Yield to the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  ‘I have never been alone with a man not my father or my husband or other kin,’ she whispered. ‘Or spoken of such matters before.’

  ‘And I have never explained my desires to anyone before,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘Actually, I have never had to talk about them with the woman I want—we usually went straight to bedplay and discussed very little at all.’

  Another admission, but a true one. As her blush deepened, he realised that with most of the women he’d wanted or slept with, a wink or a kiss told her she was wanted and they ended up entwined in passion. He’d never wanted or had to discuss personal matters with a woman.

  He wanted her. He got her. He had her.

  ‘And now?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

  ‘Now, you own this house. ’Tis yours along with the settlement from my father.’

  ‘And the contract that your cousin presented to me? What does that mean? I ken you feel guilty about the rumours that spread. I ken that you overstepped, but ’tis not like you killed Gowan and owe me a widow’s portion.’

  Could she see the truth of it in his eyes? He looked away and took a breath. If she knew the truth, there was no chance of anything between them. If she knew he had been the one to send Gowan away, she would hate him for ever.

  ‘My father believed it the right thing to do since Gowan has served him for nigh on a score-and-ten years,’ he said.

  His father’s shocked expression as Aidan had taken responsibility for something he’d caused flashed in his thoughts. Though feared and ruthless, his father also lived by a clear rule of right and wrong. This was the right thing to do for many reasons, some Aidan would not share now or ever with her.

  Ciara’s reaction was more comical. She had perfected Duncan’s glacial expression while still young and that led to her being able to observe treaty and alliance discussions. She learned not to react, not to give away her feelings or opinions on any matter, large or small. Her experience deserted her a sennight ago when she was brought in and asked to handle this personal matter. Though it pleased him to know he could act as a man should act, it saddened him somehow to realise that no one expected him to do that.

  ‘And the other reason?’ she asked, breaking into his reverie. ‘Has that faded away?’ Neither from her words nor her tone could he tell if she would be pleased or not by the answer he gave.

  ‘I still want you, Catriona. God forgive me, I want you as I have not wanted a woman before.’ It was the truth.

  She trembled, then, at his words. Could she tell he would have stripped off her clothing and carried her to the bed if she but gave the word? The length of his shirt and plaid covered the strength of his erection from her sight, but he felt it and knew his words were true. He’d lived in a state of constant arousal since his first sight of her at the well.

  There was, though he was loathe to admit it, something more and very different about her and his need and desire for her. He’d never wanted to forgo his pleasure in the past, yet he would wait if she said he needed to. He’d never wanted to explain his actions or take responsibility for them, yet she made him want to take the right path. Now, more than before, he would do what he needed to do to see things right by her.

  ‘But I will wait until you give the word. I know you mourn and you are ashamed. I know this is unexpected....’

  ‘It is too big,’ she said, pushing up to stand. He moved back to give her room.

  ‘So only the size of it matters, then?’ Another time, another woman would have heard the innuendo in his words, but not now and not Cat. ‘No matter. It is yours to do whatever you wish to with. Sell it. Give it. Live in it. The choice is yours. Sign it or not—just live here and make it your own.’ He turned to face her as she paced along the hearth. ‘I just wanted to make things better for you.’

  ‘And for you, my lord? Is this not about having a house where you can visit your leman?’ She glared at him now. ‘Tell me true, I beg you.’

  He did not tell her. With just three long strides, he crossed the room and took her by her shoulders, drawing her to him. If she’d been afraid, he would never have done such, but there was no fear in her gaze. Staring at her mouth, he wondered if she would slap him this time.

  He slid his arms around her and possessed her mouth with his. She tasted sweet, her mouth hot as she opened for him, hot as he plunged his tongue deep inside her. Aidan slipped his hands up to her head, tangling them in her hair and holding her mouth to his. Over and over, he kissed her, needing and wanting to be deeper inside her and letting his tongue do what his cock wanted to do.

  She gasped for breath against his mouth when he lifted it from her and they shared the same air, their panting breaths echoing in the silence of the room. When he regained control, control that was stretched to nearly its breaking point by this artless kiss, he stepped back. No slap this time, but when Catriona lifted her hand and touched her lips, it threatened to rip any control away.

  Before he could fail in his attempt to put this in her control, Aidan walked to the door and lifted the latch, letting the cold air pass over his heated body.

  ‘I want you, Catriona. As my leman, as my lover—what you call it matters not to me. I want to peel through the layers you have built up to reveal the woman beneath. I want to strip you naked and have my way with you. I want you to have your way with me,’ he said, passion tightening his gut, his throat and his ballocks. ‘But it is your decision and it does not change that you own this house and receive that settlement.’

  Her body shivered at his words. Good, for it told him that she was as affected as he was by the restrained passion between them. ‘That is the last time I will kiss you until you ask it of me.’ Opening the door wider, he smiled at her.

  ‘On the morrow, buy what you need to make this house your own. Food, linens, clothing. Whatever you need.’

