by Ruth Langan
Never, never had she known such feelings.
He brought his lips lower to the soft swell of her breast. As his mouth closed over her nipple she heard a low, guttural moan. Hers? Or his? It no longer mattered. They were caught up in such waves of passion they could no longer think, only feel.
Her knees trembled and she feared she could no longer stand. It was as if he was in perfect harmony to all her senses. In one swift movement Brice scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling her among the snowy linens. His clothes joined hers on the floor and he lay beside her, gathering her into his arms.
His hands, his lips, moved over her, leaving her body a mass of nerve endings.
The heat between them rose up in shimmering waves. A weakness seemed to invade her, leaving her limbs heavy, her mind blank. She drifted on clouds of sensation that sapped her strength, stole her will.
She was helpless, caught up in feelings that she had never even known existed. She was once again kidnapped and held hostage. This time to passion.
As his hands and mouth worked their magic, she moved in his arms, loving the feel of his work-worn fingertips against her soft flesh. How agile his mouth. How clever his hands.
She longed to touch him as he was touching her. And yet, in her fear and innocence, she was afraid. Would he think her a wicked, wanton woman?
Tentatively she reached a hand to his cheek. He moved against her palm slowly and she saw his eyes narrow fractionally.
Growing bolder she brought her hand to his chest and allowed her fingers to skim along the mat of hair. His nipples hardened as her fingers grazed them and she lingered, stroking until she heard his sigh of pleasure.
As her fingers moved lower she encountered a series of raised scars on his flat abdomen.
At her arched look he murmured, “So many old battles. So many old wounds.”
Without thinking she pressed her lips to the flat plane of his stomach, tracing her lips across the scars. “I cannot bear to think of you being wounded.”
Instantly she felt his stomach muscles contract violently. She experienced a wild thrill at the realization that it was her touch that had caused such a reaction.
She had the power to make this strong warrior flinch. One touch of her hand could leave him as weak as she had been just moments ago. Drunk with her new power she grew even bolder, pressing her lips to his throat while her hands roamed his muscular shoulders, his hair-roughened chest, his stomach.
His chuckle of delight turned into a moan of impatience as her hands moved lower, exploring, arousing.
“Witch.”
He rolled on top of her and began an exploration of his own, allowing his lips, his fingertips, to move seductively over her until she writhed and moaned and gasped his name. It took all of his willpower to keep from taking her. This was her first time, he cautioned himself. He wanted it to be everything and more.
“I love you, little firebrand,” he growled against her lips.
His fingers found her, moist and ready, and before she could realize what was happening, he took her to the first shuddering crest.
“And I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone, anything.”
Her breath was coming so fast she could hardly get the words out. But her hands clutched at his shoulders as she felt herself tumbling out of control. Madness. She had slipped over the edge of madness.
“Oh, Brice. I—love—you.” The words were breathy, barely coherent. She arched her body to meet him, needing him with an urgency that matched his. “Please. I—want you.”
Her plea ripped through him, shattering his careful control. He slipped inside her, struggling to be gentle. But the moment they came together, he threw caution to the wind. With a savageness that surprised him she moved with him, matching his rhythm, mirroring his strength, until together they gave in to the madness and soared to the moon.
He was enveloped in the scent of wildflowers, and he recalled that she’d had wildflowers entwined in her hair that first day he’d seen her at the altar of the cathedral. Their fragrance filled him until all he could smell was Meredith lying in a meadow of wildflowers.
Higher they climbed, then higher still, until they reached the velvet heavens. A wild, primitive cry was torn from Brice’s lips. And a million stars exploded and shattered into shiny silver fragments.
In that moment she gave him her heart. Her honor. Her innocence.
They lay, still locked together, unwilling to break the fragile, intimate contact. Levering himself on his elbows Brice studied the way she looked, her face damp with sheen, her eyes moist.
“Tears, firebrand? God in heaven.” With his thumbs he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve hurt you.”
“Nay.” She turned her head to hide her weakness. “It was just—so wonderful.”
He rolled to his side and drew her gently into the circle of his arms. “Aye. It was beautiful.” He pressed his lips to her eyes and tasted her salty tears. “And it is perfectly natural to cry at something so dazzlingly beautiful.”
“You do not think me a foolish child?”
“Nothing you do or say would seem foolish to me. And,” he added with a tender smile, “you are far from a child. You are the most beautiful, desirable woman I have ever met.”
She sniffed. “More beautiful than the women you met at the Court in France?”
He bit back a laugh at her artless attempt to be reassured. “No woman at Court could match your beauty, my lady, including the queen herself.”
“Her ladies-in-waiting thought I resembled Queen Mary.”
He caught a strand of her hair and watched as it sifted through his fingers, catching and reflecting the light of the fire. “Your coloring, perhaps. And the fact that you are both small and slender. But you are a rare beauty, Meredith. And far more lovely than our queen.”
She grew silent for a moment, gathering her courage for the next question. With a swallow she asked haltingly, “Is it always like this?”
“Loving?”
She seemed relieved that he understood. “Aye.”
