Fraser 03 - Highland Homecoming

by B. J. Scott

  There was only one way he could think of to warm her body quickly. He grabbed the hem of his tunic, yanked it over his head, and tossed it into the corner. His boots and trews followed. He drew back the layer of blankets and asked the Almighty to give him strength. This was not going to be easy.

  By far the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes upon, his heart raced at the sight of her lying before him. His body responded immediately, his rod hardening like a battering ram. He stifled the urge to moan aloud as he imagined her lithe limbs wrapped around his waist, the glorious rub of her thighs as he plunged in to the hilt. The mental picture of her writhing beneath him as he buried his aching shaft in her hot moist sheath made him dizzy with desire. But there was something more than lust coursing through his veins. A strange warmth in his belly, a flutter of anticipation in his chest, and a longing to hold her in his arms, to do everything in his power to keep her safe. Something he’d never felt before.

  Under different circumstances, he wondered what it would be like to explore every inch of her goddess-like figure, to taste her luscious lips, to caress her silken skin, to make her his own.

  For over two years, he’d fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Robert the Bruce and his fellow patriots. Helping to establish the king’s claim to the throne and ridding his homeland of English invaders had become his primary focus. But keeping his unbridled need under control was going to be his greatest challenge. He might be a man of honor, but he was only human.

  There must be some other way.

  Alasdair scratched his head, desperately trying to come up with a viable option, but none came to mind. He’d run out of ideas and time. Left with no alternative, he slid in beside her, rolled to his side, and eased her back against his chest. Her body fit perfectly in the cradle of his thighs. Just as he somehow knew it would. He exhaled through clenched teeth. With her soft round bottom nestled against his groin, it was going to be a very long and painful night.

  Chapter 2

  Something soft tickled his nostrils, causing Alasdair to wake with a start. His first impulse was to leap from the bed, grab his weapon, and prepare to confront the enemy. He tossed his head back and groaned. He’d been a warrior too long. The only battle to be fought here was one with is own randy body.

  He’d spent the night with the woman wrapped in his arms, his bulk warming her, his rock hard member pressed against the suppleness of her buttocks. It was a wonder he hadn’t gone insane with need.

  Her golden locks had dried into a sea of curls cascading across the mattress and draping his chest. He brushed the wisps of hair from beneath his nose, but not before he inhaled the scent of sea and heather. How could she be drenched like a wet hound when he found her on the beach, yet still smell so good? Alasdair’s groin stirred and he chomped down on his lower lip to keep from moaning aloud.

  He still could not believe he’d happened upon her. With a shoreline so vast, what were the odds he’d be in that exact spot when she needed his assistance? Was it divine intervention? He gave his head a shake. No God in his right mind would put a lass in his care.

  Mayhap it was sorcery, a siren, or some other fae creature from the depth of the sea sent to tempt him, to capture his heart and bewitch his soul, then leave him broken and longing.

  “Utter nonsense,” Alasdair grunted. He’d set no store in fables when he was a lad and certainly did not believe in them now. Even if he was interested in settling down with a wife and family, which he wasn’t, he’d never be fortunate enough to have a lass as breathtaking and desirable as this one. He shuddered to think of how she would react, the look of horror on her face were she to awakened now and find herself in the arms of a clumsy oaf.

  Alasdair glanced down at the lass in his arms. Best he concern himself with tending her needs, then finding out who she was and where she belonged as quickly as possible. The sooner he rid himself of this unwanted charge, the better.

  The fire in the hearth had burned down to a pile of glowing embers. While the room was still warm, adding more wood would be the first thing he’d do when he rose from the pallet. But instead of getting out of bed, he closed his eyes and inhaled another intoxicating whiff of her hair.

  Just a few minutes more. What could it hurt?

  Ribbons of sunlight filtered through the shutters, giving Alasdair a better idea of their surroundings. A heavy layer of soot covered the sparse, wooden furnishings and clouds of dust motes floated in the air. Shimmering cobwebs draped every rafter and judging by the musty smelling rushes on the dirt floor, no one had been to this place in a while.

