Highland Hero

by Hannah Howell

  David crouched over her for a moment, studying her from her thick, bright hair to her delicate feet. He was breathing so hard, he almost felt dizzy. Her breasts were small, but high and firm, the tips a tempting rose. Her waist was slender, her belly taut, and her hips gently rounded. Her skin was a soft, gently blushed white, begging to be stroked. The light tangle of flame red curls that hid her womanhood promised a warmth his body ached to savor. Her long, slender legs shifted slightly, and he forced his gaze back to her face, smiling at the deep blush coloring her cheeks.

  “Ah, lass, ye are bonnie. All soft cream and a tempting hint of fire,” he said as he rapidly shed his clothes.

  “I am too thin.”

  “Ye are lithe.”

  “I am too red.”

  “Nay, ne’er that. I like the hint of fire. It promises me a heat I ache to bury myself in.”

  She found speech impossible when he shed the last of his clothes. He was big, big and achingly beautiful. Broad shoulders, a smooth, hard chest, a trim waist, and narrow hips all tempted her. A narrow line of black hair started just below his navel, blossomed around his manhood, and lightened to a faint cover over his long, muscular legs. The only thing that caused her to hesitate as he lowered himself into her arms was that fully aroused manhood. She had seen naked men before, some even aroused, unable to control themselves in the depths of their illness, but she had to wonder if Sir David had been blessed with a little more than most men.

  “Ye frown,” he murmured as he gently trailed kisses over her face. “Am I nay pleasing to your eye?”

  “Verra pleasing. Headily so. I am just nay sure ye will fit.”

  He bit back a laugh. “Oh, aye, I will. ’Twill hurt the first time.”

  “I ken it. My aunt told me all about such matters.” She gave in to the urge to run her hands over his broad, smooth back and felt the hint of a tremor beneath her touch. “She didnae believe maids should be keep ignorant, and also wished me to ken enough nay to be shocked by what I might see as I treated men for illnesses or wounds.”

  “Weel, ’tis just that ye have caused it to be at its fullest.”

  “I have seen that too.” She smiled at his dark frown, sensing the hint of angry possessiveness behind the look and pleased by it. “I learned that it has a mind of its own and oftimes cannae discern between a touch meant to help and one meant to tease.”

  “They can be disobedient fellows.”

  She laughed, but her laughter caught in her throat when he covered her breasts with his big hands. Tatha cried out softly, wrapping her arms around his neck, when he touched a kiss to the hardened tip of each breast. Pure fire shot through her, and she arched into his kisses. When he drew the aching tip of her breast deep into his mouth and began to suckle, she feared her passion bordered on insanity, it grew so fierce.

  An almost painful ache grew low in her belly. She felt compelled to rub against him, but it was not enough to ease the demand of her body. Touching him, running her hands all over his lean, hard body, made him less gentle, but it still did not satisfy her. When he slid his hand over her belly and tangled his fingers in the tight curls at the juncture of her thighs, shock was but a brief flare of resistance in her mind. He stroked her and she pressed herself into his hand.

  David felt the damp warmth of welcome as he stroked her, watched her whole body shake, and knew he would soon have to possess her. Her passion fed his own, though it did not really need feeding; it was already glutted. He gently eased a finger inside of her, and feared he would spill his seed then and there. She was so hot, so tight. He took several deep breaths to try to calm himself. It was important to bring her pleasure. The more pleasure she was feeling when he did take her, the less pain there might be.

  He kissed her as he stroked her, his body trembling as he fought to control his own raging need. The moment he felt her tense, then shudder with her impending release, he spread her legs wide and plunged into her. He met her maidenhead, gritted his teeth, and breached it.

  Tatha cried out, but she was not sure if it was from the strength of the pleasure raging through her or the brief, sharp stab of pain that cut through it. She wrapped her limbs around him, but was it to steady herself or to pull him closer? Tatha felt confused by the feelings assaulting her.

  “Lass, are ye all right?” he asked as he held himself still, sweating from the effort, allowing her body to adjust to his invasion.

  “I think so.” She wrapped her legs more securely around his hips and cautiously arched upward. “ ’Tis wondrous strange.”

  That slight movement drove him deeper inside of her and he groaned, not sure he could put two coherent words together. “I was hoping it would be a wee bit better than strange.”

  “Oh, it is.” She placed her hands on either side of his face and touched a kiss to his lips. “ ’Tis beyond words. ’Tis worth every penance I might be forced to pay.”

  David laughed shakily, then began to move. When Tatha gave a soft cry of pure delight and immediately met his thrust, he lost all ability to go slowly. He gave a shout of triumph and deep joy when he felt her body tighten around him. Slipping his hand between their bodies, he searched out that spot that could stir her passion to new heights and stroked her toward a second release. The way her lithe body moved almost frantically around him as she reached passion’s heights was enough to pull him into that abyss along with her.

  It was a long time before sanity returned and David realized he had collapsed on top of her. He suspected he ought to move, but he felt too wrung out to make the effort. The way she idly stroked his back with her small, soft hands implied that she had no objection to his position, so he took another moment or two to try to recover.

