Claiming His Highland Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  ‘Aye. Dead and gone now. He has relegated the Lady Sorcha MacMillan to another of those lost in his uncle’s machinations.’

  Startled by those words, Sorcha wondered if she should share the rest of what she knew about his uncle’s plans with Clara and Jamie. Deciding to keep it to herself for now, she nodded.

  ‘What he sees is a lovely, widowed, young woman with fine manners and a gentle heart who is helping out her kin while recovering from her losses. And that, Clara’s cousin, would call to most every man.’

  ‘Do you not understand? He is the worst possible man to pay heed to me. He is the one who could put all the pieces together. He is the one who could expose me and make matters far worse than any of you can imagine. Alan Cameron is the one man I should stay away from. He is...’ She paused then, surprised at the vehemence of her own words. Worse, surprised by what she wanted to say and could not.

  He was the one man with whom she could easily fall in love.

  Clara reached out and took her hand as she wrestled with the realisation of the true nature of the danger he posed to her. For he was not the man with whom she could fall in love. Alan Cameron, the most dangerous man in Glenlui, was the man that she was falling in love with.

  Thinking back, Sorcha understood now that from their first glance at their first meeting in the hall those weeks ago, the process had begun.

  Then, as he wended his way into her life here with Clara and Jamie, it had strengthened and become something real. She smiled, remembering the gentle way he had with the bairns, even scooping up Wee Clara and soothing her when she’d fallen and scraped her knees.

  Their earlier encounter in the field simply rushed it along.

  Worse, she’d spent hours in the dark of night thinking about him and how he would be a man she could...she could love.

  ‘I must leave.’

  That was it. She must leave and make her way to Skye now, before things got even more mucked up than they were already. And there she would spend her days praying for forgiveness for her stubbornness and lack of humility. For thinking she could outwit and outmanoeuvre her father and all his plans by lying and drawing in these innocent people.

  ‘I will send word to my cousin on Skye on the morrow and declare my intentions,’ she said. Neither Clara nor Jamie had said much so she looked at them now.

  ‘If that is what you wish to do...’ Clara began. ‘But I would urge you to give yourself more time.’

  ‘Alan will not push himself if you do not wish it,’ Jamie said.

  Though meaning to ease her worries, it increased them. For she wanted him. She wanted Alan to follow through with his whispered promise that he was not done kissing her. And she feared he would do exactly that and chip away at any resolve she might put forward.

  ‘And, Sorcha, I would not break your confidence to him or to anyone. Worry not that I will share anything you have said or any knowledge I have of your identity.’ Jamie’s hand covered his wife’s and Sorcha’s then.

  ‘I trust you both,’ she said.

  ‘What about Alan?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘I think it best if I avoid him until I depart for Skye.’

  The words were spoken with an assuredness she truly did not feel. Avoiding him was the only way to put a halt to something that could not and would not ever be possible. Better to avoid him and save her heart from nothing less than complete destruction.

  * * *

  The rest of the day had gone quietly by and by the next morn, Sorcha remained convinced of her decision to move on from here and to elude Alan and any attempts to spend time with her. Or to kiss her. Or...

  Unfortunately, no one had informed Alan of her plans or her resolve.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He turned up sometimes in the most expected and sometimes most surprising places at the most unanticipated times over the next days. And, as he’d promised or threatened, he stole kisses regularly. He always checked to see if someone would see, but there were several times when Sorcha thought they might be caught.

  Quick kisses. Leisurely ones. Tempting her on and making her want more. Dangerous in so many ways, as was the man himself.

  Then there were the gentle soft touches and whisper-soft caresses when he was near. A touch on her thigh when he sat next to her at table. A caress across her neck as he passed her in the corridor of the keep on some task or another. The intense gaze that seemed to tease her skin to a sensitivity she’d never knew could be.

  ‘What was the name of the priest who instructed you in Latin?’ Father Diarmid asked. Sorcha looked up from her plate and wondered how to respond to his question. More importantly, had the priest or anyone noticed that she’d been lost in her own thoughts?

  Seated here at the laird’s table with the lady, the priest and others, Sorcha tried to gather her scattered thoughts carefully before answering. Luckily, on this matter, she could say the truth of the matter.

  ‘Father Euan was my teacher,’ she said. ‘But he passed more than five years ago.’

  ‘Was this priest a MacPherson then?’ the lady asked.

  ‘Nay, my lady,’ she said, shaking her head and placing her spoon and eating knife down by her plate. She clutched her hands on her lap where none could see them. ‘He was of the MacNeills.’

  ‘And your husband allowed this?’ the priest asked.

  Of all those at table and listening to her words, only Alan’s regard worried her. She could feel his gaze on her skin and the blush that rose into her cheeks. Her husband...?

  ‘My husband’s duties took him away and he permitted my study because we had not the blessings of children.’

  Lady Arabella smiled and nodded. ‘Children are a woman’s focus of life, Saraid. ’Tis sad you did not have any with your husband.’

  She nodded then, unable to gather words. This meal, like the three before she’d been summoned to with the lady and various people, was an exercise in self-control and thinking quickly. Lady Mackintosh managed to bring up a dizzying mix of topics, but they all came back to her. Her upbringing. Her decision to enter the convent. Her relatives. Her marriage.

