Sins of the Highlander
By
Dawn Halliday
Sins Of The Highlander
By Dawn Halliday
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2012 Dawn Halliday
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author.
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Table Of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Other Books By Dawn Halliday
About Dawn Halliday
Bonus: Highland Obsession
Bonus: Secrets Of An Accidental Duchess
For Lawrence, who’s been my knight in shining armor more times than I can count.
Chapter One
Dread sizzled in Aileen Munro’s blood, making the hair at the nape of her neck rise on end. She dropped her embroidery on the floor, tucked her knees under her chin, wrapped her arms around them and stared into the fire. She’d had a similar feeling three weeks ago, just before the men brought her husband home from the boar hunt lying on a stretcher, already cold.
Suddenly, the door to her chamber burst open and her maid, Jannet, rushed into the room.
“Lady”—Jannet reeled to a halt on the rug beside Aileen’s chair, her freckled cheeks bright pink with exertion—“a group of men have just arrived, saying they are from Ellandonan!”
Aileen spoke slowly. “Is that so?”
“Aye, lady. I am to tell you that the laird pays his respects. And…” The lass’s small body shook with excitement. “He invites you to his castle.”
Of course he does. And Aileen knew very well the summons wasn’t an invitation. It was an order.
Releasing a controlled breath, Aileen rose, shook out her dress and went to the window. Jannet came to stand beside her and side by side, they peered down. Milky afternoon sunlight pushed through the fog, sending an eerie glow across the courtyard as Highland riders crowded through the castle’s open gates.
A part of her had known this was coming. The Mackenzie laird, John, was her older half brother, and he wouldn’t leave her to languish here at Dornoch Castle to be kidnapped or raped by an ambitious Lowlander eager for her lands. Nay, he would bring her to Ellandonan and keep her under his watchful eye until he decided upon her next husband, the next master of her castle.
Her next master.
Aileen shuddered. John would use her newfound widowhood as an opportunity to create a political alliance, and right now, he needed an ally in the man Aileen despised above all—Gilbert Dunbar. Aileen had heard that Gilbert had gone north to petition the laird for her hand the very day Walter died, and Aileen knew he would do whatever he could to win her and her vast lands. The laird had no reason to deny the man his request—the intended bride’s disdain didn’t qualify as a reason, after all—and John could use the reassurance of Gilbert’s loyalty, especially since the relationship between the Mackenzies and the MacDonalds had been deteriorating for some time. John was collecting allies to help him defend the clan against the MacDonalds.
Worse, Aileen’s fool of a brother actually admired Gilbert Dunbar. John had never seen beneath the man’s slimy exterior and was unaware of the pure rot to be found underneath.
Aileen laid her cheek against the rough wood of the windowsill. After years of misery, she had finally dug deep enough within herself to find the means to survive living with her husband. Now she’d have to start over.
Below, men and children clustered around the newcomers, these men whose arrival signified the end of her short independence.
Glancing at Jannet, she saw her staring intently at the visitors, her nose pressed to the pane and lips parted in fascination. Aileen let her hands fall to her sides and glanced out the window once again. The crowd below parted and a magnificent white horse emerged from the mist, walking at a sedate pace. The rider, clearly the leader of the troop, sat tall, wearing a blue and black plaid slung over his mail shirt. Just inside the gate, he pulled on the reins and dismounted gracefully, unfolding a long, lean frame.
Aileen’s pulse quickened.
Niall MacRae. She recognized him from the way he moved. The boorish mannerisms of her husband had always emphasized Niall’s inherent grace.
A smile tugged at the corners of Aileen’s lips as she gazed down at him. Niall was a full-fledged warrior now, the commander of these men. During the early days of her marriage, he had been trained in swordsmanship by her husband. The same age, she and Niall had become friends and in subtle ways had protected one another from Walter’s rages.
Niall had matured since she’d last seen him. He stood straighter, seemed taller and broader through the shoulders than he had six years ago. Men surrounded him, competing for his attention, but he directed his gaze up the castle walls.
The face of the youth she had once known had disappeared, replaced by a man who stole the breath from her lungs. Clutching the window frame, she stared down at him. Everything else faded away, and there was only Niall—the stark planes and angles of his face, pale skin, and dark, piercing eyes. Dark blond hair framed his face and fell to his shoulders in loose waves. Somehow he honed in on the window where she stood and locked his gaze with hers.
Frozen moments ticked by until someone physically pulled his attention away, breaking their eye contact, and Aileen’s body roared to life. Her limbs shuddered, her nipples tightened against the wool of her bodice, her heart thumped against her ribs.
Niall turned to speak to the man. The afternoon breeze ruffled through his golden-brown hair. An erotic image blasted through Aileen’s mind—that soft hair tickling her overheated and sensitive flesh as his tongue swiped over her breast.
