by Madelyn Hill
Time would only tell if the bastard was going to keep his word. For now, they’d increase the guards and limit time outside the palisade walls.
“And what will you do with Fiona?”
Bollocks. He’d nearly forgotten. ‘Twas a difficult position he was in. Fiona was a childhood friend, one he’d cared for like the sister he’d never had. He loathed that he’d hurt her. But her actions were worse than his. Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck and thought on what to do about the lass.
He glanced at the keep and saw the light burning in his chamber. ‘Twas late and cold. All he could think of was being in his wife’s arms. “She can wait until the morrow.”
Cam chuckled. “If I had a wife who looked like yours, I’d say the same thing.”
Malcolm slapped him on the back. “Good eve to you. And keep an eye on Fiona to ensure she doesn’t leave the keep.”
“Aye, Laird. Say goodnight to your lady and Mairi.”
“My wife has no need of your goodnights, Cam,” Malcolm countered with a grin.
Cam mocked a salute. “Aye, m’laird.”
Chapter 13
Rossalyn checked on Mairi, happy to see the lass fed and warm and tucked within her bed. She stood at the window as her father and his men rode off, and prayed ‘twould be the last time she saw him. ‘Twas a wretched thing to pray about, but the man had caused her so much pain, she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Her husband stood near the gate talking to Cam. Och, two fine men who did well to protect their clan.
She worried about their fate, the fate of the clan and dealing with such a man as her father. But she trusted her husband and his men to ensure nothing else would happen to her or Mairi. She bit at her lip, wondering what sort of fate awaited the woman Fiona. If she understood gossip about the keep correctly, Fiona had been in love with Malcolm and envisioned them marrying. Poor lass and her broken heart.
Easy for Rossalyn now, to ken how it was to love Malcolm—hot, potent, surely all-consuming. If a woman with Fiona’s gumption loved Malcolm, ‘twas with her body and soul—and would be hard to be denied. Rossalyn determined to request her husband not judge Fiona too harshly.
When Malcolm headed toward the keep, she quickly stoked the fire and slipped out of her gown, leaving her fine, linen chemise on.
Should she be in bed? Would Malcolm consider her brazen? No matter, they were wed and she could think of nothing more that she wanted to do than lay abed with her husband.
A knock sounded on the door. “Wife, may I come in?”
She laughed. “Aye, husband.” How wonderful the words felt on her tongue. Shivers of excitement raced through her.
Malcolm entered; closed and locked the door. A wicked grin curled his mouth. As he paced toward her, he lifted his liene over his head, slipped off the belt holding his tartan, and let the cloth fall to the ground.
A magnificent man stood before her. Hard planes of muscles bunched as he walked. Long legs, broad shoulders.
She quivered as her womb clenched. Heat filled her at the intensity of his gaze. How she wanted this man.
How she loved this man.
She swallowed as he stood beside the bed. She whipped back the covers to welcome him in.
“You are wearing too much clothing.”
She chuckled. “I think you can remedy that.”
With his strong hands he started unlacing her chemise.
“Hurry.”
He leaned down, still standing beside the bed, and whispered kisses along her bosom. With one swift movement, Malcolm gripped her chemise and tore it down the middle.
“Malcolm,” she chastised, though she laughed.
He knelt next to the bed and swept his gaze over her. “You are so very beautiful, my love.”
She blushed beneath his scrutiny. “Come to me.”
He grinned and said, “As you wish, my love.”
Rossalyn canted her head to the side. “‘Tis the second time you called me your love.”
Malcolm slipped into bed and lay beside her. He tipped up her chin and grazed her lip with the pad of his thumb. His dark eyes held tenderness. “Because you are my love. I love you, Lady Rossalyn Sutherland.”
Tears tickled the back of her throat. “You do?”
“Aye.” He swept a kiss against her mouth. “I love how you protect our daughter.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love how you care for the people of my clan. Our clan.” He kissed her eyelids. “I love how you have given yourself to me. Given your heart to me.”