  That was the worst for her. Asking about a husband who never existed. Sorcha found herself speaking of a husband who could not exist—one with infinite patience, an openness to learning, one who allowed her the freedom she wanted and needed.

  Yet, when the lady’s questions grew too many, it was Alan who would interrupt to stop them. Never openly. Never forceful. He seemed to ken how to draw his cousin’s attentions to different topics and away from her.

  Because he chose, many times, to ask his cousin about something personal, Sorcha learned much about him and his place here. She learned of how he’d been sent to find his cousin when Brodie had kidnapped her during the struggle for control of the Mackintoshes. And that he spent his time divided and got several glimpses into his life here and about his parents. Though he tried to keep the banter light and lively, Sorcha recognised a profound hurt and a longing she could not identify within the depths of his stormy gaze. It reminded her of what she’d felt when she’d listened to him describe her own disappearance and death. Something lingered within him that would not be soothed or eased. And, damn her, she wanted to find the cause and rid him of it!

  At those times when he deflected attention from her she wanted to offer her thanks to him, but she did not. From the intense gaze of his eyes, she understood he did it on purpose and for her. Sorcha sensed that there were many, many more questions he wished to ask of her, but did not...or did not yet.

  ‘Bella,’ Alan said, ‘are felicitations owed you and Brodie?’

  Everyone at table paused then and looked to the lady for confirmation of such a blessed event, though Alan bringing it up so was unexpected.

  ‘Aye,’ the lady said after smiling at her husband who was seated at
the other end of the table for now. ‘If, pray God, all goes well, we will welcome another child in the spring.’

  The announcement drew everyone in the hall forward and the laird to his wife’s side. As though alone, The Mackintosh pulled the lady to her feet and into his arms. The kiss was nothing less than thorough and scorching and something Sorcha had never seen done before others in this manner. If Father Diarmid was alarmed or offended, it did not show. Unable to look away, Sorcha could almost feel Alan’s mouth on hers tasting her deeply. Now knowing what that felt like, she could not pull her gaze away from the sight of them.

  ‘Come now, Brodie,’ Alan called out as he stood. ‘We know how it was accomplished and there is no need to demonstrate it here!’

  The bawdy words brought on loud laughter and calls for more. Others climbed the steps to the dais to offer their good wishes to their laird and lady. Sorcha took it as a chance to escape. Skirting the growing crowd, she made her way through the corridor and out through the kitchens. Pushing open the door there, she rushed faster and faster until almost running towards the gate and the path to the village.

  ‘Saraid!’

  She heard his voice above the noise of the yard and slowed her pace. Turning, Sorcha watched as he trotted across to her. In her attempts to avoid him, she’d ended up spending more time in his company these last few days than she had before.

  ‘Does the lady wish me to return?’ she asked, brushing her palms over her gown. ‘I had thought her busy with other matters.’

  ‘Nay, she is seeing to her husband’s pride over his ability to father bairns right now.’

  Something made her stop then and speak the truth to him.

  ‘You did that to draw her attention from me,’ she said, stating what she’d observed him doing these last days. His eyes widened just the tiniest bit before he nodded. ‘Why?’

  ‘I can tell when Bella is set on a course to discover someone’s secrets.’ He reached out and grabbed her shoulders as she felt all the blood in her body rush to her feet at his admission. ‘She’d been wheedling you these last days and I could see how wearing it was on you.’

  His words struck fear in her heart and yet spoke of his having a care for her in a way no one ever had. Sorcha leaned in his direction and he slipped his arms around her shoulders, holding her at his side.

  ‘Are you going back to the village?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I will walk with you,’ he said. ‘I need only return by supper to speak to Brodie.’ They had passed through the gates before he spoke again. ‘Bella told me you are leaving soon.’

  ‘I think it is for the best, Alan,’ she said quietly. His arm yet lay on her shoulders though it was more comforting than she dare admit. ‘The longer I remain here...’ she began.

  ‘The harder it will be to leave,’ he finished her words.

  Sorcha did not say anything more, for it was true. Every day she spent here was a day she regretted her choices. Especially when it came to this man. Oh, she understood that there was no chance for them together, more than he did, but it did not mean she did not wish it could be otherwise for them.

  With him.

  And with all the knowledge she had gained about him—his past, his boyhood, his choices—it made it that much harder to think about leaving him.

  If she told him the truth, his honour would demand a certain course of actions in loyalty to his clan and his uncle. If she left, at least he would never know the depths of her deceit. Sorcha would find some way to warn The Mackintosh of the perfidious nature of Gilbert Cameron and Hugh MacMillan, if only as a way to thank him and his people for their hospitality.

  Nay, her own honour demanded that she reveal the truth and protect these people who protected her.

  How long they’d stood in the shadows off the path, she kenned not. But one moment she was lost in her thoughts and plans and then the next found her wrapped in Alan’s arms, held tightly against his muscular chest once more.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d notice.’

  ‘Notice?’ she asked, inhaling the scent of him as he gathered her even closer.

  ‘That I have taken you into the forest to have my way with you, lass.’

