by Gwyn Brodie
"Lie down," she said, with the belt in her hands.
Hesitantly, he complied with her wishes. "You're not planning to punish me, are you, lass?"
She raised a brow. "You'll see. Put your hands above your head."
He did, and she fastened the belt around both his wrists and to the bedpost. He grinned, both pleased—and excited—by her boldness.
Once she was satisfied he couldn't move, she stepped onto the bed.
Galen clenched his teeth as he sank into her sweet warmth. It took every last ounce of strength to keep himself in check.
She tossed her hair over her shoulders, and his gaze fell to her full breasts. Her nipples were dark and he knew they would feel as hard as pebbles beneath his tongue. He lifted his head and she leaned out of his reach.
He frowned.
Sorcha grinned. The irresistible wench knew exactly what she was doing. She began to move. Her green eyes, dark with passion, fluttered shut, as she sought her pleasure.
He watched her face, and his desire intensified by the rapture he saw there.
She held onto his waist, riding him, until he thought he'd go insane.
Galen fought his restraints as a man gone mad. He had to taste her skin, kiss her mouth, touch her breasts…
Her body tightened around him and she dug her nails into his flesh, then she screamed, no doubt signaling the majority of the castle to their zealous lovemaking.
A growl rumbled in his chest as he gave himself over to his own desire.
She collapsed on top of him, both of them gasping for breath.
After a moment, Sorcha undid the belt and dropped it onto the floor, then lay down on the bed, her head on Galen's chest. "I can hear your heart beating." She yawned.
He slipped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "It beats only for you and no one else," he whispered, as his eyes closed in slumber.
A few hours later, Sorcha awoke with a sudden need to visit the garderobe. She hoped she remembered how to get there. She slipped from the bed and pulled on her shift, immediately missing the warmth of Galen's hard chest pressed against her back. Donning her robe and slippers, she stepped into the corridor.
It took her a few minutes to locate the garderobe, and after making use of it, she headed back to their bedchamber—and Galen's comforting arms. Suddenly, footsteps were coming her way. Should she run to the safety of the bedchamber? Or turn and confront whoever was behind her? She dared a look over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'm surprised to see Galen let you out of his sight—or his bed," Cinead said, his attractive grin evident even in the dimly lit corridor.
She stopped and waited for him to reach her. "It appears you're only now going to find your own bed, Cin," she teased, wrinkling her nose at the mixture of whisky, peat smoke, and the musky scent of lovemaking that surrounded him, and wondered whose skirts he'd been tossing—perhaps the servant girl's from supper? "Might I ask you something?"
"Aye, anything you wish, lass."
"Do you ken Darcy McClean?"
He lifted a brow and grinned. "Aye, I do. Why do you ask?"
Judging by his reaction, he knew her very well. "Every time I turn around, she's launching arrows at me with her eyes. She wants Galen for herself, I'm certain of it."
He shook his head. "Don't fash yourself about her. 'Tis only you the lad has eyes for. Besides, she never had a murderer's chance in hell of latching onto Galen. With Darcy, he was interested in naught more than…"
"Cin!" Galen shouted, startling them both.
What the devil was Cin about to tell Sorcha? That Galen had fancied himself in love with Darcy at one time, until he'd caught her naked in his bed with a visiting chief's son? He found out the hard way what kind of woman she was. The past couple of years, he'd had naught to do with her, except for perhaps a brief conversation in passing. He no longer cared for Darcy McClean or wanted anything more to do with her.
Galen glared at his friend, then took Sorcha's hand, quickly leading her back to their bedchamber. After bolting the door, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against it.
Sorcha bit her bottom lip and cast her eyes downward. "You're angry with me for asking Cin about Darcy."
He let out a long sigh and dropped his arms to his side. Did she think he wouldn't be? He ran his fingers through his hair and sat down on the edge of the bed in front of her. "Why is it you're so curious about her? Why not the other women I may or may not have bedded?"
"I haven't met those other women, but I have met Darcy, and there's something about her that alarms me."
