He nibbled, sucked, devoured. He kissed her like no man had ever kissed her. She was hot, swollen, achy, wanting more. There was something about him—rawness, strength, something she’d never be able to explain to someone else. They’d think her mad. A woman would have to be kissed by Laird Ruairi Sutherland to simply understand how the man could bring her to her knees. But truth be told, there was nothing simple about it.
His hands moved from her hair to her breasts, cupping and plumping. When his thumbs grazed her nipples, they peaked instantly. She felt as if she was drowning and Ruairi was the only man who could save her.
She clung to him, arching against him, reveling in the sensation of his big, strong hands sliding over her body. She burned with fever.
He pulled her gown from her shoulders and lowered his head. His tongue tantalized the buds, which had swollen to their fullest. When one of his hands seared a path down her abdomen and onto her thigh, she thought she was going to die.
She wrapped her legs around his powerful hips. She couldn’t help but whimper into his mouth when he shifted, fitting the two of them together so perfectly that his ridge was cradled against her womanly heat.
He ground himself against her, driving her crazy with need. She lifted his tunic, and it was flesh against flesh, man against woman. His touch became light and painfully teasing.
She wound her fingers through his thick hair, delirious with need. She tugged on his kilt, which fell to the ground in a single swoop. Her eyes lowered and she realized that everything about him was too much man. He was a Highlander—rugged, untamed, and for the moment…hers.
Someone pounded furiously on her door.
This could not be happening. She did not want to stop. If she did, she would think. And she didn’t want to do that now. She fought to control her swirling emotions.
“Ravenna, is Ruairi with ye?” asked someone through the door.
“Is that Fagan?” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with frustration.
She heard Ruairi grind his teeth, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Dè tha ceàrr ort?” What is wrong with you?
Resuming his purpose, Fagan again pounded on the door. “Dùisg! Eirich!” Wake up! Get up!
With much reluctance, Ruairi rose from the bed and hastily donned his kilt from the floor. “Dè th’ann?” What is it?
“Duine.” A man.
Ruairi turned back toward the bed. “This is far from over, lass. Donna even think about denying me. There is nay turning back now. I will be with ye again, and next time, I will have ye in my own bed.” He put on his boots, grabbed his tunic from the floor and quickly walked out, closing the door behind him.
Ravenna flung herself back on the bed and blew the loose hair away from her lips.
What had she done now?
***
“Ye better have a damn good reason for interrupting me.”
Fagan smirked. “I’m glad ye took my advice, my laird.” When Fagan saw that Ruairi wasn’t amused, he changed the subject to the matter at hand. “Our guards found two men making their way across our border. Both were armed with swords and knives. If I were to render a guess, I’d say they were making another attempt on our cattle. Our men hold them in the bailey.”
“We will finally have some answers. Have someone rouse Ian.”
Ruairi entered the bailey and walked toward the two men. Their features were difficult to discern at first in the glowing torchlight. With each approaching step, Ruairi’s eyes narrowed. He had to look twice to make certain he was not mistaken. To his surprise, he wasn’t. The men wore kilts of red, green, and blue.
The same colors as the Munro.
“What are ye doing on my lands?” he asked one of the men.
The man smiled a toothless grin. “I donna answer to ye. Thalla gu taigh na galla.” Go to hell.
Ruairi balled his fist into the man’s face and heard something crunch under the forceful blow. If the bastard continued with his sharp tongue, his nose would not be the only thing broken. Ruairi promptly turned his attention to the man’s comrade, but when he repeated the question, the man visibly trembled and chose to remain silent. He was clearly the wiser of the two.
“I see I didnae miss all the excitement after all. I made it just in time,” said Ian. His eyes widened when he noticed that the men’s kilts mirrored his own. “Who the hell are ye?”
The daft man with the sharp tongue spit blood in Ian’s face.
Ian wiped his hand over his cheek and then cocked his head at the vagrant. The man cried out when Ian grabbed him by the bollocks and gave a wry smile. “I am in nay mood for games, my friend. Ye arenae a Munro. From which clan do ye hail? I will nae ask ye again.”
