by Lisa Torquay
“Do you plan to stand there for a long time?” His warm Atholl Broze tone snatched her out of her stillness.
Suddenly, she wanted to run to the bed, wanted to attack him with her lips, her hands, her skin. Sate her desire, her heart. Say everything, shout to the winds her thoughts, her feelings, her fears.
But she only looked at him while her heart thrashed in her ribcage. Her feet managed to move with slow, short steps as if she walked the strangest terrain on the planet. Yet her feelings were transposing the wildest jungle, the most dangerous river, the stormiest sea. The walk to his bed more significant than anything she had ever done in her life.
As she came five feet from the bed, he pulled down the covers in clear invitation. With those hesitant feet of hers, she halted with no conscious decision from her.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she croaked, her voice so low, it was almost covered by the cracking fire.
He tapped his hand on the mattress, coaxing her to move. With no hurry at all, she lay beside him as he turned the covers, propping on his elbow to look at her.
“And the others?” he asked about their future nights.
She lifted her lashes and their gazes clashed while one of his hands palmed her neckline. She nearly lost her voice when he undid the first button of her prudish nightgown. An intake of oxygen rushed into her airways.
“Nor then,” she forced herself to reply.
In a trice, he had undone the buttons, his warm hand lining her breast to ignite every cell on her body. Worsened by his stubble as he nuzzled her neck. Her lashes closed as goose bumps covered her.
“Good, because if you so much as think distance, I’ll chain you to this bed.” His stubble and his voice rasped on her skin. He opened his mouth to lay a steamy kiss on the jumping vein on the curve of her neck. “Like forever.” She gasped at the shock his caress and words produced.
Forever sounded quite right.
Any thought vanished as his mouth clasped on hers for a deep, delicious kiss. She adored his kisses, so carnal, shameless, and total. Her fingers raked his luxuriant hair as their mouths devoured each other openly. Her spine arched into him as one of her thighs lifted, increasing the contact of their bodies.
As suddenly as he started the kiss, he lifted his head, his serious eyes probing hers. “Is this a pity tryst?” the question came hard.
She glued her body further to his gloriously naked one. “You’ll never inspire pity, Darroch,” she assured him, calling him by his new title for the first time.
He produced a side-smile that mesmerised her every time. He melted her even more with his thumb and forefinger teasing her nipple. Damn the man! How the deuce did he want to have a conversation if he scattered her clear thoughts like that?
“Good, because I’m going to take you all night,” he promised. And uncovered the defenceless breast, lowering his mouth of perdition to capture the nipple. “You’re not getting any sleep.” The growl vibrated on the dusky aureole and extracted a moan from her. He proceeded to devour that part of her thoroughly. The ragged sound she emitted caused him to lift his head.
“I didn’t think I would anyway,” she managed to answer as they stared at each other for an eternity.
And then all was movement.
With urgency, he rucked her nightgown up, bent her knees, and glued his mouth to her wet centre as she nearly screamed with delight. He fairly ate her poor centre with hunger and gusto. His hot moist tongue, combined to the bristly stubble took her to hell and back. Then shot her right to paradise with an intense orgasm that lasted a lifetime, which made her scream uninhibitedly.
Without giving her time to recuperate, he came over her, his rock-hard erection connecting with her still quivering middle.
“I need you now, Darroch,” he rumbled imperatively.
And entered her fully, causing her to gasp. They were a sight to behold, her neckline fallen down her shoulders, the hem rucked to her waist, all wrinkled and abandoned as his naked masculinity covered her, strong arms holding her, see-sawing breaths. The firelight playing light and shadows on their passion.
Moira held him with arms and legs, her hair everywhere, wanting this to never end, wanting this to end with her explosion and his, wanting all of him, all her life. She caressed every one of his hard muscles as he moved ever more demanding, and dwarfed her on the mattress.
He thrust deeper and deeper as their eyes held each other more intensely than their limbs. Moira would always relish this fire of his, this way he had of taking her as though they were in the last day of history. It made clear how completely he craved her, how inexorably she responded to it. She clung, then clung some more as he worked magic in her body, making it melt, making it tense, making it soar higher and higher. Until he pushed her to utter limits. And deflagrated a resounding outburst and shattered every nerve with blinding precision. She kept her attention on him wishing to witness his loss of control, the moment he finally surrendered to what she did to him. His brow sweat, his lips grunted, his arms bunched, chest panted, he accelerated his hips. His eyes lost focus as he slammed in her the last, the deepest until she felt the rush of his release wash her insides, awarding her with a primitive sense of fulfilment.
Spent, he fell on her and she cradled him tightly.
They lay spooned for what felt like hours. Skin to skin as he had freed her of her gown. “Goddamn it!” he rumbled at her spine. “I took you like a marauder.”
She burrowed further in his taut muscles. “I don’t mind it.” Much on the contrary.
His sculpted lips traced the shell of her ear. “I could have been a little subtler.”
Her fingers played with the hair peppering his forearm. “I quite like your…style.” Her voice too silky.
“No offense, but it’s the only one you know.” He strolled his stubble over her nape.
“It’s the only one I wish,” she assured him.
