by Paula Quinn
She knew it drove him mad when she spoke of Sinclair’s hands on her. That’s why she said it now. He scowled at her back and then pushed her down flat on her belly and spread out over her. He stretched out her wrists above her head and leaned down to growl against her ear.
“Ye’ll not be anywhere near him. Ye’re mine, love. No one else will ever touch ye. I willna let ye oot of my sight.”
He pressed his hips to the swell of her bottom and pushed her thighs apart with his knees. He didn’t want to make promises, but he knew what he was capable of. He knew Sinclair and a hundred of his men wouldn’t be able to stop him if Mailie’s life were in danger. He would kill for her, die for her.
“I love ye, Mailie. I’ll…” He paused but then pushed on. “I’ll protect ye, I promise.”
He had to. If he lost her, there would be nothing else. Not even having Annabel back would ease the pain.
He took hold of his heavy cock and guided it into her. He kissed her shoulders, her neck while he drove himself into her from behind, hard and with slow deliberation. He reached under her and kneaded her tight nub between his thumb and index finger and smiled when she cried out and bucked beneath him. Their release came hard, sapping the last ounce of strength from them.
Finally, they slept.
Mailie opened her eyes an hour before dawn and lay in bed watching Lachlan sleep. Her smaller body ached from his much bigger one. She smiled remembering their intimacy, the way he looked, and the way he looked at her.
He wanted to devour her, mark her as his like some forest beast. She wanted him to do it, and he had. He ravaged all her senses, pushed her to the precipice of oblivion, and then pulled her back into his strong arms. When he laid her in bed and stood above her, big and hard as a mountain, she fought back her fears and gave as good as she got.
She loved straddling him. Hell, nothing felt so good as sitting atop his rock-hard body and being master over it. But he hadn’t let her control him too long. When he pulled her hands behind her back and buried himself inside her, she nearly stopped breathing. She wouldn’t have minded dying in that moment, but then she would have missed the pouring out of his heart. Och, how she loved him. She had trouble containing it when he brought her to a rapturous release. Nothing in her wildest dreams or giggled around a sewing table could have prepared her for the exhilarating ecstasy of her clenched, quaking climax. Or the second one. The salacious pleasure of fully taking him stirred her blood. Nae, she had things to see to, things that kept her from sleeping.
He wasn’t going to use her to get to Annabel. Shouldn’t she be happy? Wasn’t it what she wanted from the beginning? He loved her.
He loved her enough to delay finding his daughter.
But she couldn’t let him. She’d never be able to live with herself. She couldn’t be the reason a little girl wasn’t reunited with her father. But what could she do? She didn’t know if the child was even alive. But she had to find out.
First, she had a letter to pen to her father. How would the messenger find him? She’d remember to tell him in the morning to give the letter to any MacGregor he found. They would see that her father received it.
She rose quietly from the bed and slipped into her clothes. She trod silently to the desk and noted, thanks to the soft candlelight, there was a quill and ink, but no parchment.
She thought about going to the study and considered penning her letter in the morning. She decided not to wait and lifted one of the candles from its place and carried it with her into the hall. After the night she’d just spent with Lachlan, her words of love and praise would flow more smoothly. She also wanted to check in on the children.
She padded in her bare feet up the stairs and, holding her candle before her, made her way to the children’s chamber. She looked inside and held her finger to her lips when Ettarre lifted her golden head. The babes were sleeping soundly. Mailie smiled at Lily, so happy for her uninterrupted slumber that her heart nearly burst.
Stepping away from the door with Ettarre now at her side, she thought of what she would tell her father about her soon-to-be husband. She would begin with Annabel, hoping to gain sympathy and provide insight into why he’d done such a terrible thing as kidnap her. She would assure him that the man she was with hadn’t put a hand to her, and that she was safe and well cared for. She wasn’t sure telling him in a letter that she loved Lachlan was the best course of action. Best to save that until they were face-to-face.
