Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  An instant later, she became aware of the firm ridge of his manhood between her thighs, at the entrance to her channel. He poised over her, his form blurred.

  “I shall claim you now, Lady Rhoslyn. All will know it, but most of all, you will know.”

  He entered her slowly, stretching, filling her until his pelvis lay flush with hers. He lowered his head and kissed her, full, sweet, and tender. Then he began to move inside her. A wondrous sensation rippled through her. He pulled back, then pressed his hips against hers again. He at last lowered himself onto her and she melted beneath his weight—she felt certain she would melt altogether, once again lost in rising need. Lovemaking had never been like this with Alec. Guilt resurfaced, but a sudden hard thrust of St. Claire’s rod inside her drove away all thoughts of the dead, and she cried out.

  Rhoslyn wrapped her arms around his neck. Hard muscle bunched beneath her fingers as he thrust into her, faster, harder, driving her once again toward that bliss that only a man could give a woman. Surging upward into full consciousness and feeling, her release broke free and consumed her in blinding pleasure. He uttered a groan and her climax spiked again and rippled through her in waves that left her with the knowledge that he had, without question, claimed her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rhoslyn slowed her walk across the bailey at Castle Glenbarr and covertly watched St. Claire. He stood near the gate talking with two of his men. Today, he wore no mail shirt as he so often did. Instead, a white linen surcoat woven with gold thread hugged his shoulders and hung to his knees. He laughed at something one of the men said and crossed his arms over his chest. The surcoat went taut over his back, and her knees weakened. Sweet Jesu, she’d lost her mind.

  This last week, St. Claire had kept her in a daze. Alec hadn’t demonstrated as veracious an appetite as some husbands she had heard discussed while St. Claire made even the stories she’d heard seem tame.

  As if sensing her scrutiny, he shifted his gaze past the man who stood in front of him and caught her eye. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his. A faint smile played about his full mouth. A satisfied smile. A smile that told her he remembered last night when he laid her down beneath the oak tree under the stars.

  The cool grass beneath her and his warm body on top of her, his hard rod—she shut out the memory. To her shame, she broke her gaze from his and hurried away. His gaze seemed to burn her shoulder blades until she entered the castle.

  Hand on the castle’s door bolt, the door now safely closed behind her, she allowed herself a moment to regain her senses. What was it about him that made her want to melt like butter on a summer day? He was a beautiful man, but that alone wasn’t the answer. Surely, that wasn’t why the sight of him alone sent a skitter across the insides of her stomach.

  Any time now, they would leave for the village, for the games planned for that afternoon. St. Claire said the games were in celebration of their marriage, but she suspected it was an excuse for him to gauge the mettle of the local young men. Either way, she would be spending the afternoon with him. Her traitorous heart skipped a beat at the thought.

  The door started to shove open and Rhoslyn jumped aside. St. Claire entered and she nearly bolted for the staircase.

  He paused in closing the door, his brow creased in a frown. “Is something amiss?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, what could be amiss?” Other than you being here?

  “It seems strange you are standing at the door.”

  He would notice that. “You have a suspicious mind, St. Claire.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied. “But it is still strange.”

  “Did you want something?” she demanded.

  The smile reappeared with a hint of amusement. “Are you ready to go to the village, or did you forget?” he asked.

  “Forget that ye have ended my imprisonment? Nay, I am no’ likely to forget that.”

  He closed the door and stepped close to her. “Would you prefer to stay at Castle Glenbarr?” He grasped a lock of hair that had sprung free of her braid and rubbed it between his fingers. “We could find something to do.”

  Heat rippled through her.

  He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Would you like that?”

  She would like it very much. Too much. As he well knew.

  He dipped his head and kissed her. Already she had grown too familiar with the way his full mouth molded with hers. He swept his tongue inside her mouth. The way he tasted. He slid his free arm around her. The way he held her so tight it nearly took her breath. The way he made her wish they didn’t have to leave Castle Glenbarr and that the world would never intrude.

  He broke the kiss and nuzzled her ear. “What say you, Lady, would you prefer I make love to you?”

