Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

  She looked up at him, her hands pressed against his chest, eyes wide. “Why did you take me, Nicholas? Take me from Drymen, I mean, not the other.”

  He felt like he was drowning in her wide blue eyes. “How could I not? My savior risked life and limb to save me from certain death. But more so,” he declared when she pressed her face against his chest. “I could not bear the thought of you in anyone else’s arms but mine. Perhaps, I did not choose the proper way to achieve the matter, but Rory’s suggestion was too good to ignore. I felt the risk of being slaughtered by the rest of your brothers well worth the effort, offensive as it was.”

  “Ye are an honorable man, Nicholas.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” he complained. Nicholas kissed her forehead gently and then pulled her to her feet. “Never hide, Mary. You are a Mackay now. Be proud and damn whoever thinks otherwise.”

  Nicholas wanted nothing more that to toss her on the bed again, his desire hot once again, heated by the passion he felt for her, for his clan. Surely she could understand their zeal? She might be from the lowlands, but had lived close enough to the borders of the Highlands to have dealt with any number of clans.

  “You do understand, do you not?” he asked softly.

  Mary nodded with a faint smile, her lips trembling, he thought, quite bravely. Unsure of what she might want, he sighed and picked her up in his arms. Mary wrapped an arm around his neck as he carried her to the bed. Laying her down gently he leaned over expecting her to release him, but she did not. Instead her other arm snaked around his neck, holding him over her. He braced his hands on either side of her, lifting a brow as Mary looked up at him.

  “Nicholas?”

  “Aye?” He held his breath as her lips parted and her fingers tangled into his hair. Goosebumps rose on his skin at her touch, his body reacting swiftly to the smile that suddenly curved her lips.

  “How often are married folk allowed to well. . . what is seemly?”

  “Seemly? Mary, we could make love as often as you desire.”

  She did a funny thing with her mouth that made his control slip to near breaking, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. “How often do you desire it?”

  He grinned and bent a knee on the bed. “A man thinks of little else some days.”

  Mary drew her hands from his hair and slid them instead over his chest. Heat penetrated his shirt under her fingers, igniting a fire deep inside him. “Little else?” she repeated.

  Her laughter erased his concern. Admittedly, with her lying beneath him so enticingly, he could think of nothing else at the moment. “Why do you ask?” he inquired instead, his voice husky when she reached for his belt.

  “I felt embarrassed when Branwen laughed at us. I know you said I should not, but I have not been here that long, nor have we been together, in that way but a few times.” She withdrew her hands, leaving him feeling bereft, but then lifted one to caress his cheek. “But you said it was not wrong. My mother said a woman should please her husband as well as she could, that anything could be done if we both agreed.”

  Nicholas was nearly speechless. “Your mother said that?” he gasped.

  “Aye, she is a very modern woman,” Mary agreed.

  “I will look forward to meeting your mother at some point. She is still alive?”

  Mary frowned and shook her head. “Nay, she died a few years back, sadly. I miss her still.”

  Nicholas kissed her brow. “You have done her proud, lass.”

  “Aye, I have taken her lessons to heart,” Mary agreed. She had unbuckled his belt while they spoke, pulling the leather apart until it drooped around his hips.

  “So what do you intend, Mary?” he asked curiously.

  She slid the belt from around his waist and tossed it aside where it fell with a dull thud to the floor. “I intend to find out what else you know to teach me.”

  Nicholas closed his eyes when she delved underneath his tunic, her fingers light on his skin. “But lass, it’s broad daylight,” he said, choking with both amusement and surprise when she unlaced his breeches. “You said…”

  “Forget what I said,” Mary instructed in a throaty whisper. “I’ve changed my mind. If I’m to have ye, Nicholas, I’ll have ye. Besides, we are alone in our room. And few are within the keep to hear.”

  He grinned when she looked up, her explorations limited by his clothing. “Are you intending on being rather noisy, Mary?”

  She blinked up at him, her expression coy. “I believe that depends on you, husband.”