He drew her onto his lap, then helped her out of her robe and slippers. "How could she possibly alarm you?" He pressed his lips to her throat, marveling at the soft silkiness of her skin.
"There is naught humorous about it, Galen. She looks at me with such hatred."
He lifted his head and frowned. Darcy could be intimidating when she wished to be. "Then I'll speak with her in the morning, after we break out fast." He moved back onto the bed, taking her with him. He brushed his mouth across her full lips. "I love you, lass," he whispered against her smooth cheek.
She lifted her head and a slow seductive smile spread across her beautiful face. "Perhaps you should show me—just so I may be certain of it."
Galen grinned. He loved this playful side of her—especially in bed. After divesting Sorcha of her shift, he rolled her beneath him. Then proceeded to show her exactly how much he really did love her.
***
The next morning, after everyone had finished breaking their fast, Galen went in search of Darcy. He'd promised Sorcha he'd speak with her, and now seemed as good a time as any. Moorloch Castle was now Sorcha's home, and he'd be damned if anyone was going to make her feel unwelcome—especially Darcy McClean.
Passing through the great hall, he came upon her sitting beside the fire with her Aunt Molly.
Darcy smiled at Galen as he approached, as did Molly.
He turned to the older woman. "Molly, would you mind overmuch if I spoke with Darcy?"
His aunt looked baffled by his request. "Nay, of course not."
Darcy quickly got to her feet and followed him into the library, then closed the door.
Galen frowned. He wasn't certain he should have allowed her to shut the door, but he said naught. "Please, sit down." He motioned to a green cushioned settle near the fire, then propped his hip on the edge of the desk.
Galen couldn't deny that Darcy was a beautiful woman. Any fool could see that. With her full pink lips, shapely curves and more than ample cleavage which always seemed to be on the verge of spilling from her bodice.
She sat up straight and folded her arms, making sure he took notice of her womanly attributes. "You wished to speak with me, Galen?" she purred.
He refused to play her game of seduction. He knew it all too well. "Let my wife be. She's done naught to you, Darcy."
Her dark eyes widened innocently. "I don't ken what you mean, Galen. I've never even spoken to your wife."
"Perhaps not verbally, but she doesn't like the way you look at her—and neither do I."
She rose from the settle and moved closer. "Don't be angry, Galen. I promise, I'll behave myself from now on."
Before he could stop her, Darcy stepped between his legs and slid her arms around his neck. "We were good together, Galen. Remember?" she whispered seductively, mere inches from his lips. "We could be again."
Galen took her arms from around his neck. He wasn't about to let her lure him into her net of deceit, especially when he had Sorcha to love him. He no longer had any interest in Darcy, though it was obvious she felt differently about him.
He shook his head. "Nay, Darcy. I stopped caring for you long ago. I love Sorcha. I have no need for anyone else in my life, especially you." He grasped her shoulders to move her away from him, but she again wrapped her arms around his neck.
Then the door opened and Sorcha walked through.
Chapter Fo
urteen
Galen removed Darcy's arms a second time, then opened his mouth to speak, but naught came out. Fear clawed at his chest. Fear of losing Sorcha. Somehow, he needed to make her understand. Make her see the truth of what she'd seen.
Darcy said naught to explain it was she who'd forced herself on Galen and not the other way around. Instead, she appeared to be completely unscathed by his wife's sudden appearance. In fact, she seemed most pleased they'd been caught in such a predicament. Her eyes twinkled with satisfaction as she raised a brow and smiled sweetly.
Galen snarled and moved Darcy aside, then got up from the desk. "'Tis not as it appears, Sorcha," he said, shaking his head. "Please understand, I brought her here to insist she no longer bother you."
Sorcha crossed the room, stopping in front of him.
He clenched his teeth and prepared himself for the sting of her hand against his cheek. But it never came. Instead, she raised herself onto her toes and pressed her lips against his, while Darcy looked on.
Had his beautiful wife suddenly gone daft?