  A thrill streaked through her. “Everyone will know,” she whispered. As they surely must know after the way she cried out his name last night under the oak. How could anyone not have heard?

  He gave a low laugh. “So?”

  “Andreana is looking forward to going.” She had difficulty concentrating. He nibbled on her earlobe.

  “We could send her with an escort.”

  “The men will be disappointed you did not compete in the games.” Sweet Jesu, what was he doing to her earlobe? A shiver traveled down her back.

  “They want to beat the Dragon, you mean?”

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  He pulled back and looked down at her. “Would you tame the Dragon, Lady?”

  Her cheeks flushed warm. “The games are for men.”

  “Not the games I would play.”

  She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

  Rhoslyn pulled back. “We must go. I will fetch Andreana.”

  He didn’t release her. “What is wrong, Rhoslyn?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze, praying none of the panic welling up in her showed. “Nothing is wrong. But we promised everyone we would go. Andreana will be disappointed.”

  His gaze, once again intense, searched hers. Finally, he gave a gentle smile. “As you wish.”

  Twenty minutes later, Rhoslyn sat with Andreana on a plaid on the grass beneath a clear blue summer sky that reminded her of days when she was a child and chased butterflies among the heather on the hills beyond. Spectators crowded around the open field where St. Claire and young Colin stood toe-to-toe in readiness for the ball to be thrown into the air for their first game of shinty.

  “Sir Talbot seems in good spirits,” Andreana said.

  “Aye,” Rhoslyn said, though she wasn’t sure if the sparkle of humor in his eyes represented joy or the surety of a man about to annihilate his opponent. Probably both.

  Everyone seemed in good spirits. The entire village had turned out for the festivities, as well as those from ten miles around. Jugglers meandered through the crowd tossing balls, fruit, or knives. Faint plucking of harps and psaltery drifted through the excited chatter. Rhoslyn began to relax. Bright sunshine made the day perfect for the games.

  The ball sailed into the air. St. Claire and Colin leapt, sticks tangling, then St. Claire’s smacked the ball and it flew toward his teammates. They leapt toward the ball, with him and Colin matching stride with one another. The ball flew in St. Claire’s direction and he swung for it. Colin, who matched him in height and weight, shouldered him aside and swung at the ball. Rhoslyn tensed when St. Claire tumbled to the ground. He rolled and came to his feet, laughing as he took off after Colin.

  “I will never understand men,” Andreana said. “They seem to love a hard tumble.”

  “Aye, they do.” Rhoslyn smiled. “‘Tis one of the things we most like about them.”

  “Are ye saying you like St. Claire?” Andreana asked.

  Rhoslyn caught her dry humor.

  “‘Tis just an observation,” she said.

  “An observation about your husband.”

  Rhoslyn ignored the astute remark and watched St. Claire catch up with Colin, who was now surrounded by his tea
mmates as they hit the ball across the grass. St. Claire charged past Colin, jabbing him in the belly with an elbow as he passed. The younger man faltered. The ball whizzed past St. Claire. He changed course and an instant later, reached the ball as one of his opponents and a teammate did. St. Claire dodged in front of his opponent, giving his teammate the chance to hit the ball.

  The man whacked the ball while several other teammates raced alongside him toward the far end of the field. The opposing team rushed after them. St. Claire weaved past two of their opponents and shot past his team as they neared the goal. His teammate with the ball hit it toward St. Claire, and he swung hard, sending the ball across the goals as Colin tackled him.

  The crowd roared and several men jostled in front of Rhoslyn. She jumped to her feet and pushed past the men in time to see St. Claire clap Colin on the back. St. Claire noticed her and grinned. She shook her head. Andreana was right. Men liked being knocked to the ground.

  The sun grew warmer as the day wore on and many of the men stripped down to their kilts. St. Claire wore dark breeches and, like the others, was now bare-chested as they lined up for a footrace. He had refrained from competing in the archery contest, for Andreana had pointed out that he had proven his archery skills by killing the boar that attacked Rhoslyn.

