Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02

by Phantom Bride

  "Liam," she gasped, moving close to him. "Your clothing first," she begged, desperate for any delay of the thing she feared most.

  With trembling hands, she peeled away his shirt, then unfastened his kilt and let it slide from his narrow waist. Beneath his plaid, he was ready, full, and straight. Her hand grazed him and he grabbed it and held it there, gently showing her how to stroke the velvet firmness of his engorged member. He was naked—they both were, only the wretched veil stood between them.

  Her body lit with fire from his burning caress. Devon fought to concentrate on the pleasure, but again her hand faltered when she tried to remove the last remaining barrier. His hands and mouth were all over her, sending trails of sheer delight to every corner of her being.

  "Please," he entreated.

  "I can't," Devon choked, her eyes filling with tears. Hearing her strangled cry, Liam picked her up, laying her gently on the huge curtained bed.

  "It's all right. We'll lose the veil in time." His voice held little conviction, and she wanted so to please him after the way he had protected her this evening. Beneath his passionate probing, every inch of her felt like liquid fire.

  Reaching up, she freed the heavy curtain on the bed, blocking out the last vestige of light that flickered across the bed. They were in total darkness, enshrouded in the intimacy of hot, tangling bodies feeling each other through the dark. With shaking hands, she led his fingers to the veil and allowed him to peel it from her head. He cast it away somewhere in the darkness and her heart stood still—a feeling of total vulnerability swept her.

  Liam gave her no time to dwell on her lost mantle. "Thank you, sweet lady," he murmured, his lips beginning the slow process of sampling every inch of her newly exposed face.

  He can't see me, she repeated over and over to her trembling heart. He still can't see me. I am safe… dear God, please let me be safe. He was suffocating her with his attention to her eyes, her nose, her ears—every bit of skin he explored and caressed.

  She felt fear rising within her at his concentrated attention. Would he suddenly fling back the curtain to gaze at her face? She knew of one thing that might dissuade him from such abrasive action. He was between her legs, the full weight of his body propped on his elbows while he pursued his constant ministry to her face.

  Gathering all her courage, Devon moved her arms to encircle him, running her hands down his broad back until she reached his muscular buttocks. Taking a deep breath, she began a steady stroking motion—moving beneath him—teasing his chest with her full breasts—tempting him with her rocking hips.

  "Liam," she gasped. "I need you now."

  Her urgent request broke through his preoccupation with her face and he dropped his lips slowly down her neck. To her chagrin, he now moved his hungry hands to caress her face, threading his fingers through her hair and feeling every inch of her hidden treasure until she thought she would scream for him to stop.

  Suddenly things didn't feel so traumatic; his tongue swirled lovingly over the rosy crest of her breast, distracting her from her fear. She whimpered while he sampled each delicacy, tasting, suckling, devouring her with his love. All the while, his hands busily explored her face, but she didn't care anymore. It felt good—stroked, caressed, freed from the terrible netting that blocked her vision and held her apart from everyone. She'd worry about the morning light later. Now there was only Liam in the darkness. Her secrets were still safe.

  He entered her and she knew true ecstasy—the pounding rhythm set her writhing beneath him. Each powerful thrust took her closer to the edge. Nothing mattered except Liam deep within her—melding his body with hers—becoming part of her. A scream tore from her throat as her body closed tightly around his, feeling his hot seed spurt into her depths.

  They became one in a single instant of pure euphoria. He rolled over, taking her with him so she rested intimately joined with him. "I love you, Devon," he whispered soft against her hair.

  She dropped her head to his chest, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat. They lay intertwined for a long time in the dark silence of their love nest. When they carefully eased apart, she dropped on her side into the crook of his arm with her head on his shoulder.

  "If you're as beautiful as you feel and taste, there's no need to hide any longer," Liam ventured into the darkness. "Let me open the curtain and see you. After such intimacy, how can you hold back the one thing I crave? Devon, we are one, a couple, each of us the other half of the other. Would you refuse me the freedom to see a part of me?"

