“Did she leave him?”
Her heart ached as that day came back to haunt her like it had so many times before. She turned away from Lachlan and stared off into the distance. “She left us all.”
Chapter Six
Lachlan came awake as Maggie turned onto her back on the pallet he’d made when they’d set up camp near a secluded copse of trees. ’Twas not yet light, so he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her as he had the night before. She was a warm breeze blowing across the loch on a cool day, and having her in his arms somehow seemed right. He breathed her in and relaxed, knowing she was safe.
Although he was honor bound to see her home without further harm, there was something more to it than that. Her temperament and defiance ignited a burning in his chest he didn’t want to explore, so he focused on how she smelled of heather and how his arm fit perfectly over the gentle curve of her waist. He ached to bury himself deep inside her.
For some strange reason, she had made up her mind she belonged in a convent, but the passion he had seen in her, the recklessness, the zest for life showed she was a lass with a spirit that couldn’t be contained behind walls. Maggie would never be happy confined as a bride of God.
Tempting him with heated glances that made his cock ache with need, she evoked in him a need only sinking into her warm and willing body would sate. He didn’t want a wife, but he did want a bed partner. He wanted Maggie.
How he longed to see those dark blue eyes watching him with desire, and he yearned to watch her black curls bounce as she rode him astride. No one else would do.
After a few nights of bedsport, his obsession would fade, and he could escort her wherever she wanted to go. He would even keep his promise to send her to a convent if she wished.
Dougal should be back with news about her horse and mayhap her identity soon. Lachlan shifted his hips so his cock was nestled up against Maggie’s arse. He yearned not only for her body, but the news it would be safe to take her to his bed.
The soft voices of Alan and Robbie drifted through the cool, dark air, so he did his best to concentrate on that and not the throbbing ache between his legs. His mission was to keep his focus on exposing Conall and protecting the boy, not savoring the feel of the small woman that fit so snugly into his arms. Och, but she was tempting.
It took some effort, but eventually his thoughts wandered back to his band weaving through the filthy, overcrowded streets of Edinburgh with Robbie. Lachlan had not wanted to stay long, so they dropped Fiona off and ensured she was in good hands then searched for lodgings in a nearby inn. He’d heard Argyll was in residence at the castle, and he thought best to keep well away from the leader of the Covenanter army. Tensions were running high as he feuded with James Graham, First Marquess of Montrose, and other Royalists over fundamental changes to the Scottish constitution and dissolving the Scottish monarchy. The last thing Lachlan wanted on this trip was a confrontation about religious rights.
Robbie had been skittish since they’d arrived in the city. His eyes darted around like a ball being tossed by children as he jumped at every loud noise. The lad watched everyone, as if he were a wanted man and someone would recognize him at any motherent and string him up in the gallows. Odd that the boy had seemed so calm until they reached Edinburgh.
Seeming overly eager, he had rushed ahead of them to get to the inn and into a room.
When the lad froze as if he’d seen the ghost of the priest he’d just buried, Lachlan came up beside him, and Robbie latched onto his arm with a falcon-like grip. The boy had a bit of strength to him.
“That’s him.” His eyes were wide with fear, but his jaw ticked. Lachlan didn’t have to ask what Robbie meant, but there were so many people in front of them, he wasn’t sure who in the crowd was the Covenanter who had murdered his mentor.
“Which one?”
“The blond man. He’s wearing my cross.” His hand slipped from Lachlan’s arm and formed a fist. Before Lachlan could stop him, he charged forward. Another man stepped in front and knocked Robbie to the ground to stop him from reaching his intended target.
Alan was there in an instant, standing between the beast and the boy. “Stand back,” he ordered, ready to defend the lad.
“Tell yer boy to watch where he’s going.” The behemoth took a step closer.
Lachlan had full faith in his friend, so he turned his attention to the fair-haired man Robbie had identified and strolled over. The murderer smirked as if Robbie were a bug beneath his feet, then recognition flared and his features stiffened. His eyes turned cold with deadly menace.
Drawing attention away from Robbie before the man could make a move toward him, Lachlan spoke. “My friend seems to have a grievance with ye. Do ye ken why that would be the case?”
“I have done nothing to the boy.” The man sneered. His eyes raked Lachlan, openly assessing the threat. “Whom am I speaking to?”
“Lachlan Cameron, the Lochiel, laird of the Cameron clan. And who are ye?”
“Conall Erskine.” He puffed up his shoulders and returned Lachlan’s icy gaze. “Son to the Earl of Lundin, governor of Edinburgh.”
“Murderer,” Robbie’s voice broke in. “You murdered a priest, you bastard.” Alan held him back while keeping a watchful gaze on the ox still threatening to squash him.
“You’d better have the boy watch his tongue, or I won’t be responsible for what happens to him.” Despite Conall’s cold eyes, the fear of discovery glinted in the recesses of their depths.
“He tells the truth. Where did ye come by that cross around yer neck?”
Conall stiffened. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”
“Give the boy his cross. ’Tis his only memento of the man of God ye took from him.” The piece looked as if it were worth a small fortune. Why would a boy have such a possession? He waved away the thought—likely it belonged to the church.
