“You make me happy.” Already her breath came in erratic bursts. Would it always be like this? Such excitement from a kiss? From the barest touch?
Her nipples peaked against the fabric, and she let out an uneven breath. He did not push the gown free. Instead, he bent, capturing one tight bud, dampening her skin through the linen, his tongue and lips inflaming her more. She let out a gasp, and swayed against him, her hands seizing his shoulders. In the same moment, he tugged the linen down, freeing her breasts … her hips, his hands caressing her everywhere. The garment fell to the floor.
He stepped back, his gaze sweeping admiringly down her body.
“My wife.” He moved, circling her, his hands at her waist … his garments grazing her skin. “My child.”
Their lovemaking before had been so passionate. There was passion between them now, but also something different. With a tenderness and restraint he’d not shown before, he pressed warm, teasing kisses along her shoulder, and her neck, as with steady hands he unbound her hair, setting it free to cascade down her back.
Wanting to touch him too, she turned, grasping the hem of his tunic to push it upward, over his head, kissing his chest, and his nipples, as she revealed his bare skin. He let out an uneven breath. Working the garment upward, over his arms, she glimpsed the slaver’s mark that he despised so deeply, tucked high beneath his arm. Pausing, she brushed her fingers across the inky, circular stain, looking boldly upon it for the first time. She pressed her mouth upon it, silently conveying that she loved that part of him too.
He seemed to understand.
“I want y’ lass. I want y’ so powerfully,” he murmured hoarsely, holding her, peering down, his gaze moving over every part of her face and body.
She loved the way he looked at her with such unconcealed longing. And aye, lust. She felt the same lust for him too.
“I want you too.”
Stepping back, he removed his boots … his trews, before striding naked toward her and gently nudging her backward against the bed, his hands cradling her face, his mouth on hers.
But suddenly, he turned from her—leaving her gasping and wanting. She watched him go, his skin taut and golden in the night. Across the room, he lit another lantern and returning, set it beside the bed, where it joined the one already burning there. His eyes fixed on her, glittering with desire.
“I want to see you,” he said. “I want to remember every moment of this night. The way you look now … the way you’ll look when I’m inside you.”
His bold words both pleased her … and struck her through the heart.
“Because this night may be our last?” She shook her head. “Nay, I won’t believe that—”
“Because it is our wedding night,” he interjected fiercely, eyes blazing. “The first of the rest of our lives.”
The certainty with which he spoke lit a fire in her heart. Her eyes fixed on him, she climbed backward into the bed, pushing aside the heavy linens and blankets, and before another breath passed from her lips, he was there, pushing her down onto her back, the bed canopy above him. With open arms, she welcomed him. His weighty, muscled body stretched over her, his hips coming down between her thighs. Her legs hooked round his, and her hips lifted—
“Oh … Derryth, the way you move.”
Holding her hands above her head, he pinned her against the sheets. Bending, he kissed her with a passion that made her breath hitch in her chest, as his thighs flexed, and he pressed his sex against her—not entering her, but still giving pleasure to them both.
“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, a ruddy flush darkening his cheeks. “Perfect for me.”
“Only you,” she replied, stretching beneath him, luxuriating in the pleasure … unashamed of her desire, for was not this sort of love and intimate talk meant to be enjoyed between a husband and a wife?
“Aye, only me,” he repeated, his impassioned gaze moving over her face. “Only you.” He pressed a kiss below her ear. “Watch me make love to you.”
Boldly, her gaze followed his to where the light of the lanterns illuminated the primal sight of their bodies. Shifting, he guided himself, slowly prodding her with his crowned tip … sweetly teasing her, barely entering before pulling away, leaving her in aroused torment.
“I’ve never felt anything more right than you beneath me … nothing more right than this,” he said, kissing her mouth hard, before breaking away to repeat the same disciplined motion again.
Derryth had no such discipline. She grasped his waist, demanding the deeper pleasures she knew he could give.
