The Highlander's Time

by Belladonna Bordeaux

  Weakness, what the Highlanders determined was a huge character flaw, especially in their leaders. “I see.”

  “The Clan is giving you the benefit of the doubt for you are newly married and a stranger to our ways, but they willnae give him the same benefit.” A pause stretched between them. “He is Laird.”

  Hoisting herself off the bench, Jenny wiped her hands down her gown. A chill raced up her arms. She sent a quick prayer to heaven for courage and another for the plan's success. “Fine.” She squared her shoulders. “I'll need help moving her furniture.”

  “Would you prefer I spoke to her, milady?”

  “No, I have to do it.”

  ***

  Iaen stretched out the aching muscles in his neck. Due to the continued foul weather, he was late—very late in returning to Castle Kincaid. Still, he'd seen Graham's body home to the border. There he met with the Laird of Clan Wulfson. The Norse clan who'd settled Scotland's western coast, were affable at times but warring most others.

  He'd been welcomed with a frown, which he expected, and a clasping of arms. The new Laird, his cousin, kept a wary eye on him, but agreed to see Graham on the final leg of his long journey to hallowed ground. Out of respect and shared blood, Iaen accepted the invitation to spend the night in the closest village.

  The trip home turned hazardous as the snows blew in on a stiff breeze off the coast. Squalls slowed the journey to a crawl. Finally, a senight and three days since he'd left, he relinquished the reins to his stable master. Worn to the bone from the long trip, he hungered for the warmth of a fire in his hearth and a cup of mulled wine. “How goes it, Kevin?”

  “Well, milord. Per you orders, the dike has been shored up as best it can. We've found cottages for all but Patricia's family and a few stragglers. Milady has made them welcome in your stead.”

  “Milady is well?”

  “Aye,” Kevin answered as he escorted Iaen into the Keep. “She's missed you mightily, but she's taken to her duties with zeal. The Clan is pleased with her for she's taken on the great responsibility of taming Lila. She's also kind to a fault to our displaced clansmen.”

  “And your blushing bride?”

  “We suit,” Kevin informed him, his tone bland, noncommittal. “Charlzie, despite her advanced age, is more a maid than a matriarch. It hasnae been easy for her, but she's coming around. If 'twasnae for milady's example, Charlzie would have collapsed the first day.”

  “You're displeased?”

  “Nay, milord. I am disappointed in Charlzie's resolve.” He hesitated as he opened the Great Doors. “Not only is she like to laze about half the day if I let her, she also explained to me that she is infertile for the next season. She went on to tell me that in the future they have surgical procedures that keep women from conceiving. Can you imagine such a thing? I cannae believe she'd willingly deny her husband bairns. I think her wild story is more her way to keep me out of our bed.”

  Iaen frowned at his second-in-command. Kevin's tone warned him all was not going fit or fine in his cottage. For a moment, he considered ordering Kevin and Charlzie to move into the Keep where he would watch over them, then denied the urge. If the mood between the couple grew dire, he'd do so, but he had to give them a chance to come to a compromise. “Give her time, Kevin. Charlzie is still learning her way. You cannae dismiss the lass for that which is beyond her control.”

  “I'm trying, milord. 'Tis difficult when she cannae make a palatable stew or a loaf of bread. Milady has asked Elspeth to put her to work in the kitchen where she might learn to cook. I pity Elspeth, for Charlzie is hopeless.”

  “You give up too soon, Kevin.”

  “Begging you pardon, milord, but if you had been here to see how she acts, you'd understand she's knows nothing of being a wife. 'Tis an embarrassment to me and my family. ”

  “Have you brought this up with milady?” Iaen clenched his fist at his side. Taking in the refugees asleep on pallets filling the floor, he quietly made his way to the stairs.

  “Nay, milord. She's had enough responsibility leveled on her shoulders. If Charlzie has made an issue of it, she didnae discuss it with me.”

  Iaen heard condemnation ring in Kevin's words. “If you fall into more disharmony come to me.”

  “She's my wife. I'd not have you interfere in our affairs, milord.”