The man shot him a wicked smile and spoke between clenched teeth. “Mayhap lost cattle isnae the only thing ye should be worried upon, aye?”
Without warning, Ian stepped back, unsheathed his sword, and shoved the blade right into the man’s gut. Blood poured from the wound as the man toppled to the ground, lifeless. Ian turned and smiled at the man who still stood as he wiped the blood that stained his sword on the dead man’s kilt. “Your friend wasnae so lucky and didnae give me the answers I sought. I cannae help but wonder if ye will follow his path.”
“We were offered coin,” the man blurted out.
“Who made ye such an offer?” Ruairi demanded.
“I donna know. We ne’er knew his name. He gave us this tartan to wear in case we were captured and told us there would be more coin for every cow we slaughtered.”
“My cattle as well as those of the Munro?”
“Aye.”
“Why?” asked Ian. When the man hesitated, Ian placed his sword to the man’s throat.
“I donna know! I swear it upon my life.”
Ruairi smirked. “’Tis quite a shame really, but your life will serve to repay the debt owed to my clan.” He nodded to Ian and made a dismissive gesture with his hand as the man yelled out.
“Wait! We are to meet him on the morrow. I can take ye to him if ye spare my life.”
“And why would we believe ye?” asked Ian.
“I donna want to die.”
“Ye should’ve thought of that before ye set foot on our lands. Ye took food away from our people, slaughtered our animals. I should kill ye right where ye stand.” Ruairi rubbed his fingers over his chin. “In truth, I havenae yet made up my mind what to do with ye.”
The front of the man’s kilt suddenly became very wet and Ian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did he just piss in a Munro kilt?”
Ruairi smiled. “I think he did.”
“The bastard has nay respect.”
The man shook with fear. “Please donna kill me.”
Ruairi gestured to Fagan. “Throw his arse in the dungeon.” He turned his head toward Ian. “Unless ye want to kill him now.”
Ian sheathed his weapon. “Nay, I would like to meet the arse who ordered my cattle butchered.” He turned and snarled, and the man jumped. “But if ye’re lying…”
“I swear I am nae!”
Fagan shoved the man forward, escorting him to the room Ruairi held vacant for all his enemies. The Sutherland dungeon was feared by many, but this poor bastard should be thankful his head wasn’t currently stuck on a pike.
“Do ye think he’ll lead us to the man?” asked Ian.
“Did ye nae see the bastard piss himself? Aye, I think he’ll lead us, but ye know the Gordon wouldnae leave things to chance. We’ll have to use caution to get close enough to capture the man who paid the coin. Is your head clear enough for thought? We need to devise something clever.”
“Aye. Naught wakes up a man more than by killing his enemy in the darkened hours of the night.”
***
Ravenna dressed quickly, her breathing still labored. While her mind burned with the memory of being held in Ruairi’s arms, she was stunned by the idea of leaving her chamber to spy on him. What kind of person had she become? She knew she was unable to give herself complet
ely to any man because of her duties for the Crown. She promptly shook off the feeling. There’d be time for such thoughts later, because right now she needed to discover what was afoot under Laird Sutherland’s roof.
She’d known something was wrong by the tone of Fagan’s voice when he came to her door to summon Ruairi. She’d wanted desperately to understand what Fagan said and wished the men would’ve stopped speaking Gaelic. What did duine mean, anyway? There was only one way to find out.
She wandered through the halls in search of the men.
As Ravenna walked into the great hall, she heard a commotion out in the bailey and paused just inside the door. She was as careful as she could be to remain partially hidden, but she had to see what was happening. She decided to take a necessary risk by stealing a peek around the corner, praying she wouldn’t be seen.
Laird Munro was pulling his sword from the belly of a man. Even in the shadows of the night, she could see the dark liquid pooling on the ground from the man’s wound. She’d seen death before, but she was startled by the images before her eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing someone die.