“Please,” she pled softly, bringing him closer with her legs, and lifting her hips.
“Oh, god…” The words broke from deep in his chest, and yet still, he denied her … but for a moment.
“Ah…” he exclaimed, slowly sinking inside her.
This time, her body welcomed him, without pain. There was only a deep thrum of pleasure, spiraling out through every part of her.
“Again?” he said, claiming her mouth.
“Aye, again,” she replied, feverishly, already moving … writing beneath him.
Spreading his thighs to widen hers, he thrust once more, filling her completely. A low cry broke from her lips. He grasped her by the waist, suddenly kneeling, pulling her up to straddle him.
He rocked back onto his heels, driving deeper. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Holding her thusly, he thrust rapidly inside her, and soon the canopied space was filled with proof of their pleasure. The creak of the bed … their moans and gasps … intermingled with the sound of the linen hissing with the urgency of their movements.
“Slower now,” he murmured.
He eased her down again onto the pillow, holding her … moving with her.
“Come with me, love,” he urged.
They arrived together, rising … soaring … shattering, in passion and in love.
In the moment after, Derryth wavered between absolute bliss and fear that the moment was too perfect. That the door would suddenly burst open and Buchan would be there with soldiers, to drag Cull away. But Cull shifted to lay beside her—his body massive, seemingly hewn from stone. Their breathing slowed, and for a long moment they lay tangled as they were. But within moments, their ardor cooled. The room grew colder … and the threat of tomorrow loomed heavy, all around. Perhaps Cull sensed it too, because he pulled the coverlet over them. She clung to him, taking courage from his strength, and knowing he was there beside her, to fight for their future.
“No tears,” he murmured.
“No tears,” she replied resolutely, blinking them away. “I won’t let them take this night from us.”
Silence blanketed the room.
“I must go soon.”
“I know.”
“Before I go, I must tell you … I am done with Buchan.” He stroked her hair. “After you were taken, I learned that he … betrayed my trust. I am a King’s Guard, and my men are sworn to serve Scotland. We are not his damned mercenaries. I act on the king and Parliament’s orders only, which he led me to believe he’d received. But there was never a final order.”
“Is that why you came here, to Carven?”
“Aye, to confront him, and to inform him I and my men will not proceed. But he has refused to see me—because he knows. Instead, through Robert and Duncan he has made it clear he expects me to return, and carry out the farce.”
“Why, Cull?” She raised up, holding the linen against her breasts, and turned to peer at him. “Why does he want it to be you so badly who moves against Inverhaven? Why not Duncan or someone else?”
“I do not know. I have asked that question of myself many times.” He frowned. “It does not matter. I am done. Tomorrow—regardless of whether he is agreeable—I will tell him I know the truth, and relinquish my command of the siege. Derryth, I do not know what will happen. If Duncan will also withdraw or if they will go forward with their efforts to defeat your clan.”
“I feel helpless,” she replied,
her heart tight in her chest. “My sister Elspeth was very close to giving birth to her and Niall’s bairn when I left. I pray all is well with them.”
“After tomorrow … we will go ourselves and find out.”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I will take you to them,” he said, unsmiling. The tone of his voice, resolved. “Though I have relinquished my command of the siege, the men who remain there are largely loyal to me. We will enter the castle under their protection.”
“Cull.” Tears blurred her eyes. The thought of seeing Elspeth …
He pulled her close, against his chest. “You are my wife. It is the right thing to do.”
Her love for Cull only grew, that he offered her this gift. Nay, their world was not perfect, and there were so many reasons to be afraid, but she would take whatever chances she could, to see her sister again.
“But you must know that as a King’s Guard, we cannot stay there. If there is a battle, I cannot raise arms against the king’s son—not without orders to do so.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
She would not demand that of him. Above all, Cull was an honorable man, and she would not ask him to break the vows he had made—not to her, nor to Scotland.