Ettarre let out a cry and ran for the door. Mailie followed her and let her out to relieve herself. When the hound didn’t return right away, Mailie fetched her cloak and left the castle to find her.
The sun was almost up, but it was still dark enough for Mailie to almost trip twice. “Ettarre!” she whispered angrily, treading carefully down the hill.
She heard voices. Fishermen coming in with the night’s catch. She remained quiet, lest they see her. Lachlan didn’t want too many of the villagers to know she was here, and he was correct in his concern.
She didn’t pay any attention to what they were saying, until one of them mentioned the MacGregors. Her heart battered, her breath stalled while she hid in the shadows and inclined her ear to them.
“Did Archie say what they were doin’ in Dingwall?”
Her kin were in Dingwall? That was close. Less than an hour away. Her breath started up again and came so hard she nearly fainted. They were close! Her father!
“Nae,” the first’s man’s companion told him. “He said he saw them by the banks of Dingwall on the other side of the Cromartie. ’Tis too close fer comfort fer me. He said they looked as fierce as they are rumored to be. They questioned him aboot seein’ a red-haired lass with a hound.”
She felt ill. Where the hell was Ettarre? Och, dear God, her kin were close. And they were looking for her. How long before they arrived in Avoch? Would Lachlan give her up? Would the villagers try to fight? Would her kin want Lachlan’s head?
She had to do something! She had to find them first and stop them from coming here, tell them about Annabel, beg their help instead of their wrath. They would help her find Sinclair, the true villain.
Dingwall wasn’t far by horse. They were so close. Perhaps she could stop the blood of anyone she loved from being shed. She looked toward the castle. Every part of her trembled. For a moment she couldn’t decide which way to go. To Lachlan? The children? To find a horse? There was no time to lose. She had to find her kin before they left Dingwall.
She waited for the fishermen to leave, then ran for the village. Ettarre appeared at her side as she plunged down the hill. She would go and make peace for Lachlan. She would convince her father that she was in love with the laird of the Black Isle and that a life with him and the children was what she wanted.
She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed not to weep as she stayed in the dwindling shadows and untied the first horse she found. Everything would be well, she convinced herself, saddling her mount with shaky fingers. She hadn’t kissed the children. She hadn’t wanted to wake them, but now she wished she had.
She was doing this for them, so that Lachlan remained in their lives. In all their lives. This could be her only chance to save them all. Nothing would stop her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mailie sat on her horse and looked across the River Conon at the head of the Cromartie Firth. She didn’t want to have to cross it in the cold early morning, but according to a farmer she’d come across while riding through the village of Knockbain, it was the quickest and safest way off the Black Isle. Thankfully, the river was narrow and not too deep. Once she crossed, she’d be in Dingwall. How long would it be before she found them? She glanced down at Ettarre and smiled. “Ye’ll help me, aye, love?” She sounded nervous to her own ears. What if she couldn’t catch up with them? She looked back. Should she have told Lachlan? He never would have let her go. She had to. She couldn’t let him give up on Annabel.
She was hungry, and tired. She should have brought s
ome food with her.
With a determined exhalation, she addressed Ettarre. “Are ye ready, dear friend?”
Ettarre barked.
She flicked her reins and led the horse into the water. Ettarre watched from the edge of the riverbank. As Mailie expected, the water was icy. She did not expect, however, that her mount would buck and throw her from its back. She sailed over the horse’s head, vaguely aware of Ettarre barking. She hit the water on her back and looked up in time to see the horse rise up on its hind legs. She spun around and tried to swim out of the way.
The pain in the back of her head was instant, and then there was nothing else.
Tristan had noted Goliath’s ears suddenly perk up while he and the others were packing up camp. When the hound took off running and didn’t obey Adam’s command to return, they looked at one another and then leaped onto their saddles and gave chase.