One man remained standing before Ruairi and Laird Munro. She continued to watch as the man trembled before the fearsome Highland lairds. From her angle, she wasn’t close enough to hear their words. She was about to move closer, but Fagan suddenly led the man away. Her eyes widened when Ruairi and Laird Munro turned and walked straight toward her.
Ravenna lifted her skirts and darted to the top of the stairs as Ruairi entered the great hall with Laird Munro. She hesitated, out of sight, until she was certain they had departed. When no voices were heard from below, she quickly descended the stairs and followed the men as they made their way to Ruairi’s study. The hour was late, and Ravenna prayed that Angus didn’t suddenly get the urge to have a midnight hunt. She was careful not to be seen, ducking into a nook a time or two to avoid Ruairi’s men.
When she reached the study, she was surprised that the door remained ajar. Then again, who would be wandering around the castle in the middle of the night? She stood silently against the stone wall.
“I cannae believe the bastard had the nerve to wear a Munro kilt. What the hell was he thinking?” asked Laird Munro.
Ruairi sighed. “If ’twas the Gordon, I bet he didnae expect ye to be here. Think about it. If ye werenae under my roof and I caught the men on my lands wearing the Munro tartan… I bet the arse wanted me to think ye had a hand in slaughtering my cattle, as if I would be foolish enough to believe that. But he would think that way, always conniving and plotting. I swear the man is daft.”
“Bastard.”
“Aye.”
There was a heavy silence.
“On the morrow, we’ll follow the daft fool in the dungeon, but I think we should take less than a handful of men. I donna want to chance discovery before we’re able to find the man responsible. If we’re somehow spotted, the bastard will run, and this is the best chance we have to uncover who is behind the attacks on our cattle or confirm ’tis the Gordon’s doing. This has been happening for too long now. I’ve had enough of foolish games,” said Ruairi.
“Ye’ve been dealing with the Gordon for some time now. When was the last ye spoke to him?”
“When he asked me to give him men and arms against the Crown.”
Ravenna jumped when lips brushed against her ear and a hard body pressed tightly against her back.
“Ye wouldnae be spying on my laird now, would ye, Ravenna? I thought ye better than that,” said Fagan in a whisper.
She spun around and led him away from the door by the arm. “I was not spying,” she blurted out. “When Ruairi left my… When you came to… I wanted to make certain everything was all right. When I heard he was in his study with Laird Munro, I decided not to intrude.” She paused. “Please don’t disturb him.”
His eyes narrowed. “Mmm… Were ye in the bailey a moment ago?”
“The bailey? No. Why?”
“Listen to me,” he said in a harsh, raw voice. “Ye need to return to your chamber and leave the men to their business. Nay matter what your intent, lurking in the hall by Ruairi’s study door is nay place for ye to be. Take your leave.”
“My apologies, but I assure you, I wasn’t lurking. I only wanted to make certain he was all right. I—”
“Care for him,” said Fagan with a knowing smile.
God help her. She thought she did.
Seven
Ruairi rubbed his hand across his brow. He had spent almost the entire night with Ian dealing with the latest pain in his arse when he should’ve been enjoying sins of the flesh with Ravenna. He would never forget a single detail, a single curve. She set him aflame with her touch. He had been watching her with Torquil for weeks and knew she was gentle and caring, everything he could possibly want in a woman and more. And for the first time since she’d arrived in the Highlands, he realized “English” never came to mind.
When she had initially stopped him inside her bedchamber, Ruairi was aware he had to fight a battle of personal restraint because he wanted nothing more than to remove her clothes and ravish her until the early hours of the morn. Unfortunately, that moment was one of those times when his honor and chivalry intervened and drove him nearly to the point of madness.
Ravenna’s face still haunted him, serious, thoughtful. That’s why he was pleasantly surprised when she said she was not chaste, especially the way she trembled beneath his touch. But her innocence or lack thereof didn’t trouble him. Why should it? He was thankful he wouldn’t have to deal with the virginal uncertainties of a young lass. His woolgathering halted abruptly when Fagan approached him in the great hall, a worried expression crossing his brow.
