A Runaway Bride for the Highlander

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  The tears came now. Marguerite could not hold them back any longer. Ewan drew her to his chest almost before the first juddering sob passed her lips, wrapping his arms around her back and holding her tight. She leaned against him, weeping in loud, messy gulps, not caring what he thought of her lack of control as he rubbed his hands in long firm strokes down her spine and made soft noises in her ear. Once she swore she felt a kiss on her head. She was soaking his jerkin and leine with tears, but when she eventually lifted her eyes he did not look angry with her—in fact, he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs to rid her of the last trace of them. It was such a kind gesture that her heart cracked. How had she ever thought he was a savage creature when he was capable of such tenderness?

  She noticed then that his eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. He had been weeping silently while she cried and she had not noticed. He had lost his family through violence and was as alone as she was. Remorse flooded her. She stroked his cheek as he had done to her so he understood she realised what he had been doing. He leaned his cheek into her palm, his eyes growing heavy with longing that was mirrored in her heart.

  ‘We are not so different in our grief,’ she said, tilting her head back a little. ‘We can offer each other comfort.’

  His expression changed, his eyes becoming guarded. ‘I said once only. Don’t temp me to break my word.’ He laced his fingers through hers and drew her hand down. ‘We should waste no more time lingering here. We have a long way to go before we reach the pass and the day is growing late.’

  He strode back to his horse and began leading it away. Marguerite followed in silence, watching his lean frame, but he never looked back at her. He wanted her, she could tell, and she had been unwise to put herself in his path in such a shameless manner. The anguish of her desire for him was almost greater than the heartache of her loss. To tempt him into another kiss would be foolhardy and only end in misery for both of them, but wouldn’t it be worth that risk? Wasn’t Ewan himself worth it?

  * * *

  The path became so steep that for most of the afternoon Marguerite’s thoughts were entirely taken up by making sure she did not stumble and with trying to keep breathing. Ewan had become the taciturn man she had first known, only enquiring occasionally if she was managing.

  ‘I’m just pleased I am not wearing my court dress,’ she gasped, tugging her arisaid down over her waist so the wind caressed her torso through the layers of linen. ‘I don’t think I would have been able to draw a single breath otherwise.’

  Ewan grunted and carried on walking. He slowed his pace a little so she was not so far behind, but even then she struggled to keep her footing. Marguerite felt wretched and tired. Her shift was damp with perspiration that made it cling to her thighs and her overskirt tangled between her legs as she walked. She was thirsty and hot and spending her birthday clambering over rocks in the company of a man who was doing his best to ignore the attraction they both clearly felt. The only thing that stopped her from sitting on the heather and weeping was the knowledge that she should have been spending the day being married to a man who made her skin crawl.

  * * *

  By the time they reached the peak her head was aching and she was almost in tears from exhaustion, a headache and an ill temper. A small stream bubbled out of the peaty ground and trickled over rocks. Marguerite dropped to her knees beside it. Ewan joined her and they drank their fill before leading the horses to it. Ewan sat against a large rock, stretching his legs out. He patted the ground at his side.

  ‘Sit by me, we can afford to rest awhile.’

  Marguerite obeyed. The rock wasn’t broad enough for them to both lean against. Ewan put his arm around her shoulder and drew her near so she leaned against him instead and closed her eyes. Gusts of chilly wind buffeted her, but she did not care. They dried the stickiness from her neck and cheeks and cooled her aching head.

  ‘Look at where we are,’ Ewan said.

  Wearily she opened her eyes again and looked at the view for the first time. The sight snatched away what little breath she had left. The mountain peaks rose to their backs. To the left was the winding path they had climbed up, with Loch Lomond far below. To the right another loch wound like a wide silver ribbon into the distance at the bottom of a long valley with steep mountains on both sides. Pines and oaks covered the bottom of the mountains while higher up the rock was barren green and grey scrub. The country stretched on and on, a rainbow of blues, greens and greys.

  ‘It’s magnificent,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Ewan gave her a grumpy look and spoke severely. ‘Finally you have found something to like about my country.’

  ‘I like a lot of things!’ she protested before she caught the glint of humour in his eye. He was teasing. She laughed and his eyes sparkled.

  ‘What else do you like?’ he asked, swiftly twisting to face her and giving her a keen look that made her heart flutter.

  ‘I like my horse. I like the mountains. I like my dress,’ she said playfully.

  ‘That reminds me. I have something for you.’ He rummaged in the pouch he wore and instructed her to hold out her hand. She obeyed and he pressed something small and soft into her palm. It was a length of ribbon that looked like the one Moira had been weaving.

  ‘Before you ask, I paid Moira for it,’ Ewan said. His eyes glinted then softened. ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘You remembered!’ Tears pricked Marguerite’s eyes. Ewan gave her an odd smile.

  ‘Aye, well, I can keep a thought in my head for two days at a time.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘I’m sorry it isn’t something better,’ Ewan said. ‘If you’d told me before I left Druinnan it was your birthday, I could have been better prepared.’

  ‘Oh, no! I love it!’ she cried.