  She shifted away from him with a heavy sigh. "Please don't spoil this perfect time with your endless probing," she begged in a hoarse whisper. "I've come so far under your gentle touch, must you always prod me for more. I'm still afraid."

  "I'm trying to free you. At first, you were afraid to join with me, and now you find as much pleasure as I do in our union. This final thing will let you put aside the past and find a new life with me. I'll look with love on whatever scars decorate the loveliness that is you." His hand moved toward the curtain.

  She could see flickers of light as he began to lift it away. With a terrified cry, she grabbed a piece of sheeting and flung it over herself, fleeing to the small chamber adjoining his room.

  She could hear him moving slowly to the door and she slid the bolt into place to keep him away from her. Liam tapped lightly on the door. "Devon, please open the door."

  "I can't," she gasped. "Please Liam, I'm not ready. Let me take this slowly. I promise when we're together as man and wife, I'll shed my veil in the darkness… just as I did tonight. Please."

  "Devon, you hurt yourself by clinging to this piece of cloth. Let me come in and talk to you," he urged.

  "No," she said defiantly. "You'll have to break down the door to reach me. Go ahead, act like Frazer! I knew you were too good to be true. Show me your vicious side."

  "Bloody hell! Has none of this meant anything to you?" Liam leaned against the door, aching for the intimacy of Devon wrapped safely in his arms. What torture had Frazer inflicted to make her so irrational? He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to sleep and wake to find the nightmare gone; and Devon naked in his arms, no veil obscuring her face.

  "Well, are you going to break the door down?" Devon called through the heavy portal.

  "No," Liam replied wearily. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight," came her tremulous reply. Liam groaned and went back to curtained bed, leaving the draperies ajar so he could stare at the door that kept him from her.

  Exhausted from his tiring day and the emotional scene that just played out, Liam quickly sank into a deep sleep. Devon floated through his mind, with and without her veil. His memory of the portrait filled in perfection when he gazed upon her face. He tossed restlessly, and then escaped to a dreamless void.

  ***

  Devon slipped on a silk wrapper and huddled by the fire in her tiny chamber staring at the door. He wasn't Frazer. He had loved her, given her body pleasure she had never dreamed existed, then refused to use force upon her when she provoked him with her teasing promises. She didn't know how long she sat there wrapped in her own bizarre thoughts, but the cold crept in on her as the fire died away.

  Shivering, she first went toward the tiny bed in the corner. Thoughts of Liam's warm arms around her made her stop short. He would be so pleased to wake and find her with him, to get the view of her face he longed for and take away her shield forever. Could she let him?

  Moving to the door, she slid the bolt back and listened tentatively, almost expecting him to pounce on her from beyond the portal and drag her over to the fire to examine her face in the light, but there was nothing, nothing except the sound of breathing.

  Silently she moved into the room and stood over the sleeping form of her husband. He was such a handsome man, perfect in face and body. How would he view her if he opened his eyes and saw her now? Devon jumped when he turned on his side with a low groan.

  Liam stirred, uneasiness creeping
into the thick veil of sleep surrounding him. "Devon," he muttered to the vision floating before him.

  "Go back to sleep," his vision told him, her hands moving to caress the tangled mesh of hair that covered his broad chest.

  She seemed to float before him, hovering like an angel beside his bed. "Devon," he mumbled, trying hard to shuffle off the grogginess clouding his mind. It was no use; the vision disappeared beyond his reach. He fell back into the nothingness of his dream world.

  Sometime later a steady tapping sound invaded Liam's sleep. He shifted and peered bleary-eyed toward Devon's door. Was it ajar, or was he imagining it? The light was so dim. Then she was there again, above him in the darkness. He felt delicate hands running over his flesh, exploring his most intimate parts.

  "Oh Devon, your back," he breathed, contentment filling every fiber of his being. The hands froze in place. "No Devon, don't stop. I love you so, please come to me."

  He felt the feather-light pressure of her body move to straddle his hips. "Yes, my darling," he murmured. "Make me whole again."