Jannet finally spoke, her voice breathless. “Will we, lady? Will we go to Ellandonan?”
The lass’s words slammed the door shut on Aileen’s fantasy. Flexing her fingers, she realized she’d clutched the windowsill hard enough to lose the feeling in her hands.
Aileen had never had such a reaction to a man before. She’d never thought of Niall in a carnal way. He’d simply been one of Walter’s men—young, handsome, and trustworthy. A loyal friend but not someone who made her heart race. Not someone who made her think wicked thoughts.
“Aye. We will go to the laird.” Then, with Jannet’s expectant look, she remembered her duty as the lady of this castle. Aileen would be responsible for personally seeing to her guests’ comfort, for making sure Niall’s men had
a good supper and their leader was provided with a comfortable chamber and a warm bath.
She might see him naked. A shiver of anticipation rushed down Aileen’s spine.
Stop it!
Walter was not a month in the grave and she was having lustful feelings toward a man she knew only as an old friend. It had to stop. She cleared her throat. “Tell the maids to prepare the guest chamber for the laird’s man, and to have it ready the moment he finishes his supper. He will be weary from his journey.”
Jannet curtsied and disappeared. Aileen turned to the window one last time. Niall didn’t look at her again, nor did he leave the courtyard. Instead he worked alongside his men as they unsaddled the horses and unloaded the carts.
With one palm skimming over her stomach and the other pressed against the cool glass, she watched Niall kneel to examine his horse’s hoof. He spoke to a stable lad briefly then rose, brushing off his hands. For the briefest of moments, his eyes met hers again, but then he tore his gaze away. Nodding at a cluster of men gathered nearby, he turned and strode toward the entrance of the great hall.
Aileen stepped away from the window, adjusted her veil of mourning and prepared to greet him.
***
After dinner, Lady Aileen excused herself while Niall MacRae remained in the hall to share a drink with her factor, Donegal and their men. After one cup of whisky, he pleaded exhaustion and went upstairs. But he took the narrow tower stairs two at a time. By all rights he should be exhausted, for he had been riding hard the past two days. Yet he felt strangely alive. Energized. Seeing the lady after all this time had poured fire into his blood.
He reached the end of the passage and stopped short when the door to the chamber opened as if by magic.
Lady Aileen stood before him. She had removed her veil and let down her raven black hair so it cascaded loosely around her shoulders.
“Come inside.”
He hadn’t expected to see her in the room she’d assigned to him.
Before he could stop himself, his gaze raked down her body, taking in the rich gown tied low on her hips with a wide belt. She was bonnier than ever.
Long ago, Lady Aileen had been a frequent subject of his adolescent fantasies. He’d thought those days had long since passed, but when the Mackenzie laird had given Niall the task of bringing his half sister home, something had stirred deep inside him. Memories of those fantasies. Memories of the brief and furtive—yet innocent—touches they’d shared.
Now, he was older and far more experienced when it came to women. Still, the unbidden fantasies flashed through him. In them, his hands, mouth and cock stroked every one of her lush curves and valleys.
He nearly groaned. It was bad enough that he’d had to sit beside her in the hall as she presided over dinner. Watching her, smelling her. She smelled like heather and sage. The past years had seen her beauty grow, but they had also left a hardness in her violet eyes that worried him.
Still he’d watched her. Hours went by, and each hour brought with it more vivid fantasies of Lady Aileen. Beneath him. Above him. Her body bent over a chair while he took her from behind…
Unwanted, uninvited visions had assailed him, constant and unrelenting. Unable to expunge them from his mind, he’d sat in his chair, counting the minutes until he could be by himself to douse the raging fire her proximity had kindled within him.
And now he had come to his room to finally be alone, but she was standing before him, her hair free and wild, watching him with intelligent violet eyes and wearing only a loosely belted dress.
Pasting a neutral look on his face, he straightened. Surely she didn’t mean to seduce him. Her husband had died only a few weeks ago. She was here to welcome him to his chamber, nothing more.
Above all, he couldn’t forget who he was. His strict adherence to his code of honor and his loyalty to his laird had never come into question. He wouldn’t let that change.
Lady Aileen gave him an enigmatic smile, so different from the ingenuous grins she’d shared with him when they were young, when she was still innocent and optimistic. Before Walter Munro had beaten those traits out of her.
Niall had been forced to watch it all, a mere lad, unable to raise a hand against the man his father had chosen to foster him but wanting nothing more than to rip those abusive arms from the older man’s body. Niall had often attempted to find ways to distract Munro, and he supposed he had ended up taking many of the beatings meant for her. But it wasn’t enough. Filled with disgust and anguish, he had secured a position in the Mackenzie laird’s guard and left Dornoch. Since then, he had worked loyally in John Mackenzie’s service. He’d never set eyes on Munro again.