  ‘They will not accept my coin,’ she whispered, the words of her shame slashing deep into his heart.

  ‘There is a sack of coins for your use in the small trunk there,’ he said, pointing to the bedroom. ‘They will not dare to refuse my coin. And they will not dare to insult you while you live under my protection. Even if you cannot accept me, at least accept that which my name gives you.’

  From the shaking nod, he could not tell if she would follow his instructions. He would be able to tell more when he visited the next night.

  ‘I will come tomorrow night.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘No matter what is truly between us, we must look as though this is what everyone believes it to be. When my duties permit it, I will visit and spend the night,’ he explained, nodding his head at the smaller of the two rooms.

  ‘Everyone in Lairig Dubh will think I am your leman,’ she said.

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘And will I be?’

  ‘Cat, I will try my damnedest to make that happen.’

  He turned then, walking out before he changed his mind and pushed the matter. There would be time now, days, but mostly nights, when he could ply his wiles and seek her surrender.

  Just so.

  * * *

  The door latch dropped and so did she, falling, or melting rather, to her knees. Sweat gathered on her neck and trickled down her back and down the crevice between her breasts. She ached in places she’d never paid attention to before from his kiss. His hands touched her as no other man ever had, with wanting and desire in every caress.

  Was she the whore her father named her those years ago? To react so to the touch of a man she was not married to? To, worse, crave it more? If she was to be well and surely damned to hell for these sins of lust, why did she want more—more of him, more of that kiss, just more...?

  She wiped her hand across her heated forehead, pushing her hair out of her face and lifting the weight of it off her neck so she could cool there. />
  What should she do? What could she do? Her body told her one thing and her heart said another. Or her honour said another. For even if no one but she knew she had not lost her honour to him before Gowan died, how would she face herself if she gave it to him now?

  The fire popped again, drawing her attention. How long had he been there while she slept on in the chair? He’d built a fire in the hearth with wood already cut into pieces, she noticed, not peat. The basic foodstuffs filled the jars and tins on the shelf in the cooking area. The large bed waited, covered in clean sheets and warm blankets.

  Looking around now, she noticed that full night had fallen, so it was too late to return to Muireall’s home. Climbing to her feet, she walked aimlessly around the large room, trying to decide what to do. Exhausted from nights of too little sleep and days of too much work and shame, Cat made the only decision she decided to make this night—she banked the fire and walked into the bedchamber.

  The bed was too inviting to ignore, she discovered, so she washed with water from the jug someone had filled and placed there on the table. The tips of her breasts tingled as she drew the tunic over her head. The slide of the fabric over them reminded her of his arousing words...his promises, really...about stripping her naked and having his way with her. Moisture pooled between her legs as she reacted to only the memories of his words.

  Her eyelids drooped in spite of her arousal as she washed quickly in the chilled chamber, and when she slid under the bedcovers and the clean sheets she was falling asleep as she rested her head on one of the pillows there.

  The rest would have to be faced in the morning.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Good day to you.’

  Who would think that just four words, spoken with a pleasant tone, could demonstrate the power of the earl’s heir in influencing how she was treated by the merchants and villagers? But, when it was uttered by every person she passed and called out by those who saw her walking along the paths of Lairig Dubh the next day, it was hard to miss or to misunderstand.

  The butcher sold her his best piece of beef. The miller promised the finest milled flour would be sent to her house on the morrow. The weaver offered her some lengths of fine cloth for new gowns. The alewife spoke of a brew that Aidan favoured and assured her some would be sent to the house when it was ready. The village women smiled and nodded, greeting her and asking how she fared.

  How could their treatment of her change so much from just one day to the next?

  Aidan MacLerie.

  He’d changed her from cuckolding wife to the heir’s favoured leman with one signature on one deed. All attempts to hide his efforts and intentions regarding her before Gowan’s death brought gossip and disdain. His purchase of a house for her—and all that supposedly meant—now that she was a widow brought acceptance.

  As he’d said, no one would dare to insult her while she was under his protection. The news of that protection raced through the village even as she stood in that house and tried to decide her answer and her fate. The MacLerie kith and kin took the choice out of her hands and made it a thing already done.

  If he was true to his words, nothing of what they believed mattered to what, if anything, happened between them. The power to say aye or nay remained with her. Muireall’s words of advice, spoken early this morn when Cat returned to her cottage, echoed in her thoughts all day as she made her way back to the house.

  In spite of sharing the beds of many women since gaining manhood, he has never made these kind of arrangements with any woman. No matter how this began, you are a widow now with no family. More importantly, for the first time in your life, this is your choice. Accept the house, accept him in your bed, or do not. It is up to you.

  So, if Cat could believe it, this was not something he did often. He was offering her not just protection, but property of her own. He offered her a future better than she ever expected, which was more honourable than she had expected.

