He growled as he reached her depths. He held himself still there, at that perfect spot and stared into her eyes while placing wee sweet kisses on her lips.
The muscles within her body fluttered, caressing his hard length.
He ground out a Gaelic curse, withdrew a bit and thrust. Abruptly he shoved himself from the chair and, with an arm beneath her derriere, carried her across the room.
"Damnation, Isobel, you steal my sanity," he grated.
She again felt she was flying for a moment, then the bookcase shelf dug into her back. He thrust, driving up into her, gently at first, but then with increased force and speed. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened, he looked like a fearsome warrior determined to take every inch of her and then some.
She cried out.
He halted. "Am I hurting you?"
"Nay. More… give me more," she whispered.
To feel the strength of his powerful, hard body as he held her aloft increased her arousal. His gaze fierce and steady with passion and determination, he continued to drive himself into her, quick and deep.
"Aye," she gasped. "This… I wanted…" She accepted the erotic kisses he fed her just as she accepted him inside her.
He slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed that most sensitive nub of flesh with his thumb, wet circles that made her ache and wiggle, reaching for that pinnacle of pleasure again.
The tingles intensified sharply, converging on her. She arched and stiffened in anticipation. Her breath deserted her and the pleasure smashed in on her like a gigantic wave crushing her, carrying her away. She tried to scream, but his mouth covered hers. She rode him, enthusiastically taking all he'd give her. His hard shaft was merciless. The pleasure spread out through her limbs into her fingers and toes and ricocheted, bouncing back and grasping hold of her again where she clenched around him, desperate to hold him just where he was forever. He was hers. That was the only thing she knew. He was hers and she wasn't letting go. Ever.
He plunged to her depths and held himself there before releasing a growl. His warmth filling her, he jerked against her twice more. He held her tight for a long moment, his harsh breath gusting against her ear.
Muttering a curse, he slowly withdrew and set her to her feet. But her knees were so weak she couldn't stand. Taking her into his arms, he lifted her, then slid down the wall to the floor.
"Damnation," he whispered, gasping for breath.
Sitting there, staring into each other's eyes at close range, they struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern.
His gaze dropped and she realized her petticoats were hiked up past her hips. No doubt he could see all her secret female places that should be hidden, but somehow she wasn't ashamed. He'd put his mouth there, so obviously he liked that part of her. He knew all her secrets and wanted her anyway.
After he surveyed her scandalously bare places, including her breasts, for several moments, his jaw clenched hard, the muscle in his cheek jumping in that sexy way she loved. His eyes met hers and darkened again. "You are…" He shook his head. "There are no words," he whispered.
"You don't need words." She knew how he felt just by looking into his expressive eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him in sweet and passionate abandon.
A knock sounded at the door. "You're wanted in the great hall." It was Rebbie's voice.
***
Around midday, Maighread had opened the shutters of her chamber to try to catch a glimpse of what was going on outside. She'd heard a few yells, but no sounds of battle. Through the glass, she'd seen a large number of men on horseback some distance from the castle. They had to be the MacLeods come to recapture Isobel, didn't they?
Maighread had waited… and waited. Still, there were no sounds of swords clashing and men dying. A few horses galloped away, their hooves striking the frozen ground. After this, at gloaming, the roar of conversation from the bailey and the great hall reached her.
What was happening? Why were the MacLeods not attacking Dirk and his men?
Surely sending Haldane all the way to Munrick couldn't have been for naught. And where was her son anyway?
She knocked at the inside of her own door. That bastard, Dirk, had made the men add a lock to the outside of the door.
"What do you want?" one of the guards asked from outside.
Disrespectful lout, she'd see he was forced out of MacKay Country when she was free.
"I must speak to my maid about a delicate female matter," she said in a submissive tone.
"You tell me and I'll tell her."
Damn the man. She was not accustomed to people refusing to do her bidding. It was all because of Dirk.
She paced back and forth before the fireplace. Somehow she had to find out what was going on.
An hour or so later, the door creaked, startling her. She whipped around. One of the guards set a tray of food inside on the floor. She hurried toward him, but he slammed the door and the lock clicked.
"Guard?" She knocked on the door. "Guard! I want to speak with my son, Aiden. Send him to me."
Her request was met with silence. Bastards! She had never been treated so horribly in all her days. Dirk would pay dearly for this!
