To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1)

by Donna Fletcher

  A rippling tingle rushed down to her toes and up to her nipples pressed against the top of the wood table and she shuddered at its pleasurable intensity.

  Another moan suddenly took hold, a stronger more aching one, when his thick manhood poked hard against her backside. Her need to have him inside her overwhelmed her. She wanted him now. She wanted to feel his thick member slip inside her and satisfy this hungry ache that he had brought on her so fast and furiously.

  She wiggled her backside hard against him and he leaned down over her, his hand wrapping around her braid and yanking her head back to leave her mouth vulnerable to his lips. With a rumbling growl, his lips settled over hers and his tongue delved hard into her mouth, forcing her to respond, and she gladly did. His demanding kiss, his probing fingers, and his thick shaft rubbing, poking, teasing her was too much to bear.

  She tore her mouth away from his to demand, “I want you inside me.”

  “No,” he ordered and ground his lips against hers with such a searing demand, that she felt as if he was branding her for all to know that she belonged to him and a ripple of wicked pleasure raced over her, tingling her flesh until she shuddered so hard that she thought she would come there and then.

  She managed to break her lips away from his again. “Please, Craven, I am going to come.”

  “Aye, and more than once,” he said and gave her bare backside a tender smack. “And you will not tease me again, wife.”

  Espy chuckled. “On that, husband, you are mistaken.”

  It was no gasp that she let loose next, but a roar of pleasure when Craven entered her. He gripped the sides of her backside, holding firm as he slammed into her over and over and he was true to his word.

  Espy cried out in pleasure twice before he exploded in his own climax and then she joined him again in another of her own.

  Craven collapsed over her, his hands braced to either side of her head as he let the last of the satisfying pleasure drift away. He stayed as he was, wanting to remain buried inside her, wanting to remain joined with her, wanting that feeling of wholeness to linger as long as possible.

  When he heard her sigh softly, he slipped his arm beneath her breasts and hugged her against him. He felt a strong tug at his heart, fighting feelings that rumbled and churned inside him and he spoke the only words he could bring himself to say at the moment and seemed far too inadequate when he did. “I do enjoy you, wife.”

  “And I you, husband,” she said with joyous enthusiasm that could not be denied.

  Craven heard not only the joy but the love in her response. She let her love for him be heard in her words, her touch, and since he was admitting the truth, he had also seen it in her eyes when she looked at him. Aubrey had had a similar look, but it had not been as intense, but then Espy had a passion about her that he had never seen in a woman.

  Reluctantly, he released and moved off her, though she followed him up off the table as if she too was reluctant to separate from him.

  Craven’s arm went around her out of sheer instinct. It belonged there. She belonged there beside him, forever beside him.

  Espy rubbed gently at the deep lines that suddenly appeared between his eyes. “Something troubles you?”

  “No, I am late for the practice field,” he said which was true but that was not what had caused his brow to crease. It was the thought of leaving her, even if only for a while.

  “Then go, but first quickly tell me what chores are now mine since I am your wife.”

  “You have chores enough with being the clan’s healer,” he said, walking with her to the door.

  “I will see to the running of the keep, since I believe that is a wife’s duty” she said, scurrying out of his arm and out the door when he opened it and off she ran before he could dictate otherwise.

  Craven smiled, hearing her light laughter trickle behind her and fall around him. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her lingering on him. He had not felt such joy, such contentment since Aubrey and guilt rose up to jab at him.

  He had thought his heart had died with Aubrey that day. That he would never feel the joy of loving someone again. He had never thought to find love in the first place, but Aubrey had stolen his heart so quickly, he had not even been sure how it had happened.

  She smiled at him. He would never forget Aubrey’s smile, soft and timid, or her quietness. She had never once argued with him or dared disobey him, and never had she been untruthful with him. He had known peace with Aubrey.

  There would be no peace with Espy. She would do what she saw fit to help others even if he forbid it. She would challenge his sanity at every turn and tempt him with every touch. Why did he find that so appealing?

  Espy went straight to the kitchen and spoke briefly with Aggie, the cook, letting her know that she was going to see to the running the keep now and that Aggie should seek her counsel if she required anything. She had been grateful when Aggie offered her help should there be anything she was unfamiliar with in the keep. She had no experience in running a keep, but she never let lack of knowledge stop her before. Her da had always encouraged her to dive in and explore, ask questions, listen, and learn from those more knowledgeable. She would do the same with the workings of the keep. Besides, it was her responsibility and she had never shied away from responsibility.

  She went to the healing cottage after leaving the kitchen and was surprised and a bit uncomfortable when people referred to her as my lady. She was Espy, equal to all she tended. She did not want a useless title to interfere with that. She would speak with Craven and hoped he would agree with her.

  She spotted Ober sitting on the bench outside the healing cottage as soon as the place came into view. He would come to her for a brew when he was not feeling well, claiming the brew eased his suffering considerably. Espy did not know how that could be possible since the brew she gave him was nothing more than chamomile and mint.