  Muireall was a practical woman and she understood the MacLeries better than Cat ever could. And though married twice, Cat had never felt part of either clan or place. If everyone believed she was Aidan’s mistress, she would have a chance to meet more people and gain friends. Then when it was over, for it would have to end, she would have a house and have more friends.

  Most of all—do what you wish to do. You deserve some happiness and if you will get it from being with him, then be with him. No one can plan what will happen on the morrow, so seize what happiness you can now.

  That had been her advice all along. Muireall knew Cat’s deepest sorrow—to never bear children—and urged her to seek whatever would give her the happiness she needed instead.

  So, the only decision she made that day was to take each day as it came. If Aidan wanted her, if he pursued her as he’d promised to do, she would do only what felt right to her. Accepting the house did not, so she would accept only the hospitality of it for now. Living there, living on her own, finding her own place among the people here, would give her a chance to set down some roots here.

  Walking through the shady path that led to her...the house, Cat could not figure out why she was the target of his efforts. Her experiences in the marriage bed had been unappealing at best and painful and unwanted at worst. Though Gowan always had a care for her during those early, infrequent times in their marriage when he’d shared her bed, her first husband had not.

  She shuddered then, forcing away the memories and images she swore would remain in the past.

  Men certainly seemed to gain pleasure from joinings of the flesh, but she’d never experienced what so many women whispered about at the well or while gathered together to share chores. And she knew many happily married couples whose morning glances spoke of such pleasure. Cat wondered if the damage caused by losing her bairn prevented her from feeling such things?

  Lifting the latch, she carried her purchases into the house. Across the room, she saw the spot where she’d stood during that kiss. Heat coursed through her now, telling her that pleasure might not be an impossible thing between Aidan MacLerie and the woman he wanted in his bed.

  But could she allow it? Could she be happy as a wealthy man’s leman?

  * * *

  This time, it was different.

  Aidan walked up the path and noticed light from within. Smoke escaped up the main chimney as did the smell of something wonderful. His stomach growled in anticipation, even though he’d shared the evening meal with his family and even though he did not expect Catriona to cook for him.

  She was not his servant. Nor would she become one.

  Opening the door, he found her in the same chair where she’d sat last night. He nodded and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Good evening, Catriona,’ he said, hanging the skin of wine on a hook near the cooking area.

  ‘And to you, my l-l-l—’ she began and then stuttered.

  ‘Will you now call me Aidan?’ He laughed. ‘If nothing else, no one will hear it but me.’

  ‘Good evening, Aidan,’ she said softly. It was only one of the ways he wanted to hear his name coming from that mouth, but he would take it...for now. ‘Have you eaten yet?’

  ‘I have,’ he said, noticing the table set with two bowls and spoons. ‘But the smell of it is making me hungry again.’ He approached the table. ‘You did not wait your meal on my arrival, did you?’

  She did not answer, she only put down the clothing she was mending and rose, going over to put some of the aromatic stew into the bowls. As he sat in one of the chairs, he noticed that her portion was smaller than his and his was not the same amount that he’d eaten the first time she cooked for him.

  ‘Are you not hungry? Especially since you waited?’ he asked. Realising he’d brought the wine for her, he retrieved it and poured it into their cups.

  ‘My l—’ she began to say and he
frowned at her. ‘Aidan, I am not accustomed to such rich wines.’

  ‘Become accustomed,’ he growled. He wanted her to savour the finer things he could give her now. He softened his tone. ‘Surely you would not refuse a taste to honour the first meal in your new house?’ Instead of arguing, she lifted her cup up and nodded. ‘To many happy hours in your new house,’ he said, touching his cup to hers.

  ‘To your new house.’

  He laughed when she changed the words, but his laughter died as he watched her lift the cup to her mouth and drink from it. Her chin lifted, exposing her graceful throat to him. When the wine rushed too quickly past her lips and threatened to spill, she licked them quickly with the tip of her tongue.

  Aidan stood and was leaning halfway across the table, wanting to taste the wine on her lips, when he remembered his vow to her. With a grunt, he sat back down and drank deeply from his own cup, hoping the strong wine could ease the powerful desire that coursed through his veins now. And he cursed his foolishness at giving such a vow when all he wanted to do was kiss her!

  The meal passed and they spoke of Ord Dubh and his father’s wish that he move there soon. He did not want to mention betrothals or wives to her. As she asked questions about the southern holding, he wondered if she would move into his keep and be with him there? As he finished the savoury stew, he knew there would be time for all of that.

  ‘So, have you decided to keep it?’ he asked, as she cleaned the table, washed the bowls and put things away.

  He was more familiar with the large keep, a large family and servants to do what she was doing, but watching her fascinated him. This is how it would be to live with her. Not that the son of Connor MacLerie would ever be allowed such a wife or such a life, but it appealed to him in some way he could not explain.

  ‘I have only decided to live here for now. Muireall’s cottage is too small to add me to it. She even asked if I would give this house to her and Hugh and live in hers instead.’ A smile brightened her face and made her eyes sparkle. ‘I think she was serious.’