"Do you hear me?" She yelled, beating on the door. "Send Aiden to me now!"
Loud music from the great hall vibrated the wooden floor of her chamber. Instead of a battle, the damnable clans were having a céilidh. She ground her teeth. How dare they celebrate while she was a prisoner in her own home? Well, not hers, but Aiden's home. Her home was at Tongue, and she missed the warm manor house terribly.
Despite the fire, she had to wear several layers of wool to stay warm in this chamber. Not only was she freezing, but she had to tend to the fire herself. That horse's arse Dirk hadn't even allowed her a maid to stoke it for her.
If only she could contact Clan Gordon, Dirk and his followers would be sorry indeed. Her nephew would rain down hell on these traitors.
Pounding her fist on the door again, she yelled, "Open the door!"
She could die here and no one would know it, not even her sons. Tears flooded her eyes.
Familiar music drifted from the great hall. That was Aiden playing! She couldn't believe her own son had turned his back on her. Could he not understand she did all of this for him? So he'd have an inheritance. Now he had naught except what Dirk decided to give him. Instead of being chief, Aiden would be little more than a servant. When she imagined her son's dismal future, her stomach ached.
And what about Haldane? Where was he? She prayed he wasn't in the dungeon. He was tougher than Aiden and she knew he could handle it, but Dirk had no right to imprison either of her sons. Haldane would be the new chief. He was the grandson of an earl. He deserved it. She had to get a message to him. Surely he could help her escape this prison.
She scribed a missive on a small piece of paper she found in her old desk. Thank goodness she'd had the tutor teach him to read, despite much opposition and laziness on his part. She didn't know when she would get the note to him, but she crammed it into the pouch at her waist.
Maighread fell asleep in the chair before the hearth. The room was dark when faint, quick tapping on the door woke her. She arose, her stiff joints aching, and ambled toward the door. All was quiet, no music from the great hall. It was obviously past midnight.
"Aye?" she asked at the door.
"M'lady." It was no more than a loud whisper.
"Is that you, Una?" Thank goodness she'd had the foresight to bring two maids with her from Tongue, for Anne had disappeared or abandoned her.
"Aye," the maid replied.
"Where are the guards?"
"There is only one here and he's asleep."
Elation rushed through Maighread. "Take the keys off him and unlock the door."
After a long moment Una said, "I don't see any keys. If I search him, he's sure to wake."
Maighread muttered a curse she'd heard her husband say a thousand times. "Where is Haldane? Have you seen hi
m?"
"Nay, but the men were laughing about how he'd run away like a coward with some of the others they call outlaws."
Damn them all. Her son was no coward, nor was he an outlaw.
"What of the MacLeods?" Maighread asked. "Are they angry with Dirk for taking Lady Isobel hostage?"
"Nay. They all seemed the best of friends, laughing, dining and drinking together. During supper, Chief MacKenzie announced that Dirk and Lady Isobel would be getting married."
"Dear heavens! And the MacLeods were fine with this?"
"Aye."
Chief MacKenzie must have smoothed everything over and appeased the MacLeod somehow, destroying her plans.
"I need for you to slip a missive to Haldane. Can you do that for me?"
"Aye, m'lady, if I see him."
"You must go out and find him. Our very lives depend upon it. Yours too." Maighread slid the folded piece of paper underneath the door. "Here it is. Take this to Haldane. Do you know Levina, the kitchen servant?"
"Aye."
"I want you to give her a message for me. Tell her I said to take the measures we discussed several days ago."
"Very well. Is that all m'lady?"
"Aye."
She hadn't wanted the situation to lead to this, but she had no choice. Dirk had forced her hand.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next morn, after breaking their fast, Cyrus told Isobel he'd like to talk to her in the library. She glanced at Dirk, wondering why he wasn't invited. He gave her a little smile that made her recall their steamy encounter in the library the evening before. Then, they'd been summoned to share a dance in the great hall with their clans. Though Dirk had said he didn't like to dance, he'd done wonderfully.
Inside the library now, both Isobel and Cyrus took seats at the table.
"What do you think of Dirk MacKay?" Cyrus asked.
Why was he asking her this? The arrangement was already signed and sealed. She knew how her brother was—bossy and domineering. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd protested. Of course, she wasn't going to protest a marriage to Dirk. Quite the opposite. She could hardly wait to marry him.