“Oh, Malcolm.” She circled her arms around his neck. “Thank you for sharing your love with me.”
He kissed her, brought her tight against him. His flesh singed hers as they made love. Truly made love, their hearts as one as they ravaged each other.
“Malcolm,” she cried as passion overwhelmed her. Each part of her body longed to touch his, be touched by him. He consumed her as she met his thrusts. She smoothed her hands over his body, loved when he trembled and groaned in his passion.
Her husband. The man who loved her.
He buried himself deep within her. Rossalyn cried out as her body soared to such pleasurable heights. Malcolm growled as he spilled his seed within her.
“I love you,” he whispered after he collapsed next to her.
After a while, light filtered into the chamber, spilling over the furniture and reaching the bed.
Malcolm rose and pulled Rossalyn with him.
He wrapped a blanket around them as they stood before the window.
She smiled, lifted to her toes, and kissed him. “Look, Malcolm.”
A full moon filled the night sky—‘twas brilliant.
“‘Tis the Christmas moon, m’laird.” She gripped his hand and held it to her heart. “Beneath the Christmas moon I have found love.”
His heart hammered against her hand. Aye, she realized—‘twas the truth of it.
“Aye,” he echoed. “Love beneath the Christmas moon.”
BOOK TWO
HIS BY CHRISTMAS
Chapter 1
“You kenned he’d be vexed.”
Fiona Sutherland rolled her eyes heavenward, then glared at the man who was forever scolding her. As if everything Cameron Munro did was perfect.
She grabbed her arisaid, whipped it over her shoulders, and headed toward the bailey. Thick, white flakes of snow fell and tangled in her lashes. She ignored the blasted weather and kept walking.
Despite the blanket of snow, heavy footsteps pounded after her.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Fiona?”
She spun to face Cam and fisted her hands at her waist. Anger flared quickly as her heart ratcheted against her chest. She wasn’t daft. She kenned exactly what she did. Just as she kenned there’d be consequences. “Aye, the mighty Cam has spoken. Do you think I have to listen to you?”
Cam stared at her with those dark eyes of his. Unreadable, impenetrable. He might be the Sargent-at-Arms for the clan, but he had no place yelling at her. “Why did you lie to the Laird?”
Why, indeed?
Especially since she kenned ‘twas wrong. Och, why did she allow her anger to rule her tongue? Truly, she didn’t ken who she was when she spat at Malcolm and then talked Lady Rossalyn into fleeing the keep. And she put the lass Mairi in danger as well. Just thinking of it made her want to lose the contents of her stomach. She’d been so vile.
She tugged her fingers through her hair and sighed. Fiona had loved Malcolm Sutherland since she was just a wee lass. He was strong, loyal, and had the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. When his parents died and he became laird, she kenned he’d need a wife. Determined to be the next Lady Sutherland, she would do so with such grace, the clan would revere her. ‘Twas something she’d
dreamed of for years. They’d rule the clan together and what beautiful bairns they’d make.
When he’d asked Trina to marry him, Fiona kenned ‘twouldn’t last. She’d seen Trina with another and told the woman to confess or she’d go to Mal. After Trina was banished, Fiona pinned all of her hopes and dreams on Mal, anticipating his proposal.
But now, her dreams were dashed. He’d brought the woman and her child from Clan Gordon—and to make matters worse, he’d wed her.
He’d wed another woman.
Her stomach dropped at the memory of seeing the lady, all refined and beautiful even with the dust from the trail upon her. ‘Twas why she’d mocked the woman. Mal was hers and this wench had stolen him.
And when the lovely wee lass appeared, och, Fiona’s heart careened. She longed for a husband and a bairn of her own. And now Mal had a wife and daughter. He’d not need her.
