MacLean's Passion: A Highland Pride Novel

by Sharon Cullen

  “No.” As if he were a wee lad caught in a lie, Colin shifted from one foot to the other. But ye could have come back right away or been present before ye were even arrested.

  “But now that ye’re here, we’re yers to command,” Duff said.

  Colin looked behind him to the men and women watching him silently. The mantle of responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it was a welcome weight. He was ready to take back his clan and reclaim his home.

  He cleared his throat and pulled Maggie to his side. “Reclaiming my home doesn’t just mean that I have a house or that I can now provide a home for my new wife. It means that all of ye will also have a home, a place to go, a leader to help ye through these tough times.” He paused. His throat was thick and he had to clear it again. Maggie wound her arm around his waist and patted his hip in encouragement.

  The people gathered around him, eagerly waiting for him to speak, and more than ever he wanted to help them and be the leader they were looking at him to become. He needed to become that leader for them, for himself, and for his future with Maggie.

  He looked down at his wife. Her lips were curved into a smile, and there was such belief in her eyes that it made him swell with a pride he’d never felt. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to him. Without her, he never would have found his clan. Without her, he would have given up and left his people to suffer more under the hands of the English.

  He looked back at the few who dared to brave the English. “I’ve failed ye,” he said, his voice rough. “And for that I am heartily sorry. I’m ashamed of myself for not being here when ye needed me the most. But I’m here now, with men who are willing to help us and a wife”—he looked down and smiled at her—“a wife who is also willing to fight to reclaim our home.”

  Duff stood with his arms crossed, one eye perpetually closed, smiling. The rest were watching, some warily, some with such hope in their eyes that it humbled Colin. “But I need yer help,” he said. “I canno’ do it with the few men I’ve brought with me. We need to work together to get our home and our lands back.” He paused, gathered his breath, and asked humbly, “Will ye help me?”

  For a tense moment, no one moved. He felt exposed, standing before them and asking for their help when he had no right to. But to his surprise, they moved toward him as one, all speaking at once, reaching out to him with smiles and some with tears in their eyes.

  “Ye can stay with us,” one said.

  “Welcome back, MacLean.”

  “I’m no’ much of a fighter these days, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “My Mary, she can cook for yer men.”

  “We’ll be happy to help in any way we can.”

  They tugged on him, patted him, touched him. Maggie was torn away from him, and when he looked over, he saw they were doing the same to her. She was smiling and trying to speak to each in turn. She didn’t look like the lady of the manor, but she was acting like one, and he couldn’t have been more proud of her.

  —

  “Tell me what ye know.” Colin and Duff were sitting in Robert MacLean’s small hut. Robert had offered his home to Colin and Maggie. He’d insisted, actually. Told Colin that he would move in with his daughter and her family for the time being. Maggie had graciously accepted when Colin would have declined the kind offer. He was more than willing to sleep outside and not put Robert out of his home, but Maggie had whispered to him that it would be a dishonor to Robert if he refused.

  Maggie was sitting at the table, her cheek resting in her hand, her eyes drifting closed, but she insisted on being here, beside him, all the way.

  Of all people, Duff would know the lay of the land. He would know where the English had infiltrated, how many there were, and what they were up to. Duff was in charge of Colin’s smuggling operation: He knew every cave, every inlet, every rock, and every crevice on and off MacLean land. Colin trusted him almost as much as he trusted Sutherland.

  “Things are no’ good,” Duff said gravely. “Feckin’ sassenach took it by force. The people put up a valiant fight to keep it, but they were doomed from the beginning’. The bastard lobsters were better equipped and had far more guns than we did.”

  Colin grimaced. “What about the smuggling?”

  Duff sat up straighter and grinned. “The bastards haven’t caught us yet. We’re still pullin’ in shiploads of wine and tea and fine silks. I’ve made half a dozen trips to France to speak to our supplier and find more spirits. No’ much use for fine silks nowadays, but I got a cave full of ’em.”

