The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  Finally, curiosity got the better of her, and at length Joanie asked softly, “How did ye meet them?”

  Helena smiled. “My son, Luke, brought them home one summer’s eve. Luke is one of the…” she paused, her eyes darting to Joanie, then she looked down at the pot. “They met at church,” she said quickly.

  Joanie pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. She knew Helena was going to say that Luke was one of Scotland’s secret rebels but had changed her mind, not knowing whether Joanie knew about the cause. Joanie held her tongue, deciding Helena was right to be cautious. It was better not to delve too deep into what was secret.

  “Anyway,” Helena continued, “one night Luke brought them all over to meet us — all five MacVie brothers and the eldest MacVie, their sister, Rose. Good lads, every one of them and so handsome. Jack is the eldest and what a swagger he has. Were I not old enough to be his mother, I might have dreamed of filling those strong arms myself. And Quinn, with his rich voice and those black MacVie eyes, well he, too, set my heart to race. But ‘tis Rory the lassies must watch out for — eyes like the summer sky. He’s a good lad, but a rake to be sure. The one who amazed me the most was the youngest brother, Ian. What a sight he was. He stood nearly a head taller than Jack, taller even than Alec. His red hair blazed like fire, falling past his chest, too. His eyes were as blue as Rory’s, and he was such a lamb, always asking if I needed help and telling me to sit and rest while he cleared the table after dinner. I’ve never met a sweeter lad. And I said as much to Jack, and do ye know what he told me?”

  Captivated, Joanie shook her head in response, the bannocks completely forgotten.

  “He said that Ian was the kindest of the lot, but that he became a beast when provoked. ‘Tis the red hair, Jack said. To this day, I can’t imagine Ian’s countenance any other way than gentle, but I reckon given his height and the breadth of his shoulders, he would be a chilling sight if provoked.”

  “I assume ye’re talking about Ian.”

  Joanie whirled around and looked at Alec who she had not heard enter. “Is it true?” she asked.

  “Indeed, it is,” Alec said. He came to her side and started to help her put the bannock in the basket. “But he never loses his temper for selfish reasons. ‘Tis always in defense of injustice. He is a champion to anyone he deems is in need.”

  “What about your sister, Rose?” Joanie asked.

  A shadow crossed Alec’s features as a sad smile curved his lips. “Rose is the real MacVie in charge. She’s strong and kind, always quick to laugh.”

  “What is it?” Joanie asked, placing her hand on his arm. “There is something you’re not saying.”

  “’Tis hard to speak of,” Alec said.

  Helena cleared her throat, coming to stand next to them. “I’ll do it so ye don’t have to, Alec.” Then she turned her gentle eyes on Joanie. “Rose’s husband and three daughters were killed during the massacre.”

  Joanie’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Helena’s arm came around her shoulders. “I ken, sweetling. Graver circumstances are hard to imagine, but Rose pushes on and so shall we.” She waved her spoon at the table. “Shall we eat?”

  Joanie’s stomach growled.

  Alec pulled her close, then turned to Helena. “I believe ye have yer answer.”

  They sat together at the table, passing food and sharing stories and concerns. All the while, Joanie sat quietly but listened with her whole heart. Alec asked Hamish about the farm. They spoke of the approaching springtime and preparing for the plant. Helena regaled them with a tale of how their goats had made their way into a neighboring croft and ate half the owners’ straw mattress.”

  “I told ol’ Betty that now she didn’t have to suffer through Finnean’s cold feet in the night,” Helena said, throwing her head back with laughter.

  Joanie loved every word, every burst of laughter, every warm glance. She loved the smell of hot pottage, the sweet honeyed mead, and the coziness of the blazing hearth. With a full and grateful heart, she returned Helena’s hug and Hamish’s warm smile.

  “Did ye enjoy supper?” Alec asked after their hosts had retired to their bed.

  She smiled. “You know I did.”

  “I ken, but I just wanted to hear of yer pleasure from yer own lips.”

