by Paula Quinn
“Is this what ye keep fer long, lonely nights, Grant?”
“That’s my cook, ye bastard.” Malcolm’s voice rolled like thunder, chilling the air as he boldly stepped toward them. “Ye’d better shoot that weapon now, Andrew Buchanan, because if I get my hands on ye—”
Andrew fired, alerting everyone to them, including the dogs, and filling the foyer with smoke.
He missed his target, who never stopped coming at him until he reached him. Malcolm slapped the gun out of Andrew’s hand as he was trying desperately to load another ball. He snatched Henrietta from the culprit’s arm, then grasped Andrew by the back of the throat and smashed his face into the nearest wall.
Letting Andrew crumple to the floor, he turned to make certain his dear cook wasn’t harmed. From the corner of his eye he saw three more men appearing from three different directions and another group of at least twelve exiting the Great Hall.
He smiled, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. A fiery woman in his bed and the challenge of a good fight after that. It was a good night, indeed.
Edmund would have agreed with his closest friend’s sentiments, if he hadn’t just caught sight of Grendel galloping up the stairs to the top, where Amelia stood looking down in terror.
Damn it! Why hadn’t she stayed in the room?
“MacGregor!” someone called from among the intruders. “I want my hand and my dog back.” Alistair Buchanan stepped forward and pointed with his only hand to the yellow dog that had sat down at Edmund’s feet.
Edmund looked down at Gaza and felt his heart go soft. He shook his head in frustration with himself and with the Buchanans. When were these fools going to learn? And is this what loving Amelia turned him into? A pitiful sot with a weakness for a set of huge, brown eyes on a pretty female?
“Alistair, take yer men and get out before I rid ye of yer other hand, and mayhap yer empty head.”
“I want my dog!”
Alistair’s gaze rose at the sound of a slight moan from the top landing. Edmund didn’t blink. If Alistair moved toward her, he would die.
“Call the dog, Alistair. If she comes to ye, ye can fight me fer her. Either way, she stays with me. If ’tis a fight ye want, I’ll kill ye and every one of yer friends.”
The one-handed Buchanan cast an uneasy glance at his comrades. Empty-headed or not, Alistair understood his options were few.
A loud shout rang out, echoing through the halls, saving Alistair from having to make a decision. Grendel and Gaza remained at their posts, alert, ready to attack.
“MacGregor! ’Tis William,” the voice called out from somewhere inside. “William Buchanan.”
Edmund exchanged a glance with Cal and Luke. “Where are ye, Buchanan? And how the hell did ye get in here?”
The young chief appeared in an entrance to the foyer, leading to the kitchen. “The bridge was down; I came in through the rear bailey.”
Edmund cast Malcolm an accusatory glare for leaving the bridge down.
“Will,” Edmund reasoned, “what the hell are ye doing wasting yer time with petty clan grievances when yer country is about to lose its Parliament, its independence? Ye’re fighting fer a castle that will likely be taken from ye the moment this union is formed.”
“I didn’t come to fight,” the chief said, entering the foyer slowly. “I would appreciate mercy on my kin. I will repay ye by offering them to yer cause.”
Scotland didn’t need men who were forced to fight. She needed men who wanted to, who understood that they needed to. “My cause and yers are the same. If ye and yer kin understood what ye could lose, ye wouldn’t be so eager to fight with us.”
“Then tell us.”
“Look, are we goin’ to fight or not?” Malcolm rested the tip of his claymore on the floor and waited impatiently on it. “I’m not givin’ up a warm bed and a warmer wench fer long speeches on things I already know.”
“There will be no fighting,” William announced, then turned to rake his eyes over his men. “But if ye will wait just a moment before returning to yer pleasures, Grant, there is something I must tell ye, as a token of my good will.”
Malcolm glanced up the stairs to his buxom visitor and winked.
“Yer young Mr. Grant is in our care.”
Edmund’s heart pounded violently in his ears. Violence was what he recognized in Malcolm’s and Luke’s eyes. “Darach?” he heard himself asking.