  Marguerite closed her hand over the ribbon, which had suddenly doubled in worth, in case the wind caught it or Ewan tried to take it back. She could not believe he was apologising for one of the sweetest things anyone had done for her. Her heart surged with affection.

  Impulsively she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He tilted his head and caught her lips, transforming the intended peck into a proper kiss. Marguerite’s mouth hardened. She tried to remember how he had taught her to move in unison with him. She relaxed her lips and pressed her mouth to his for the briefest of moments.

  They drew back and stared at each other in silence. Marguerite became aware of a rhythmic drumming and took a moment to realise it was her heartbeat that had doubled in speed. Ewan was watching her warily. She had not expected her stomach to twist with such disappointment when Ewan had ended their kiss the night before and left her to lie alone. Her fear of submitting to a man had vanished completely the instant he had kissed her. He had been entirely in command of her and if he had not drawn back she would have drowned in the pleasure. Now she could not bear that he might leave again when her whole being craved his lips on hers once more.

  She met his eyes, parting her lips. Spurred into action by this simple, unspoken signal, Ewan’s hand came behind her head and he pulled her back towards him. She was ready for his lips to claim hers, but unprepared for the force with which they met.

  He kissed her hard. There was none of the hesitant gentleness of their first kiss or the measured way in which he had guided her through the second. This was urgent and intense. A clash of overpowering lust that was designed to satisfy his needs as much as her curiosity. His lips pulled at hers with a wildness that she relished. She cleaved to him, tasting him, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him close.

  She wasn’t sure when they tumbled from seating to lying, but somehow they were on the ground, heather cushioning them, their legs entwining, fingers clutching wildly wherever they could find bare skin. Ewan’s hand closed over her breast with a gentle squeeze that made her dizzy. She moaned and ran her tongue the lengt
h of his neck, tasting his skin. He gave a deep-throated growl and pushed against her. With a shock Marguerite realised he was fully aroused and how close to the precipice she had allowed herself to step. She pulled away, trembling, and fighting the voice of her body that demanded she allow it the sensations it craved.

  He raised his head and his eyes were loaded with desire that matched hers.

  ‘I can’t.’ How she found the words to deny them what they both wanted she would never know.

  His expression changed to one of understanding and acceptance. He drew his hand back from her breast and pushed himself on to his elbow.

  ‘I know.’ His voice was laden with regret.

  ‘I can’t forget what Françoise told me.’

  ‘Oh, lass, I told you, it doesn’t have to be like that. I would never hurt you.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, realising how deeply her trust had grown. ‘It isn’t you.’

  ‘I know that, too.’

  She felt his arms loosening. He was going to leave her and she would die from the need that consumed her. Not a death of body, but of spirit. She gripped the neck of his leine in both hands and pulled him back down.

  ‘I want to.’

  She clutched him again, running her fingernails down the firm muscles of his back and round to his belly. The hardness that was pushing against her leg swelled. Her whole body pulsed in response and she lifted her face close to his, whispering against the corner of his mouth, ‘I want you.’

  The muscles in Ewan’s neck tightened. He muttered something beneath his breath that she could not catch, then looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘Maggie...’ His voice was commanding. It made her melt, turning her limbs to water while fire flared inside. ‘Let me go, or we’ll do something that can’t be undone.’

  ‘I should never have made you kiss me because now I can’t bear knowing there is something more, but I don’t want to have a baby,’ she said, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I don’t want to die.’

  ‘Not all women die.’ Ewan drew her close, wrapping his arms around her. The hot, earthy scent of him made her want to weep with frustration and need. ‘A woman with the strength and courage to sleep in the wilderness is tougher than that. I swear I won’t get you with child, but there are other things we can do. I’ll stop whenever you tell me. Do you trust me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He eased her back and she closed her eyes, realising that there was nothing that could, or would prevent her from doing what they both wanted. Ewan ran the tip of his forefinger down her hairline until he reached her ear. Gently brushing her hair behind the lobe, he circled the fingertip around, grazing the soft skin in the hollow behind her ear with his nail. The urgent pull deep down inside her began to spread further. When Ewan had nestled against her while she was asleep it had been diverting enough, but the pleasure he coaxed from her when he was awake and acting intentionally was enough to make her weak with an ache that she had to satisfy or lose her mind.

  He continued skimming his fingers down and round her jaw, replacing them with his lips each time he moved on to another part, then brushed the flat of his thumb over her mouth. She opened her lips, running her tongue tip over his thumb and heard his quick gasp of pleasure. She bit down gently and he gave a surprisingly high and vulnerable whimper as he drew it away.

  Ewan closed his mouth over hers, nipping at her lips. She kissed him back, her head beginning to spin. She ran her hands over his torso and under the heavy folds of his brat, tracing the shape of his buttocks. His hand moved down, inching her skirts up until he touched her naked thigh. When his hand discovered the hot opening between her legs she almost forgot to breathe.

  His palm rested over the soft mound of hair while a finger circled the nub that was now so sensitive that his touch was almost too much to endure. She clawed at him, bunching up his brat so nothing lay between them and grasped the part of him that was hard and ready, feeling it swell in response to her touch. Ewan gave a strangled gasp and slid his fingers inside her, tipping Marguerite over the edge of reason as muscles tightened that she had not even known she possessed.

