Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02

by Phantom Bride

  Bryce greeted her with a wide grin. "I sent for you some time ago," he chided. "I suppose you've been biding your time… waiting for Liam MacLean to die?"

  "You're not fit to speak his name!" she snapped angrily.

  "He still lives?"

  "Aye."

  "I cannot claim to be thrilled with that news, but you've finally come, so let's get down to business. Is everything in readiness?" Bryce inquired. She shrugged. "I assume he won't be well enough to interfere with my escape. If I proceed with my plan and he lives, there will be no place to hide from his wrath."

  "If you back out on our bargain, I'll leave you here to rot. Tell me what your intentions are."

  "A bit testy, aren't you? I'm equally anxious to fulfill my part, but your timing today is poor. They're due to feed me at any moment. I need a bigger head start. The guard does his last check around midnight, and then no one comes by until mid-morning of the next day."

  "If you think I'd venture back in this black hole, you're insane!" A noise came from the passage. "Damn you to hell! I'm caught!"

  She flattened against the cell wall as a lumbering guard stopped and stared into the cell. "Lonesome?" the guard queried, then gave a belly laugh. "Of course ya are."

  Bryce rushed over to the door and stuck his arms out to receive the food. "Makin' my job awful easy today," the guard commented. "Don't ye want me to bring it in?"

  "Why bother?" Bryce said sarcastically. "It's barely worth eating anyway."

  "Suit yerself," the guard said, turning and disappearing into the long hallway.

  "That was too close," she whispered, letting out her breath in a rush.

  "Go along now," Bryce ordered. "Come back at midnight."

  "I'll give you the key and you can you choose your own time," she suggested.

  "Impossible! I don't know the way out," he countered. "You must lead me."

  "I may not come back at all," she retorted.

  "Oh, you'll be back, my sweet. You cannot resist the chance to wreak havoc on Liam MacLean and his murderess wife."

  "I hate you!" she cried. Flying from his cell, she turned the key in the lock and fled down the narrow passageway. Bryce stared after her departing image, his face twisted with an evil leer.

  ***

  For three days, Liam hovered in a dim consciousness. Devon hadn't left his bedside. Every day she sponged him down and tried to force some nourishing broth down his parched throat. She had some success in this, for in his dismal state he floated in semi-consciousness at intermittent intervals.

  Devon's whole body ached. She stretched in an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the tension. He stirred and her attention riveted to the bed.

  Liam moaned and rolled to his back, his eyelids fluttering, fighting back the haze of blackness. Trying hard to focus, he made out the soft image of his veiled wife sitting by his bed. "Devon," he mumbled in a raspy whisper.

  "I'm here," she answered, leaning to place a tender kiss on his dry lips.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "Someone stabbed you in your sleep," Devon said. "I was so afraid you were going to die. Oh Liam, I'm so happy you're awake." She hugged him convulsively to her ripe bosom.

  When she finally released him, he gave her a weak smile. "How bad is it?" he asked, his fingers probing the bandages covering his wounds.

  "The wounds aren't too severe, but you lay bleeding for hours before I found you."

  "Who did it?"

  "We were hoping you could shed some light on that." Lord Wycliff's voice intruded upon their hushed conversation. "What do you remember?" he asked.

  Liam sighed, and then gazed at Devon. He never took his eyes off of her when he began speaking again. "I remember making love to my wife," he said softly. "Then Devon went off to bed in her room, and I fell asleep. I don't seem to recall the actual attack. Perhaps it will come to me."

  "He's just awakened," Devon protested. "Please don't tire him with these questions. I need to get him to eat something."

  "I sent Moira for some soup," Lord Wycliff said. He looked back and forth between Liam and Devon. "Lady Devon has stayed by you through this whole ordeal."

  Liam took Devon's hand and squeezed it, then leaned back wearily. Moira arrived with the soup and Devon began to feed Liam. He objected, but relented when he realized how weak he was. After his meal, he drifted off to sleep in short order.

  Devon turned her attention to Lord Wycliff. "Was there something else?"

