Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  Clearly Sylvi’s mother was brave. After all, she had taken most of Reginald’s ear. Instead of commenting, he reached inside the bag and handed her another necklace while he took a bracelet.

  He turned the jewelry over and studied the back. A square had been marked near the clasp. “This one is a square.”

  “This one is another bear’s head.” She set aside the necklace beside the other and reached in, pulling out a ring.

  Piece after piece they removed from the bag and identified out loud, piling the jewelry with its like markings, its maker.

  Ian looked at the back of a brooch bracelet cuff, and his heart leapt. There, stamped beside the carefully welded gold, was a circle with dots lining it. “Is this yer da’s?” He held it out to Sylvi.

  Her eyes widened with vulnerable hope. She took a deep breath and folded her fingers over it. When she flipped the piece over, her hands were trembling slightly. She gave a shuddering exhale, wrapped the jewelry in her hand, and pushed it to her chest, just over her heart.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, this is his.”

  Ian’s chest filled with joy at the awed wonder on her face when she finally turned back the bracelet to really study it. If she could not find her peace with her family in her heart, then perhaps this would help.

  Chapter 26

  Sylvi had never cared for jewelry. Perhaps the idea of wearing it was too painful, called to mind too many memories of Pappa’s large fingers carefully crafting the fragile pieces. And how they would never craft anything ever again.

  But holding the bracelet in the splay of her fingers, it was like she held all his love cradled in her hand. The pale blue stone glinted up at her, and delicate coils of gold curled around its edge in an elegant casing that was meant to wrap around one’s wrist.

  She looked up at Ian to find him watching her with a wistful smile on his face, as if he took incredible joy in seeing her reaction.

  “This is the most precious gift you could have possibly given me.” Her emotions, usually so locked into submission by her control, had been wrung out to the point of exhaustion.

  It was unimaginable her father’s piece would still be in the pile of jewelry and hadn’t been sold off to buy drink and women. Really, it was astonishing they’d kept all they had. They’d gone through only the topmost portion of the bag, and already five small piles of jewelry lay about the floor, all piled up by maker.

  Sylvi’s blood chilled.

  The jewelry. All piled up by maker.

  “Ian … ” She eased the bracelet carefully onto her good arm and scooted closer to the gleaming mounds of treasure. “Look at all this jewelry.”

  He nodded. “And there is probably more inside the bag from yer da.”

  “It’s not that. Look at all of it, all piled up by maker.” Her heart was pounding in her chest now, its beat roaring in her ears and making her arm pulse with pain. “How did they get so much jewelry from these particular makers? If they were just stolen, there’d be all different marks.”

  He snapped his gaze toward her, and she knew he understood.

  “Yer family was not the only one Reginald did this to,” he said.

  Having those words spoken made her stomach slide to her toes. Ian put a hand to her back. His palm was warm, and the gesture was meant to comfort, of which there would be none. Not now.

  “We have to check the rest of these.” Sylvi reached for the bag. “We have to see. How many goldsmiths might have suffered the same fate as my family?”

  Ian lifted the bag and carefully overturned it. Jewelry of all kinds slid out into a careful pile between them, and they set to task—flipping, checking, sorting.

  An X.

  A square.

  A bear’s head.

  The letter R.

  The shield of her father’s work.

  One by one, each piece was put into a designated stack, the maker’s mark spoken aloud each time. The medicine Kyle had given Sylvi when she was in Percy’s room was in full effect, and the pain in her arm had significantly decreased. She was grateful for the reprieve, especially for this task.

  While they sorted, Sylvi tried not to notice as each sorted section became piled higher and higher. After a while, she could identify the maker before she even turned the item over.

  The maker of the square mark used flat bands of metal curling around each stone, opting for round-cut gems. The maker of the bear’s head mark preferred large sheets of hammered gold with insets of dozens of stones glittering from its surface like stars in the sky.

  Her own father’s work was so much more careful than the others, the small threads of gold so delicately woven they appeared to have been done by fairies. Many of those delicate pieces had become bent at some point, crushed by the weight of other jewelry.

  Finally she held the last piece of the collection in her hand, a ring with a round green stone at its center and wrapped in a flat band of gold. “Square.” She spoke as she flipped it over, confirming the square pressed into the gold.

  She set it atop a small mountain of pieces, all similarly crafted by the same maker. They’d been sorted appropriately. Now to face what they’d done—the neatly piled jewelry markers for families possibly dead like her own.

  Only there were not five piles this time, but six. As they’d neared the bottom, where most of her father’s jewelry had been, they found another mark. A sun.

  There hadn’t been many pieces of either her father’s shield or the sun, only a dozen of her father’s and ten of the other.

  Sylvi sat back on her heels and stared in silence at the piles. Six in all.

  “Six piles. Six goldsmiths.” She spoke through numb lips. “Six families.”

  Ian put his arm around her, the action meant to comfort, but it pulled her from her distressing reverie. “Think of how many we might have saved in stopping Reginald and his men.”