“You should refrain from inflating my ego.” His teeth nibbled her shoulder. “I might repeat the whole thing.”
“Promise?” she asked eagerly.
“Infernal woman,” he rasped as he brought her to straddle him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, Lachlan stood with his horse in the exact spot where Moira had abducted him, in what he started to remember as the luckiest day of his life.
A few days earlier, The McKendrick sent him a letter outlining a plan, the one they would put in motion today.
For the first time, he dressed the Darroch’s colours and wished his wife had seen him. Regretfully, he left her in their bed asleep. He did not awake her to say good-morning or good-bye. The good-morning would take a long time and the good-bye, well…the same. They had not been able to keep their hands and mouths and everything else off each other the whole night. He would need to brace himself for the certain wrath that would come from her at what he was about to do.
A hustle in the air alerted him for the three horses riding in his direction yards away. Drostan and Fingal in McKendrick’s colours, accompanied by Taran in McDougal’s tartan.
“It’s true what they say then,” The McDougal said. “You’ve usurped the Darroch’s laird’s seat.”
“You heard wrong,” Lachlan jested back. “They named me it.”
“I’m proud of you, brathair,” Drostan neared first and locked hands with him.
“Who would have imagined the inveterate bachelor would make such a brilliant match,” Fingal mocked patting his younger brother on the back.
Said match had not even been his own idea. Lachlan preferred to spend the day peeling potatoes than admit it to these men.
“Did any of you tell your wives what we’re doing?” he asked the others.
“No,” they answered at the same time.
“Aileen would have followed armed to her teeth,” The McDougal volunteered. “Bad idea to teach a woman to fight.” But admiration underlined his fierce tone. Her brothers h
ad taught her self-defence. And she proved an accomplished warrior when she fought her future husband.
“Freya would have come, too,” The McKendrick admitted.
“And Catriona,” came Fingal.
“I had to leave before Moira awoke,” Lachlan confessed.
“Likewise,” the others said.
Taran had travelled with his wife, so she could visit with her brothers, sisters-in-law and nephew and nieces.
With light conversation, they rode to The Pitcairn.
But when they were about to cross over to Pitcairn land, a group of horses stood ahead.
Two McKendrick’s tartans, one McDougal’s and one Darroch’s rode them.
Stubborn lasses!
“What the bluidy hell are you doing here?” Lachlan asked to his smug-looking wife. He had hoped to have exhausted her enough to sleep for a decade. His wife was tireless, it seemed.
“I took the liberty to inform the ladies of the plans,” Freya, The Lady McKendrick, answered, her eyes fixed on her husband, daring him to question her.
“You didn’t think you’d do this without me, did you?” Aileen defied her overbearing husband.
“Impossible buidseach,” Taran mumbled under his breath, referring to the affectionate ‘witch’ he had dubbed her.
“Neither did you, I hope,” Catriona and Fingal exchanged stares.
“I’d never think of doing it,” her husband answered the blatant lie shamelessly.
“This is my clan we’re defending,” Moira bit out at her husband.
Lachlan expelled air through his nose, sparing himself an answer. But they exchanged a heated gaze denouncing the memory of their night together.
Drostan did not miss the exchange though he refrained from commenting on his brother’s obvious domestic bliss. “The only way is forward,” he acquiesced, as he motioned for them to ride on.
They reached the Pitcairn’s manor; smaller than theirs, though it appeared well kept.
A servant answered and then rushed to call his master.
As Hamish exited, his gaze widened at the visitors, blanching visibly. He stood no chance with McKendricks, McDougals and Darrochs allied, and he knew that.
“We’ve been hearing rumours, Pitcairn,” Taran started.
“Lies, I expect,” he answered not so firmly.
“A maid called Mary is in my lands,” Drostan said. “I think you know her.”
Fear smothered Hamish’s middle-aged face.
“And you didn’t expect my husband to be alive, I suppose,” Moira shot.
Only now did the man seem to notice Lachlan. He wobbled.
Lachlan’s siblings, sisters-in-law, and The McDougal eyed Moira quizzically.
“He tried to poison Lachlan yesterday,” Moira clarified.
“And she saved my sorry hide,” Lachlan added.
Fingal, Drostan, and Taran directed a murderous glare to the older man.
“John confessed it,” Moira informed. “To the magistrate.”
“You’re going to jail, Pitcairn,” Aileen said, fuming with the threat to her brother’s life.
“Everyone knows I am the rightful leader to the Darrochs.” The vicious way he delivered it said everything.
“We had Malcom.” Moira defended, a disgusted glint in her eyes.
“I made him go away, but you had to stand between me and my goal!” That was tantamount to confession.
“It was the only way to protect my clan.” Moira stood her ground.
“And then you had to bring a bloody McKendrick into it,” he spat, hatred drenched his features. “I had to eliminate him, too.”
“If something had happened to our brother we’d have—" Drostan started, but Freya rested a calming hand on his arm. He looked at her, then at her hand. Resting his over hers, his fury abated.
“This just about covers it,” the magistrate, Mr Wilson, came from behind them.
Lachlan cast a silent question at his wife.