  He hadn’t noticed the disheveled conditions of the croft when they arrived, but at the time, he could not afford to be choosy. Besides, a good cleaning would resolve the problem in a hurry. But then again, he had no intention of staying any longer than necessary, so it really didn’t matter. He gazed at the woman’s angelic face and his heart gave a tug. He cursed under his breath. The unwelcome reaction was the last thing he expected or wanted.

  If his brothers heard how he’d spent the night, they’d refuse to believe it, and if they did, they’d never let him live it down. He could very well imagine the smug smirk on Connor’s face, but Bryce would be rolling on the floor, consumed with laughter.

  They’d quarreled often over the years, as most brothers do, but could always count on each other in times of adversity. Despite the frequent banter and bickering, they’d remained very close, especially after their parents and two brothers died at the hands of the English. While barely a man at sixteen summers, Alasdair, the oldest surviving son, vowed to watch out for his two remaining siblings, regardless if they liked it or not.

  When Robert called for a break in the fighting, Alasdair had debated about going straight home to Fraser Castle. He knew his brothers and their families would be anxiously awaiting his return. Two summers had passed since the last time he’d seen Connor and Cailin. Their babe, Andrew, was only a few days old. According to missives he’d received from Connor, Cailin had graced him with another son this past spring.

  Despite promises made to return before his niece was born, he’d missed the arrival of Bryce and Fallon’s daughter, Elise. He still found it hard to believe his youngest brother, with his adventurous spirit and reputation for making ladies swoon, had settled down and married.

  Guilt gnawed at his gut. Putting his own wants and needs before those of his brothers had never been an easy task, but he’d witnessed more than his share of death and destruction over the last few summers, so some time to relax and refresh before heading back into battle was exactly what he needed.

  His brothers would not be pleased, but they’d get over their anger in time. Besides, he’d see them soon enough. When he had sent word home to inform them of his plans, he also reminded them of the Bruce’s intent to confront the MacDougalls and MacCanns before summer’s end. He was positive Connor and Bryce would both rally to the cause.

  The lass shifted in his arms, her bottom pressing against his groin. Certain she would awaken any minute and determined not to extend the torture any longer, Alasdair slid from beneath the pelt. He didn’t think she’d be impressed or pleased to find a naked man in her bed. Let alone one who was clearly in a bad way. He stared down at his engorged shaft and stifled a groan as he took a few painful steps. He was largely endowed and the sight his manhood in all its glory was apt to frighten her to death.

  After grabbing a length of plaid and securing it around his waist, he moved with stealth to the hearth, stirred the hot coals, then tossed several logs on the fire. He hung the pot of water over the blaze to boil, then took a quick look over his shoulder in the direction of the pallet before exiting the croft.

  Odin grazed on a small patch of grass at the edge of the forest. In his haste to get the lass inside, he’d neglected to remove the animal’s saddle and bridle. But his well-trained mount didn’t appear to mind. He approached the beast with his hand outstretched, then stroked the horse’s silky black mane. “You’re a good lad. W
hen we reach Jayden’s castle, I’ll see you get a large helping of oats and a good rub before I set you out to pasture.”

  The horse whinnied, bobbed his head, and pawed at the ground as if he understood every word.

  Alasdair glanced toward the sea. A refreshing dip was just what he needed. The sun hung just above the horizon, a bright orange ball of light reflecting off water. He paused to take in the surroundings he’d cherished as a lad, stretched, and inhaled deeply, allowing the tangy sea air to fill his lungs.

  More than once, he’d thought about moving to northern Scotland when the war with England ended. While he loved the mountainous terrain and lush valleys around Beauly—a small town near Inverness and home to Clan Fraser—something in his gut told him this was where he belonged.