  She gazed up at him and found deep shadows under his eyes. He looked near ready to collapse. And was it any wonder? He and Kyle had worked to secure a safe place for the evening for all of them, and then Ian had gone back to bury Isabel.

  He’d done so much already that day.

  Too much.

  Ian stroked a hand down her face in a gentle caress. “I thought I lost ye earlier today.”

  His mouth came down on hers, tender and sweet, a kiss that made her heart burn with longing. Why couldn’t she just be a regular woman tonight in the arms of the man she cared for?

  He loved her. She hadn’t let herself think on it more after he’d said it.

  She’d felt a flicker of hope after speaking to Percy. If someone who had been through as much as Percy could still emerge as selfless and kind, it was possible.

  Yet there in her lover’s arms, Sylvi could think of nothing but conspiracies and stolen jewelry. And the families of other goldsmiths who might have been slaughtered.

  “You need sleep.” She stepped away from him.

  He watched her carefully for a long moment. “Ye mean alone?”

  She’d hurt him.

  She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. But she’d already warned him her heart was too broken to ever mend. What was the point in saying it all again?

  The stacks of gold gleamed in the flickering candlelight, and the rich scent of the congealing stew she hadn’t touched filled her nostrils. She had to get out into the open air, to let her thoughts free.

  “I need to think.” She rose and shoved through the door and let it slam behind her.

  Her heart quivered like a wounded bird in her chest as she sucked in the night air. She wanted to go back inside and let him love away her pain, and yet she couldn’t be with him while her mind scrambled through the jewelry hoard and the lost families.

  She stayed where she stood, as unsure of what to do as when she was a lost, hopeless orphan in the streets. The bracelet at her wrist weighed heavy on her heart.

  The door opened and Ian exited,
his surprised expression faded immediately and melted into a roguish grin. One of his brows cocked upright. “Well, ye made this chase easy.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  He cocked his head. “Aye, that would be a problem. Do ye … ” He pulled back the door wider. “Do ye want to come in?”

  “What if I run from this mess?” She asked, her heart pounding.

  “It doesna make anything better. I’ve tried.” He held his hand out to her. “Face this head on like ye always do, my angel, with strength and courage and determination. We can find the other goldsmiths together. We can do anything together.”

  His words snapped through her mind, and she straightened. He was right. She didn’t need to think. She needed to talk this through.

  She reached out with her good arm and took his proffered hand.

  •••

  Ian’s heart thrummed with resolve. Sylvi was back in their room, and this time he would not let her go. Exhaustion lay in his mind like lead, but he could push past it.

  Sylvi regarded him, her expression blank. So much roiled beneath the surface, he knew. So much he needed to get past.

  “Sylvi.” He took her good hand in his. “I love ye.”

  Her jaw tensed and she looked away. He put his hand to her cheek and gently turned her face back to him. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

  “I can’t love you.” Her tone was sharp.

  “Why do ye say that?” He kept his tone gentle.

  She stared at him incredulously. “I haven’t been able to love since my family died.”

  “No, ye havena taken the time with men until me, but ye’ve loved. Look at how ye feel about Liv and Percy.” He paused. “How ye felt about Lady Camille.”

  Her brow flinched. “When you kissed me just now, all I could think about was the jewelry and those families killed.” She turned away from him and stood in front of the fire, staring into its flames.

  Ian watched her for a long moment. “Ye only recently found out. Of course it’s still on yer mind.” He stepped closer to stand beside her. “We’ll follow the marks in the gold and see if we can find their owners, or what happened to them.”

  Sylvi turned to look at him. “You’d do that?”

  Ian cupped her chin. “I’d do anything for ye.”

  She stared up at him with a worried expression. “Ian—”

  “Let me ask ye this,” he said quickly. “What did ye think when I was downstairs with Liv and ye were upstairs with Reginald?”

  The delicate, beautiful muscles along her neck tensed. “I worried you would do anything in your power to protect Liv.”

  “And?” he pressed.

  She swallowed. “And I thought you were going to die.”

  He watched her face carefully. “How did that make ye feel?”

  She closed her eyes against what he hoped was the pain of the memory. “Afraid. Panicked.” She opened her eyes, and the flash of determination showed in the ice-blue depths. “I wanted to kill Reginald as fast as possible so I could find you.”

  “This man who ye’ve been searching for all these years, ye finally found, and ye wanted to rush his death.” He lifted his brows suggestively. “To save me.”

  Her mouth parted softly, and the determined tension in her body relaxed.

  “In a moment where ye needed an immediate decision,” he said. “Ye were ready to choose me over yer revenge.”

  Her gaze searched the ground.

  “And how did ye feel when ye saw me after?” he asked.

  Her lips lifted in a smile. “Like I could laugh and cry at the same time, and that your arrogant grin was the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

  “What if I hadna come back? What if ye’d found me dead?” he asked.

  Her brows knit together, and she shook her head. “I couldn’t even think of it while I was upstairs. I refused to. I couldn’t—”

  “Sylvi.” He gently pinched her chin and lifted her face. “Ye say ye canna love me, but I think yer heart is more open than ye’re letting yerself realize.” He stroked a length of hair from her face. “We’re both alive. We’re together.”