She smiled up at him. "I believe you, Galen. Before I opened the door, I heard what you said."
Galen breathed a sigh of relief, and drew her into his arms. Then he turned to Darcy.
She knew she'd gone too far, for her eyes widened with alarm.
"Leave us!"
Darcy pressed her lips together and rushed from the library.
Before the door had even closed behind her, Galen covered Sorcha's mouth with his.
As Sorcha slid her fingers into his long hair, enjoying his tantalizing kisses, she couldn't help but think of what Darcy had just tried to do to their relationship. She'd wanted Sorcha to misunderstand the situation. She hadn't trusted the woman before, and now she trusted her even less. And after today, Sorcha knew with a certainty Darcy wanted Galen for herself, and feared she'd stop at naught to have him.
***
Archibald had just closed his bedchamber door and seated himself before the fire, when a knock sounded. He'd come there to think and didn't appreciate being disturbed.
"Enter," he snapped.
The door opened and Brom, one of the few guards he truly trusted, came in and closed the door. "Sorry to disturb ye, laird."
"Get on with it," Archibald said, his patience growing thin.
"There's a lass accompanied by two guards here to see ye. Says she has a business proposition she thinks ye'll like."
A female with a business proposition? Who the devil was she? "Did she give you a name?"
"Nay, laird. She only said to tell ye she's come from the Isle of Mull."
Mull! Home to the MacKinnon's—and now Sorcha. His interest was immediately piqued. He didn't ken what she wanted, but he had to find out. "Bring her to me, but have her guards wait in the corridor."
"Aye," Brom said, then disappeared through the door. He returned a few minutes later with a young woman, wearing a cloak entirely concealing her face. Only a strand of her dark hair could be seen. Whatever she was up to, 'twas clear she didn't want anyone recognizing her.
"Leave us," Archibald said, getting to his feet. "And close the door behind you."
Once the guard left, he turned to the woman. "Show yourself."
She removed the cloak and tossed it onto the settle. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back.
He allowed his hungry gaze to leisurely travel over the shapely curves of her breasts and hips. Archibald licked his lips. She didn't seem at all offended by his perusal. On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps he might have a chance to mix this business of hers with a bit of pleasure.
"What's your name, lass?"
"I wish to keep that a secret."
"Very well, tell me why you're here then." He poured a dram of whisky and handed it to her.
She quickly downed it, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "I understand you want Sorcha MacPherson—MacKinnon—for yourself."
He nodded. "Aye, 'tis true. But as you must ken, she's wed."
"Aye, but if I could make certain of your safety, would you take her from Moorloch?"
Archibald's interest grew and his heart pounded with excitement. "Is that possible?"
"Aye, 'tis. But I'll need you to do something for me in return."
If 'twas payment, he'd gladly hand it over to get what he wanted. "What is it you wish from me?"
"No harm is to come to Galen MacKinnon."
So that was it, the lass wanted the MacKinnon for herself. Archibald was no fool. He'd agree to do the whoreson no harm, though he had every intention of making certain MacKinnon was dead before he left with Sorcha. Once he was dead, and Archibald married Sorcha, then the dowry would be his—the waterway would be his.
He smiled. "Of course. You help me get in and out of the castle, I'll take Sorcha and leave MacKinnon unharmed."
She nodded. "Then we have an agreement. In exactly a fortnight, just after midnight, I'll take care of the guards and be waiting at the postern gate to let you in."
"Agreed." He stepped closer, and she didn't move away. He lifted a soft curl and wrapped it around his finger. "Perhaps we could finalize our arrangement in a way that would be agreeable to us both."
A wicked smile curved the corners of her sensuous mouth. "Perhaps."
He bolted the door, then turned around. To his surprise and enjoyment, she'd unlaced her bodice and was waiting for him beside the bed. Because of this lovely creature, he'd soon have everything he wanted. But first, he'd have her. He closed the distance between them and covered her hungry mouth with his own. MacKinnon, I'm coming for you.