  Nicholas climbed onto the bed and pulled her against him to lie on his back, his lips to her hair. “Mary, I have things to do.” It was true but the need was fading quickly, his body instead leaping to answer her invitation.

  “So ye don’t want me?”

  He rolled his eyes and moved until he lay over her, pinning her underneath him. He pulled her hands over her head, holding her fast and then lowered his head to kiss her in a long lazy caress that elicited a low moan from Mary.

  He kissed her again, shifting so his knee pressed between her legs, felt her shift to rub against him. He switched hands, holding her with one hand to pull up the edges of her skirt until she was bare beneath him. “There are times, Mary,” he breathed, “When slow is good. And there are times as today when a man’s passion is too hot to deny. But there are times when he wants to be slow but the woman beneath him does not.”

  Mary licked her lips. She twisted her wrists under his grip but he held her fast. “Why hold me then?”

  “Because if you touch me I just may lose control.”

  “And you don’t want that?”

  He groaned as she squirmed against him. His body leaped in answer. “Nay,” he declared.

  Mary sighed. Her nails bit into his hand. Her eyes fluttered half closed. “What can I do then?”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  She stared at him, eyes suddenly wide. Pink stole into her cheeks. “Tell ye?”

  “Aye.”

  “But I don’t, that is more than a lady should say,” she said primly.

  “It drives a man wild to be told such things,” Nicholas replied. His heart was pounding already at the thought of her being so bold. Mary lay beneath him, a prize to be treasured and loved. He intended to do both well. She groaned, squirming in his grasp, cheeks still a lovely shade of rose.

  “So, if I wanted you to kiss my breast?” she whispered hesitantly.

  Nicholas swallowed and releasing her, bent to nibble and kiss her breast, moving the fabric of her shift out of the way. He licked the nipple that puckered beneath his tongue. Mary moaned and arched against him, her hand holding him against her. “That is . . . ooh,” Mary gasped. “And perhaps lower, lad.”

  Nicholas obeyed, sliding her shift down to her stays. He ran his tongue along the sides of her breast and the sucked it until she pushed him away, breathing shallowly.

  “Unlace me.”

  Nicholas pulled the stays loose, dropping the offending garment on the floor. Mary lay sprawled on the bed, her hand over her breast as he waited for her next command. She sat up on her elbows, tantalizing him as she panted.

  “Ye can undress, Nicholas.”

  He smiled and got off the bed, moving to the door to lock it and then returned, dragging off his tunic, and then his breeches as she watched, wide eyed. His shirt came next, fluttering with a whisper to the floor to reveal him as he was born to her discerning eye.

  “Ye are a good looking man, Highlander.”

  Nicholas stood in front of her while her gaze slid over him in a slow perusal that made his head spin. She held out a hand and then carefully touched him, giggling when his body reacted. “I want to touch ye,” she said and looked up at him as if asking for permission.

  “You can touch all you like,” he growled and then regretted the words as she folded her fingers around the length of him. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea as heat flooded into his belly.

/>   “Mary,” he gasped, clasping his hands around her face to force her to look up. “Touching, however, will lead to other things very rapidly.”

  Mary let go and stood up between him and the bed to rest her hands on his hips. She ran her fingers over his scars and then over his ribs to his chest. “So if I touch you there at other times, it will lead to more of this?”

  Good god, what other times did she have in mind? Nicholas shook his head. “ You are being a wicked lass once again. What will I do with you?”

  She laughed softly. “I think you know just what to do.”

  He picked her up and set her on the bed, pulling her shift to her hips. His breath caught to look at her, to know she was his and only his. Her breasts were perfect, her thighs pale and erotic, hiding the most secret and delicious place, yet now open to him, inviting him in to taste. Desire screamed in his veins, his body demanded he wait no further, but he held back for a moment longer. Mary gasped as he pushed her backward onto the edge of the bed and positioned himself between her thighs, kneeling on the floor. “You are mine, Mary.”