“Kiss me before I go,” he said.
She touched his face, and kissed him, inhaling his breath … memorizing the feel of his lips on hers.
Too quickly, he was gone from the bed. Deprived of his heat, a chill moved through her body. He grabbed up his tunic from the floor and pulled it on. Briefly she saw the slaver’s mark before it was covered. She sat up and moved to leave the bed, to join him.
“Nay, love,” he said tenderly. “You stay there. You’re carrying my child, and I want you to sleep.” His gaze hardened and his lips thinned. “I don’t know what will happen today, but rest now and be ready to depart at a moment’s notice.”
Once he was dressed, he came to her with her night-rail and assisted her in dressing. “I’d give ye the key to keep, but Robert must return it before dawn before ’tis discovered missing.”
“I don’t need it. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait for you.” She nodded, reaching for him. “Now kiss me once more.”
Then he was gone. Afterward, she lay in the bed, refusing to give in to her fears. Refusing to shed tears. She was married to Cull the Nameless, who was very possibly Scotland’s greatest warrior. Now she must be a warrior too.
Knowing he intended to save her did not ease the determined workings of her mind. She turned restlessly, trying to find some solution that could bring the problems that clouded their lives to an end. Could she herself plead to faraway Parliament for intervention? Would Cull? She feared with the king’s illness, those in Edinburgh would show very little interest in Buchan’s continued torment of a distant Highland clan.
Why Cull? her mind demanded again. Why had Buchan summoned him to the Highlands to carry out his false mission against the Kincaids?
She fell into an uneasy sleep, and dreamt of Cull as a towheaded boy, trapped in the dark belly of a ship. Cull the slave. Cull the Nameless. With the slaver’s mark on his arm, would he ever be free? It bound him not simply to his past, but to Buchan, who had saved him.
The slaver’s mark.
The mark on his arm.
The mark on their arms … Niall’s and Faelan’s.
She bolted up, her eyes wide and staring into the dark. Her heart thundered in her chest.
Cull … Cullen. The murdered Kincaid laird’s third and youngest boy had been named Cullen. Her mind counted the years … and goose bumps rose on her skin.
She broke away from the bed, dizzied by this possible truth. So agitated, she could not bear the touch of the linens against her skin.
Was it true?
Was Cull the third son?
She paced, seeing nothing of the room about her. Focused entirely on the thoughts in her mind. How would he then have come to be in the possession of a Venetian slaver … who had beaten him and tormented him for years, traumatizing him so greatly he had no remembrance of his past?
Because Buchan committed him—a mere child of seven or eight years old—into that horrible life.
Only to have him returned years later, as if by some Devil’s agreement.
Cull’s mark. She closed her eyes, remembering its shape, the size and shape of a wax seal. She couldn’t be sure. She’d never seen Niall’s or Faelan’s. Indeed, both men guarded their marks like treasure, ensuring no imposter would present himself as their third brother, and that only their true brother would bear the mark.
But Elspeth had described the brothers’ tattoos as a wolf’s head. Was that what she’d seen? Aye, yes, she thought it was—an old Gaelic design, contained within the bands of a circle.
If so, it provided a cruel and twisted explanation of why Buchan insisted the attack against Inverhaven be led by Cull. He wanted Cull—a warrior of his own creation—to defeat … and no doubt kill, his own brothers. Toward what end? Cull’s own destruction as well?
She had to tell Cull. But with dawn not yet come, and both doors of her room locked, she was trapped here until morning, when she would be flanked again by Ainsley and Mairead.
A sound came from behind her. The sound of the key turning in the door. But not the smaller door Cull had arrived through.
Ainsley appeared, and strode directly inside—followed by four broad-shouldered men, their faces concealed by dark hoods.
“You’re awake, I see,” said Ainsley, her lips a hard frown and her eyes gleaming with unspoken intent.
Every muscle in Derryth’s body tensed. “Why are you here?”