  Joanie cupped his cheek. “I loved it,” she said and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

  “Me as well,” he said, pulling her close. He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Although I’m lamenting our lack of privacy,” he whispered.

  She swallowed the laughter that bubbled up her throat. Then together, they shooed the goats away, rolled out a pallet, and laid down. Alec held her while the rain battered the rooftop and thunder cracked. Lightning flashed through the shuttered windows.

  Joanie sighed and closed her eyes, feeling perfectly content, and she thought how wonderful it was to be indoors, secure within the arms of the man she loved, on such a terrible night. Her eyes flew open, and she realized the truth of her thoughts. She loved Alec. She loved him with every breath in her body, with her entire being. She could not imagine a life without him at her side. Yes, she wholeheartedly loved Alec MacVie.

  “I love ye too,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her close.

  Tears filled her eyes. She turned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Surrounded by love and warmth, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  After they bid farewell to Hamish and Helena, Alec set their mare on course along a swiftly moving river.

  Alec stroked Rosie’s neck. “She’s tired of all this walking and needs a good rest.”

  Joanie stiffened in her seat. “We’re going to town then?”

  “Aye, it cannot be avoided, but Dunshire is a quiet hamlet.”

  Joanie stretched her neck from side to side, like she had seen him do from time to time, and straightened in her seat. “Then we go to town,” she said resolutely.

  The river wound through glades of wood and cut across open fields, swelling over boulders in a crescendo of white, then tumbling down into a crystal loch, which marked the beginning of Dunshire. From the high ground, Joanie scanned the numerous cottages, huts, and market stalls in the distance.

  “Are ye ready?” he asked.

  Joanie nodded absently as she gazed upon the large church that dominated the small hamlet. “What church is that?” she asked, hand to forehead to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “’Tis no simple church. ‘Tis Glenrose Abbey.”

  The sun shone high overhead as they descended the hill.

  “Look,” Joanie said, laughing while she pointed to a band of young girls running after a flock of wild ducks. They likely had just touched down to greet the approaching spring. The girls were no older than six or seven. They raced after each other, laughing with arms stretched out to the sunshine. Joy, freedom, and love radiated from their smiles, from their tangled hair, and stained tunics. They were a part of the world as much as the trees and the rocks, and they knew it.

  Joanie cupped her hand over her lips, a surge of tears surprising her as she watched the girls disappear down the hill and into Dunshire. She drew a shaky breath and turned her face to the sun, savoring its powerful kiss on her cheeks. Straining her head back, the heat caressed her neck. She took a deep breath and smiled through the tears that continued to wet her cheeks. The promise of spring was in the air. Little green shoots peeked through the lusterless bracken, roots searching for their fruit and flower, aching to break free from the cold earth that had held them captive for so long.

  She sat even straighter then and untied her cloak, letting it puddle around her waist. She reached up and took the pins from her hair, releasing it, and letting it tumble down her back, the same as the little girls, wild and free. Warm currents of air lifted her hair, and she tossed her head back and raised her arms, straining to reach the sky, the sun, the white clouds, the birds. In that moment of extravagance, she knew with her whole hea
rt that she, too, was part of the world, that she had as much right to be there as anyone else. She was the same as the birds above and as the flowers that would soon rise again from their snowy grave — and so would she.

  Suddenly, the horse came to a halt. “Go,” Alec urged. “Do what it is in yer heart.”

  Her feet hit the ground before she had any time to think, and she ran, arms outstretched. She raced the rest of the way down the hill, the wind whipping through her unbound hair, and when she reached the bottom, she spun around and around, her arms stretching to the sky. She felt like she could fly, like she could do anything. She stopped breathless and stared up at a single bird circling overhead. It was so small and yet it could float like an angel in the heavens. She thought of all the times she had bent, yielding to another’s will. How many people had looked at her like she was nothing, like she was worthless. They had beaten her, hurt her… She fisted her hands and put her head back and raged — a roar from the very depths of her soul, expelling the fear they had planted within her. No longer would she carry the yoke of another’s disdain. Her life would no longer be a desperate struggle for survival. Her life mattered.