  “She's a member of my clan.” 'Twas the last word he'd speak on the subject tonight. Anxious to see Jenny, Iaen forced himself to measure his steps. “Go home and take some time with your bride. With reassurance, she'll grow into her position.”

  “As you wish, milord.”

  Iaen turned his attention to his chamber and Jenny. Desire infused his system as he finished the climb up the stairs. He regretted having to leave Jenny alone for so long, but there was nay help for it. His father’s promise to Graham was a priority over all others once he was sure the worst of the flooding had passed. He'd stopped into the Keep that night, but Jenny was already fast asleep.

  Recalling the few moments he'd spent gazing at her before he'd headed north, his manhood hardened. She was the image of innocence and a temptation. Her climax was a moment of open abandon and he yearned to feel it, see it, and experience it, again. Her dutiful nature now stood above approach.

  He'd made the right choice when initially confronted with taking one of the women for his wife. Jenny had met a bar set high by the clan and overcome many obstacles in a short period of time.

  Pushing open the door to his chamber, a small smile lifted the corners of his lips. She sat in the chair by the fire, her eyes closed. Mary, the youngest orphan in the clan, lay against Jenny's chest, her downy-haired head tucked beneath his lady's chin. A sense of contentment swelled in his chest.

  Iaen heard a door open at the far end of the balcony. “I'll take Mary to her cradle,” Patricia said once she'd joined him. “Milady has taken a fancy to her. Lady Jenny has been very kind to take on the additional responsibility of caring for Mary during the wee hours especially since Mary started teething. I swear, milord, she's paced afore the hearth so many a night that she's carried the bairn the length of the world and back.”

  “Thank you, Patricia.” Iaen watched Jenny stir slightly when Patricia took Mary from her arms. “Is this an appropriate way for a lady to welcome her husband home?” he teased once Jenny woke.

  He offered her his hand when she moved to rise to her diminutive height. Letting her call the tune, he held his impatience in check through sheer force of will. His chauces grew tight as she pressed her body to his, and molded her soft curves to his strong, tense one. Pleasantly surprised when she wrapped her arm around his waist, he watched her tip her face to his. He caressed a path up her back to cup her skull. She reached up at the same time he dipped his head.

  Kissing her deeply, he licked the corner of her lips, begging entry. She relented on a sigh. He plundered her mouth until they were both gasping with need. Searching her face with his gaze, he saw a few signs of weariness, but she appeared to have faired his lengthy absence with little damage. “I've missed you, lass.”

  “I know.” She brushed her unbound hair away from her face. “I've missed you, too.”

  He laughed at her response. He took her lips in another deep kiss leaving her with nay doubt of what was going to happen in their bed tonight. Lusting for her, he longed for her sweet body wrapped around his. “Undress for me.”

  Iaen sat in the chair and stretched out his legs. Propping one ankle on the other, he folded his arms across his chest. He waited for her compliance and couldnae help but grin when she winked. “What are you up to?” he asked as she undid the bow at the throat of his tunic. His eyelids closed when she kissed the throbbing pulse beating a rapid tattoo at the base of his throat.

  “You'll see.”

  “Lass, donnae tempt me.”

  “Why not? Don't they say temptation makes the heart grow fonder and the sex better?”

  He caught enough of her broken Gaelic to get her meaning. Leaning forwa
rd when she raised the hem of his tunic, he peeked at the display of creamy skin exposed to his gaze while she divested him of his tunic. His fingers itched to grab hold of her, lay her down on the bed and kiss every inch of her smooth skin. She jerked away from his quick-shot grasp. Beware the games you play, milady.

  With intense slowness, she folded his tunic and set it on the chest. She pulled free the laces of her gown and pushed the cloth from her shoulders. He caught himself before he growled. She took her sweet time hanging the gown on the peg pounded into the stone wall. The mundane tasks she performed sucked him into a web of desire. It wasn't so much what she did, but how she did it. Coy gazes sent his way and lazy stretches that pulled her chemise tight across her breasts made him ache to sink into her.