They were heading toward the river. Tristan’s heart pleaded with God that the hound had picked up Mailie’s scent. When he heard another dog barking, his heart leaped. He knew her voice. It was Ettarre! He almost wept with the need to get there faster. If she was alive, she was with Mailie—or she’d know where to find her. He pushed his mount harder until the horse’s mouth foamed.
The barking stopped.
“Ettarre!” he roared, and thundered onward until he reached the riverbank.
The sun burst into a thousand shades of gold and vermillion, pouring its glory on the river and the lifeless body of his daughter, being dragged by his faithful dog through the rivulets.
Mailie. “Mailie!” He was the first off his horse and into the water. Why was she unresponsive? What had befallen her? His heart burst over and over again with every beat. She had to be alive. Dinna let me have found her only fer it to be too late. Please. Please.
He reached her within moments and took her from Ettarre’s jaws. His bones shook, his teeth chattered, but it had nothing to do with the frigid water. His daughter was limp in his arms, her skin bluish-gray. She was too cold, and so was he, for him to tell if she was breathing or not.
“Luke! he shouted as his son swam near. “Take care of Ettarre!”
He swam back to the bank and set her down gently. He sank to his knees beside her and bent his ear to her lips, then to her chest. None of the lads hurrying out of the water said a word while he listened. Ettarre moved forward to her place beside him and waited as well.
Finally, he picked up the faint beat. He leaped into action. He had to get her out of her clothes and warmed up, but first he turned her over on her side and gave her back a pair of upward pounds. His third strike produced a flow of water from her mouth. “The blanket in my saddlebag!” he called out. All three started for it but Luke brought it to him.
“She’s not comin’ to,” Luke lamented over him.
“She will,” Tristan said, pulling at her wet clothes. Please.
“Mailie can swim well,” Adam pointed out, coming forward and crouching before her. “There’s a wet horse on the other side of the riverbank. Mayhap it injured her.” He covered her head with his hands and felt around; when he came to the back, he frowned and nodded at Tristan. “’Tis aboot the size of my fist.”
Tristan knew he had to get her home to Isobel. His wife would know what to do to get their daughter well.
For now, he ordered the rest of them to leave while he undressed her. When he had her out of her wet clothes and secured snugly in his blanket, he picked her up and held her to his chest. Where had she been? Who’d had her, and how had she escaped? His heart leaped and his soul rejoiced. His life was returned to him.
“’Tis well now, my wee babe. I have ye.” He kissed her brow and let a tear fall there. He turned to Ettarre, still at his side.
“Och, Ettarre, my good gel.” She wagged her tail and came in for a wet lick. “Ye brought her back to me, Ettarre. How can I ever repay ye?” he asked her, and kissed her back.
He rose to his feet and carried his daughter to his horse. Her breathing sounded a bit stronger. She needed Isobel and her healing herbs. After calling the others back, he mounted his horse and waited for Luke to hand Mailie up.
“We should discover where she came from and settle this,” Luke said, gaining his mount. “We now know the direction in which to go.”
“Aye,” Tristan agreed. “But Adam and Daniel will go. Ye will come home with me.”
“But I should be the one—”
“Whose face is among the first she sees when she awakens. Do ye think revenge is more important than praying over yer sister’s bedside?” Mailie adored her eldest brother. Tristan knew she confided in him. He prayed she recovered, and he hoped that when she did, she would tell Luke why she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. Had her captor forced himself on her? The thought of it turned his blood to fire.
“Nae,” Luke confessed, setting his sorrowful gaze on her. “I want her well first and foremost.”
“Good, then let us be off,” Tristan told him, glad when his son leaned down over the saddle and scooped Ettarre off the ground. She was weary, poor gel.
He had her back, but someone had taken her, may have forced himself on her. Would his heart ever mend from this? He wanted whoever it was dead. No questions. Just dead. He took up his reins and turned one last time to Adam and Daniel before they left. “When ye find him, kill him.”