With his index finger he traced the line of her brow, the curve of her cheek. His voice was low with feeling. “I fear that many people are never blessed with what we have just discovered.”
“Why?”
His finger moved over her lips, still swollen from his kisses. Though it seemed impossible, his desire for this beguiling, bewitching creature was beginning to build once again. “They are afraid to give themselves completely to another.”
“What is it they fear?”
“Losing control, I suppose. Or perhaps it is the fear of letting another witness their needs, their weaknesses.”
“Have you any weaknesses, my lord?” she asked with a smile.
“I have discovered one.” His tone was grave, although his lips curved into a hint of a smile. “One very beautiful, very obstinate firebrand that can make me weak with a single touch.”
“Like this?” With her finger she traced a pattern across his chest, then lower to his stomach.
He felt the heat as he became aroused. Before he could reach for her she surprised him by rolling on top of him.
Her hair swirled about him, tickling his chest, brushing over his fingers. Her eyes burned brightly, reflecting the light of the fire. She smiled as she began to move over him. Every touch, every movement, aroused him further.
“Firebrand, I am a man still recovering from battle wounds. You will be the death of me.”
“Then I shall simply have to leave you alone to rest and recover.”
As she made a move to roll away he caught her and dragged her against him. His hands, his lips, began weaving their magic.
Against her throat he growled, “You are the only medicine I need. Stay with me, firebrand. Love me.”
With murmured words of endearment they slipped into a world of endless delight. A world where only lovers can go.
Meredith lay in the midnight blackness and listened to Bri
ce’s steady, even breathing.
Did he know what he had given her? Did he have any idea how much she’d needed his quiet strength, his calm assurance of his love?
So much had happened in her young life. So much chaos. The murder of her father. Desmond’s shocking death at the altar. Her kidnapping.
There had been little time for reflection. Certainly no time for love. Until now.
Brice’s arms tightened about her and she felt a quiver of apprehension at the strength in him. Did he have any idea what power he wielded? It was not physical power she feared. Despite his strength, she would have found a way to escape him in time. The power he wielded was emotional. She needed his approval, desired his love forever. Without this Highland warrior, her life would be as before. Empty. Waiting. Yearning for something she could not even give a name to. Until now. Love. That was what she had been waiting a lifetime to share.
With a sigh Brice drew her close and pressed his lips to her temple. She sighed and snuggled close, then was startled by his deep voice.
“Awake again, firebrand?”
“Aye. This is all so new to me. So exciting. I fear I will never be able to sleep.”
“Nor I.” He nibbled the corner of her lips until she turned her head and gave him full access to her mouth.
His lips were warm and firm and with one easy movement he drew her fully into the kiss.
“Oh, Brice,” she breathed against his mouth. “Will you some day grow weary of me and tire of our lovemaking?”
He chuckled, low and deep in his throat, and the sound sent tremors along her spine. “Never, my lady. It would take an eternity and beyond to even dim the love that shines within me for you.”
She relaxed against him and lost herself in the kiss.
“But I have a better way to prove my love,” he muttered, shifting until he hovered over her. “Far better than words.”
Brice lay very still, unwilling to disturb the woman who slept so peacefully in his arms.
All night they had loved, slept, then loved again until they were sated. And still he had not had enough of her. Nothing would ever be enough. A hundred times. A thousand years. He loved her. Body and soul. Completely.
He thought of the beautiful young woman he had watched from the tower of the cathedral. Clothed all in white, her spine rigid, her head held high. Even then he had sensed the strength in her, the determination. And when he had first looked into her eyes he had read the goodness there.
He dared not lose. He wanted the love they shared to be sanctified and blessed by the kirk. He wanted the entire country to know that the Highland Barbarian was loved by this beautiful Lowlands woman. He wanted to shout of their love from the highest mountain.
He glanced at Meredith and saw the slight flicker of her eyes. Sleep was leaving her now. Within moments she would awaken. His woman.
The decision was made instantly. He would send a messenger to the Lowlands to learn the fate of her people. He would wed her now, as soon as it was possible to prepare a wedding feast. And then, with the might of his Highland warriors behind her, she would return triumphant to her people. With the combined strength of her armies and his, Gareth MacKenzie would not dare to continue his litany of murder and lies.
They could bring a renewed sense of peace between the Highlanders and Lowlanders. Perhaps, because of their love, the Scots lairds could cease their endless fighting and join forces to combat their true foe, the English invaders.
Meredith’s eyes opened and she found Brice watching her. On his face was a smile of such contentment, she answered with a smile of her own.
“You look rather pleased this morn, my lord.”
“Aye. How could I be less than pleased with the woman I love lying in my arms?”
She sighed and drew her arms around his neck. “I feared I would awake and discover it was all a dream.”
“It was no dream, my love,” he murmured against her lips. “Nor is this.”
His kiss was hot, hungry. His lips persuasive. And because he had spent the night learning all the secret, intimate places of her body, he was able to arouse her instantly.
“If it be a dream,” she breathed inside his mouth, “pray do not wake me till it is over.”