  She closed her eyes when he leaned closer. “Nicholas,” she breathed, her fingers gripped into his hair. He smiled and then caressed her gently with his tongue.

  Mary shrieked, letting go of his hair to grasp the blankets beside her.

  Nicholas delved deeper, savoring her flavor. He rarely loved a woman in this way. Most encounters had been swift and productive yet emotionally flat. Mary writhed beneath him, making little moans that urged him further, enticing him to pleasure her until he could bear no more. Rising to his feet, he pushed her knees apart and then slid inside her in one motion that took all of his breath.

  Nicholas closed his eyes, the feel of her exquisite, heating his blood until he could think only of plunging deeply into her, feeling her body clench tightly around him. He held still a moment longer, bracing against the rising fury of his blood. Mary locked her legs around his waist, arching her back, her mouth open as he pulled away, and then succumbing to need, he thrust forward to Mary’s shriek. He muffled her cries with his kisses as they came together furiously, all control lost between them. Then he was there, a roiling fury coiling inside from the very depths of his soul until he only wanted to shout with his release.

  He left Mary curled up on the bed, asleep, a faint smile curving her lips.

  Each time he came near her it was as if he needed more, nothing assuaged his lust. Finding her weeping, however, had tied his heart into a knot so tightly he wanted only to strangle the woman who had caused Mary’s upset.

  He knew to stay within the confines of the keep would not do well at all.

  Nicholas took to the hills, walking as most Highlanders did, with the long stride that ate at the distance. The fragrant heather soothed his ire, the wind cooled his fury until he could stop and look about without the urge to throttle someone. He stared up past the rough-hewn peak of the ben to watch the clouds drift by in a sky of deep blue. An eagle wheeled about overhead, its cry echoing over the hills.

  Below him the blue depths of the kyle beckoned, the grass green where it found purchase amid the rocks.

  He shoved a hand into his hair.

  When had it hit him, he wondered.

  When had a woman become more important than breathing, when had he fallen so deep he would give up nigh most anything if it made her smile again? He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Is this what Rory felt?

  Nicholas opened his eyes and then sat on a nearby rock. He pulled a length of grass from the ground and blew on it, smiling at the sound, something his grandfather had taught him as a child. Would he be like that, dandle a child on his knee and tell him stories of the grand ways of the Highlands? Would he be able to impress upon a child just how important the land was, the blood?

  He had rejected it, had thought to leave it behind.

  He knew now it had never let him go, but had only waited for the chance for him to remember.

  “Ye do know it’s damn hard to keep up with a man with legs longer than a giraffe,” Rory complained hoarsely, using his crutch to limp up the hill toward Nicholas. “A lame man should not be attempting to follow a damn Highlander into the hills.”

  Nicholas grinned and caught Rory’s arm as he staggered backwards.

  “No you shouldn’t be, nor have you any idea what a giraffe looks like.”

  “I seen one in a book once,” Rory declared.

  Nicholas lifted a brow as Rory sat down beside him. “You've read a book?”

  “Nay, just looked at one. A fairy tale, most like, had all these strange animals in it,” Rory admitted. “Even one they say is as big as a whale, called it an elefont.”

  “As if you’ve seen a whale or an elephant,” Nicholas replied, who had seen both. Whales sometimes breeched on the beach near Varrich. The elephant he had seen in Rome on a brief sojourn there, in a traveling circus.

  “Feeling a bit overwhelmed are ye, lad? Snapping at yer friends don’t help much.”

  “I am fine,” Nicholas said stiffly.

  “Aye, and goats can sing.” Rory dropped his crutch on the ground.

  “So how long will you pretend to use it?”

  The big scot leaned back to look at Nicholas. “As long as it makes Fiona feel sad for me.”

  “Lay about, you should be on your feet, instead of dragging that thing about.”

  Rory grinned and picked up the crutch. “It comes in handy as a weapon when none would expect it.”

  “I am glad you have come,” Nicholas said.

  “Aye, as am I, Highlander. Do you know why Maelcolm Beg gave ye so little fight in all this?”