  "I guess not," he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  Devon climbed on the bed beside her husband and fell fast asleep, her mind filled with vivid dreams of their lovemaking.

  In the days that followed, bolstered by the constant attention of his wife, Liam began the slow road to recovery. At first, it didn't bother him he couldn't remember anything of his attacker. Then the nightmares began; little snatches of things that gave him a deep uneasiness. He had just awakened from one such dream, when Garyth was ushered into master's chamber by the guard in the hall.

  Liam took one look at Garyth's face and knew something was amiss. "What is it?"

  "Bryce Forbes has escaped," Garyth announced. "He had an accomplice. We're not sure yet how much of a head start he has, but… we'll find him."

  "Well, that decides it then," Liam said, throwing back the covers and getting to his feet. "It's time for me to be out of bed. Help me dress before my wife arrives and forces me back to bed."

  "Milord, we can handle this," Garyth insisted.

  "I have no doubt you'll try, but if I'm to get my strength back, I must start sometime."

  Garyth helped Liam dress, then they made their way to the cell previously occupied by Bryce. "As you can see, there's no evidence of force on the lock," Garyth pointed out. "Someone opened it for him."

  Poking around in the cell, they found nothing of interest. On the way back up to his chamber, Liam stopped in the great hall to visit with Malcolm, and then slowly made his way up the stairs. A soft feminine form came down the steps in front of him.

  "Milord! Yer up," Elspeth exclaimed. "Isn't it a bit soon?"

  "I'm mending nicely. Thank you for your concern though."

  She moved closer. "It was such an awful thing," she said earnestly. "Rumor 'as it ye canna remember any of it. Is that true?"

  Liam nodded. "I don't know if I'll regain my memory of it or not," he told her.

  "Odd, don't ye think?"

  "I suppose, but maybe I was so groggy from sleep there is little to recall."

  "Well, I'm glad to see yer recoverin'," she replied, then hurried on her way.

  Liam stared after her trying to decide why he found her comments so unsettling. What was it that they all expected him to remember?

  It came to him then, like the knife gleaming in the darkness—it was a woman—a woman he perceived to be his wife, though he'd never seen her face. His heart contracted. Had his pressure to remove her veil pushed Devon to kill him to prevent it?

  Shaken, Liam made his way to his chamber determined to confront his wife before discussing his recollection with anyone.

  He opened the door to find Devon sitting by the fire. "What are you doing out of bed?" she asked, rising from her chair. "You're not well enough yet."

  Liam closed the distance between them in two long strides. She seemed startled by his quick movement, and backed away. His hands caught her shoulders. "Was it you?" he demanded. "I have to know! Did you stab me?"

  "Liam… how can you ask such a thing?" She drew in her breath with a ragged sob. "I… I love you."

  "I want to believe you. But to do that, I must look into your eyes, not this void of cloth that hides you from me." He pulled her to his chest, one hand gripping the veil that covered her.

  She began to struggle against him. "Please don't do this!" she cried. "If I did it… I don't remember. If it was me, I'm crazy and you must kill me… because I don't remember it at all." She began sobbing into his shoulder. Undeterred, Liam acted. With one s
woop of his arm, he ripped the veil from her head and tossed it into the fire. Her head remained buried in his chest, her hands clinging to his shirt.

  Devon felt his fingers raking through her thick, auburn tresses. He moved to grasp her head. "Please—no!" He pulled her away from his chest to stare in wonder at her face.

  Liam stood stunned for a full minute before he moved or even blinked. She was the beauty in the portrait—the woman of his dreams. On careful examination, he detected a small, red line of scarring that ran up her neck from beneath her hair and curled up beside her left ear. There was nothing else.

  "Devon, you're barely scarred at all," he whispered. "Why have you hidden from me, from everyone, for so long?"

  "I'm scarred," she insisted, her hand moving automatically to the left side of her neck.

  "It's nothing, a mere scratch of no consequence. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, scar and all. If you do love me, what could possess you to hide this beauty from my sight?"