  “Never again,” she said, vowing to herself.

  “Ye’re amazing,” Alec said behind her. And in that moment, she believed him.

  “I’m done being afraid.”

  He swung down from the horse and knelt in front of her. Pulling her close, he pressed the side of his face against her chest. Then he looked up. “You will never have the need,” he vowed.

  She lowered her head and cupped his cheeks. “I feel like I am seeing the world for the first time, and it is you who has opened my eyes.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I give you my heart.”

  His hands came under her arms, and he stood, sweeping her high in the air above his head. His black eyes shone and a smile so wide it made her heart ache stretched across his beautiful face. Then he slowly lowered his arms until she was pressed against him, her toes grazing the earth. “Marry me,” he said. “Be my wife.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest, “Yes,” she cried out, throwing her head back.

  Alec kissed her neck and held her in his arms and let her tears and laughter wash over him, cleansing him from the inside out. For so long, he had lived a half-life — head down and unfeeling, afraid of what he might see or hear if he looked ahead. The world around him came into focus with her at his side. The strength of her heart shielded his own, even from his own powers.

  “I love ye, Joanie, so fiercely, so completely.”

  She reached high and cupped his cheeks, pulling his lips down to meet hers. Boldly, she kissed him with a hunger that fed his starved soul. He groaned when her tongue slowly traced his bottom lip and her hands splayed wide on his chest.

  “I want to see you,” she said breathlessly. “I have longed for you.”

  Her words scorched him, setting his whole being on fire. He swept his arm beneath her legs and carried her back toward a thick patch of wood, his lips never leaving hers.

  She groaned in protest when her feet touched the brittle earth, and his lips tore from hers. He swept his cloak from his shoulders, laying it on ground. Even though he no longer touched her, currents of heat pulsed from his body, filling her, caressing her, feeding the ache that burned within her. A breath later, his hands grabbed her waist, crushing her against his. His lips seized hers, forceful and strong. She moaned as his tongue stoked hers, the heat within her building. She fumbled with the buckle hanging low on his hips, wishing to touch his skin. He unclasped his belt and yanked his tunic over his head. Her hands stretched wide against his smooth, snowy white skin. He burned like fire, the heat coursing through her fingers, stroking her feverishly from the inside out. Desire drove her impatient fingers to push his low-slung hose even lower. Lean, defined muscles shifted beneath her fingertips as he grabbed her close and stole her breath with his kiss.

  The very taste of her consumed him, he could not satiate his desire to kiss and lick and suckle every inch of her beautiful body fast enough. He whisked her tunic over her head. Her shift followed just as quickly. His eyes drank in the sight of her small, pert breasts, her narrow waist and the gentle flare of her hips. He stroked his hand down her side, following the curve of her shape. His caress continued to her back. Then he cupped her soft round buttocks and thrust her against him. The sound of her fiery moan drove him wild with hunger. She surrounded him, her own pleasure filling him as he felt what she felt. Her body, her touch, her smell, her taste. She brought him to the very brink of control, provoking the feral animal within his soul. He needed their bodies to be one.

  Her whole body burned, the ache building, throbbing, climbing. She wove her fingers through his long, black hair as she kissed him with total abandon, her tongue tasting, stroking, teasing. Her nails tore at his skin as her desperation grew. He dropped to his knees, his mouth consuming her, first her taut nipples, then searing a path down her stomach. He pulled her down onto his warm cloak and spread her thighs wide. Cold air shocked and teased her sensitive flesh, but then his breath found the very heat of her. She cried out, arching her back as his tongue stroked her, circling her sensitive nub, before plunging inside her. Heat surged through her, fierce, possessive, undulating, endless. She cried out again as pleasure and painful yearning melded into hot, torturous need. Her body demanded fulfillment.