“He’s alive and well, I give ye my word!” William held his palms up when Edmund and his cousins moved toward him.
“Ye’re lyin’,” Malcolm growled.
“Nae. Against my will, some of the lads went after him and captured him on a road leading north.”
“Was he harmed?” Luke asked.
When the chief didn’t answer right away, Lucan lifted his sword.
“If any one of us doesn’t return, my kin have command to kill him!” William held his hand to the hilt of his blade, but he backed away. “’Twas the only way to ensure our safety.”
“Verra’ well,” Edmund said, sheathing his blade. “We won’t kill any one of ye. Ye will all return alive, but I, fer one, intend on making ye all wish ye’d never set eyes on Darach Grant.”
He moved forward with Luke and Malcolm at his side and Grendel returned to his heels, and the fighting commenced.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We should go get him now,” Malcolm insisted, and then cast an irritated glare at Amelia when she pulled the cloth around his hand too tight. “Two fingers are already broken, lass. Leave the other three intact, I beg ye.”
“Fergive me,” she answered quietly, keeping her gaze downcast.
“That’s exactly what they’re expecting us to do, Cal,” Lucan said while Sarah tended to cuts on his face. “This entire thing could be a trap to get us to their holding. We may have sent some of them home with broken bones, but there are many more of them in their village. If they kill us all they dinna’ have to worry aboot us bringin’ our kin back fer them.”
Edmund watched Amelia while his cousins argued about rescuing Darach. He already knew what to do about Darach. He didn’t know what to do about her. That was an enormous problem, since he should know. Stick with the plan. Return her to her uncle once the treaty was dissolved, or kill her if it wasn’t. Of course he couldn’t kill her and neither could any one of his cousins. They’d never killed a lass before, and they never would. He’d never thought for an instant that the duke wouldn’t do everything in his power to save his niece. Whatever the outcome, Edmund would lose her.
For the last two days she’d avoided him at every turn and he’d done nothing but sulk around the castle wishing for another way to have a future with her. One way in particular continued to invade his thoughts. It was something almost blasphemous to his heart, but relentless nonetheless. If the duke refused their demands Edmund could keep Amelia. He could keep her alive with him in Skye. It was blasphemous indeed, to hope the duke and the chancellor would go ahead with the treaty. Scotland would become part of the new United Kingdom. Everything he had fought for would be lost. He hated his traitorous heart for thinking it…for hoping for it, but he didn’t want to let her go. When he thought about never seeing Amelia again…Saints help him, it was worse. She tempted him to give up all for her. It scared the hell out of him and stripped him of all his defenses, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to.
He caught her eye and smiled at her when she looked up. She didn’t smile back.
The fight with the Buchanans was too much for her.
He would have preferred Amelia never to witness him in such a merciless state. She hadn’t said a word since the fight ended and Edmund and his cousins tossed the Buchanans into the moat and then led the women to the solar. Mayhap she was not suited to the Highland life. It would be a good reason to let her go.
“Edmund, what is yer suggestion?” Malcolm asked him, drawing his attention away from Amelia.
“Luke’s correct. It could be a trap.”
“And if they kill him in the meantime?” Malcolm put to him.
“If they truly have him, they won’t kill him,” Edmund assured him and then watched Amelia rise to her feet and excuse herself. His gaze followed her out of the solar with Grendel at her side. Gaza remained at his feet but watched them as well, and then looked up at Edmund. He continued speaking. “Either Darach is already dead or William told the truth and he lives. I believe William told the truth. He wouldn’t have taken such a beating if he was lying. As long as Darach lives, the Buchanans are safe from us. They know it. Their chief knows it. They won’t kill him. We need to recover, regroup, and have a plan. They’ll be expecting us when night falls. It’ll unnerve them when we don’t show up.”
Malcolm nodded and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He glanced over at Elizabeth, asleep on his settee. “If we’re no’ goin’ tonight, I’ll be returnin’ to m’ chamber.” He stood, went to the settee to pick Elizabeth up, then left the solar without another word.