Robbie broke free from Alan, grabbed the large jewel-encrusted cross from Conall’s neck, and pulled. The chain snapped, and Conall’s fist struck the boy with a barely discernible thud.
Lachlan shoved Conall, who fell on his arse. “Dinnae ever lay a hand on him again.”
His eyes sparking with fury, Conall stood calmly, then he charged Lachlan, who dodged to the side. Lachlan spun, and his fist connected with the murderer’s cheek.
Sounds of swords being drawn from their sheaths drew their attention to those around them, and he caught a glimpse of a group of frightened women nearby who covered the eyes of their children. He calmed and took a step back. “Ye will face justice for what ye have done.” He caught Alan’s gaze and tilted his head to indicate they should move from the street. “Here isnae the place.”
“I have done nothing.” Conall spit as Lachlan and his party continued on their way.
If Conall was to be believed, that his father was the governor of Edinburgh, Lachlan would have to seek justice for the priest some other way. He was inclined to believe it was the truth, because the blackguard lacked a Scottish brogue, which meant he’d probably had English tutors or been educated elsewhere. It was not likely the courts in this city would believe a young boy’s word over an official’s son, so until he could formulate a plan, he needed to get Robbie back to Kentillie, where he would be safe.
Maggie shifted and he returned his attention to the present. Focusing on the task ahead had succeeded in temporarily diverting his thoughts from the temptation in front of him, but Conall’s revolting deeds kept him awake. Aye, he had bigger problems than the lass in his arms, but damn, she felt good.
…
Chirping birds sang in the thick pines above, but ’twas the feel of the man behind her that had heated her blood and pulled her from sleep. Lachlan’s body pressed into hers, and he seemed to pull her closer as his hips rocked into her backside, eliciting a strange reaction from her body that called for her to turn over and sink farther into his strong embrace. She shimmied into the touch, and she thought she heard him groan,
but only motherents later, he released his hold and backed up as he stood and left her there alone.
Waiting for her body to calm from the strange reaction to his, she wondered why he had slept so near her last night. The previous evening, it had made sense to share the bed, but last night when he’d climbed under the blanket with her, she’d stifled the protest of propriety and allowed him to hold her. It was a cool night, after all, and it felt surprisingly nice to have his body snuggled so close to hers.
Thinking about their conversation the evening before, another revelation came to her—by expressing her disappointment and hurt over her ma’s actions, she had opened a part of herself to him that she hadn’t shared with anyone in years, and she felt lighter for it. He had been a safe place to vent her frustrations, it had been so long since she’d felt as if she weren’t judged by her thoughts, and he’d listened as if it weren’t all her fault.
As she climbed from under the blanket, she pulled it over her shoulders, not wanting to lose his warmth or the masculine, earthy scent that still clung to the woolen fabric as she moved to join the others by a small fire. Lachlan slid from the only log and onto the ground. “Sit.” He nodded toward the place he’d vacated and kept conversing with Seamus as he passed her the bowl of oats he’d just gotten for himself. His fingers touched hers and lingered a little too long, as if they, too, craved something more. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t been watching her, but he seemed aware of every move she made. He was laird, but he was on a level with all his men and had given up his spot, something she was sure her father never would have done. Not for her mother or her or any other lass.
Before they left their camp, a light mist started to fall. It turned into sheets of rain as they traveled through the morning, and although she caught herself wishing she were cuddled up next to Lachlan as she had been the day before, she lifted her face to the cleansing droplets as they helped to clear her head. They meandered off the path they had been taking and onto a road; a small village came into view and the band guided their horses toward the little stable near a building with a sign that boasted Timmy’s Tavern.
Dismounting first, Lachlan said something to the other men she didn’t hear then turned his attentions back to her and helping her down. Swinging her leg over, she slid down into his waiting arms and shivered as her soaked body skimmed across his and the combination of rubbing against his muscular frame and the heat from his body sent a visible shudder through her. She flushed as the fevered stirrings she fought to keep at bay returned with the simple action.
His arms stayed around her as her head tilted up; she expected to see his strong chin, but warmth pooled in her core as a heated gaze of the deepest blue met hers instead. “Ye are freezing.”
Only she was smiling at him now because cold was the last thing she felt. He continued, “Ye should have said something.”
“’Tis just a little rain, and it seems to be letting up.” Noticing the quiet around them, she glanced around to see they were alone in the stable. Strong arms still wrapped around her, she turned back to him only to notice he was studying their surroundings as well. He backed to the wall and drew her along with him as his gaze seemed to take in everything.
She was about to ask where everyone had gone when his attention turned back to her, and suddenly, his head was dipping to hers, but his mouth didn’t land on her lips. It was close to her ear, and he whispered, “Och, ye dinnae even ken what ye do to me, lass,” before his lips closed over the lobe of her ear. Gasping as the soft, warm pressure sent chills spreading down to her core, she clenched her hands on his sides and held on. His breathing deepened, and his teeth nipped and pulled at the sensitive area as newly discovered sensations had her body arching into his.