  His body, his heart, the hard length of him throbbed for her. His soul burned. The taste of her honeyed warmth intoxicated his senses, blurring his mind and heart until he did not exist — only hunger, only desire remained. He stretched his body over hers, groaning when her legs surrounded his waist, and he eased slowly inside her slick, tight warmth. Her innocence shattered around him. She cried out, her nails tearing his back. He felt her pain. He hovered over her, shaking, waiting for her relief, and when it came, he slowly thrust deeper. Her desire flamed, licking his own, stroking the fire burning inside him. He felt her need. He felt her pleasure, heightening his own pleasure until he thought he would burst from the power pulsing from her body into his. He thrust deeper, harder. Her moans and pleas echoed like thunder in his mind. And then her body seized. Her heart quaked. She shuddered as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her body, igniting his own desperate need. They clung to each other. Together, their bodies and souls quaked and shattered into oblivious euphoria.

  Branches tangled overhead. She stared at the maze of limbs, her body and mind drained of everything but hazy pleasure. They laid together, their own limbs as entwined as the trees above long after they had caught their breath and quieted their racing hearts. It was not until Alec felt a chill enter Joanie’s body that he reached for her tunic and helped her dress.

  They walked the rest of the way to the village, hand in hand. When they stepped among the cottages, the din of activity reaching them, Alec kissed her slowly, passionately before he started to pull her a little behind him.

  “No,” she said gently. She saw the world in his eyes when he looked at her. She saw his love and her greatness — all visible deep inside his knowing black eyes.

  “After you,” he said with a smile.

  Back straight, shoulders back, she walked out in front of him and took his hand, leading him through the streets without a trace of fear in her heart.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  The small hamlet of Dunshire had but one stable with only half a dozen horses, none of which matched Rosie in terms of strength or health. Still, Alec considered each beast and chose a black stallion who, although past his prime, he felt had plenty of heart left.

  After making the stable master very happy over the trade, Alec brought the horse to the smithy to be reshod, leaving Joanie to wander the small market. At first, he wanted to deny her the independence, to keep her protected and safe at his side. But he also knew that her own safety and wellbeing relied first on her believing in herself.

  After visiting the market himself, he caught up with her some time later. He found her sitting on t
he far side of the village green, nibbling a small meat pie and staring up at the abbey, situated on higher ground beyond the outskirts of the village proper.

  “Would ye like to go inside?” he asked as he walked up to her.

  She nodded brightly. “I’ve never been inside an abbey.”

  He held out his hand to her, and together they walked the stone inlaid path up to the tall, arched doors of Glenrose, which led into the chapel. The air was cold and thick with incense. Stained-glass windows composed of somber faces, which contrasted with radiant innumerable colors, lined one side. Rays of sunlight reached through the glass, casting beams of colors across the floor. Joanie slowly walked through the shafts of light, smiling as the colors danced across her tunic.

  Alec fell back and watched her, intoxicated by the sight of her pleasure. Then he stiffened, feeling someone approach. Turning, he looked expectantly at the door near the Sacristy. A moment later, a tall, slim priest entered. His youthful face was open and kind, and his shorn red hair glinted with different colors as he walked along the wall with the stained-glass windows.

  “Greetings, my children,” he said, dipping his head to both Alec and Joanie. “The next Mass is not for another hour.”

  Alec immediately let his guard down. He softened his eyes and posturing. The clergy, whose lives truly were devoted to God, had always put him at ease. From the start, Alec and Abbot Matthew’s relationship had been effortless. The abbot’s emotions seldom ran wild, and he never tried to understand Alec. He was with Alec as he was with everyone — mindful, heartfelt, and without judgment. The priest standing in front of him bore his rank with the same ease, and looked at them without judgment or expectation. Alec dipped his head in return. “We did not come for Mass.” Then he smiled at Joanie. “We have something else in mind.”

  Joanie raised a quizzical brow at him. He smiled and cupped her cheek. Looking into her eyes, he said to the priest. “We would like to be married.”