  Slowly he eased the intimacy of their embrace, propped himself up on his elbows, and looked at her. The passion they had shared had gone far beyond his heated imaginings. He had suspected there was a fire in her, but had never suspected it would burn so brightly for him. The way she had made him feel was startling, even a little frightening. He took some comfort in the fact that she seemed to feel the same blinding hunger.

  He smiled at her, and to his delight she smiled back. “Weel, do ye think it was worth a penance or two?” he asked, hoping a light tone would hide the uncertainty he suddenly felt.

  Tatha fought to hide her disappointment. It was foolish to think he would suddenly spout love words and declare undying devotion just because his lust had been satisfied. The only thing that eased her disappointment was the certainty that he had been as swept away as she had. Innocent she might be, but instinct told her he had shared the ferocity of the passion that had swept her.

  “Oh, aye, one or two,” she drawled.

  “Impertinent wench.”

  He rose from the bed and, ignoring her blushes, cleaned them both off. As he returned to the bed, she started to get up, and he pulled her back into his arms. “Where are ye going?”

  “To my bedchamber,” she replied even as she let him tuck her up against his side.

  “Nay, ye will stay here.”

  “Are ye sure that is wise?”

  “Nay, but I dinnae care. I have ached to have ye right here since ye first stormed my gates. I have ye now and ye willnae leave.”

  She cuddled up to him and bit her tongue against the words she wanted to say. Although she had no real objection to sharing his bed, she was a little concerned about becoming his leman. There was also the matter of her father and Sir Ranald. Those troubles still lurked and could easily pull her from his arms. She closed her eyes and forced herself not to think at all. Ignoring the problems and doubts would not make them go away, but, for a little while, she was determined not to let them steal any of the joy she now felt.

  Chapter 8

  Tatha gently tied the bandage around the warrior’s now cleaned and stitched leg wound. She struggled to return his smile of gratitude as she put all of her things back into her small sack. This was the seventh man she had had to tend to in almost as many days. David mi
ght not wish to admit that he had been plunged into the midst of a war with Sir Ranald, but it was clear that was what had happened.

  At the moment, no one had died. The war as yet consisted of small forays made by Sir Ranald’s men that were quickly retaliated against by David and his men. In truth, Sir Ranald was faring far worse than Sir David, for his men were dying. That did not really make Tatha feel much better. It was simply a matter of time before David’s men also began to die.

  As she walked back to her herb room, she struggled to decide what was the best thing to do. Tatha did not think this was because of her. Even if Sir Ranald had guessed she was here, the fighting was because David was too interested in what had really happened to his mother. The fact that Sir Ranald would try to put an end to that curiosity rather proved his guilt. Nevertheless, she had been the one to stir David’s curiosity, to make him want to take another look at his mother’s murder. So whether Sir Ranald was after her or not, this was still her fault.

  There was also the matter of what existed or did not exist between her and David. For a month now they had blithely indulged their passions despite the increasing turmoil around them. She had worried that the people of Cnocanduin would be disgusted by her, but they showed no sign of that at all. They actually seemed quite pleased that she was sharing their laird’s bed. Tatha had the sinking feeling that they foresaw a marriage, believed that Sir David had finally chosen a lady to be his wife and bear him an heir. She wondered if she ought to remind them that she came from a family of thirteen daughters. Begetting a son off her might be nothing less than a miracle.

  Cursing softly, she sat down on the stool next to her worktable. While it was true that the fighting, small as it was, was not because of her, she could not help but wonder if she could put an end to it. If nothing else she might be able to draw Sir Ranald away from Cnocanduin. She might even be able to distract the man long enough for David to get the proof he needed, proof that would allow him to come out against Sir Ranald in force. David would probably do that now, and be justified, if not for her. He was in danger of having his motives questioned as long as she was at Cnocanduin, and especially for as long as she shared his bed.

  She moved to begin work on some salves, hoping that work would help her think more clearly. Instinct told her that her presence was tying David’s hands, but she needed to be sure in her heart. There was always the chance that she was trying to find a reason to leave him. Although she loved him more than was wise and she found only pleasure and joy in his arms, her heart could not long endure being no more than his leman. Slowly but surely, his lack of love and promises of a future for them would steal away that pleasure and joy. However, if she walked away from him, she wanted it to be for a better reason than the fact that she was too much of a coward to stay and hope for more than passion from him.

  “We should just attack the fool and wipe him off the face of the earth,” snarled Leith as he sat down at the head table in the great hall.

  David slouched in his chair, sharing Leith’s frustration, but trying not to give in to it. “We cannae. I still hold Tatha here. If we attack and win, and that becomes known, all my reasons for fighting the mon become questionable.”

  “Why? He killed your mother. This sly war he fights with us is because ye went searching for the truth. It proves his guilt.”

  “I believe it does. Yet if I claim that as my reason, will I be believed when I have no hard proof, or will it be thought I but try to make excuses for why I keep his betrothed wife in my bed? And to claim that before all will only dredge up all the ill talk of my mother. All the whispers of witches and heresy will be renewed. Aye, and once those fears are revived, how long will it be before they threaten Tatha?”