  The figure's arm shot up in a jerking motion, and Liam caught a brief gleam of cold steel before he felt the sharpness pierce his shoulder. "Devon!" he cried. What are you doing?" The knife plunged into him again, but this time he managed to squirm away enough to avoid a direct hit by its probing point.

  The wraith from hell struck. She sought to plunge the weapon into him repeatedly. He shoved her off of him, sending her tumbling across the floor. Liam tried to rise when he saw her scramble away, but he fell back as ragged pain burned through his shoulder—his side. He struck his head on the bedpost as the warm wetness of his own blood engulfed him. His world went black.

  ***

  Devon came slowly awake as the gray of daylight invaded her tiny sleeping chamber. Something was wrong. What was this sticky covering on her hands? She opened her eyes, staring at her hands in disbelief. They were bleeding! No, but there was blood all over them. In shock, she sat up in bed, her eyes scanning the room for some answer. On the night stand was a bloody dirk. Her heart froze in fear.

  Then it hit her, sucking the breath out of her, crushing her between layers of granite. "Liam!" she screamed, running to the larger chamber. He lay there motionless, a red stain seeping onto the sheeting around him. "No!" she cried, rushing to his side. "You cannot leave me."

  His body felt warm when she hugged him to her chest. Dropping her ear down she listened—he was still breathing. At that moment there was a rap at the door and Moira's voice called to her.

  "Lady Devon, may I come in?" Moira asked.

  "Come, hurry!" Devon pleaded.

  "The door is bolted," Moira called.

  Devon rushed over and opened the door.

  "Dear God!" Moira shrieked.

  "Help me," Devon pleaded. "We must save him!"

  Grabbing Devon by the arm, Moira propelled her into the small chamber adjoining the master suite. "Stop! Moira, we must save Liam," Devon protested.

  "Gather yer wits, child," Moira said tearfully. "If he be dead, all evidence points to you." Dragging Devon to a bucket of water in the corner, she submersed her hands and began scrubbing the stubborn stain from her mistress' hands.

  Devon jerked away in anger. "I don't care how it looks, I must see to my husband!" Spinning around she flew from Moira's grasp and headed back to the grizzly scene. Moira followed, coming up behind her and covering her face and blood-stained wrapper with a fresh robe and cream-colored veil. Whirling, Devon turned on her faithful servant. "Get me some help!" she demanded. "Hurry!"

  In a matter of minutes, the whole household was in an uproar. They pried Devon away from Liam and examined him. Lord Wycliff took charge since Devon was in a daze and Malcolm was having too much difficulty dealing with his daughter to be of any use. Claire stood at the door sniffling into a handkerchief.

  "She's killed him!" the Duchess railed. "The conniving bitch has killed him!"

  "That will be enough, Claire," Lord Wycliff said. "Devon is upset enough without your accusations. Besides, the man still lives. Go back to your room."

  "No!" Claire shrieked, lunging at Devon and yanking her around.

  "Remove the Duchess," Wycliff ordered. Nigel grabbed hold of Claire and forcibly dragged her from the room.

  Lord Wycliff turned to Devon shaking his head negatively. "He's lost so much blood, it will be a miracle if he survives," he announced gravely. "I have many questions for you, but they can wait until we see the outcome of this terrible incident." He looked at those gathered in the room. "Until we are able to discern what has happened, no one is to be alone with Laird Liam. He is to be guarded at all times by at least two people."

  "He cannot die," Devon whispered mournfully.

  "Get Devon out of here while we clean him up and check him over," Malcolm ordered. Moira urged Devon back to the small chamber.

  Devon gazed blankly at the table where the knife had been, then stared at Moira. "There was a knife…."

  "I got rid of it while the others were occupied with Laird Liam."

  "You think I did this… and you protect me, but I couldn't do this to him. I love him." Devon dissolved into tears. "Please tell me you believe me," she begged.

  "Of course I believe ye, child," she said, but Devon knew Moira too well to be assured of her conviction.

  Moaning in abject agony, Devon collapsed on the bed. "Don't worry," Moira assured her. "I'll always protect you."

  "No!" Devon cried. "If I've done this thing with no memory of it, you must kill me. Take my life before I know this horror again."