She was in danger. Ainsley hadn’t come alone, and that meant something. Had she brought those men to harm her? Her first thought was for the child she now carried.
“Get dressed,” said Ainsley coldly. “You’ll need your cloak.”
Derryth stepped backward, her heart racing. “I’m not doing anything until you tell me where you are taking me.”
“I’m not taking you anywhere, but these men will.” Ainsley moved toward one of the men and pushed back his hood, revealing him to be Nathan. “Back to Inverhaven. Back to your clan, where you belong.”
Chapter 20
“Why?”
She knew why. To keep her from Cull. Ainsley’s actions here were inspired by jealousy. She’d made clear she intended to marry Cull.
“Does it matter why?” Ainsley came close. “You’re a prisoner here, against your will. So … escape. I am giving you safe passage now.” From within the folds of her cloak, she produced a folded piece of parchment, sealed with black wax. “I even have orders here, forged of course, which will allow you to pass through the siege battlements, and into the castle.”
Her heart felt torn in two. Return to the Kincaids … or stay here? Derryth did not answer. She did not want to leave Cull. He had asked her to wait for him. Nor did she know if she could trust that these men would safely take her anywhere, as Ainsley claimed they would do.
“Your reluctance is very telling,” the dark-haired young woman muttered, her eyes narrowing. She moved very close, and spoke in a low voice. “So I’ll tell you the truth here. You don’t have a choice. If you don’t do as I say, you’ll—”
“I’ll what?” Derryth’s eyes widened.
“Well … I won’t know what happened to you. No one will. You’ll simply disappear from this room … never to be seen again. ’Twill always be a great mystery. But you won’t be forgotten. Stories will be told. Perhaps even ghost stories.”
The words chilled Derryth’s blood. “You would murder me?”
Tears rose into her eyes, but they were tears of anger. This woman would sentence her to death for loving Cull. Lord, she was sick to death of these Stewarts and their hatred. What would life have been without their plotting and interference? A small inner voice reminded her that she would not have Cull if not for Buchan’s hatred of the Kincaids.
But it had bee
n a mistake, that day, for Derryth to be so bold by tying her ribbon around Cull’s arm. She’d all but declared a romantic interest in him, for all to see. Derryth should not have forgotten that she was dealing with Buchan’s family.
What would Ainsley do if she knew they were married?
Ainsley stared hard at her. “Let’s not find out.”
Derryth trembled, pondering the choice she’d been given. Without Cull here, she was left to decide what to do. If she somehow were able to tell Cull tomorrow what she believed—that he was the youngest son of the murdered laird, would he believe her, without proof? Proof of which she herself was not certain, having not seen the actual marks on the Braewick brother’s themselves? She would not be certain until she spoke to Niall at Inverhaven, and saw his mark.
If Cull did believe her outright, would he insist on confronting Buchan here at Carven, where Buchan controlled everything, including hundreds of men? She could not have him discover the truth about himself … that he had brothers … and a birthright … and yes, a name, only to die. Perhaps leaving was the only way.
It was a terrible chance to take, believing that if she left, Cull would follow. But if he were to make a stand against Buchan, she wanted him to make the stand shoulder to shoulder with his brothers.
“Mistress—” said one of the men, shifting urgently.
“Aye.” Ainsley circled Derryth, glaring. “We’re running out of time.”
Derryth snapped, “Give me a moment to dress.”
A short time later, she sat atop a horse, dressed in the simple clothes in which she’d arrived—taking nothing else.
“I just want you to know it is nothing against you, Derryth,” said Ainsley, stepping back. Her cloak rippled in the night wind. “If we’d met another way, I’m certain we’d have been good friends.”
“I disagree,” Derryth replied, taking firmer hold of the reins, and turning her animal northward.
Ainsley stepped back, retorting, “Isn’t it something that I didn’t want you to die? That I gave you this choice at all?”
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 22