Again, her dreams were shattered, for she knew Malcolm would never forsake a promise to his new wife if a child was involved. Mayhap, even without the child. For Laird Sutherland was a fiercely loyal man and once he pledged a promise, ‘twould take God himself to force him to break it.
Even as she kenned this about him, the idea he’d forgotten their pledge surprised her. Aye, ‘twas a promise made between a lad and lass, but she’d lived with the idea of marriage in her mind and heart ever since. Och, now her heart was shattered.
“Well, Fiona?”
She glanced up and saw Cam glaring at her. Such a large man, with shoulders so braw he blocked some of the falling snow. His jaw clenched and his brow pulled into a straight line. She frowned, not wanting this man to discover why she was so vexed and why she’d tried to force the new Lady Sutherland to leave. Though the reason should be obvious to him. Mal was her love and should be her husband. “‘Tis none of your concern. We are no longer young lads and lasses in a time where you and Malcolm order me around.”
She jerked when he gripped her arm. “Let go of me,” she said with a sneer and a bit of fright at the fierceness of his scowl. Mayhap too strong of a word to describe her feelings. But it seemed as if he’d become larger, more powerful, as he stood peering down at her.
The sheer magnitude of the man left her a little breathless with those black eyes and such fury pulsing around him. She shook her head. Nay, it was only Cam, she reasoned. The same lad she rode across the glen and fished with over the years.
However, ‘twas obvious why Mal had him leading the men. He was strong, commanding, and as he clenched his jaw—intimidating. “Leave Lady Sutherland alone. If m’laird has a mind to, you may find yourself out of the keep.”
She scoffed, but her pulse ratcheted against her chest. “Mal would never force me from the keep.”
Cam shrugged, but released her. “That is to be seen. If you threaten his lady, he may have no choice.”
He turned from her and strode toward the stables. Fiona rubbed her arm and kept her gaze on him. He’d a cocksure swagger, truth be told. Long, muscle-bound legs and broad shoulders. He was braw, aye, but not the man Malcolm Sutherland was.
Her Mal.
How was she to live without him? Knowing he was with another woman, in her arms each night and them loving each other, killed her.
Fiona wiped away tears of frustration as her heart broke again. Soon it would be so shattered, it might never heal. She’d end up a shrew. Turning, she continued to make her way outside the keep’s wall. A long walk was in order, despite the snow and cold. Pulling her worn arisaid tight around her, she braved the wintery conditions.
She kicked at the snow as she paced along the barren landscape until she reached the wee forest. ‘Twas too late in the eve to venture inside the dark depths; regardless, she kept walking. An owl hooted and the branches rustled in the wind. She frowned and cursed Laird and Lady Sutherland.
“Why?” Fiona muttered. “Why couldn’t he have chosen me?”
She’d been so excited when she’d seen Mal traveling toward the keep, she had urged her mare into a gallop. He’d finally returned and completed his goal of securing food stores. Now he’d be ready and willing to marry. Willing to marry her, she kenned it. Her heart had raced just as she pushed her mare toward the caravan.
While she kenned Mal would be pleased to see her, spying the other woman had sent warnings to her brain and heart.
“You’ll catch your death.”
She gasped and turned toward the voice. Cam leaned against a grand pine. He crossed his arms before his chest and stared her. Damn, the man was always watching her.
‘Twas disconcerting.
“Can’t you find another lass to vex?” she taunted. “Or have you worn out your welcome in their beds?”
He chuckled when she wanted him to snarl. “Jealous?” he drawled in that lazy way he had. The man just had a manner about him. She angled her head and studied him. Steady, to be sure or he wouldn’t be the Sargent-at-Arms. Loyal; Cam and Mal had been friends since they were born, it seemed. And if she were forced to admit it, aye, he was handsome with those dark eyes, equally dark hair, and chiseled features. And he usually had several lasses swooning when he was near. Many a fight had broken out in the kitchens over who was to serve the man his meals.
He pushed from the tree and strode toward her. His bulky height seemed larger in the outer shadows of the forest. “I’ll escort you back to the keep.”