  "Quiet child," Moira urged. "Perhaps someone wishes you to think you have done it. That's the only other explanation."

  Devon stared at her briefly, and then rose from her crumpled position on the bed. "Help me, I must clean up and dress before I go to be with my husband."

  Moira hesitated, and then moved to do her bidding. "I shall pray for all of us," she murmured, hurrying to complete Devon's wardrobe.

  When Devon walked back into the room, terror gripped her heart. Liam laid spread eagle on the bed, a man holding each of his limbs while Malcolm walked toward him with the red glowing tip of a field knife. "What are you doing?" she gasped.

  "Go back to the other room," Malcolm said.

  "I will not! He's my husband. What are you doing to him?"

  "Devon, we must cauterize the wound. Look how the blood still seeps from him. If we do nothing, he'll bleed to death. It's his only hope," Malcolm assured her.

  Walking over to the bed, Devon climbed up beside her husband and laid his head in her lap, gently running her finger through his thick, dark hair. "Do it then," she said softly. "But I'll be here, holding him until he is well."

  Malcolm shook his head, and then dipped the blade back into the fire until it glowed red half way up. Moving to the bed, he laid the white-hot metal flat against the gaping wound.

  Liam screamed out in agony—the smell of burning flesh filled the room. Devon cried and held his head to her heaving bosom as he writhed in pain.

  "Aren't you finished yet?" she gasped.

  "We have another wound to do." Malcolm pointed to the second gash in Liam's side.

  "Well, be quick about it," Devon ordered. "Let him get this pain over all at once!”

  Malcolm repeated the process, and again Liam tore at her heartstrings with his anguished cry. The men released their captive and his powerful body slumped once again to unconsciousness. Devon bent over him, sobbing into his neck.

  "Don't leave me now," she pleaded. "We've just found each other." She felt her father's hand on her arm.

  "Perhaps you should let him rest. Moira and Elspeth will watch over him."

  Devon raised her head to stare into her father's face. His look of deep concern caused her to bite back her sharp retort. "I know you're afraid I only sit here to watch him die, but you're wrong. If I stay with him, he won't leave me. He'll come back to me."

  "In your delicate state, I wouldn't have you
see him die," her father said softly. "Please child."

  "No," Devon said stubbornly. "I'll be the one he sees when he opens his eyes, not Elspeth or Moira. He is my husband."

  Malcolm suddenly looked a hundred years old. He cast a weary glance at her, and went to the door. "I'll check back in a little while."

  Devon gazed at the three who remained in the room with her. Elspeth and Moira both dropped their eyes under her perusal. Garyth gave her a gentle smile.

  Turning from them, she focused on the still form of her husband and began a silent vigil of repentant prayer. Dear Lord, don't take him from this earth because of my past sins. Save him and take me instead. I deserve to die, not Liam. If it was I who did this to him in some fit of rabid madness, I beg you strike me dead and save him.

  ***

  Bryce Forbes' evil laugh echoed through his prison cell when Nigel finished giving him the news.

  "I told she was mad. She killed Frazer, and now, with any luck, she's laid her new husband to rest."

  "I still cannot believe it," Nigel muttered.

  Bryce stroked his cheek thoughtfully. "This whole thing may work to my advantage. This happened while I was in my cell. I am free from suspicion. And dear Lady Devon's protector lies near death… what a tragedy."

  "If they do let you out, will you persist in this obsession you have for Lady Devon?" Nigel asked. "Perhaps the joke will be on you when she sends you to your grave. I wash my hands of this whole mess. By morning I'll be gone."

  "Where will you go, cousin?"

  "To the Gailbraith holdings to await you, or else… news of your death."

  Bryce gave Nigel a wicked grin. "You have so little faith," he admonished.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pulling the cloak around her, she hurried down the narrow passage, entering the dungeon by a long forgotten route used centuries before. Stopping, she looked both ways and listened for any hint of detection. There was none. In the silent tunnel, her solitary footsteps echoed as she continued through the maze. Finding the appropriate door, she bent to slip the key into the lock.