Possession of a Highlander

by Madeline Martin

  He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her naked shoulder. “And how did I make ye feel?” Her eyes closed, her face relaxing in a look of pleasure he’d seen so many times that night. A look he intended to see so many more.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered. “You made me feel beautiful.” Her eyes opened and locked on his. “You made me feel like I mattered.”

  The backs of his fingers dragged a decadent path from the swell of her hip, back up to the side of her naked breast. “Ye are beautiful, Brianna. And ye matter more than I could possibly tell ye.” He traced her jaw with his fingertip. “The start of our union is no what ye deserve.” He watched her carefully, gauging her reaction to his words. “And I know ye dinna welcome this.”

  Her stare sharpened. “It’s true that I did not wish to wed, but it was not you who gave me hesitation.” She pulled herself to a sitting position and tucked the sheet under her arms so her breasts were hidden from view. “My parents did not have a happy marriage.”

  The late morning light glinted off strands of gold in her rich brown hair.

  He caught a tendril coiling beside his hand and twisted it around his finger with a movement subtle enough not to distract her. “I dinna want an unhappy marriage.”

  She shook her head, inadvertently pulling the curl from his touch. “I don’t either.”

  Her gaze slid across the room and her fingers clasped in her lap. He studied the tightness of her jaw, the protective stiffness of her back.

  She did not believe a happy marriage was possible.

  Telling her otherwise, he knew, would not be enough. There was still much wooing to do with Lady Brianna MacKinnon. She may be his wife, but her wholehearted affection and trust were not yet his.

  The more she denied him, the more he craved what she would not give. Such feelings would be hard-won, but he was persistent and stubborn.

  His fingertips brushed the smooth line of her chin and tilted her head toward his. He would show her with his actions. His mouth moved against hers in a languid caress. The tension in her body eased and the sheet fell from her breasts.

  He would protect her, love her until she realized their marriage could be happy.

  Until she did not regret him.

  • • •

  Brianna peered over the stone windowsill of her solar to where the soldiers trained below. The flushed faces were all familiar, yet none was the one she sought.

  She rose on her tiptoes and nudged her hips closer to the wall in an effort to see better. If she leaned any farther, she might fall out her solar window. Or worse, be caught.

  The men lined the courtyard just outside the garden, repeating the same ducking-roll motion from that morning.

  Her gaze flicked from man to man, seeking her husband. Would he be without his shirt?

  A bubble of giddiness swelled within her. Her fingers tingled with the memory of his smooth, muscled flesh moving above her. Of the silky heat of his hardness. Of the way it bumped against her, seeking entrance.

  A sore heat pulsed between her thighs.

  “Should I be jealous my wife gazes at other men with such obvious pleasure?” Colin said from behind her.

  Heat shot to her cheeks. She spun around and found him standing directly in front of her. Water dripped from the tips of his darkened hair. Her wicked mind flashed to images of him in Edzell’s bathhouse, his gloriously naked body slick with oiled water and caressed by tendrils of steam.

  Her gaze trailed from his crisp leine down to where the muscles of his calves bulged beneath the hem of his kilt. The rest of him was as strong and powerful.

  “You can be jealous only of the auburn-haired Highlander I seek below,” she said.

  His eyebrow rose. “A Highlander, ye say? I hear those men are barbaric.” His hands slid over her waist and drew her toward him.

  “Indeed. He wears no shirt at practice. Most barbaric.” Her fingers splayed across his fresh leine, tracing the firm flesh beneath.

  He cupped her bottom and drew her tight against his body. The hardness of his arousal dug into her lower stomach, and her knees went soft for what she had tasted again and again through the night.

  He nipped her earlobe. “I think perhaps ye like a half-naked barbarian.”

  A decadent shiver trickled down her spine. “Perhaps I do.”

  He swept a kiss across her lips, a whisper of warmth that left her craving the heat of his tongue. “I shall keep that in mind for when I eventually return to my training.”

  Brianna stood on her toes and leaned into him, hoping his fingers might explore more, touch her in intimate places, make her cry out. “Do you have tasks that call you from the men, husband?”

  She breathed in the spice of his masculine scent and suppressed a moan. Perhaps the marriage could be happy as he suggested. Perhaps the love she’d read of in poems existed.

  Colin stared down at her. “There is much to do today.”

  Something hesitant lingered in his gaze. She shifted off her toes and took a step back. “You refer to something specific,” she said slowly.

  The expression on his face was earnest, his lips without his characteristic grin. “I need to talk to ye.”

  The giddy trip of her heart slammed to a halt. “About?”

  “Yer father.” His expression did not change, and yet her body felt as though it would burst into flame.

  “What of him?” Her voice trembled, and his green eyes narrowed in that overly-perceptive way.

  He took a step toward her, and she instinctively took another step back. Away from him. A frown creased his brow. “I’m no trying to frighten ye.”

  She stared miserably at a sconce on the opposite wall, unable to meet his gaze. “I know what you ask.” A shudder went through her. This was the first time she would speak the horrible words out loud. “Laird Lindsay, the Earl of Edzell, is dead.”

  If Colin was shocked, he did not appear such. His gaze was kind, sympathetic even, but certainly not surprised. “How long?”

