fabric tore.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing her bare shoulder where the thin strap had torn. "Now ye will think me a brute."

  She laughed and yanked at the other side, ripping it as well. "I would be disappointed if ye were not just a little. Now, your tunic," she told him. "Take it off. Your stockings and whatever else it is ye wear beneath your wools. I want to see ye."

  He leaned over and kissed the hollow of her throat and slid his mouth downward to the swell of her breast. His tongue darted out to draw a thin, wet, hot line as he peeled away the fabric to bare her breasts. The heat, the feel of his wet tongue was glorious.

  Munro's thumb brushed the nub of her nipple and she cried out in surprise. Pleasant, searing surprise. He slid his hand up from below to clasp her breast and, at the same instant, his mouth closed over her swollen nipple.

  Elen lay back on the bed and moaned aloud, not caring what he heard. Not caring at this moment if all of the North Country of Scotland heard. Nothing mattered at this moment but this man and the feel of him, the taste of him.

  "Such beauty I have never seen," he whispered between strokes of his tongue.

  "Nae," she managed between breaths as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Ye don't have to say those things."

  He ran one hand over the bunched folds of the gown, over her stomach, down one thigh, setting the flesh he touched on fire. "But I do," he whispered passionately. "Ye are so strong, and yet so beautiful. So feminine in a way I did not know a woman could be."

  She caught his cheeks between her hands, forcing him to gaze into her eyes. His were heavy-lidded with passion, with desire for her, and she could not resist a smile. "Listen to me, Munro Forrest, Laird of Rancoff. I ask nothing of ye because I can offer nothing. Ye spoke of marriage. There will be no marriage for me. No husband, no children. My duty cannot allow it." She brushed her thumb across his lower lip. "So I can offer ye nothing but honesty, and even that I have no right to demand from you."

  He opened his mouth to protest and she pressed her finger to his lips. "Would ye spend these few moments we have in argument?" She ran her hand boldly over his chest to his lean, hard stomach. "Or would ye spend them otherwise?"

  With a groan of surrender, Munro pushed her deeper into the feather tick and covered her body with his. They kissed and stroked, pulling and pushing at the remainder of their clothing until they were naked flesh to naked flesh at last.

  "Munro, please," she moaned, feeling his male hardness against her thigh. "If ye do not... if I do not..." She was unable to find the words to express herself, not so much because she was embarrassed, but because she did not know the words. She didn't know how to phrase the overwhelming physical ache that had overcome her.

  "Shhh," Munro soothed, rolling onto his side to draw her into his arms. "Do not be in such a hurry."

  "Such a hurry," she panted. "All of Dunblane will soon be looking for us."

  He brushed away her protests with his seeking mouth and capable hands. How could she fight him? For once, she was out of fight. For once, she was willing to surrender.

  "Munro, Munro," she whispered his name as he ran his hand over the flat of her stomach, then lower....

  "Elen, my strong, brave Elen...."

  She laughed, yet tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She wanted him so badly. Needed to feel him inside her. Needed release.

  The first stroke of his fingers upon the folds of her womanhood brought her halfway off the bed with a cry of surprise. He kissed her mouth, her chin, her neck, making little soothing sounds, easing her back into the soft tick again.

  "Relax," he whispered. "Just live for this moment, just once. Trust me." He leaned over her, catching her chin with his fingertips, forcing her to look at him. "Can ye do this for me, sweeting? Can ye trust me just this once?"

  Her lower lip trembled. She felt vulnerable, a feeling so foreign to her that she barely recognized it. Slowly she nodded her head, afraid to trust her voice. She could trust him. She knew she could.

  "Relax," Munro whispered, his voice as caressing as his hand.

  She relaxed. The waves of pleasure came faster, stronger, like the tide washing up on Dunblane's own beach. She didn't understand these feelings. They felt so unfamiliar, and yet somewhere deep inside, she knew them.

  Between her legs she grew wet, and the scent of their lovemaking filled the dark, quiet room.

  Higher and higher on the beach the waves washed. Elen grasped the wrinkled bed linens, rolling her head, lost in the tide of ecstasy Munro created. Then suddenly, the incoming tide of pleasure mounted to a wave and she felt herself crash on the beach. Her muscles tensed and relaxed in an astounding shock of release that started below her waist and radiated outward.

  "Oh," she moaned. "Oh..."

  Finally his hand was still, but eddies of pleasure still rippled through her. Elen was thrilled; she was annoyed. Why had her father never told her making love was like this? Certainly, he had told her the mechanics, but he had never told her of the immense joy, the emotions that accompanied the primal act.

  Munro laid his cheek upon her quivering stomach and waited patie
ntly for her to catch her breath.

  Elen closed her eyes and then opened them again. Suddenly it occurred to her she had had her pleasure, but he had not. At least she did not think he had.

  "Munro...." She didn't know what to say. "Don't ye want to..." She fumbled for the lack of the right words and then laughed at herself. "Oh, ye know what I try to say! Climb upon me."

  He grinned, and she grasped a pillow from behind her and struck him with it. "Nae laugh at me. I have never known a man." She struck him with the pillow again. "I nae ken how one does this, but I am relatively certain there should have been a bit more than was."

  Munro grabbed the pillow and sent it flying across the room. "I laugh nae at ye, sweet, but with pleasure at your honesty and candor." He kissed her temple. "'Tis enough for tonight."

  Stretched out beside her on the bed as he was, and in spite of the darkness, she could see he had, indeed, not found his release.

  She turned her face to gaze at him suspiciously. "I nae ken the rules of this game. 'Tis all right?"

  He laughed. "It's all right, lovely. There are no rules in lovemaking." He clasped her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. "Only honesty, as ye said. And pleasure." He grinned.

  "Ye are more of a gentleman than I thought," she told him, rolling to face him, propping her head up with her hand. She gave him a push with her knee.

  "And a bigger fool. Ye should have taken what was offered when it was offered."

  He rested his hand casually on her bare hip. "I wanted ye to be certain. And... to enjoy your first time. The joining isnae always so... profitable for a woman. Nae at first."

  She knew her cheeks reddened, but she appreciated his honesty. They were well suited. They seemed to live by the same standards. They required a great deal of others, but also of themselves.

  Elen glanced up at him, wishing she did not have to speak the words on the end of her tongue. "We should get up and dress," she said softly.

  He shook his head. "Nae yet. Just another moment let me gaze upon your beauty ere I am tossed again into your prison."

  "Munro, if we do nae get ourselves below stairs—"