Looking at Lady Aileen now, with her pearly skin, cascading curls and dark-lashed eyes that bespoke sadness, something deep within him clenched. He would never forgive himself for leaving her with that barbarian.
“Will you come in?” she asked, gently persistent. “The servants have drawn a bath. I will assist you.”
He bowed his head. “Aye, lady.”
The room was large, the walls covered with tapestries. A roaring fire chased away the early spring chill. Beside the fireplace, a half-open door led to an adjacent chamber. The bed, draped with embroidered curtains and trimmed in gilt, stood at the opposite end of the room. A steaming bath stood between the bed and the door, giving off the scent of lavender to mingle with the clean, earthy smell of fresh rushes.
The room was the finest in the castle, Niall knew, its furnishings richer than the master’s and mistress’s chambers. This was the room Munro always reserved for visiting nobility.
Niall stepped inside hesitantly, unsure why the lady would assign him such status.
Lady Aileen moved away and bent to speak to a maidservant kneeling before the fire. Clearly dismissed, the lass flushed, rose, curtsied and brushed past him. Niall clenched his fist to keep from grabbing the maid and demanding she stay. It would be rude to contradict the lady’s word. Vaguely, Niall heard the door thump shut, leaving him alone with her.
She turned, held out her hands and beckoned him closer. “I didn’t want to say so with our men surrounding us, but I am so pleased to see you again, Niall.”
He clasped her hands in his own. “And I am pleased to see you.” If Niall’s throat were not so dry, he might have laughed at the understatement. “Again, I am sorry for your loss. If I can do anything…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, instead allowing the words to hang between them. Her grip tightened on his, her fingers cool, soft and small. The hands of a lady.
“There’s no need for pretense now that we are alone,” she murmured. “I fear neither you nor I will truly mourn his loss.”
Niall looked down at their linked hands, unsurprised by her candor. She had always been forthright. “Aye, it is true.”
He stroked his thumb along one of her delicate fingers, tempted to ask her how she’d managed to survive ten long years with Walter Munro. She was a strong woman—stronger than he’d ever be.
“He continued to hurt you, didn’t he?” He snapped his mouth shut, immediately regretting his impertinence. What a foolish question. Of course Munro had harmed her—Niall could see it in her eyes.
She shrugged. “He left me alone these past few years. He found more satisfaction in his whores than his wife.”
Anger swirled in Niall’s gut. The man was such a bastard. To have deserted his intriguing, bonny wife in favor of a few bawdy lasses who couldn’t possibly approach Aileen in beauty or intelligence…
Niall pulled his hands away from hers and let his fingers curl at his sides. Men like Walter Munro had no understanding of honor. Those betrayals against the beautiful wife whose childhood he’d stolen made Niall want to kill the man all over again.
Aileen gave him a soft smile. “Don’t pity me, Niall. I came to accept my lot without remorse. Three of his whores live here at Dornoch, and I haven’t set them out. I would never do so, for they were saviors to me.”
Indeed
, there was no bitterness or animosity in her words. Niall looked at her in awe and then gave her a rueful grin. “I cannot deny I have always felt protective of you, Lady Aileen. Forgive me.”
She smiled. “There is naught to forgive.”
Already he missed her touch. He wanted to draw her lush body into his arms, to hold her, comfort her, make love to her…
He shook himself free of that thought. “It is good I have been gone so long. Otherwise I don’t think…” I could have kept my hands off you.
“Is that why you went away?” she asked. “Because you felt you should have protected me from him?”
Niall cleared his throat. “I’m just glad he’s gone—glad I need not fight him in defense of your honor.”
She laughed, a soft, smooth sound that slipped under his skin like a warm caress, stroked his ballocks and wrapped around his cock. He shuddered.
“If you were to defend the honor of every wife whose husband took a mistress, you’d be occupied every second of the day.”
“I have no wish to defend every wife,” he said. “Only you.”
Her gaze strayed away and she didn’t speak. Instead, she took his hand and drew him toward the fire.
Silently, she turned to face him then knelt at his feet to remove his shoes.
Niall stiffened at the gesture. This was inappropriate. He touched his fingers to the top of her head. “Please don’t kneel.”
She bowed her head, bringing to mind a sight he had once seen in a brothel of a dark-haired whore at a man’s feet. But the whore had been naked except for a jeweled collar around her neck, and she had been sucking the bare toes of the man.
Niall closed his eyes. The thought of Lady Aileen’s tongue swiping over his toes made heat crawl across his skin, made his cock twitch with anticipation.
“Let me kneel before you, Niall. Let me help you prepare for your bath. It gives me pleasure.”
“I am your servant, my lady. I will do anything you ask of me.” Even watch her bow at his feet when he should be bowing before her.
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