“If ye will both excuse me,” Sarah said next. “Amelia is troubled. I want to—”
“Nae, please, let me.” Edmund rose before she could reply. Sarah was still angry with him and he didn’t want to argue with her.
He didn’t search long. He had a feeling where she might be, but Gaza led him straight there.
He didn’t enter the garden immediately. Amelia’s soft cries stopped him. For a good while he remained utterly silent and brokenhearted at the sound of her weeping. What could he say to her but beg her forgiveness for dragging her here, into a world of blood and gore no noble lady would ever be accustomed to seeing? To rough, brutal men, and dreary, dead gardens.
Another reason to let her go.
But none of his logic helped. When he could no longer breathe without holding her, he pushed through the gnarled tangle of bush and took her in his arms.
“Amelia, my love,” he whispered, pressing her close, stroking her hair, breathing her in like she was all the air he needed to live.“Fergive me. Fergive me, I beg ye, fer my foolishness.”
She looked up at him with tears misting her eyes to a rich mahogany. Gazing into them jolted his heart from its foundations.
“Oh, Edmund, ye were not foolish about the Buchanans,” she said, more beguiling to his heart because of her sincerity. “What happened to Darach is not yer fault. If I hadn’t pestered ye to leave Grendel to his sport with Gaza, then Alistair Buchanan would still have his hand and his dog, and…” She sniffed and tried to pull herself together. The strength she called up made Edmund adore her even more.
“Ye think this is yer fault?” he asked her softly, angry at the lies her family fed her about her bad fortune. “Love, Darach left fer Skye long before I shot Alistair. His capture had nothing to do with Gaza. In fact, if not fer them coming to get her, we might not have ever known what became of Darach.”
She wiped her nose. “I did not think of it that way.”
He smiled and wiped her tears. “Ye continue to bring us good fortune, Amelia. I was speaking about how foolish I was about us.”
“And I understand about that as well,” she told him. “I admit when Malcolm spoke about it I was hurt, but I know we can never be together, Edmund.” She held her finger to his lips when he would have spoken again. “We are not children. I must wed Walter. I cannot bring shame to my father and you cannot give up yer fight fer Scotland. We would never ask such sacrifice of each other.”
He sat there. Still. She was right. But he didn’t want her to be. It sickened him. He had to find a way to keep her with him. Was it even possible? They both had so much to give up.
“What would ye have me do? How am I supposed to just walk away?”
She looked up at him through glimmering eyes. “How can I answer when I ask myself the same thing?”
“I cannot.”
“Ye must.” They had no choice. “But I don’t want to return to Walter without knowing what making love to a man who truly feels something fer me is like. So tonight,” she said against his lips, unable to keep a soft sob from escaping. “Tonight, ye will claim me, Highlander. But just fer one night.”
“Nae.” He shook his head. “If I have ye, I’ll never—”
“If ye care fer me, Edmund, don’t deny me this.” She took his face in her hands and brought his mouth to hers.
He didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Edmund pushed open the door with his boot and carried Amelia into his room. Part of him shouted to put her down and lock her away somewhere. But his heart pushed him ahead. He didn’t think of how many nights they would have together. He cared only about this one.
He felt foolish and vulnerable at the way his heart beat over her, how his blood coursed like molten fire through his veins for her. He knew stories of great men who surrendered their hearts to their women. But it had never happened to him before. Thanks to his books…and Finlay Grant’s poetic tales of Camlochlin’s courtly love, he’d suspected it someday would. But he wasn’t prepared for the full and utter change it brought in his way of thinking.
“I don’t want to let ye go, Amelia,” he told her, taking her to his bed. “What can I do to convince ye that ye would be happier with me than with anyone else?”
She clung to him as he lowered her to his mattress and dragged her satiny voice across his ear. “Ye can do nothing. My heart has already convinced me.”
He pressed his lips to hers and fire scorched his mouth, the pit of his belly, below his navel.