  Shame burned within her and seared her cheeks with unforgivable heat. Tears stung her eyes, and the thickening knot in her throat justified silence to her unwilling tongue. Nothing she could do would bring the earl back. Nothing she could do would erase the horror of leaving his death a secret for as long as she had. Her nails bit into her palms.

  Colin’s hand rested on her shoulder and pulled gently until she stepped toward him. “I know ye well enough to know ye wouldna do this without reason.”

  She pressed her face to the soft linen of his leine, away from his gaze. He saw too much.

  He rubbed the point of tension at her neck and trailed his hand down her back, his touch supportive, lending her the strength she so desperately needed. “I need to know so we can prepare the funeral arrangements,” he said. “And I need to know why ye felt ye had to do this.”

  Brianna nodded and drew a deep, steadying breath. The time for confession had come.

  • • •

  The tinny clangs of a mock battle outside trickled in through the open window. Colin had listened to Brianna’s explanation with careful silence, a silence he now did not know how to fill.

  He forced his features to relax lest she read his concern. Her gaze dropped miserably to the floor, but not before he caught the unshed tears clinging to her lashes.

  Laird Lindsay died less than a fortnight ago. How she had managed to keep her father’s death a secret for this long spoke a great deal of her servants’ respect for her.

  Blood pounded in his veins and roared in his ears.

  Burying a man two weeks dead would not be a feat easily done. Not with a man of such political power and noble status. Especially one with a brother set on keeping the land for himself. No wonder his vile son tried to force Brianna into marriage.

  Colin squeezed his arms tight to keep from running a hand through his hair. Or punching the wall.

  Damn it, getting the Lindsay land was not supposed to be this difficult.

  Brianna cran
ed her head forward and gave a choked whimper, the kind a lass made when she was trying not to cry.

  His chest tightened. She had done what she thought best to protect her people. The legal implications had obviously not been taken into consideration, nor did the possibility of someone attempting to charge her with murder. The only card she held in her hand was her legitimacy.

  Women had no understanding of the rules of men. Nor of their ruthlessness.

  He rubbed a hand against the silky back of her dress. “All will be well, wife.”

  And it would. He would make certain of that.

  But first, there needed to be a funeral.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fat raindrops pelted Brianna’s cheeks and plastered her hair against her scalp. The battering downpour was fitting for the day and compensated for the tears she would not allow herself to show. She swallowed them down and let them curdle in her stomach with the bitterness of her lies.

  The lush grass before her had been slashed open in preparation for a coffin containing no body. She glanced to where the newly planted roses entwined with one another in a thorny embrace over the earl’s makeshift grave. The tender buds were clasped tight, as if protecting the secret laced within their roots.

  Hands weighted with sympathy rested against her shoulder, and the hushed tones of random nobles murmured words of comfort. But there was no comfort for the ache within her. No words could remove the image of the earl lying with the rich dirt of Edzell forever pressed against his cold flesh rather than cradled in the luxurious, cream-colored silk of his coffin. Not buried with the lavish comforts of a nobleman, but with the crude disposal of a pauper.

  Throngs of people whose names she barely remembered offered their condolences before turning away to greet friends. They cowered from the pouring rain in a huddle of rich fabric beneath the eaves of the church. To them, this was a parade to demonstrate their wealth, not a mourning of death.

  The world churned in a whirl of black brocades and heavy velvets, a world of darkness threatening to swallow her up. The thud of her heart slowed in her otherwise hollow chest, and the energy needed to draw each breath no longer felt worthy of the effort. Her knees buckled.

  Before the earth could draw her toward its sodden embrace, a strong arm slipped around her waist and pulled her upright. A blanket spread warm and dry over the top of her head. The clean scent of soap cut through her painful musings, and she knew without having to look up, he was there. Colin. Her husband.

  “I think it best ye come in from the rain now, aye?” His tone was quiet, soothing.

  The heat of his hand enveloped hers, and a strong arm caught her around the shoulders. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to revel in the sensation of his comfort.

  For all she had fought against their marriage, she did not know what she would have done without him these last few days. He had taken over the funeral arrangements and ordered the servants to complete the tasks necessary. Not once had he turned blame on her or expressed frustration for the mess she had created. He had been supportive.

  “Ye should go lie down, lass.” The softness of his voice was a gentle interruption of her thoughts. She opened her eyes and found his gaze fastened keenly on her. “Yer guests will understand if ye dinna attend the feast.”

  He clearly did not know the Lowland nobles as she did. Lips would curve in sympathetic smiles while cold stares would assess her stomach to see if she swelled with Colin’s babe, to confirm the rumors of their hasty marriage.

  No, she would attend the feast, but not only to dispel gossip. She stared at the empty grave once more. Her attendance was the least she could do for the earl.

  • • •

  Conversations buzzed around Colin, and countless Lowlanders in their bizarre fashions pressed against him from all angles. Alec stood at his side with a cup of ale hanging from his fingertips. No one attempted to converse with either of them, an offense Colin found himself appreciating.