  He stilled her when she went to remove his boots. “Nay.” Toeing off his boots, he took the opportunity to pull her into his lap. A groan rumbled in his chest as she playfully traced the ridge of his erection with her index finger. “God's bones.”

  His gaze followed her hand tugging loose the ties of his chauces. Sucking in a sharp gasp, he leaned his head against the ornate carving embellishing the back of the chair. The feel of her slim curves sliding off his lap was followed by the tugging of her hands removing his leggings. Gritting his teeth, he peeked down to see Jenny take his shaft in her hand, her grip gentle but determined.

  Reaching to stop her while she teased the head of his penis with her tongue, he felt helpless to cease her temptress's onslaught. The muscles of his stomach tightened at the first tentative touch of her lips on his hot skin. Slowly, she moved her mouth down his shaft, her tongue sliding across the sensitive underside. “By God,” he hissed. “You'd be the death of me, lass.”

  Weaving his hand into her thick silky hair, he guided her mouth up and down his manhood until he was at the thread's end of his discipline. Lifting her, he kissed her, his tongue sliding between her lips. She gave no quarter. Her tongue mated with his.

  His passion knew no bounds as she curled her fingers around his shaft, pumping his turgid flesh, naught save her and this moment mattered. “Nay,” he groaned into her mouth, his seed building to an explosion.

  He spun her about so she faced the bed. Again, his talented wife took over. She didnae move to the covers. Nay. She relaxed herself down on his erection. Gripping her hips, Iaen set the pace.

  'Twas a wild ride, with her grinding down on his scrotum. She whipped her hair around her shoulders, her own climax growing in the tightening of her feminine walls. Reaching down, easing her thigh over his, Iaen skimmed his hand up her skin to find his goal. He rubbed the sensitive nub fervently. Without words, he begged her to climax.

  He'd not gain his own satisfaction before she did. His heart pounded so hard he could hear the thump in his ears. “Please, milady,” he hadn't realized he'd said his thought aloud.

  The first tremors of her orgasm milked his manhood, pushing his seed higher.

  On her scream of ecstasy, he bucked. The gush of his seed filled her.

  Pulling her back so she reclined against him, he caressed her flat tummy. “Milady, you undo me,” he rasped out between haggard breaths.

  “Thank you,” she said on a stuttering giggle.

  Inhaling deeply, Iaen released the breath slowly.

  “Please, don't be mad at me.”

  “For?”

  Chapter Six

  Every dog has his day, but what about the other 364 days in the year?

  “I asked Patricia to move into the Keep,” Jenny admitted. Her guilt for going over his head as fresh as the day he'd left. She'd been silly to think he wouldn't get angry, or that she hadn't asked him first. “She's got so many children....”

  A deep rumbling jolted through her. Was he growling like a bear that’d had his hibernation interrupted, or was he laughing? Easing off him, she was taken by surprise when he rose to his omnipresent height. “I should have asked you first. Father Thomas told me she wouldn't agree, but I had to try.”

  She bowed her head. The afterglow of the great sex they’d shared ripped away that quickly. “I just couldn't bear the thought of her having to deal with all those kids alone. And, Mary, she's become meaningful to me.” Blurting out the rote statements Father Thomas had taught her did nothing to assuage her guilty conscience. “She said she wanted to stay, so I didn't think you'd mind, but then I realized this is your home, and I couldn't undo what I already had done.”

  Unable to deny her curiosity, she glanced at him. “Tell me you're not that mad. Please, I couldn't bear it if I destroyed our marriage before it even got started.” This was a learned trait and she knew it. After her mother's death, she'd done anything for a teeny tiny drop of her father's affection or even for his attention.

  “Milady shouldnae beg,” Iaen told her plainly. He tilted her face up to his with the tips of his fingers. She stared into his eyes, darkened by the play of firelight across his strong features and hopefully still hazed from sex. “I owe you a deep debt of gratitude, milady. Forever has Patricia stubbornly refused to leave her cottage, even when I ordered her.”