  Colin grinned. “Leave it to ye to continue on in the face of adversity. But Duff, I would have understood if ye’d stopped the operation and moved on.”

  Duff shot Colin an angry scowl. “Is that the thanks I get for risking my bloody arse for ye? Ye put me in charge of the smuggling, and that’s what I did.”

  “Ye have my thanks, man. Ye know that. I just thought—”

  “That I’d turn tail and run? I do no’ do that.”

  “I have no words that will adequately portray my gratitude.”

  Duff slumped back and rubbed his face. “Damn, man. It’s sorry I am. My mouth runs away from me at times. It’s no’ yer fault ye were imprisoned and weren’t here.”

  It was Colin’s fault, and it had little to do with being imprisoned and everything to do with being a coward.

  “We have caves full of illegal goods,” Duff said. “I’ve tried to move most of ’em, but the limey bastards patrol everything and have eyes everywhere. There’re people ye canno’ trust that ye’ve been able to trust in the past.” Duff pounded his fist on the table, causing Maggie to jump. “Damned sheep-shagging traitors.”

  “Duff,” Colin warned with a tilt of his head toward Maggie. But he wasn’t certain why he was protecting Maggie from such language, because she giggled, causing Duff to wiggle his eyebrows at her.

  Duff turned serious again. “Do no’ trust Balgair.”

  “Balgair?” Balgair had been one of his father’s best friends. Colin was surprised that the man had turned traitor.

  “And the alemaster. She’s lifting her skirts for that bugger English captain.”

  “Dailis?” Colin had a flash of memory of taking Dailis against the side of the alehouse when he was a young lad, randy as all hell. He shouldn’t be surprised that Dailis would be raising her skirts for the English, seeing as she raised them for every cock that walked by. He hoped she’d given Abbott a most horrendous disease. Would serve the both of them right.

  How many others had given up on him and put their lot in with the English because it was a live-or-die choice? Could he really blame Balgair and Dailis for choosing safety?

  “Do ye have wine?” Maggie asked.

  “Aye. Plenty of wine,” Duff said. “Do ye want some?”

  “No’ for myself. How many men does the sheep-shagging Abbott have billeted in Castle MacLean?”

  Duff looked off into the distance as if mentally calculating, not at all surprised to hear the lady of the castle call a man a sheep shagger. For all of Duff’s swarthy looks and foul mouth, he was one of the best mathematicians Colin had ever met. Even better than Colin’s tutors.

  “About a hundred,” Duff said.

  “A hundred for a small holding such as this?” Maggie asked in surprise.

  Duff shot Colin a quick look, and Colin had to suppress a smile. “She’s small but she’s mighty, and ye best no’ cross her or ye’ll find her dagger in yer back,” he warned Duff.

  Maggie smiled and patted Colin’s hand. “I’m no’ all that bad. I promise ye.”

  “She fought at Culloden and was imprisoned with me at Fort Augustus,” Colin said with no small amount of pride.

  Duff eyed her up and down. “Ye’re a wee’un,” he said.

  “I am,” she admitted in all seriousness.

  “Why are ye asking about the wine?” Duff asked.

  “Because if the bloody English have one weakness, it’s good wine. Good Fren
ch wine.”

  Duff considered her for a moment. “Get to ’em through their stomachs, eh?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I like it.”

  “Ye’re proposing getting them pissing drunk and then storming the castle while they’re in their cups.”

  “I was thinking to poison the wine,” she said.

  Duff hooted and slammed his palm on the table. “I like it. I do no’ like wastin’ good French wine on those bastards. But the fewer English bastards on our land, the better.”

  “Ye do no’ like it,” she said, looking at Colin.

  “If we kill them, then we’ll have the entire English army at our front door, ready to arrest us.”

  “I still say the fewer English bastards, the better,” Duff muttered with a little less conviction.

  “I see yer point,” Maggie said.