  Tula had told her that he was friendly to all and offered his help to many when he felt well enough. Still, there was something about him that made her hesitate in trusting him. There was that nagging thought that he seemed familiar, but she could not recall where she may have seen him before. She had been to far too many places and had far too many people to recall them all, though Ober was one person she wished she could recall.

  “Congratulations on your wedding, my lady,” Ober said, rising up off the bench to stand on wobbling limbs.

  “Sit,” Espy urged as she drew near and placed her arm around his shoulder to help lower him to the bench. “Thank you, Ober. I am sure it was a surprise to all.”

  “A pleasant and delightful surprise to all from what I have heard,” he said, his smile quickly fading to a grimace. “My bones are hurting bad, my lady. I could use more of that brew, though I think my time is drawing near.”

  “Nonsense,” Espy said, “you are getting better every day. Sit here and rest while I prepare a brew for you.” It did not take long and soon Espy returned, handing Ober a tankard and joining him on the bench. It was time to find out some things about the man and see if she could spark her memory.

  “Thank you, my lady, I have been in need of this,” Ober said, cupping the tankard in his hands.

  “Where is your home Ober?”

  “Here, there, everywhere. I have been a wanderer far too long,” he said and sipped at the brew.

  “How did you ply your trade as a smithy if you wandered so much?” she asked and caught the slight jerk to his body, as if he realized his mistake.

  “There is always work for a smithy somewhere,” he said, nodding as if it proved his words.

  “It does not seem that you got much work,” Espy said and watched the knuckles in his hands turn white as his grip on the tankard tightened.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your hands have no scars and a smithy never escapes scars, so I assume you found little work during your wandering.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Enough to help me survive.”

  “I have wandered some myself, perhaps we crossed paths along the way.”

  He shook his head. “I did not travel far up into the Highlands where the old ways still rule.”

  “How do you know I traveled far up into the Highlands or that the old ways rule there, if you have never been there?”

  He tongue was quick to defend. “I heard tales of those who have been there and everyone is talking about Warrick sending his warriors for you and he resides farther up in the Highlands or so I have heard.”

  “Gossip spreads like the wind over the land,” Espy said and Ober agreed with repeated nods and shortly after that he took his leave, refusing any help from Espy as he slowly shuffled off.

  What was it about Ober that made him feel familiar, but not in a comfortable way? Where had she seen him? Or had she? Could she be mistaken? She shook her head and entered the cottage. One day it would come to her. One day she would remember.

  Chapter 25

  Espy had just stepped out of the healing cottage the next morning, basket in hand, planning on collecting some of the fresh nettle growing on the outskirts of the woods when she spotted a young lad running straight toward her. It was Sayer, the young lad who worked in the kitchen and a friend of Leith’s, and he was crying.

  “Please, my Seanmhair needs you,” Sayer begged, his breathing haggard.

  Espy dropped the basket and rushed off with Sayer. She had been expecting this summons having visited Verna yesterday and seeing that death was not far off.

  Sayer ran to his mum and cuddled against her as soon as they entered the cottage, tears continuing to run down his flushed cheeks. His mum’s arm curled around him, offering comfort as she sniffed back her own tears.

  Espy sat on the chair beside the bed and took the old woman’s frail and nearly lifeless hand in hers. Her breathing was so shallow that it barely could be detected and it would not be long before it ceased altogether.

  She turned to Sayer’s mum. “Your mum does not suffer, Cleva. She will be at peace soon.”

  Cleva fought back her tears, but a few broke loose and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. “She was the best mum and Seanmhair. We will miss her.”

  The door burst open and Celva’s husband, Hamill, a man of good height and width, hurried in and he went to his wife and son and wrapped them in his thick arms as tears filled his eyes.

  Espy kept a gentle hold on Verna’s hand as she waited for her to take her last breath.

  Craven was lost in thought as he walked through the village. For some reason, his wife’s words of the other day had come back to haunt him.

  Be careful, my dear husband, for there is a beast in all of us.

  He could not imagine that a beast could reside in Espy. She thought of others before she thought of herself and she was always there to help the ill and the needy… yet? Her words had a ring of truth to them. He had seen quiet men turn into beasts when going into battle. He had seen women rage like beasts when defending loved ones. So had a beast within Espy helped her work with Arran to save the innocent?

  The thought, and his curiosity, had him going to find her, not to mention that he was missing her, his arms feeling empty. Dust kicked up around his boots, the thought having stopped him so abruptly. He shook his head at the crazy thought as he continued walking again. How could he miss her when he had only seen her earlier this morning? He had woken before her to find her naked body sprawled half across him and naturally he could not keep his hands off her. His intimate touches and strokes had woken her and they had made love.

  Love.

  Craven stopped abruptly once more, drawing attention, not that anyone would acknowledge his strange behavior, though this time his clansmen did not stare at him in fright, but with smiles and gentle nods as if they understood his plight.