  “I don't understand. Why wouldn't she want to live here? It's not like she expects special treatment. In fact, she's been a great help with Lila. If everything goes as planned, Lila might even get to join the high table this week.” It was a lie, but she had to show him she'd made some progress during his absence.

  The truth was that if Lila kept on as she was, she'd join them for a meal when hell froze over.

  “Ah, lass, the clan can be very...” he gazed at her, a frown marring his brow. She suspected he was trying to find a word she'd understand. “...hard on women who live with a man not their husband.”

  “You mean,” it was her turn to play hunt and seek for a common word, “they have gossiped about her.”

  “Aye.”

  “That's not very fair.” Insulted, she recalled the past ten days when she'd dodged rumors regarding Lila, doing minimal damage control and trying to right her boss's reputation, she sighed. Lila, like Charlzie and herself, had come to grips with what Father Thomas called 'The Veil'. They were stuck here, probably for the rest of their lives. “It's not fair at all.”

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. A long pause of silence stretched between them as he settled her in the middle then walked around to his side. Once he'd lain next to her, he brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “Life is rarely fair, Jenny.”

  “True, but Patricia is mother to the orphans. How could they think ill of her? She works from sunup to sundown taking care of those kids.”

  “Because they can.” He adjusted her in his arms so she lay curled against his side. “I wouldnae say I agree with them, but there is naught I can do to stop the whispers.”

  “Can't you pass some sort of law, or something?”

  “They wouldnae follow it even if I did.”

  “Then how can a person ever feel like a member of the clan?”

  An exasperated sigh raised his chest then deflated it. “Jenny, you have to stop the whispers when they first start.”

  She rejected how his thick brogue turned her on. “You mean, prove them wrong from the get go and hope for the best.”

  “Gaelic, lass.”

  Realizing she'd done what she always did when she was stressed and sprinkled her statement with English; she traced her finger across an old scar on his chest. He covered her hand with his own to stop the movement. “Sorry.” She forced her brain to concentrate on the problem at hand. “How would you handle the gossip?”

  “On the morrow, I'll show you.”

  “Promise me you will.”

  “Milady, you insult me.”

  She peeked up to see him glaring at her with a hard glint. “I didn't mean to. I'm just trying to get some footing with this.”

  “On the morrow, Jenny. For now, get some sleep. You look ready to drop, wife.”

  Which was a big part of her problem. She stayed up most nights with Mary, her breath held as she
waited for Lila's next stupid antic to come to light. So far, Lila had gone so far as to not only make a nuisance of herself, yet two days ago she’d clocked Malcolm over the head with a tin pitcher. He'd laughed off the incident, but Jenny couldn't.

  Some how, some way, she had to get Lila to abide someone. Hell, she'd even make a deal with the Devil at this point to get an inch of headway against the stubborn diva. “How did you get this scar?” she asked suddenly. It was a convenient excuse to get her mind off her problems.

  “When I was a young warrior, my sire taught me the necessity of keeping my eye on my opponent.”

  “Your father did this to you?” She couldn't help sounding appalled. She was. How could his father inflict that much damage on him? Levering herself up on her elbow, she took in the scar. It went from his shoulder to his sternum. Even she could see the wound hadn't been deep. It was the principle of it all.

  “Aye, 'twas either that or watch me die in battle.”

  “Oh,” she said because she couldn't think of a response. “Was he a tough man?”

  “Nay more than most other sires, I suspect. We live in a harsh land. 'Tis either die by the sword or die of old age.”

  Picking up on how he said 'of old age', she honed in on how his tone changed. “Is there something wrong with passing away an old man?” Mentally kicking herself for not knowing how to pronounce half the words she spoke, she'd taken a shot at the pronunciation and come up flat. Damn this language. “You don't want to die of old age?”

  “Nay.”

  That was it—nay? The man was an idiot. Great. I'm married to a man who would prefer to be run through by a sword than watch his children grow up. The thought slapped her. Children? Shoving the stupid concern aside, she laid back down. “Why?”

  “On the morrow, I'll show you.”

  “In other words, shut up and go to sleep.”