  He cast Rhoslyn a grin, and her heart warmed as she smiled back. The man was having as much fun as the boys. She laughed inwardly. He was little more than an overgrown boy himself. His attention returned to his competitors and she allowed her gaze to slide across his chest. A boy with the body of a full grown man. A tremor rippled through her at the memory of that broad chest poised over her as he thrust into her last night.

  Lady Isobel stepped into view beyond St. Claire. She stopped in the shade of a large ash tree, her attention fixed on him. Ire flared at sight of her open appreciation. Grandfather was right. Isobel would seduce St. Claire without guilt. As if sensing her scrutiny, the lady shifted her gaze to Rhoslyn. Isobel started forward, and Rhoslyn quickly realized she was headed her way.

  Isobel reached them. “Lady Rhoslyn. Lady Andreana.” She lowered herself onto the blanket beside Rhoslyn. “Such a perfect day for the games.”

  Rhoslyn nodded. “It is.”

  “Sir Talbot is doing well,” Isobel said. “His team won the shinty match due much to his efforts.”

  “He is a skilled athlete,” Andreana said, though Rhoslyn noticed her gaze fixed on Sir Baxter, who stood talking with a group of men to their left.

  “That he is,” Isobel agreed.

  “How is Lord Herbert?” Rhoslyn said.

  Isobel looked at her, brows lifted. Embarrassment washed over Rhoslyn when even Andreana cast her a curious glance.

  “He is well,” Isobel answered. “He will be pleased that you asked about him.”

  He would be pleased if his wife didn’t openly pursue another woman’s husband.

  “The race is about to begin,” Andreana said.

  They looked at the men.

  “The markings on Sir Talbot’s arm is a picture of his sister, if I recall,” Isobel said.

  “Aye,” Rhoslyn replied.

  “The face puts me in mind of Lady Taresa.”

  Rhoslyn jerked her head in her direction. “Lady Peigi’s mother?”

  Isobel cocked her head. “I am surprised ye remember her. She left Buchan before you were born.”

  “I know her only by name. It is Lady Peigi, I remember. She returned to Buchan when her father died—” Rhoslyn stopped and calculated “—nineteen years ago.”

  “Aye,” Isobel said. “He swore she would no’ have his title or his land. In the end, he had his way. She died of a fever not long after he died.”

  “Why was he so angry?” Andreana asked.

  “Because she married against his wishes.”

  “Then he had a right to be angry,” she said. “I will married whoever Grandfather commands me to marry.”

  “Sir Talbot will choose your husband,” Isobel said. “Will you do as he commands?”

  “I must,” she said.

  Isobel laughed. “Then ye need no’ worry he will banish you as Lord Baliman did Lady Peigi.” Her smile vanished. “When Lady Peigi left, Lady Taresa went to live in one of Lord Baliman’s lesser castles in the westernmost part of Buchan. She returned to Narlton Keep when her daughter inherited the title, but left again when Lady Peigi died. She has no’ been back since. In truth, I am surprised she did no’ return to Spain. I think she stays as far away as possible from the squabbling in the family. They constantly fight over who will be her heir.”

  “Lord Baliman met her on a pilgrimage?” Andreana asked.

  Lady Isobel nodded. “In Galicia, at the Santiago de Compostela. It was quite a love match. Interesting, when you consider that his father was no’ more pleased with his choice in a wife than he was his daughter’s choice in a husband.”

  “Who did she marry?” Rhoslyn asked.

  “Some untried knight, is what I hear. Lady Taresa does no’ speak of her daughter.”

  “I remember Lady Peigi as a very quiet, withdrawn lady. I saw her father only once. He was loud and full of vitriol.”

  “Such things matter little to a man as wealthy as he.”

  Rhoslyn nodded, remembering. “He was wealthier than Lord Lochland.”

  “Indeed,” Isobel said. “It was the dissention amongst the Kenzies that allowed Lochland to rise to power. So long as the family fights over the title, he will remain the most powerful man in Buchan.”

  Rhoslyn hadn’t realized the Kenzies played such a large role in the earl’s rise to power.

  “Why does Lady Taresa not foster a son?” Andreana asked. “He could put an end to the squabbling.”