  Nicholas snorted. “I can only imagine.”

  Rory stretched out on the grass next to the rock. “Ye left as I expected, in good time.”

  “I had good motivation, or so I thought.”

  “Aye, you did. Keen as I know ye to be, ye noted that Mary had been in the garden a time or two.”

  “You knew about the puppies?”

  “Aye, William told me. It’s just like Mary to worry over such things. She’s coveted that dog since it were born, the runt.”

  Nicholas only smiled at the thought.

  Rory sighed and then peered at Nicholas. “Ye kept it from howling when you took her. That shocks me more than how it all came together.”

  “I have always had a way with animals,” Nicholas admitted. “Perhaps the dog sensed I meant her no real harm.”

  Rory grunted. “I didn’a think ye’d get along too far, what with her struggling and all. When the stable boy came to tell us Nim was gone, I knew ye’d left.” The scot laughed. “The guards were a bit miffed I’d drawn them from the walls. I fear they knew then I’d had a hand in yer escape.”

  “And Maelcolm Beg?”

  “I reached him as I expected on the road from Perth. William and Malcolm rode the west road. I knew at some point we’d meet up, hopefully with you in between. Knowing the lass, if she’d known we were near, she’d be hell bent to let us know.”

  “Did you know the Mackays were near?”

  “Nay,” Rory chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “That was just too good; Fate had ‘er hand in that, lad.”

  Nicholas sighed and leaned back against a rock. The wind ruffled his hair, reminding him that it was getting too long as it tickled his cheek. “Damn.”

  “Aye, but it ends well.”

  “Has it ended?” Nicholas asked, peering at Rory. “Or has it just begun.”

  “Well, depends on how you feel, Mackay.”

  “Lustful, at the moment,” Nicholas replied dryly.

  “Heh, that’s a good thing to hear. She’s a bonny lass. But it’s more than that I’d say.”

  “What makes you think that?” Nicholas sat up. He draped his arms over his knees and stared out over the wild hills below.

  “Ye want to kill someone, no doubt because of Mary’s distress.” Rory stood up, fluid, without t
he crutch. “Which means Fiona’s warning means something.”

  Nicholas accepted the hand offered and rose. “Perhaps, perhaps not. So will you stay?”

  “Aye, I’ll be staying.”

  Chapter 14

  Sebastian tucked a few pieces of cheese into his sporran and checked the remaining contents before lacing the small bag to his belt. Hugh leaned against the table, arms folded over his chest.

  “Nicholas just got home,” Hugh complained.

  Sebastian looked up from folding his plaid. “Aye, I know. It is why it is good to know where our enemies lie. you know about Macleod, Hugh.”

  “Aye, I know he intends Nicky harm, but so do a lot of other clans.”

  Sebastian shrugged and pulled the long length of cloth, now folded into pleats, around his waist, belting it in place. He pulled the remainder, a good three feet of cloth, up over his left shoulder and pinned it to his shirt. He left his breeches off, deciding his travels would be better without them since he would have to ford several streams to get where he intended on going. Trousers would have been warm until wet, and then with the Highland weather, clammy and uncomfortable thereafter. Besides, it was much better to travel light, with only his sporran with a few invaluable items inside that included a flask, a bit of flint to light a fire, the cheese and a few dried plums as well as a bit of string should he decide to fish. That left him in plaid, carrying only his dirk tucked behind his belt and his two handed claymore strapped to his back.

  Hugh still did not look convinced. “Ye still look peaked from Rory’s drink, and ye have an arrow wound to boot. Traveling into Macleod territory is dangerous business without that.”

  Sebastian relished the trek and gripped Hugh’s shoulder to relay that to his brother. “Have I not done so before, lad?”

  Hugh scowled grumpily. “Aye.”

  “And have returned handily?”

  “Aye,” Hugh sighed.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “Nicholas will be disappointed to see you gone already.”

  “Then you will have to take my place and entertain him.” Sebastian laid his arm over Hugh’s shoulders and ruffled his hair.