  A sense of calm and contentment washed over him as he stared at the waves lapping the shore. Taking a swim in the cold surf would not only wash the dust, sweat, and grime from his body and hair, but would hopefully cool the fire in his loins. Without further thought, he sprinted across the sand, dropped the plaid at the water’s edge, then dove into the icy waves.

  When Alasdair finished his swim, he dried himself off with his makeshift garment, then wrapped the woolen fabric around his waist before jogging up the beach toward the croft. After retrieving a satchel of provisions tied to the back of his saddle, he prepared to go inside.

  He lifted the latch and called out, “Dinna fear, lass, I mean you no harm.” She would be frightened enough in the presence of a stranger and his unannounced entrance might add to her uneasiness.

  But his words went unheard. To his surprise, she never stirred or opened her eyes. He raked his fingers through damp hair as he approached the pallet. Her breathing was slow and even. When he touched her arm, her flesh was warm. Why hadn’t she awakened by now?

  Alasdair sat hard on a wooden stool beside the pallet and studied her face. Was there something more to her injuries he could not see, something he’d missed?

  Her lips were no longer blue, but her cheeks were still devoid of color. He wondered about the blow she’d taken to the head and gently brushed the hair from her brow so he could examine her injury closely. The dark discoloration above her left eye had spread a little during the night and a bump was still prevalent. Could this be the reason she failed to rouse? If so, how long would it be before she awakened? What if she never woke up? His mind races with possibilities, each one worse than the one before.

  He rose and began to pace. Things were not going according to his plans. By now, they should be finishing up with a simple meal of oatcakes to break their fast and preparing to depart. The thought of leaving her here and continuing on to Sinclair castle alone briefly crossed his mind. Once there, he could arrange for someone to come back and fetch her. Mayhap Jayden could send a healer and a cart.

  Alasdair cursed and slammed his balled fist against the doorframe. He could not leave her alone today, any more than he could walk away when he found her on the beach last night. Until she regained consciousness, he’d have no choice but remain here, tending to her needs.

  If their stay was to be an extended one, Alasdair knew he would need more provisions. The food he carried in his pouch, a couple of stale oatcakes and a bit of dried venison, was hardly enough for one meal, let alone ample supplies for a day, mayhap longer. A search of the croft turned up several barrels containing flour, oats, turnips, and dried fish. A variety of herbs hung by the hearth and he’d found a crock of honey on a shelf by the door. While not fancy fare, it would suffice until he could go fishing or hunting for a hare or deer.

  After wolfing down a modest meal of oatcakes and water, Alasdair settled on the stool beside the pallet. There was nothing more he could do but to wait.

  She could not decide which was worse, the relentless pounding in her head, or the nausea twisting her belly. She struggled to open her eyes, but closed them again when her vision blurred and the room began to spin. Her mouth was as dry as wood, her throat parched. She’d give anything for a sip of water.

  The lass raised a shaky hand to her forehead, wincing when she touched a painful bump above her eye. She didn’t recall hitting her head on anything. In fact, she didn’t remember anything at all. Worse, she had no idea who she was, where she was, or how she’d come to be on this pallet.

  Her thoughts reeled. This was ridiculous. A person doesn’t just forget their name and past. But that is exactly what had happened. She swallowed against the bile rising from her stomach. What was her name? The harder she tried to remember, the more her head ached. Lauren. For some reason this name came to mind.

  Is that my name?

  Shivering as if suddenly encased in ice, she tucked her arms beneath the layer of pelts. Shocked to find she was naked, her eyes flew open. Her gaze darted around the dimly lit croft, but she didn’t recognize her surroundings or the man bending over the hearth—a huge man wearing trews and nothing more. Fear caused her gut to clench as she frantically searched for something, anything, to protect herself.

  An eating-knife on a trencher beside the pallet caught her eye. While not a deadly weapon, it might give him pause for thought if he intended to ravage her. She reached for the small dagger, but in her haste knocked over a tankard, the tinware cup falling to the floor with a soft thud.