  He stared across the room to where Brianna spoke to the guests on her own. She had insisted she was well, yet the paleness of her face left unease churning in his gut. At least she had heeded his advice and changed into dry clothes.

  The man she spoke to was perfectly rounded in height and girth and leaned on a cane of glossy black that bowed under his weight. His wild, dark hair stuck out in all directions, and he glared down at Brianna with a malice that set Colin on edge.

  When the man’s fleshy hand locked around her forearm, something dark and dangerous flashed through Colin.

  No man touched his wife.

  Colin strode across the room, heedless of the stares, heedless of those he shoved aside in his need to get to Brianna. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding her captive and squeezed the spongy flesh.

  “I suggest ye remove yer hands from my wife.” He gave the man a look meant to convey the truth behind his warning.

  “Your wife?” Dark eyes shifted to Brianna, and the meaty fist released her slender arm. The man shook Colin’s grip off, his gaze never leaving hers. “This is what you married?” Five stubby fingers like sausages too stuffed for their skins splayed in front of Colin’s chest. “This is now in charge of Edzell?”

  The bastard wanted a fight, and Colin was only too happy to oblige. He flexed his chest so it pressed against the man’s fat hand. “Aye, and this could have ye thrown out of Edzell if ye dinna show some respect.”

  The man’s narrowed eyes appeared to sink in the folds of his face, but his hand fell away. “Now I do not regret having missed the wedding.” A shallow breath wheezed from his lungs. “I don’t care to see my family’s land in the fists of a barbarian.”

  Colin leaned over the man. “Ye’ll see just how barbaric I can—”

  Brianna stepped between them, a slender hand held out toward each of them to hold them apart. “Colin, this is Lord Reginald Lindsay, my uncle.”

  “Do not introduce us as if we are equals.” The words hissed in a spray of moisture from her uncle’s fat lips. “I heard how he forced you to marry him.”

  The steady chatter of voices around them quieted. People strained to listen, and Colin didn’t care. “Ye overstep yer bounds, Lindsay,” he growled. His palm burned with the urge to rip his blade free.

  “As you’ve overstepped yours, Highlander.” The black cane whipped through the air and smacked against the stone floor.

  Colin caught Brianna’s stiff shoulders and firmly shifted her behind him. Her eyes were wide, but she did not protest.

  When Colin turned his attention back to Lindsay, he found the over-proud nobleman peering around him in an attempt to address Brianna. “Your father’s funeral being so close to the date of your popish wedding is a little too coincidental for comfort, niece.”

  Colin folded his arms over his chest. “That sounds dangerously close to an accusation.”

  The glittering glare slid back to him. “I think you know exactly what I’m saying, Highlander. Unless you’re even more daft than you look.”

  The muscles along Colin’s neck tightened, and a wave of hot blood rushed to his face. “I am laird here, and I will have yer respect.”

  Her uncle gave an exaggerated smirk and jerked his head to the side, addressing the people around them rather than Colin. “A title earned through the death of her father. The convenient death of her father.”

  Brianna’s gasp sounded behind Colin, and the stiff fabric of her gown rustled.

  “Indirect words spoken by a man who lacks the strength to speak plainly.” Colin stared down at Lindsay in a challenge he hoped the bastard would take him up on.

  Lindsay did not cower beneath Colin’s intimidation. “I would not be surprised if Lord Lindsay’s body bore the markings of a claymore.”

  Colin’s control unwound to a single, solitary thread. His body surged with the force of everything necessary to kill. The slightest provocation and Lindsay would feel the MacKinnon wrath. “I suggest ye remove yerself from my lands.”

  A smug
smile imprinted her uncle’s doughy chin. “And I suggest you confess to your crimes or have them laid open for all to see.”

  Colin’s chest filled with a steadying breath. Killing the man would only exacerbate Edzell’s problems. “Get out.”

  Lindsay’s hands mottled red and white where he gripped his cane. “You can throw me out now, but I’ll be back when I have a missive from Parliament.” He craned his head up toward Colin, the threat in his eyes unmistakable. “When I’ve received permission to dig up my brother’s body.”

  “No,” Brianna cried behind Colin.

  Her hand grasped his, slick with cold sweat. The weight of her body sagged limply against him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dark. Everything around Brianna was dark. Empty. The squeal of hinges broke through her world of nothing, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps on stone.

  She was weightless, floating. No. Her brow furrowed. Not floating. Being carried.

  Not again.

  Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright, her legs kicking against her heavy skirts, arms shoving against the strength holding her aloft.

  The strength tightened, and a soothing shush broke through her panic. “I have ye lass.”

  She stilled, her body locked, tense.

  “Are ye hurt?” Colin asked. His step did not falter.

  She dragged air into her lungs in an effort to slow the frantic rush of blood. “I awoke to being carried, like before, like with Robert. I thought…”

  Her gaze swept across the large bed, the carved chest, the beautiful tapestries threaded with gold. Tension melted from her body. Her room. Warmth replaced the vestiges of icy fear. Their room.

  “Ach, forgive me, lass. I dinna mean to frighten ye.” He stopped beside the bed and lowered her to the soft mattress. “Ye fainted.”

  He stroked her cheek and Brianna turned into his palm. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for taking me away from…”