  “An excellent question,” Lady Isobel said. “The answer is simple. She plans to let her husband’s name die. It is her revenge for him banishing Lady Peigi.”

  “She is only hurting herself.” Andreana said.

  “Make no mistake, she is hurting his family. He has no close relatives, and those he does have are not strong enough to hold the land once she is gone.” Isobel leaned in closer. “I have heard that she took Sir Derek Camdem as lover and plans for him to have Narlton Keep and her other lands when she is gone.”

  “A lady does no’ take a knight as lover,” Andreana said.

  “She does if she is sixty-three-years-old and wealthy.”

  Andreana grimaced. “She is ancient.”

  “No’ too ancient to—”

  “Lady Isobel,” Rhoslyn cut in.

  Isobel closed her mouth, but no remorse shone in her eyes.

  “Ye seem to know a great deal about the Kenzies,” Rhoslyn said with asperity.

  “Lady Taresa and my mother are friends.”

  Rhoslyn wondered if Lady Taresa would appreciate Isobel’s gossip.

  Shouts went up and Rhoslyn’s attention snapped to the racers as they shot forward from the starting line. St. Claire and two other men raced neck and neck ahead of the others.

  “Why is Sir Talbot not pulling ahead?” Andreana asked. “He can easily outpace the other men.”

  “I suspect Sir Talbot is a man who knows how to pace himself.” Lady Isobel looked at Rhoslyn. “Is that no’ so, Lady Rhoslyn?”

  Rhoslyn had had enough. “Beware, Lady Isobel. St. Claire is no’ a man to toy with.”

  One man pulled ahead as the racers reached the halfway mark. St. Claire stayed three paces behind the man, while everyone else strained to keep up with them.

  Shouts of encouragement went up, and Rhoslyn listened to bets on who would win. Most favored St. Claire’s competitor. The racers neared the finish line and St. Claire shot past the other man and beat him by little more than a nose. The onlookers voiced a great cheer. A cheer for their laird: Sir Talbot St. Claire.

  * * *

  Talbot didn’t know his wife well, but he did know she was pregnant. She hadn’t told him. She didn’t have to. The last month she had welcomed him into her bed enough nigh
ts that he should have felt guilty. But he didn’t. He liked bedding her. More than liked. He needed her.

  He’d regretted Rhoslyn’s decision to return to Castle Glenbarr, but it turned out for the best. She settled into a routine that seemed to please her—and he gleaned interesting tidbits from the servants. It had taken her seven years to conceive with her first husband, and he suspected she believed, and probably hoped, that she couldn’t conceive right away, if at all. That would have assuaged her worry that a child born too soon might be Dayton’s.

  The inability to conceive had to have been her husband’s fault, not hers, for since Talbot had begun making love to her, her flux hadn’t come. She might be a woman whose flux was less regular, but she had grown short of temper, which told him she was worried.

  He’d begun to suspect last week, but now... His head spun with the thought of becoming a father, a dream longed for, and now within sight. Edward loved him much, for Talbot achieved his goals too well, and made himself too valuable as a warrior. Then the Maid of Norway perished and the opportunity to bring Scotland to heel had been Talbot’s salvation. Or was Lady Rhoslyn his salvation?

  He’d waited, hoping she would tell him about the child, but wasn’t surprised by her silence. Another three months and she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth. Might she wait that long? She might, but he wouldn’t.

  Talbot thought to find her in her usual spot this time of afternoon, going over the household rolls in their private solar, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her chambers, either. He turned from the room and happened a glance out the window. Their chambers overlooked the bailey. East, beyond the stables, grew a large oak tree—which his wife was climbing. Half a dozen women stood at the foot of the giant oak looking up at a cat. He knew that cat.

  Talbot spun and hurried down to the great hall and out the door. Moments later, he reached the women. Their chatter ceased and they backed away as he reached the tree. Rhoslyn stood on the second branch, which was level with his chest. Half of her hem draped an arm, revealing a generous portion of leg. She stilled and looked down.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She scowled. “What do ye think I am doing?”