“I called him,” she explained.
“Smart lass,” he praised.
The magistrate tied Hamish. Her uncle would spend long years in jail.
“We should have been faster in arresting him,” Fingal said with a pinch of regret.
In Lady and Laird’s Darroch’s study, everyone sat with a glass of whisky in hand.
“I agree,” Taran answered. “We almost lost this scoundrel.” And looked at Lachlan.
More than anyone, Moira could not bear the thought.
“We should all thank Moira for her swift action,” Freya said. They had elicited the full story from the Darroch couple as soon as they rode back here.
“I would have killed and quartered the bastard!” Aileen vented in rage.
“Turns out you’ll have to endure me for many more years,” Lachlan jested to lighten the atmosphere.
“Poor Moira,” Drostan quipped.
“How did you know the wine was poisoned?” Catriona asked.
“I remembered how Malcom died.” Funny how a sad memory helped create a happy one, she thought gloomily.
“You’ll stay for dinner, I expect,” Lachlan invited. With the Pitcairn behind bars, he felt a sense of freedom, certain Moira would be safe now.
“That’d be lovely,” Catriona answered for everyone.
After Moira and Lachlan had waved their guests farewell, they headed for their chamber.
Lachlan turned an adamantine glare at his wife. “Could you explain how you found in that hard head of yours to follow me to the Pitcairn?”
She swivelled to him, an obstinate gleam in her eyes. “What, you wanted me to stay behind while you faced Hamish by yourself?”
“I was hardly on my own,” he bit out.
“We women did not consider it fair to let you men do all the work.”
“It’s a man’s thing, for pity’s sake.” He fisted his tapered waist and stared at her. “If it had become ugly, I’d never be able to withstand—” he silenced, raking his hair with both hands as he turned his back to her.
“What?” she asked as he pivoted back to her.
But his silence dragged on, his eyes bored into her, a strange expression on them.
His stillness gave her the chance to talk. “If you think I’d…”
“I love you,” he interrupted her as though he could not contain it in him any longer.
Her jaw dropped, and she took several seconds to collect it back. “Y-you—” her voice drowned in her overflowing emotions.
He paced to her, caught her shoulders, the intensity in him almost palpable. “The day you abducted me was the happiest day of my life,” he confessed.
“Lachlan,” was all she had breath to say.
“You brought me here, and you allured me with your beauty, your fierceness, your intelligence.”
Her eyes devoured him as she remained unable to speak.
“And you gave me a renewed sense of purpose, to take care of you, your clan,” he rasped. “You turned my life upside down, and I love you for that.”
“Oh, Lachlan,” she sighed. “I’ve been obsessed with you since we met at the McPherson.”
He exhibited a triumphant smile. It nearly blinded her with its sincerity. “Can’t say I didn’t notice you, either.” To her utter surprise.
“We worked side by side, and I realised you were everything I wanted in a husband.”
“Minus the lasses,” he jested.
“I’m sorry for that.” She apologised for her fears.
“Don’t be.” He pulled her closer. “It showed you cared for me.”
“Care?” she asked as if it was an absurdity. “I love you like a crazy ninny!”
“Crazy, maybe, but ninny…” he quipped.
In a quick move, he lifted her in his arms and took her to bed.
“You’re calling me crazy?” she confronted him with a playful pleat between her brows.
He lay down beside her. “
I am crazy,” he said as his hand went up to undo his tartan. “For you.”
While he was at it, her hands sneaked under the hem of the plaid. And advanced up to find him rock-hard. “Hm, definitely everything I wanted in a husband.”
He groaned and stopped undressing. “You’ll lose the fun pretty soon if you continue at it.”
“Pity, it’s so delicious.”
He flipped her on her back and hovered over her. “I’ll show you what’s delicious,”
Her lips opened in a dazzling smile. “Please do.” And cradled him to her.
In a warm day in August, entire clans gathered at the chapel’s garden, the Darrochs, the McDougals, the McKendricks, the McPhersons, and the McTavishes. And even those not related to the McKendricks.
No one wished to miss the gorgeous Lachlan receiving his official recognition as The Darroch. The paperwork had gone through and Lachlan and Moira decided to organise a celebration.
Solemnly, Harris held Malcom’s tartan folded over his stretched arms. Over it lay the golden pin, the sporran, and the ceremonial sword. “As the former heir,” he started. “I name Lachlan The Darroch.” They stood on a dais where everyone could see them.
The people exploded in cheers as Lachlan bowed and accepted Malcom’s tartan with a respectful stance. “Thank you, Harris.” And gestured to Moira to step up. When she did, he continued. “My beloved wife has been fighting the Darroch’s corner for a long time. In view of that, I declare her also Laird Darroch. I’ll support and follow her every decision as I would any laird here.”
Moira looked at him stunned, and in an impulse, she laced his neck and kissed him the way she should have on her wedding day.
The crowd looked surprised for a moment, but burst out in cheers. “Hail Laird and Laird Darroch!” they cried.
The McKendrick siblings and their spouses eyed Lachlan with pure admiration. They never thought their carefree brother would prove to be such an honourable man.