  She stood stoically, her head controlled by his grip. Her eyes stared at some invisible spot on the floor, refusing to meet his. "I will have an answer," he insisted.

  "I… I cannot bear to look at myself," she said in a low whisper.

  "Why?"

  "I cannot…."

  Liam's arm circled around her waist and he dragged her over in front of the glass, turning her so that her back leaned into his hard chest. "Look," he urged. "Look how beautiful you are."

  She stubbornly shook her head, trying to twist away from him. He tightened his grip and brought one hand up under her chin to force her to look at her reflection. She closed her eyes.

  "I'm losing patience, Devon. We will stand here until you open your eyes and look at yourself."

  She could hear the resolve in his voice. She had no choice. Her days of hiding were over. Biting her lip, Devon opened her eyes and gazed at the image in front of her as if it were some stranger. Her body began to quiver uncontrollably.

  Liam sought to comfort her, his hands caressing her perfect face, then moving to grip her shoulders tenderly. He leaned down to plant soft kisses on her neck.

  She was still quaking, but he was on fire for her, his hands moving restlessly to further his urgent quest. "Let me have you now, let me take away the pain with my love," he whispered.

  Devon jerked away from him, facing him with tears streaming down her cheeks. "This face you like so much is the face of a murderess!" she cried. "I killed Frazer! I killed him then set a fire to cover it up!" Her chest rose and fell with a ragged intake of air. "I haven't been able to look myself in the eye since." She broke off sobbing.

  Liam moved over to her and continued his soothing caresses. "Did you hear me?" she choked. "I am a murderer.”

  His hands were unfastening her dress. Devon tried to pull away from him. He was predatory in his approach to her. She backed away, but he followed, cornering her even though she presented her back to him. His hands were inside her dress, her position giving him full access to fondle her most intimate parts.

  "Stop it!" she screamed, twisting away from him and retreating across the room. "Listen to me! I killed Frazer!"

  Liam took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. "All right, Devon. Tell me how you did it."

  She gave him a blank look. "I just… I…."

  "You don't remember, do you?"

  "I remember enough."

  "Be precise," Liam said, closing the distance between them. His hands ran lightly up her arms.

  "I… I can still see his body. He was lying on the hearth, and then the fire… everything was on fire." Tears streamed down her cheeks as Liam pulled her close. "I must have killed him," she sobbed.

  Liam's voice was deadly calm when he replied. "I heard you, Devon. And I don't care what you did," he murmured huskily. His lips lowered to kiss the red scar on her neck.

  "You're mad! Your wife is a killer and all you can think about is taking her to bed!" Liam planted teasing kisses over her neck, then her shoulder, dropping her gown down to reveal more of her. "How can you want me knowing what I am?"

  "If you did kill Frazer, it was to save yourself. From the stories I've heard of that night, I'm sure you acted to protect what little dignity you had left. I do not fault you for it," he murmured, tenderly resuming his soft assault.

  Her dress was slipping as quickly as her resolve. "You don't care?"

  "I don't care," he said, freeing the gown completely.

  His hands roamed over her nakedness. In some dark corner of her mind, she still wanted to resist, but he was all over her, touching her, massaging, caressing, and stimulating her beyond anything she had ever experienced.

  Devon turned into his arms. His lips swooped to capture hers in a searing kiss that swept away all vestiges of reluctance. He loved her—desired her despite her sins, accepted her flaws, and wanted her for his wife. She surrendered to the passion, eagerly tearing away his clothing.

  Liam picked her up and carried her to the bed, leaving the curtain open so he could see her lovely face. She lay beneath him, her hair spread out in a fiery fan across the pillow. Her eyes gazed up at him with warm amber flecks of golden fire. "I love you," he said, watching her lips curl into a smile.

  Her hands sifted through his dark mane with an urgency that was palpable. "And I love you," she whispered.

  No barriers remained to mar the moment. Liam rubbed his cheek against hers, reveling in the soft feel of her face next to his. He needed to feel her—to touch every inch of her face with his lips—to see her looking back at him, her eyes limpid pools of desire.