  “I still say—”

  Colin held up his hand to silence Duff. “I know what ye say, but we have to think of everyone, and I’m no’ willing to put all these lives on the line.”

  Duff harrumphed but remained silent.

  “We can still use yer plan,” Colin said to Maggie. “We can put something in the wine to make them sleep.”

  “No’ everyone will drink the wine. No one will drink it if they know it comes from a MacLean,” Duff said.

  “Then we’ll send in someone they trust.”

  “There is no one they trust,” Duff said. “They’re a sneaky, untrustin’ lot of bloody, numpty sassenachs.”

  “What we need to determine is what will put them to sleep. If we can get the guards unconscious, we can get in there.”

  They talked long into the night. Eventually, Maggie gave in to her need to sleep; her head slid down her arm to rest on the table while Colin and Duff discussed the situation.

  Duff left very late, and Colin gently picked Maggie up and carried her to the bed to lay her down.

  “Are ye coming to bed, too?” she mumbled as she snuggled into the covers.

  “Just let me blow out the candles and bank the fire.”

  Colin figured she was asleep before he’d taken two steps. He made certain the cottage was secured, then kicked off his boots and crawled into bed, taking her warm, slim body in his arms and pulling her close to him.

  Her warm, hard-muscled leg slithered up his as she turned into him and planted an openmouthed kiss on his neck, making him shiver. He was erect instantly, his body tingling, hard and ready for her.

  Maggie ran her tongue down his neck and across his chest. Her fingers skimmed his stomach, causing him to suck in a breath. Unerringly, those fingers found the head of his erection, and she ran the pad of her finger across it. She made a purring sound, as if pleased with what she’d found. Feather-light, her fingers brushed his tip until he was groaning and thrusting his hips upward, searching for a stronger stroke that would ease this torturous ache. As if sensing his desire, Maggie played him like a fine instrument, barely touching him until he was begging.

  “Please,” he gasped. He was burning with the need to grind his cock into her hand, but every time he thrust upward, her hand danced away, causing him to grind his teeth in frustration and curse beneath his breath.

  Maggie chuckled and he cursed again.

  But he could give as good as he got. He found her moist center and flicked the nub hidden in her folds. She gasped and moved her legs farther apart to accommodate him, but he wasn’t giving in that easily. He played her game as easily as she did, barely stroking her until she was begging for more and her juices were running out of her. Her hand had fallen away from his erection, so caught up was she in the pleasure he was giving her.

  Colin had lost everything in his life. His family was all dead, his home was overrun by the English, but he had one thing: a wife who refused to give up on him, who seemed to find value in him when he couldn’t find value in himself. No matter what he did or what he said, she stuck by his side. He wasn’t certain why; he didn’t believe that he deserved someone like Maggie Sinclair, now MacLean. And at the moment he refused to think about the whys and wherefors.

  He flipped her over onto her back and smoothly entered her, closing his eyes as he thrust forward and felt her moistness close around him. It was like a warm, safe hug but infinitely better.

  She wrapped her legs around him, holding him tightly to her, and he knew that home wasn’t a pile of stones or a bed to lay his head on. Home was Maggie. He still wanted to take his castle back to prove to his dead father and brothers that he was worth something and to give his clansmen the safety and security they deserved.

  But for Colin, home would always be his wife.

  And what a strange sensation that was. Strange yet comforting.

  Maggie was moving beneath him, picking up the pace, drawing their lovemaking to its inevitable conclusion. He didn’t want it to end. Their connection was permanent, but this moment, this small moment of time, cut out from the real problems in the world, was just for them alone. All theirs. No one else’s. When it was over, he would have to face the struggles going on outside this room.

  He held on as long as he could, slowing his movements, gritting his teeth, but it wasn’t something he could put off forever. Maggie thrust her hips forward and pulled his hips down as she came undone, crying out his name. He could no more hold back his release than he could have stopped the river that swept Maggie away from him.