  The man whipped around, and her breath caught as he stalked toward her. Her eyes widened and a chill skittered along her spine as he neared the pallet. Panic squeezed her chest, making it impossible to breathe.

  “Tha e mor.” The words about his large size slipped out before she could bring her hand up and cover her mouth. To say he was big didn’t do him justice. He was a mountain of a man, broad in the chest and shoulders, with heavily muscled arms and thighs. A tangle of auburn hair hung loosely around his face and shoulders. While his blue eyes were quite expressive, the rest of his features were hidden by a dense, unkempt beard.

  He stopped at the foot of the pallet and cocked his head to one side. “Och, you’re awake. What’s your name, lass?” he asked gruffly. When she didn’t reply he repeated his questions again in Gaelic. “Dè an t-ainm a tha oirbh?”

  She tugged the pelt under her chin and glared at him. “Chan eil fhios agam.”

  “You dinna know your name?” He moved closer.

  “Nay.” She held one hand in the air, while clutching the pelt at her throat with the other. “Stad! Ma'se ur toil e.” She prayed her plea to stop and not come any closer would be enough to deter him. Given she had failed to retrieve the dagger—not that it would prove useful against a man of his size and bulk—she had nothing she could use to protect herself should he decide to harm her.

  Alasdair halted and held out his hands with the palms facing skyward. “I mean you no harm. Dinna be afraid.”

  “Wh-what am I doing here and where are my clothes?” She failed to hide the tremor of fear in her voice.

  “Dinna fash, lass. I found you on the beach and your clothes were drenched. There was no choice but tae remove them. Otherwise, you’d have caught your death of cold. I hung them by the fire tae dry.” He pointed toward the hearth, then moved closer. “You’re lucky I came along when I did. I—”

  “You removed my clothes?” Her heart slammed against her ribs, his words cutting through her like a dagger. What else had this brute done to her while she was asleep?

  “Aye, then I covered you with pelts and placed hot rocks at the foot of the pallet tae warm you. I dinna know how you came tae be on the shore or why, but when I first happened upon you, I thought you had drowned. When I realized you were still breathing, my only concern was tae get you somewhere warm and dry.”

  “How . . . how long have I been here?” Her teeth began to chatter and she tightened her hold on the pelt, now fisting it with both hands.

  “Two days. You have a lump and a nasty bruise on your forehead. I suspected you struck your head on something, mayhap the reason why you dinna awaken for so long. Do you remember how you came tae be in the water?”

&n
bsp; “Nay.” She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hand to the tender spot above her left eye. Her head was throbbing, her mind in a foggy haze. She had no idea what happened. When she opened her eyes, he was standing beside the pallet, only inches away.

  “My name is Alasdair Fraser. We were on our way tae the keep of my friend, Jayden Sinclair, when Odin sensed there was something amiss.”

  “Odin?” He wasn’t alone? She sucked in a gulp of air and anxiously scanned the room for another man, but saw no one.

  “My horse.” He picked up a tin cup from the floor. “Would you like something to drink? I can fetch you some water.” Before she could answer, he ambled across the croft, took something from a pot hanging over the fire, then returned to her side.

  She did not know this man, but she was so parched. She stared at the small tankard he held in his hand and dragged her tongue across her cracked lips. She shook her head. While she desperately wanted a drink, her instinct told her to refuse anything he offered. For all she knew, he might be trying to poison her or to addle her wits so she could not fight off an assault.

  “I made an herbal brew tae warm you, but suit yourself. I dinna plan tae force it on you,” he snapped and slammed the cup on the table, the precious liquid sloshing over the sides. When he turned to walk away, she grabbed the hem of his tunic.

  “Wait. I am verra thirsty and would welcome your offer.”

  This time when he handed her the cup, she drank greedily, emptied the vessel to the last, then handed it back to him. “Tapadh leat.”