  "I'm going to taste every inch of you," he whispered. Devon giggled; a laugh that began in her eyes.

  "Please," she said breathlessly.

  With a grin, he began a slow trail of kisses over her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, stopping every few moments to gaze at her perfectly formed face.

  She grabbed his hair and pulled his lips to hers for a quick, hard kiss. "You're taking too long."

  Laughing, he ran his tongue down between her breasts. She quivered when he dipped lower, tasting her until she moaned, moving urgently beneath him.

  "Now," Devon gasped.

  Liam rolled her on top of him, guiding her hips to encase him in her tight sheath. She smiled down at him as their bodies began to move in the rhythm of the ages.

  He was spellbound. Devon arched with each thrust, her flaming hair cascading freely over her creamy breasts. Her face—the face he'd always dreamed of, glimmered above him in the firelight.

  He drove into her—watching her every expression—the flush of her skin—the way she closed her eyes and gasped when he filled her. Liam grasped her hips, plunging to her depths repeatedly—tumbling out of control—throbbing with pleasure beyond imagining.

  Devon pressed him deeper, her body clasping his in quick ecstatic spasms. His body exploded inside her. She screamed his name—he answered her frantic call with his own, clutching her quivering body to his chest.

  They lay entwined for a long time before she slipped off of him to rest in the crook of his arm. With a satisfied smile, she ran her hand down his muscular frame. "Liam, this was Asilinn's dream."

  "Yes." He looked at her flushed face. "And Asilinn was right."

  Devon snuggled closer, toying with the hair on his chest. "When you came in you asked me about the stabbing. Was it a woman who assaulted you?"

  "Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

  "And you thought it was me?" she ventured.

  "I was half asleep… and I remember you by my bedside. Then sometime later, I thought you had returned. There was a woman climbing on top of me, touching me. I thought you'd come back to me."

  "Did she wear a veil?" Devon asked.

  Liam thought for a moment. "Yes, no doubt that's why I thought it was you. That and what had transpired earlier between us."

  Devon rose on her elbow and leaned down on his chest, looking into his dark eyes. "Was it me?"

  "You hon
estly don't know?" She shook her head, a tear sliding down her velvet cheek. He pulled her to him, kissing it away. "I wish I knew who it was so I could put your mind to rest. I don't think you could block something like that from your mind as if it never happened. Tell me what you do remember of that night."

  Devon gave him a soft kiss, and then rolled to her back staring at the canopy of their bed. Liam took her hand to his mouth and kissed it, pulling up on his elbow to gaze down at the perfection of her. He took a single finger and traced the lines of her face, patiently waiting for her to begin.

  "I did come back to your room that night…. I thought of resting the remainder of the night with you and surprising you with my presence in the morning." She took a deep breath. "But my fear overcame me and I went back to my chamber. The next thing I recall is waking." She stopped short, her eyes filling with tears. "Liam, when I woke your blood was on my hands. A knife, a small dirk, lay on the night stand. I went into the larger chamber and found you lying in a pool of blood."

  "What else to you remember? Concentrate on details. Was there blood on your nightgown?"

  "Yes… no, not when I first woke, only my hands. Liam, the door to my chamber was ajar and I distinctly remember bolting it. How could it be opened if not by me?"

  "Perhaps there's an entrance to the small chamber we don't know of," he suggested. "Dunbocan Castle is riddled with secret passages. Would it be so unusual for Dunsmore Heath to have some as well?"

  "Then there's a chance I'm innocent," Devon said breathlessly. "You alone have faith in me. Moira thought me guilty and got rid of the knife."

  He smiled at her. "I don't believe anyone could commit such an act and not remember it," he told her. "Besides, if it was you, how could you possibly have done it without getting blood on your night gown? It would be impossible."

  "Let's go look for the secret passage now," Devon said, trying to rise from the bed.

  "Not yet, love," Liam said. With a seductive smile, he dropped the curtain to stop her escape from their bed.

  "You are an impossible man," she teased, presenting her back to him.