His daughter still hadn’t stirred, and with each league they covered, Tristan’s joy at finding her diminished. What had she been through? He didn’t want to imagine. He wouldn’t. He’d keep those thoughts at bay—as he had since he’d learned of her abduction—else he’d go mad.
They reached the town of Beauly in Inverness. The land wasn’t largely inhabited, so Tristan had no trouble recognizing a group of six MacGregors riding across one of the hills.
He caught up with them and was glad to see Will MacGregor’s son Duff in the lead.
Duff and his band of five gave up a loud cheer when Tristan told them, “My daughter has been found! Send oot word.” He continued when the shouts subsided, “She escaped from the Black Isle. Any who want to help us hunt for her captor should to go to Dingwall where Colin will meet them and bring them to the bastard’s door.”
He kept it brief and took off once again, racing home—to Camlochlin, where his precious gel would be safe.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lachlan?”
Someone was trying to pull him from his slumber, but he hadn’t rested in so long. He didn’t want to wake just yet. He wanted to touch Mailie…
“Papa!” This time it was a lass. He forced his lids open as he came awake.
He felt as if he’d run into a mountain and raised his hand to his head.
“Why are ye sleepin’ so late?” Lily asked, climbing into the bed so she could lean over Lachlan and have a better look at him.
“And where’s Mailie and Ettarre?” Will added.
Lachlan sat up, thankful for his blanket covering him. What the hell was happening? Was it morning? How late was it? He never stayed in—
“Mailie isna here?” he asked, focusing his groggy gaze on the two small faces. They both shook their heads at him.
“She must be fetching water,” he said, keeping himself covered and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“We checked the well and the yard,” Will informed him, and Lachlan noticed the quaver in his voice for the first time. “We checked everywhere save the village.”
“Is Ruth here?” he asked, trying to clear his head.
“Nae.”
Then it was still morning. “I’m sure she’s around somewhere.”
“Is she gone? Just like Mummy?” Lily asked, her eyes as wide as saucers and filling quickly with tears. “Is Mummy dead?”
“No, no,” Lachlan soothed her. “She went fer a walk, that’s all.”
“To the heather field?” the gel asked, hopeful once again.
“Aye, the heather field,” he told her and looked around for his clothes.
Hell, he hadn’t slept so late in years. He thought about last night with Mailie and smiled. No wonder he was tired.
“Let’s get dressed and go find her, aye?”
“We’re already dressed,” Lily pointed out.
“I’m not, so go wait fer me in the kitchen.”
He waited until they were gone before rising naked from his bed.
They’d made love all night. Images of her face, lost in the languid throes of ecstasy, filled his thoughts. He loved her. Hell, he adored her. He’d do anything for her, including not giving her up to Sinclair. His heart stalled. Had she gone to Sinclair? Hadn’t she advised him that the best thing to do, the safest thing, was to be delivered to Sinclair?
He laughed at himself for worrying. Mailie wasn’t a fool. But where was she? There weren’t many places she could be. “She’s probably with Ruth,” he told the children when he entered the kitchen fully dressed a few moments later. “Ready?” he asked them. His smile felt forced; his heart quickened in his throat. No, he wouldn’t let his heart falter. She hadn’t left. She wasn’t gone.
He grabbed his cloak and covered his shoulders in a swirl of midnight-blue wool.
He left the castle with Will on his right and Lily catching up and fitting her tiny hand into his. His blood warmed in his veins, despite the warnings going off in his head. He could lose them. No. He wouldn’t. They were his. Nothing would change that.
He didn’t know why his heart crashed against his ribs like waves pounding at stone, breaking it down, until rubble remained. Why he felt something was terribly wrong. She wouldn’t have left them.
Would she?
She’d never stopped trying to escape. She’d waited until she had his complete surrender, his trust.
No!
He tried to calm himself. Mailie had gone to the village and had likely spotted little Ranald and was tarrying with him. That was all.
He didn’t realize that his strides were so long until Lily tripped over a rock and sailed off the ground, still attached to his hand.