  He glared from one person to another and none turned away, they simply kept smiling and nodding. They thought him besotted… in love.

  He could not be in love. It was impossible. Any love he had to give had died with Aubrey.

  You have a huge heart, share it.

  Aubrey had said that often to him, especially when he got upset or angry over something. She always reminded him that it was his heart he needed to listen to and not the beast who rumbled and blustered.

  He took off walking again and was about to turn toward the healing cottage when he saw his wife, her head down and her gait rushed as she hurried in the same direction.

  His gut clenched, and sensing something was wrong, he called out to her. “Espy.” She stopped and looked his way and when he saw tears in her eyes every muscle in his body grew as tight as a bow string. Before he could take a step toward her, she flew at him with rapid steps and he spread his arms out and caught her in them, locking them around her.

  Her head dropped to his shoulder and she let her tears fall. He walked her, though more carried her, his arm coiled around her waist, to the healing cottage, and was grateful no one was there or he would have chased them away.

  Once inside, the door shut, the two of them alone, he kept silent and held her. He let her cry, soft tears, until she finally raised her head and looked at him. Tears dampened her flushed cheeks and her tear-drenched eyes glistened.

  “I hate when death is victorious,” she said, anger sparking her words.

  “Someone died?” he asked concerned not only for those in his clan, but for his wife.

  “Verna. Sayer’s grandmother.”

  “Verna is the oldest member of our clan,” Craven said, recalling the old woman’s many wrinkles and her slow gait that had everyone stepping around her or assisting her when she seemed unable to take another step. “Verna has outwitted death on many an occasion. It was finally her time.”

  Espy wiped at her wet cheeks while remaining snug in her husband’s arms. “That may be so, but it still does not make it easy for me. I always feel I should have done more to battle death.”

  “From what you have told me about working with Arran to free the innocent, you have defeated death more often than not.”

  “Not often enough,” she said with a hint of regret.

  “Whatever possessed you to join forces with Arran and put yourself in such danger?” Espy eased out of his embrace and he reluctantly let her go, eager to learn more about her.

  “I had nightmares after saving Arran, faceless people reaching out to me for help and some begging for death to end their suffering. Though, I was not naïve to the suffering of others, it was nothing compared to the cruelty and heartlessness of torture.” Espy shook her head slowly. “I was not foolish enough to think I could save everyone, but if I could at least save a few—”

  “Do you know what would have happened if you had gotten caught?” Craven asked, fear prickling his skin, something he had not felt since Aubrey’s death.

  She nodded knowingly. “I would have suffered the same fate of those I was trying to help.”

  “How many did you save?”

  “Many, yet not enough. I never counted. The number never mattered to me, only the person. Arran mentioned something once about thirty, though there were many more after that.” Espy turned away. “And even more I failed to help.”

  That she was disappointed in those she failed to help rather than take pride in the many she had helped spoke of her selflessness. It also worried him since she would not think twice of helping someone even if it meant possible harm to her. “You cannot save everyone and everyone is not worth saving,” he warned.

  Espy turned to face him. “That is not for me to judge. My da and mum taught me that a healer was there to heal, to help, to comfort. What is done to people in those torture chambers is beyond cruel. It is complete madness, as was the reason for most being there.”

  Craven rubbed at the back of his neck, a nagging pain stabbing at him at the thought of what she could have suffered. “How was it that you were not caught before the debacle with Warrick?”

  “Luck? Good planning? Fate?” She shrugged. “I do not know. I saved those I could and held the hand of those I failed while they took their last breath, then I moved on.”

  He tipped his head slightly to the side and his brow wrinkled in question. “Was this comfort you offered the dying before or after you helped others escape?”

  “Both.”

  “You put yourself in danger and remained at these places when there was nothing you could have done for the dying?” he asked, trying to comprehend not only her foolishness but the courage it took to do that.

  “Yes there was. I could hold their hand so they were not alone when death came for them,” she said, making it sound like the most reasonable thing for her to do. “No one wants to die alone.”

  Craven did not know where the question came from, it simply slipped from his lips. “Did Aubrey fear that moment when death came for her? That moment she knew she would die.” He swallowed hard, the next question difficult for him to ask, but impossible for him not to. “Did Aubrey cry out for me?”

  His question did not surprise her. It was inevitable that one day he would ask it. She had wondered why he had not asked it of her sooner, but sometimes people do not ask for fear of the answer. She would tell him. She only hoped he would believe her.

  The door flew open preventing her from responding and she could not deny she was grateful for the interruption.

  Dylan stood in the open doorway. “Some of Warrick’s men have taken up camp just on the outskirts of MacCara land.”

  “I expected no less,” Craven said. “They wait for word from Warrick.”

  “Also, a traveler has arrived and he claims to know Espy. He says he is a physician,” Dylan said, looking to Espy. “His name is Innis Lockerbie.”

  A sudden smile consumed Espy’s entire face and she rushed around the table and out of the cottage before Craven could stop her, though he was quick to follow.

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