  They clung to each other, and while Colin was nearly certain that Maggie felt the same connection, he was reluctant to speak of it, to give it words, for fear of putting himself out there. So he kept it to himself, close to his heart, because words unsaid couldn’t cause pain.

  She made a purring noise and turned her face to his chest to press her nose against him and fall fast asleep. But it was a long while before Colin found peace in sleep. He thought about the people scattered throughout the woods. He felt their hopes that he would restore their way of life to them, and in the dark of the night, all the fears that he’d forced himself to forget while making love to Maggie came to the forefront of his thoughts.

  Could he do it? Could he force the English from his home and take it back? Could he be the leader his father and brother had been? Or would he disappoint everyone again?

  He kissed the top of Maggie’s head and closed his eyes, admitting that the person he feared disappointing the most was his wife.

  Chapter 36

  “They were afraid,” Maggie said as she snuggled into his arms, sated from their lovemaking.

  “Afraid of the English,” he said, his voice rumbling through her.

  “No. Afraid of ye.”

  “Me?” He tilted his head down to get a better look at her.

  “They were afraid to go to ye, afraid the English would find them. Afraid it was a trap. I searched them out and knocked on a few doors.”

  “Ye rounded them up yerself?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “What else was there to do? Waiting wasn’t accomplishing anything.”

  “I did no’ think they would be afraid to approach me.”

  “They’ve been living in fear for weeks. They’d heard stories of the English atrocities, and they’d even heard ye were imprisoned.”

  “Were they truly happy to hear I’d come back for them?” he whispered, as if he didn’t quite believe it.

  “Ye seem to think that yer clansmen hold the same opinion as yer father and brothers, but they don’.”

  “They should.”

  She touched his cheek, feeling the soft stubble. Most days she had to remind herself that he was her husband from now until forever. Hers. Even if he didn’t want to be married to her.

  “They should no’,” she said softly. “Ye’ve come for them, and that is what they wanted. Ye’ve given them hope that they can have their home and their lands back.” She ran her thumb again over the stubble; it reminded her so much of her husband. One moment prickly, one moment soft.

  “I canno’ promise that we’ll defeat the Englis
h,” he said.

  “Even knowing that, they’re willing to stand by ye.”

  She snuggled into his arms, turning to his side, her eyes heavy, her body sore from so many days of riding and sleeping on the ground. It was good to be in a soft bed. It was even better to sleep next to her husband.

  She fell asleep to the beat of his heart, and she could have sworn she heard him say, “Sleep tight, mo gradhe.” But she wasn’t certain if she’d dreamed that or not.

  —

  The next morning Duff was at their door bright and early, with a cart full of fine French wine and a wide smile. “Ye wanted French wine, I brought ye French wine.” He waved his arm toward the cart and made a comic bow, like a court jester.

  Colin laughed and pounded Duff on the back, then walked around the cart, inspecting the goods by pulling out a bottle and reading the label, then putting it back to examine another one. “Ye did good, Duff.”

  “Ye doubted me?” Duff said, sounding more amused than offended.

  “Never. I knew ye could do it.”

  Alan MacLean approached and looked askance at the illegal goods. “So what now?” he asked.

  “Now we infiltrate the holding and place the wine and hope the majority of them drink themselves senseless.”

  Alan raised a disbelieving brow. “Ye think the English soldiers are so untrained that they’ll drink themselves into a stupor just because there’s wine?”

  “We only need enough of them to do that so we can enter the keep and overtake them,” Colin said.

  Alan was a seasoned warrior and had been the MacLean commander for years. His advice would be invaluable and his expertise needed. “It could work,” he said. “If it were me, I’d have my weakest men in the back of the keep, where there’s little chance of being overtaken. The front will house the better soldiers. Not that the English can hold a candle to my warriors.” Alan winked at Maggie and she smiled. He was a gruff, weathered man, but there was a sparkle in his eye, and she could tell that he was looking forward to this fight.

  “Do ye remember the tunnel that runs from the cave by the sea to the dungeon?” Colin asked.