“Ye are ne’er going to believe this.”
Ruairi folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me the man still lives in the dungeon because I do believe my instructions were perfectly clear.”
“Aye, but we have more pressing matters upon us. The Gordon is at the gate.”
His jaw dropped. “Why the hell would the man be at my gates now?”
“Aye, so soon after the men were discovered trying to butcher our cattle. I thought the same. ’Tis almost too convenient.”
“How many are with him?”
“Only a handful.”
“Are ye ready?” asked Ian, walking into the great hall.
“It seems we may have our answers sooner than expected, and we donna even have to wander verra far from home to get them.”
Ian gave Ruairi a puzzled look. “What do ye mean?”
“The Gordon is at my gates.”
“Now that is verra curious,” said Ian with a wry grin.
Ruairi turned to Fagan. “Escort the Gordon and his men to my study and then make certain Torquil and Ravenna remain in the library.”
While Ruairi sat in his study with Ian and waited for the Gordon to grace them with his presence, Ruairi showed an ease that he didn’t necessarily feel. He remembered the last time he had spoken with his wife’s father. Granted, the Gordon wasn’t pleased with Ruairi’s refusal of his request for men and arms, but even then, the man’s behavior had been somewhat odd.
Ruairi continued to struggle with the fact that the Gordon hadn’t been distraught over his daughter’s death. He also was amazed that the purpose of the Gordon’s visit that day had been to discuss politics. That’s when he knew his father-in-law was a coldhearted bastard, an opinion Ruairi held toward most of his wife’s clan.
Fagan walked into the study with the Gordon while two Gordon guards remained out in the hall. Fagan gave Ruairi a knowing look and then closed the door on his way out. Ruairi knew his captain would remain close by. He shifted his attention to the Gordon, whose bulbous nose only accented the arrogant look on his face. His gray hair was ruffled by the wind.
“Sutherland…” Gordon nodded to Ian. “And what a surprise to see Laird Munro here as well.”
“Aye. I’m sure ye’re verra surprised,” sai
d Ian under his breath with a heavy dose of sarcasm. If the Gordon heard Ian’s words, he didn’t acknowledge them.
“And what brings ye to my gates?” asked Ruairi, gesturing for the man to sit.
“King James interferes too much in our ways.”
Ruairi had to suppress a sigh. Leave it to the bastard to move straight to the matter at hand. As if the Gordon heard Ruairi’s silent thoughts, his eyes narrowed, and he studied Ruairi and Ian with heavy scrutiny.
“I need both of ye to hear what I have to say. I’ve received word the king has imprisoned the Earl of Orkney, his own cousin, because the man resisted the king’s laws on Iona. Orkney has since been forfeited to the realm.” The Gordon hesitated and tapped his fingers on his thigh. “How long do ye think it will be before our own lands are seized by the bloody English? The king is a fool if he thinks we’ll bend to his authority. He has nay right bringing his laws into the Highlands.”
“And saying as much will get ye killed,” said Ruairi.
“Nay one is removed from following King James’ ridiculous commands, nae even ye, Sutherland. I took ye for a wise man and hope I am nae mistaken. I only pray that ye and Munro arenae too foolish or stubborn to see that. ’Tis nay great secret that I’ve made an alliance with the Seton clan. Together, we join Patrick Stewart’s son, Robert, to gather arms against the realm. We will fight to protect what is ours, as we have done for centuries.”
Ruairi chuckled. “Ye’ve joined forces with the Earl of Orkney’s son? The same earl who was just imprisoned by the king for nae following orders? And a man known for his lavish spending and cruelty to his people? Are ye completely mad?”
“Determined,” said the Gordon through clenched teeth. “King James wants naught more than to bring the Highland lairds to heel. How dare he bring English laws to our lands? We arenae England and ne’er will be.”
“What do ye want?” asked Ian. “I grow tired of games.”
My Highland Spy Page 7