***
As the sun set over the sea, the western sky was awash with breathtaking hues of red and orange. The cool wind whipped Sorcha's hair about her face and wrapped her skirts around her legs, as she stood on the ramparts, looking out over the water. 'Twas something she did often, ever since Galen showed her the group of black and white whales when she'd first arrived, a month ago. Orcas, he'd said they were. She'd never seen anything like them, and enjoyed watching the young ones that kept close to their mothers. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and searched the waves for any sign of the magnificent beasts. Nutmeg meowed at her feet. Wherever Sorcha went, so did Nutmeg. Since their arrival at Moorloch, he'd grown in leaps and bounds. More than likely due to the amount of venison stew he'd consumed. She picked him up and stroked his soft fur, while she searched the sea.
Someone was coming up the stairs. Sorcha smiled to herself. She had no doubt 'twas Galen come to take her to supper. On the morrow, she would see Elis, the healer, to have her confirm what Sorcha already knew. She was with child. She couldn't wait to tell Galen, but wanted to be absolutely certain before she did.
"I knew I'd find you here," he said, a smile on his handsome face. He walked up beside her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. He narrowed his eyes and surveyed the seemingly endless stretch of blue water before them. "Have you caught a glimpse of anything yet?"
She shook her head and sighed. "Nay, I'm sorry to say. It has been over a week since I saw the last orcas. There were five adults and two young ones."
"They go where the food goes. And seals are what they like to eat."
She wrinkled her nose. "That saddens me, for I like to watch the seals as well."
He chuckled. Then lowered his head and kissed her passionately, while the guards pretended not to notice.
As always, his kisses took her breath away and made her knees weak.
He lifted his head. "Come, 'tis time to eat. Perhaps on the morrow you'll have better luck."
"Perhaps," she said, following him down the narrow stairs leading from the ramparts.
As usual, the great hall was crowded and it took some time for them to reach the high table. Once they were seated, Sorcha lifted her goblet to her lips, then froze.
After disappearing for several days, Darcy McClean sat at her usual place at the far end of the table with her aunt and uncle, but instead of
eating her meal, her gaze was riveted on Galen's face, as he talked and laughed with his father and friends.
Sorcha was certain if she insisted, Galen would have his father send Darcy away, but she didn't wish to bring strife between Galen and his aunt and uncle, nor between the McCleans and the MacKinnons. Nay, she would simply try to ignore Darcy, which would be no easy feat.
Darcy caught Sorcha watching her and an odd sort of smile curved the corners of her mouth. And as if she hadn't been practically drooling over another woman's husband, she returned to her meal.
Don't trust her! A voice deep inside Sorcha warned, sending an icy finger trailing up her spine. She set down her goblet and entwined her fingers with Galen's. She needed to feel the warmth of his hand.
He looked down at her and winked, wiping away a bit of the trepidation Darcy's disconcerting gaze had caused her—but not all of it. As long a Darcy McClean remained at Moorloch Castle, it would never be completely wiped away.
***
Under the cover of darkness and a thick fog, a small boat carrying Archibald and two guards, rowed quietly through the water, as they drew near to the Isle of Mull. Once they were close enough, Brom stepped into the knee-deep water and dragged the small vessel ashore. Archibald and Dooly joined him, the gravel crunching softly beneath their boots.
"Be ready to leave here at a moment's notice," Archibald whispered to Dooly, then slipped into the darkness with Brom at his side.
Though Archibald had never been to Moorloch Castle, or the Isle of Mull, the woman had supplied him with all the information he needed. The memory of her cries of pleasure during their lovemaking sent desire coursing through his veins. She'd make him a fine mistress. If only he knew who she was. But even after a night in his bed, she'd not revealed her true identity.
At the postern gate in the bailey wall, she waited for them, wrapped head to toe in the same large, dark cloak. She peered through the iron bars and opened the gate when she recognized him.
Ever watchful of the guards, he and Brom followed her to the back of the castle and through the entrance to the servants' quarters, where they took the stairs up to the second level.