  He looked into her eyes, asking a silent question. She mouthed yes.

  He settled between her thighs, taking his weight on his elbows. He began slowly in long, smooth movements, but before long the rhythm grew faster, his thrusts harder. Marguerite ground her head back into the heather and arched her hips to meet him as he sank into her over and over, causing further and deeper waves of pleasure to engulf her. When she sensed him trying to pull free she rose up to meet him, hands clawing at his buttocks to draw him in again, refusing to end the bliss that consumed her.

  Ewan gave a last cry that started powerfully and ended in a low moan. His body grew rigid with one final, fierce thrust. She felt him withdraw, felt his hand slip down once more between her legs. Then she was crying aloud as Ewan had, the touch of his hand bringing forth a swell of ecstasy that spread out through her core leaving her drained and trembling.

  She knew he had tried to hold back and she had not let him. The troubling consequences of that were something she would have to face later, but for now she was unable to do anything beyond give in to the heaviness of her limbs and sleep in Ewan’s arms.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marguerite slept. Ewan dozed with one arm over her to keep her warm. Or perhaps to prevent her vanishing, like a dream melting at sunrise. Clouds rolled lazily across the sky.

  They should be leaving. They should never have remained here so long, but events had not exactly gone as Ewan had expected and now he had a slumbering woman, warm and soft, with her sweet-scented head in the crook of his arm. Ewan could not remember feeling such peace before and he was content to relax and recover from what had been a very enthusiastic half-hour and let Marguerite do the same.

  He tried to remember back to the first time he had experienced that all-consuming release and how it had left him as weak as a newborn pup. Lovemaking still left him drained and drowsy, and content for the world to carry on around him. A hundred McCrieffs could appear over the mountain and Ewan would be incapable of even raising his sword.

  He glanced down at Marguerite, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. She lay on her back, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Her hair had come loose from its braid and fell in heavy tangles around her. One bare thigh was crooked up and Ewan tugged her skirt down to cover it. The sight excited him beyond all reason.

  Marguerite was beginning to wake up. Ewan felt the slight change as she tensed. He considered it strange that he was so well attuned to her after such a short time together. She rolled on to her side and faced him, her eyes like twin pools of ink. Boldly, he stroked her cheek and at once her face crumpled into an expression of distress that was a knife in Ewan’s heart. For him their lovemaking had been more wonderful than he could have possibly expected, but she regretted it, as he had feared she would.

  He had offered Marguerite enough opportunities to stop and had been sure she truly wanted to do what they had, but now he found himself full of guilt. He should not have left the decision to her. He should have shown the strength he had shown the night before, but his resistance had been pushed to the limit. He had found her lips easier to break free of the previous night in Moira’s cottage than the hands that brought him to such heights of desire and the body that responded to his touch so eagerly. He drew his hand back from her cheek, opening his mouth to apologise, but she clutched his hand, holding it to her face. She smiled despite the tears that were gathering.

  ‘Is it always like that?’ she asked.

  Ewan hesitated, reluctant to tell her of the hundred different tempos and shades of lovemaking he longed to share with her. ‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘All I knew was what my sisters told me. Oh, my poor Marie, poor Françoise. They never knew it could be so sweet or thrill
ing.’

  She fixed her dark eyes on him.

  ‘Thank you. For...for everything.’

  ‘You are thanking me?’ he asked incredulously.

  She blushed and gave him a shy smile and Ewan knew he was a lost man.

  ‘I thank you because now when I enter the convent I shall have the memory of something exquisite to keep with me.’

  Ewan’s heart lurched and his stomach tightened. ‘You’re still going to do that?’

  ‘Why, yes. My plan has not changed.’ She looked puzzled. ‘Did you imagine I would return to Duncan now I know there is nothing to fear from making love?’

  Ewan passed a hand over his eyes, feeling rather foolish. He wasn’t sure what he had thought.

  ‘Not to him, but you could consider a better match. Are you still determined not to wed?’

  Her eyelashes fluttered and she stared past him into the heather. ‘The best marriages are rare. My husband could be a cruel man.’

  ‘Or he could not.’

  ‘Duncan would have been,’ she said, shivering.

  ‘Aye, I think you’re right there,’ he agreed.

  She stroked her fingers along his jaw. The intimacy was unendurable. He wanted her to stop. He wanted her never to stop.

  ‘I was scared of the physical side,’ she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder and laying her hand across his chest. ‘I could bear living children, or I might die like my sister did and so many women do. Now I know there is nothing to fear, but no man will have me. To leave Duncan but marry another man would be a grave insult. I do not regret my choice. Please believe me.’

  He did believe her—more was the pity. Ewan had bedded more than enough women, but none had answered him with such passion or abandonment as Marguerite. If he had been given the choice there and then of a hundred different partners or Marguerite alone for the rest of his life, he would not hesitate for an instant. He couldn’t find the words or trust his voice to explain what it had meant to him so he simply laced his fingers through hers and held her hand tightly. He believed he might have found the Countess he needed.