  Leith cursed and dragged his hands through his hair. “Aye, I can see the danger of having people think of witches and Cnocanduin in the same breath whilst Tatha resides here.” He frowned. “Ye dinnae think Sir Ranald kens she is here, do ye?”

  “He may have guessed by now, but this battle was begun ere he could have e’en heard the first whispers about a new healer at Cnocanduin. If he has heard something, I wonder if he remains uncertain, for it would give him a perfect reason to attack us in force. Aye, he would be within his rights to have me killed and need not even do so honorably. No one would fault him, for I have given him a grave insult by bedding his bride.”

  “Since ye have already insulted him by bedding her, why have ye not wed her?”

  “I must needs summon a priest for that, and if Sir Ranald is still in doubt, word of a marriage would quickly end it.”

  “So we must endure this constant harassment.”

  “For the moment.” David frowned and sipped his ale. “I begin to think I should send word to Tatha’s father, tell him of my suspicions of the mon.”

  “But then he will ken where she is, and if he doesnae care or doesnae believe you, he may weel join forces with Sir Ranald.”

  “I need not mention Tatha. If I send word of my suspicions to all who ken Sir Ranald, it will appear that I but try to get the truth out, to win my right to openly fight him.”

  “That may work.”

  “There is but one problem with that plan.”

  “What?”

  “It will stir up the ill talk about my mother again unless I can give some reason, other than claims of witchcraft, for Sir Ranald wanting my mother dead.”

  “She refused his suit.”

  “Aye, that could be enough. Something Tatha said makes me think there was more, however. She thinks he may have some problem with his manhood.” He quickly told Leith all Tatha had said about what potions and herbs Sir Ranald was most interested in and what the man had done to the maids. “I believe the mon may be impotent and somehow thinks a healer can cure him, either with her healing skills or even through the bedding of her.”

  “Aye, ’tis possible. Despite three wives, he has but the one son, and he was born of the first wife, shortly after the wedding. There were no other births, no other breedings. It may even explain how three of his wives died but nay in childbed, which is what steals the life of most wives.”

  “If that is the way of it, then one must wonder what would happen to Tatha if he gained hold of her and she couldnae cure him.”

  “Another dead wife.”

  David nodded, his hands clenching on his tankard so hard his knuckles whitened. He ached to simply kill Sir Ranald, but he had to think of more than the man’s threat to Tatha. His people were now in danger as well. If he acted too rashly and brought condemnation upon himself, it could cost his people dearly, even to their lives. He could not allow himself to forget that Sir Ranald had more power than he did, a closer relationship to the king, more allies, and more coin. Sir Ranald was a man one had to have firm, incontrovertible proof against.

  “ ’Tis a shame he is too much the coward to join his men in these attacks,” murmured David. “All our problems would be solved if he met his death whilst raiding my lands.”

  “Aye, ’twould free Tatha and end this war that isnae a war,” agreed Leith. “Ah, weel, winter fast approaches and mayhap that will give us some respite. Time to come up with proof or a plan.”

  “Aye, although ’tis irritating beyond words to pray that weather will be your ally.”

  “And if Tatha is freed? Do ye mean to wed her or has the fire that drew ye to her already begun to wane?”

  “Oh, I will wed her, and nay just because all of ye seem to think I should. Nay, the fire hasnae waned and I begin to think it ne’er will.”

  “Do ye love the lass?”

  David shrugged. “I dinnae ken. I am nay sure love is much more than a troubadour’s song. I like the lass and she warms my bed. Why fret myself to see what, if anything, that means?”

  “Weel, when ye do get around to telling her, be a wee bit softer in your speech. There are times when pretty words will gain ye more than the cold truth.”

  As David sprawled on his bed and watched Tatha brush her damp hair dr
y before the fire in his room, he thought about what Leith had said. Pretty words. He was not very skilled in flatteries and soft words, but he decided it was past time he gave it a try. When he was finally able to ask Tatha to be his wife, and he refused to believe that time would not come, he wanted her to show no hesitation in accepting. Some soft words now might well ease the way. It had been arrogant to think that, because she shared his bed, she would simply fall in with whatever plans he made for their future. Passion could have made her as heedless of the future as it had him.

  It troubled him a little that she did not speak of love, did not tell him anything of what might be in her heart. Although he offered her only mumbled words of passion, he wanted more from her, unfair as that might be. He wanted her bound to him, tied in a way that would always keep her at his side. His sense of possessiveness was strong, and he made no attempt to understand why that should be, just accepted it.

  When Tatha walked to the bed, shed her robe, and hastily slid under the covers, the color of a lingering modesty tinting her cheeks, he smiled and pulled her into his arms. He would make her love him. The passion she felt for him was easy to see, and he felt no doubt about its strength. He wanted more. Marriage would tie her to him by the laws of the Church and the king, but he wanted her heart to be his. Instinct told him that, if Tatha gave her heart, it would be forever. He wanted that depth of commitment.

  “Lass, ye are the bonniest, softest woman I have e’er held in my arms,” he murmured as he warmed her slender throat with soft kisses.

  “I am nay sure ye ought to be mentioning those other women just now,” she drawled.