Chapter Fifteen
Locked in the arms of her love, Meredith drifted on a cloud of contentment. For days now they had closeted themselves in Brice’s chambers, leaving their private haven only occasionally to inspect the work being done on the great hall.
Though everyone at Kinloch House, servants and soldiers alike, whispered about the lovers, Brice and Meredith remained blissfully unaware of anything except each other. Wrapped in a safe cocoon of love, it mattered not to them that they were the object of much speculation.
When Mistress Snow realized what was happening, she instructed the servants to respect the privacy of the laird of the manor and his lady. Their meals were announced, then set up quickly in the sitting chamber. Fires were laid, tapers lit in sconces, linens replaced with as much haste as possible.
Even Angus conspired to keep young Jamie so busy with the carpentry work that the lad had almost no time to visit with Brice and Meredith. Or to disturb their bliss.
Through it all the young couple was so absorbed in their newly discovered love for each other, they never noticed what went on around them.
In the great hall Brice moved among his men, stopping often to admire the work being done. In the doorway Meredith paused to watch. It was so good to see Brice move without the stiffness that had marked his movements immediately after the battle with the MacKenzies. At last his health was completely restored. His full strength had returned.
At the clatter of arriving horses in the courtyard she turned and made her way to the door. Alston, the red-bearded warrior who had long fought beside Brice, dismounted and handed over his mount to a stable boy before striding across the courtyard.
Glancing at the lathered steed Meredith remarked, “You have ridden far, Alston.”
“Aye, my lady.” He shook the dust from his plumed hat and paused. “I come from the Lowlands.”
Home. The thought was poignant, fleeting. She quickly dismissed it.
“Was there a reason you rode so far from your Highlands?”
“Brice set for me the task of gathering information about the MacAlpins and the MacKenzies, my lady.”
She was oddly touched by Brice’s concern. “And how do my people fare without me?”
“They continue to be plagued by night riders and highwaymen who steal their sheep and cattle, and even murder those unfortunate enough to be out after dark.”
Her smile faded. “And Gareth MacKenzie?”
He seemed to hesitate for a fraction before saying softly, “Gareth MacKenzie rides to Holyroodhouse to have the queen declare you dead.”
“Dead!” Her eyes widened in shock. “But why would he do such a thing?”
“Since you have not been seen, he and his men are convinced that you perished in the Highland forests.” His voice softened when he saw the pain that crossed her features. “By declaring you officially dead, your next of kin will become the leader of your people.”
“My next of kin.”
Alston stepped past her with a bow. “My pardon, my lady. I must report my findings to Brice.”
As he strode down the long hall, Meredith suddenly leaned against the heavy door as the realization sank in. Her next of kin was her sister, sixteen-year-old Brenna. Sweet, shy Brenna. She would be no match against the charms of Gareth MacKenzie. He would convince her, as he had once convinced Meredith, that they must combine their land and forces if they would stand against the unseen Highland monsters who attacked in the night. The MacAlpins, old Duncan and his wife Mary, as well as all the others, would be so weary of the killings, they would urge poor Brenna to accept Gareth’s offer and unite their people against a common enemy. And once wed, Gareth would claim Brenna’s land and easily dispose of her, should she prove to be a burden.
&nbs
p; And what of the youngest, Megan? Impulsive, headstrong Megan. Would the same fate befall her in time?
Meredith felt a sense of horror and revulsion. She shivered and realized that her hands were as cold as ice. While she was safely ensconced in the Highlands, secure in Brice’s love, her little sisters were in grave peril.
Her first thought was to run tearfully to Brice and plead with him to go to their assistance. Then she recalled the extreme hatred Gareth nurtured for Brice. For now, Brice was safe only because Gareth thought him dead. As long as Brice stayed in his Highland forest, he could not be harmed.
The same was true for her. But there was a difference. This was her personal battle. She could not possibly stay here, safe and warm, while her family was in grave dan ger. She must show herself to her people. And she must unmask Gareth MacKenzie as the lying murderer she knew him to be.
The MacAlpins would rally round her. Though it would be a bloody battle, they were warriors. Had they not held back the English invaders along the Border for centuries?
The decision was made instantly, with no thought to her own peril. She would return to the Lowlands. She would assemble her people. They would drive Gareth MacKenzie from their land and wrest back control of their own destinies.
With quick strides she hurried to Brice’s chambers. Before he returned from his inspection of the great hall, she had much to prepare.
Brice was in a festive mood. The work in the great hall was moving swiftly. In no time it would be restored to its former elegance. Even now, as the charred beams were replaced, and the windows scrubbed of smoke and soot, carpenters labored to make new settles, tables and chairs. Hunters returned with animal hides to replace the ones that had gone up in smoke. And although many of the tapestries had been burned beyond repair, the women of the clan had already begun work on new ones, depicting the Campbell ancestors, their victories, their lineage. These new ones, Mistress Snow had informed him, would also include his own life history, and any wife and children to follow.
So they knew, he thought with a smile. The entire household knew that he and Meredith were lovers. And if the household staff knew, and his men knew, then the entire clan, sequestered in the surrounding forests, had been informed as well.