It was as if her body had woken up for the first time, as one hand held her back and the other lowered to cup her rear and pull her up to give him better access. She was pinned to him as his mouth worshipped her skin, as if she were to be cherished and adored. Her body thrummed to know what else his touch could make her feel, and she knew at that motherent she couldn’t leave this man’s side until she had experienced what his body had promised hers. She wanted to lie naked with this gentle man and experience what she knew would be a transcendent experience if just his touch made her feel like this.
Raising his head, he turned his attention back to the door, and then she thought he nodded at someone, but her limbs were weak and hummed with the desire that still pulsated through her. “’Tis safe, come.” Lips curved into a satisfied smile, his gaze met hers and lingered as she shook her head so that the words would soak in, but she was having trouble processing what he said.
“Let’s eat.” One arm left her while the other kept her clutched to his side as he drew her from the stable into the tavern.
As they sat at a long table in the corner of the room, his hand resting on her thigh under the table, she tried to make sense of what he had made her feel. It had been as if her body had just woken from a long, dull sleep to discover sensation she’d not dreamed possible. What else could he do to her? She knew the basics from her mother and hadn’t had friends who had educated her on what went on between a woman and a man, but she was going to let this man teach her. Just his touch drove her mad with thoughts she didn’t understand, and if she made it to the convent and never experienced what he could show her, she knew she would always wonder and regret not taking the chance when she could.
In between bites of stew and bread, as the men talked about the rest of the journey, she managed to catch that they should be at Kentillie in two more days. The rest of the conversation was a blur, because her thoughts were on what would happen when she made it to the convent, and for the first time, although she knew she would be safe there, she dreaded what she would be giving up—the intimacy between lovers.
She swallowed and peeked up at the rest of the table, glad they couldn’t read her thoughts. Lachlan didn’t look at her, but although he talked with his men, the lazy circles his fingers traced on her trews let her know he hadn’t forgotten about her and sent shivers of want straight to a place that he’d roused in her. His eyes had warmed with lust as he pulled back from kissing her neck, and there was no hiding that he wanted her, too. Wanting to experience more of what he’d done, she came to the conclusion she would let this man take her to his bed before giving her vows.
When they emerged from the tavern, it was to clear skies. She was almost disappointed, because she had made up her mind that she would ask to ride with him for the heat. Now she had no such excuse to press her body into his and must be content to watch him while she puzzled out this strange desire that coursed through her body and how she was going to get him to sate the thirst he had stirred in the primitive part of her she’d kept locked away.
…
Readjusting his position didn’t help. The wench was driving him mad with lust. He’d not expected her to melt into him like a familiar lover instead of the innocent she was as he kissed her ear in the stable. If she could be that responsive with such a small show of affection, how would her body react when he gave her his undivided attention? He’d tasted her but kept his attention on the door as he sent the men in to assess the occupants of the tavern before they entered.
Then, while they had eaten, he hadn’t been able to keep his hand from seeking her thigh, and once he had it, it had been a battle not to trail his hand up to touch other, more intimate parts of her as he watched her blush return from the corner of his eyes. Now she held her head up to soak in the rays of the sun, just as she’d done with the water droplets earlier, and her chest rose to inhale the fresh air left in the rain’s wake.
As they passed the deep emeralds of the pines, the browns and glowing greens of the oaks, the purples from the heather, and the misty grays of the mountains, he was struck by how each one enhanced her beauty and how naturally they went together. She had unbound her long hair to let it dry, and it trailed behind her in lush waves as they trotted through his beloved Scotla
nd. Just like the thistles growing wild in the sun, with their unpredictability, resilience, and beauty, she was born to be in the Highlands.
Any thought he’d had of denying himself a taste of her had evaporated with her reaction to his touch; a lass had never so easily turned him into a needy mess, but she made him act as if he were an untrained youth. ’Twas getting harder each evening to lie beside her and not take what he wanted, but thankfully, his honor and duty to the clan kept him grounded. Her reluctance to tell him who she was and well-spoken mannerisms led him to believe she might belong to a family that might not look too kindly upon him deflowering her, and that was a risk he couldn’t take, so with each passing hour he kept vigilant to watch not only for Conall’s men but also the return of his own to let him know whether or not he could act on all the fantasies he couldn’t push from his mind.
As the sun started to descend and his thoughts turned to where they should camp for the night, Maggie pulled her horse to a halt and jumped down before he could stop her. His eyes immediately scanned the nearby woods for a threat, as did his men’s and even Robbie’s, he noticed.
Sliding down from his own steed, he walked over to where Maggie was bent over, studying something under the heather bushes. As he closed in, he saw her snapping branches from plants with small blue berries. He wanted to voice his frustration over her lack of judgment, but when she looked up, her eyes sparkled and her lips curved up in a smile that took his breath away.
“Blaeberries,” she said innocently, as if that were the only explanation she needed to give. All he could do was return the smile and let her finish collecting her berries. Not only did she seem to belong to the land, she had a knowledge of it that only came from love and appreciation of what it offered.
“Do ye mind handing me my satchel?” Of course he didn’t,—’twould be an excuse to get close to her again, to possibly run his fingers across her soft skin and imagine what she would feel like beneath him.
Highland Deception (Highland Pride) Page 8