Tired and grumpy, she merely nodded. Pacing outside the keep hadn’t made her thoughts any clearer. She struggled to hide the fact her teeth were chattering as she tightened her arisaid around her.
“Quiet evening.”
Her brow furrowed. “‘Twould be if you ceased speaking.”
He chuckled. “Ah, Fiona lass, such a honeyed tongue.”
She glanced up at the sky as snowflakes trickled down toward her through the brightness of the moon.
Cam walked beside her, now silent since she’d not taken his bait. Why did the man irritate her so? She’d kenned him for so long, yet he’d never vexed her as much as he did at this moment.
And now that he’d stopped speaking, she loathed the quiet. If she could, she’d have people and dancing around her at all times. When she was alone, ‘twas when she questioned why Mal hadn’t turned to her when his parents died or why he hadn’t taken her with him as he searched for food stores for the clan. Mostly, why he brought another woman . . . a stranger, no less, to their keep and clan.
“He loves her, you ken this?”
Fiona’s heart clenched. Pain sharpened with each breath. ‘Twas the truth of it, aye, she kenned. The way Mal looked at Lady Sutherland, passion and desire was banked in his eyes, and when he was with her bairn, ‘twas sweet and enviable. Too much for Fiona to bear.
She swallowed, burgeoning tears blurring her vision. “He barely knows her,” she managed to say.
Cam slipped his hand beneath her elbow, his palm warm, even through the wool of her arisaid. “Watch your step.”
Enough.
She ripped from his grasp. “Stop coddling me. I’m not one of those weak women who moons over a man.”
He flashed a smile and creases pierced his cheeks—damn him and his dimples. “Aren’t you?”
She leveled him with one of her most vile glares. “I’ll continue on my own, if you don’t mind.”
Cam stepped aside and bowed toward her. “Ah, lass, I don’t mind at all.”
Fiona trudged through the deep snow, past the palisade. She quickly glanced over her shoulder and saw Cam following her at a distance.
What she wouldn’t give for the man to leave her alone.
And what she wouldn’t give to have Mal’s love.
Both, she feared, were impossible.
Ah, she was going to be worth the wait. A strong lass, beautiful, to be sure. But stubborn and in love with the w
rong man. Cam observed her striding into the keep, her back ramrod straight and her shoulders square. She’d occupied his thoughts and dreams for too many years.
He’d held back from trying to woo her. Mostly out of respect for his laird. He’d kenned Fiona thought she was in love with Malcolm and this threw a particular wrinkle into his plan. If he’d pressed his case too soon, Fiona would have spurned him as she waited for Malcolm to forsake his lady. Which he’d never do.
Now was the perfect time.
Cam wanted her for his wife.
He wanted her to be the mother of his bairns.
And he wanted her to warm his bed until he drew his last breath.
How to convince her? The woman had been enamored with Malcolm since she could toddle about. Cam’d stood by, watching and waiting until she realized Mal was not enamored of her.
‘Twas wretched how she’d been hurt. He’d witnessed her shock, how those green, green eyes had filled with tears and then disbelief. Ah, her legionary ire flashed as bright as fire. Words whipped from her tart tongue and then she was racing back to the keep. He’d been there for her. Had waited for her to see that loving him was a possibility. And still she pined for Mal.
Cam had been patient, too patient.
But now, his restraint was gone.
Mal was wed, and there was no reason for Fiona to continue to moon over him and profess a love which had never been returned.
He’d have to court her without her realizing he was doing so. With her stubborn nature and keen intellect, she’d discover his plan and he’d be thwarted.
Cam entered the keep just in time to see Fiona headed toward the stairs leading to her chamber. Her skirt slipped and he eyed her shapely calf, creamy skin he wagered would be smooth to the touch.
Och, he’d have to control himself.
“Cam,” his man Timothy called, “come and quench your thirst.”