  His mouth curved into an enticing smile that both promised and teased her. He leaned down and kissed the sensitive place just below her ear, sending ripples of pleasure and awareness through her body as he whispered against her neck.

  ‘May I, Saraid? May I have my way with you?’

  No! her mind screamed. Not him! her reason said. Not now! Every bit of sense and restraint cried out to stop him and to stop him now. But it was her heart that answered.

  ‘Aye.’

  He pulled back to search her face for the truth of it and she smiled at him. The kiss was fast and hard and demanding as he touched their lips and laid his claim. Sorcha reached up and slid her hands into his hair, holding his head close to hers as he opened his mouth and beckoned her tongue inside.

  At some moment, he lifted her into his arms and carried her further away from the path and into the shadows. She was breathless and aching by the time he put her back on her feet and lifted his mouth from hers. Gasping for breath, she looked around and kenned they were far enough away that no one would see or hear anything that happened now.

  Instead of worrying her, she felt safe with him. Sorcha did not doubt that he would have his way, as he’d said, but she also kenned to a certainty that he would stop if she told him so.

  Right or wrong, in this moment now, she did not wish him to stop. She wanted a full measure of what she would be giving up once she left him here to go to Skye. She wanted him to be the first man and the only one to whom she gave herself. Sorcha reached up and tugged the laces of her cloak loose, allowing it to fall around her on the leaf-covered ground at her feet.

  Then, offering him her heart and her trust, Sorcha held out her hand to him and waited for him to accept.

  * * *

  She gazed at him with such faith and trust that Alan lost his breath. As though this was more than a simple bout of pleasure between a man and a willing woman. As though she offered him more than just her body. Yet he kenned she planned to leave him and the rest of the world behind soon. Whether manly confidence or simple hope, Alan wanted to be the one to change her mind on that matter.

  Pulling his belt free, he lifted off his plaid and added it to her cloak on the ground, making a place for them there. Taking her proffered hand, he brought her back to him, embracing her as he took her mouth. The innocence was still there, on her tongue, in her movements, in the way she waited for him to begin.

  With an arm around her, he guided them to their knees and then to lie on the bed of cloaks. Holding her close, he used his free hand to ease open the laces of her gown and then her shift, kissing a path from her mouth to her ear and then on to her neck. The sighs she uttered spurred him on, lower and lower. When he kissed and bit the slope of her breast gently, she arched against him. Her legs grew restless, sliding against his own until he caught them between his.

  Easing his arm from beneath her, he leaned up on his elbow and watched her eyes when he slid his hand inside her shift and on her naked skin. With each inch his fingers moved closer to the tip of her breast, her eyes widened and her mouth opened. Her breaths were now shallow as he touched the now turgid nipple. Gasping with each movement he made, Saraid closed her eyes as her body pressed into his grasp.

  ‘Lovely, Saraid. You are lovely,’ he whispered.

  He cupped her full breast and lifted it free of the cloth that yet covered it. With his gaze still on her face, he licked the dark-pink flesh and then drew it into his mouth as he had her tongue. Her eyes opened on a loud gasp as she looked at him. Slowly, teasingly, he released the tip and did it again as she watched. And again, enjoying the way her body shuddered under his touc
h and the way her eyes filled with pleasure at each kiss.

  Tugging the laces, he pulled her gown and shift open, exposing her to his sight. Her breasts filled his hands—pert and plump and perfect for him. Now caressing both, he slid his rough thumbs over the nipples until she gifted him with those gasps. He teased and licked and suckled one and then the other, readying her for him even as his flesh grew harder.

  Lifting his leg, he released his hold on her legs so that he could touch her there. With his mouth still on her breast, he slid his hand down and gathered the length of her garments in his palm. Easing them up, he pushed them out of his way and touched her thighs. Clenched together tightly, he caressed them until they trembled under his touch. Alan lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth.

  ‘Open for me, lass,’ he whispered against her lips. When her mouth opened, he felt her legs relax just a bit. He moved his hand between them and kissed her again.

  ‘Your legs, lass. Open your legs.’ A momentary hesitation and then she opened for him. Smiling, he kissed her again as he let his fingers slide into the place he wanted most to touch. She was wet and hot there. Wet for him. But her body remained tense. When he met her gaze he recognised that there was fear there.

  ‘Kiss me, Saraid. I pray you, kiss me.’

  Whatever he had expected, her reaction was not it. If he had thought her reticent or fearful, the way she took hold of his face and kissed him now destroyed that notion. She claimed his mouth, tasting him as he’d tasted her, thrusting her tongue deep into him and swirling it. When his tongue met hers, she suckled it as he had her nipple. His cock grew harder against her hip as he thought of how her tongue would feel on his hardened flesh.

  Alan flexed his fingers then, sliding between her legs and deeper into the cleft of her woman’s flesh. Rubbing his finger along it, he brought the moisture to the tight bud hidden there. She arched and bucked against him at his touch. A little pressure on that raised flesh of hers and she gasped against his mouth. Sliding one finger inside her, the tightness there surprised him. Her kiss became frantic now, her tongue more forceful, with each caress between her legs.