Gaza’s whimper at the entry pulled him away with an oath to ride to the nearest Buchanan holding and drop her at the doorstep.
After securing that they were alone and locked away, Edmund turned, stared as if stricken, and he was, at the goddess on his bed, and then returned to her.
“My dog loves ye already,” she told him, then caught her breath while he undressed on his way back to her.
His plaid fell away as he lay beside her and took her in his arms. “If she loves me, how can I return her to the chancellor?”
“Let’s not speak of him now,” she whispered against his mouth.
He loved kissing her. He loved the taste, the feel, the scent of her. But he wanted more. He began unlacing her gown, taking his time, savoring each moment.
“I don’t know what to do…about pleasing ye.” Her voice quavered against his cheek when she broke their kiss.
“Ye can practice whatever ye want on me.”
He felt her smile into his neck. “I can do anything?”
“Aye.” He closed his eyes as she bit down on his neck and then traced her tongue over where she bit.
“I’ve never seen a man’s naked body before.” Her breath singed his chin. “But I’ve dreamed of a statue cool and hard beneath my fingertips.”
He took her mouth with raw demand while she ran her palms over his hard angles. He wanted to rip her gown off her body and toss his garments to the fire and sink into her as deep as he could go. But he didn’t want this night to end. Not ever, so he took his time.
But spurred by her desire to be ravished, he did get her out of her gown quicker than she’d ever gotten into it.
He wrapped her in his arms and legs, plundering her mouth and growing hard against her. When she scored her fingernails down his back, he lifted his head to look into her eyes, untangled their limbs, and straddled her in one fluid motion. His heavy cock rested on her belly while he cupped her firm breasts in his palms and traced her nipples with his tongue. Her body beneath him tempted him to madness. He need only spread her wide with his knees and thrust his cock deep.
She pushed him gently away, but only to lean up and feast her eyes on him hovering over her. And feast she did. Edmund felt her gaze as if it were a brand, burning him everywhere she looked. She smiled, her lids heavy, her hair tumbling about her face like some wanton garden nymph while she ran her fingers over the ridges in his belly, down his hips, and finally over his rigid shaft. She looked up from it, her gaze dark and gl
ittering at the same time. “Ye’re crafted like him, only bigger.”
He angled his hips forward, offering her more of him. With her breath quick and shallow, she took him in both hands. He groaned and dripped onto her fingers when she squeezed him.
Gripped in passion’s selfish throes, he bent to her and grasped her bottom lip in his teeth. He swept his tongue into her mouth, deep and wide, and lifted his hips up off her. She didn’t release him but stroked his tender shaft in her small, hot hands until flames lanced his nerves.
He covered one of her hands with his big one and guided her over him faster, harder. The urge to slip inside her, to be encompassed in her tight sheath, was maddening, but not yet. Almost.
Almost.
“Later, I will taste ye in my mouth.”
Och, hell, how did she manage to speak words that made him cast his control to the wind? How could she be so innocent and so damned sexy at the same time?
He didn’t know if it was her promise, the husky tone in which she spoke it, the rhythm of their hands, or everything combined that was his undoing. Scalding fire licked through him, bubbling deep within, building pressure until his muscles trembled with ecstasy and he moaned like some beast in pain.
He guided their hands to her entrance and ground himself against her one last time before his seed erupted all over her opening. She cried out as he released her and let her move him however she willed.
She coiled her legs around him and wiggled beneath him, against him, while the last of his cum shot out in a thick stream.
He spoke into her ear, telling her how good she felt, how he wanted to dip inside her and make her quake to her center. She smiled, a slow, languid smile, and guided his tip into her. She teased him, taking an inch and then retreating, anxious about the pain he would cause. When she did it three more times, each time taking him a little deeper, he nearly released himself again.
But now it was her turn.
Kissing her hungry mouth, he pushed deeper and deeper inside her until she cried out. He quieted her by remaining still atop her, looking into her eyes. Cupping her face in his hand, he spoke quietly against her rapid breath. “I love ye, Amelia.”