  He stared deep into her eyes, at the affection glowing deep in those cool depths. “And I love ye.”

  He closed his eyes and let his mouth come down on the sweet warmth of hers. Her good hand curled around the back of his neck, and she returned his kiss with the hunger and passion he knew so wonderfully well. His body sang with her returned desire, and he went hard with need. Not just for her body, but also for her heart, which was so close within his grasp.

  “Ian,” she whispered against his lips. “Love me.”

  He swept his tongue between her lips and let it brush hers. Shivers of pleasure coursed through his body. She intensified her grip on him, and her body arched against his.

  He pulled away to look at her. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkling and warm. All with desire. For him. “Ye’re so beautiful, my angel.”

  A hesitant smile blossomed on her lips. Shy almost. He near laughed out loud at the thought of his Sylvi, his vengeful angel, being shy.

  But it was so beautiful a sight, he would never laugh.

  “Ye want me to love ye.” He popped free the first button on her breeches. The corner of the front flap sagged forward. “Then I intend to love ye as I’ve always wanted.” He liberated the second button. “Slow.” The third. “Careful.” The fourth.

  Her jaw clenched, and her gaze followed his fingers, moving over the loosened side of her breeches to graze the covered cleft between her legs. Her breath hitched.

  “Ye know what I want.” He drew his hand up to her waist and higher still to graze the side of her breast. “No rushing me this time.” He said it playfully, but he meant it with his whole heart.

  He would take all night if he needed, but he wanted to savor Sylvi, to slow what she’d always rushed through to get to sexual satisfaction in the past. Tonight, he would show her just how much he truly loved her.

  Chapter 27

  Sylvi’s body was on fire, lit by Ian’s touch. Everything in her pounded to kiss him, to rake her fingers over his hard stomach to where he was harder still. She wanted the heat of his nakedness against her and him swollen and hot inside her.

  Yet all he’d done thus far was halfway unbutton her trews. It would be a long time until they got to the point she so looked forward to.

  He cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her with his golden-brown eyes as if he meant to look into her soul. There was so much emotion to be had in that one long, beautiful gaze, it almost overwhelmed her. It could have overwhelmed her if she’d let it. But the look in his eyes—the love, the resolve, the desire—it was a heady mix.

  He looked down, and his fingers slowly worked over the rest of her trews. Each button slipped free and nudged the snugly fitted cloth against her sex. The heat was building already there, hot and hungry.

  He lowered himself to his knees, like a courtier pledging fealty, and peeled the trews from her hips.

  “Ye’ve got the loveliest legs.” He slid her léine up to better see her legs and pressed a kiss to her upper thigh, deliciously close to the sensitive spot between her legs.

  A jolt of anticipation shot through Sylvi. She gritted her teeth against it and let him pull away the trews at an agonizing pace. His palms skimmed over her thighs, and shivers washed over her skin. His warm lips grazed the tender skin behind her knees, where she was so much more sensitive than she’d ever realized.

  He held her hand, and she stepped free of her trews, leaving them discarded on the floor like two empty snakes. He remained kneeling between her legs and dragged his hands up her calves, teasing that wonderful spot behind her knees, and up the backs of her thighs. His hands curled around her bottom and upper thighs, his fingertips inside her thighs and whispering against her sex.

  He pressed a ki
ss to the top of one thigh, then the other. Sylvi couldn’t tear away her gaze. Her heart beat in long, slow pounds that seemed to slam through her entire body. He placed a gentle kiss between her legs, over her mons. His breath whispered warm temptation across the sensitive bud, and she almost moaned. He gazed up at her and dragged the tip of his tongue over her, a hot, wet caress over her most intimate place.

  This time she did moan, a low, hungry sound that came from her soul.

  Ian got to his feet, and his fingertips slid up her body as he did so. The wispy fabric of the léine lifted from her waist, from her breasts, from her good arm, and over her head. Then, with great care and consideration, Ian helped free the shirt from her braced arm.

  He met her gaze, his golden eyes like warm honey. There was a gentle tug at the ribbon on her neck, and its perpetual embrace slipped away.

  She was wholly naked before him now, with a man for whom she’d laid bare all her fears and nightmares.

  He took all of her in, from her slender ankles, to the body dotted with bruises and scars, to her broken arm and the mutilated skin at her neck. A thread of self-consciousness twisted through her.

  He reached for her and dragged his fingertips from the line of her jaw down to her lower stomach, stopping just before reaching her sex. In that one tender touch, he took away the ugly, uncomfortable feeling and left her body glowing instead.

  He pulled off his léine and let it flutter to the ground, discarded and quickly followed by the length of his plaid and the belt of many pouches. Sylvi watched his body as he undressed, the glide of muscle over powerful muscle, all carved for her pleasure in the firelight.

  He was the embodiment of strength and health. Her core tightened with the desire to spread her legs over him and let his proud phallus slide inside of her.

  As if hearing her thoughts, he closed the distance between them, and the heat of his nakedness surged against the hunger of hers. His hard cock nudged against her stomach. She wanted it inside of her.