She forced herself to be reserved, considering which words her brother would take seriously. She didn't want him to see her as a giddy young lass, though that's exactly how she'd felt since last night when Dirk proposed and then made love to her. Whew. She had a sudden urge to fan herself.
"Chief MacKay is a good man," she said. "Protective, helpful, an honorable gentleman. And a strong, brave chief. Well-liked by… everyone."
Cyrus lifted a brow. "In truth?"
"Of course." How could he doubt her words? Obviously, he was testing her in some way.
Cyrus sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Yesterday, he admitted he seduced you."
Her face burned. "I see." Did that cause Cyrus to disapprove of Dirk? They had seemed friends at both meals. "He's not to blame. It was mutual."
"You seduced him?" Cyrus asked, his voice loud and his eyes wide.
"Nay, not exactly," she quickly said, hoping her brother didn't think her whorish. Well, maybe she had seduced Dirk when she'd burst in on him in the bathtub… and last night in this room. "I find him… nice."
"Nice?" Her brother snorted.
"And handsome. I like Dirk a great deal."
"Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. So, you want to marry him, aye?"
"Of course. You didn't tell him he had to marry me, did you?" That had been her greatest fear.
"Nay. He asked for your hand. He finds you lovely and he cares for you. He appears to be a good man. That's enough. Finding you a suitable husband has been a nightmare, Isobel."
"I ken it. But you chose wrongly the first time." She had told him this before.
"I'm sorry for that, but it was to secure an important clan alliance. Besides that, an offer of marriage from an earl to a baron's daughter is naught to sneeze at, no matter his age."
"Very well. I did my duty for the clan." The past was the past and she wanted to forget it. Her first marriage could've been far more horrible than it was, and she was grateful to have gotten off easy.
"Now, you may have your blessed love match that you have blathered on about since you were fifteen summers," Cyrus muttered.
Love match. Aye. She was falling in love with Dirk. Now, if only he would feel the same way. 'Haps he did, but he hadn't said so.
"For a certainty, you're smitten with the man," Cyrus said. "'Tis about time."
She shrugged, unable to help that she hadn't fallen in love with a man of the right rank years ago. She would have if Dirk had been around. "Someday you'll wish you had a love match," she told her brother.
"Hmph. I have no time or patience for such rubbish. Anyway, since you're in agreement about marrying Dirk, I'll see you wed afore I leave here."
Excitement and panic rushed through her. "I'm to wed him that soon?"
"Aye, tomorrow if possible."
"Surely you jest."
"Why not? We're all here, your brothers, except for Dermott, and part of your clan, the MacKays. I'll not give MacLeod an opportunity to steal you back."
"He has no interest in stealing me back." Nay, he had his eye on a certain flame-haired lass.
"Well, who the devil knows?" Cyrus said. "Some other bastard may come along and try to snatch you from under MacKay's nose. I don't want to have to go traipsing about the country again, worrying whether you're dead or alive. Once you're married to MacKay, he'll protect you well."
"That he will." Plus, once she was married to him, he was hers for life. Instead of sneaking about for stolen moments of passion, she could sleep in his bed every night. It was warm and big and she'd relished snuggling next to him the night she'd spent there. A giddy thrill spun through her, making her smile.
Cyrus observed her shrewdly, then frowned. "Indeed, you need to be married as soon as possible, lass. Make the preparations and I'll speak with Dirk." Cyrus strode out, leaving her to scramble from her chair and dash up the steps to her chamber. She burst in the door to find Beitris making her bed.
She gasped and spun around. "Heavens, lass! You scared the life out of me."
"Beitris! I'm getting married tomorrow!"
***
Isobel, Jessie and the servants spent the rest of the day preparing for a cool winter wedding. There was no time to make Isobel a new gown, nor did she wish to wear the one she'd planned to marry Torrin in. Jessie and Seona helped her assemble pieces from different outfits to create a completely unique wedding costume. It included a plaid her mother had worn at her wedding over thirty years ago.
"We could get married right here in the great hall," Dirk said to Isobel at supper that night.
"I'd prefer the kirk. Although 'tis too cold to hold the ceremony on the steps outside, as is traditional, the reverend said that since you're chief, it would be pleasing to everyone for us to be married inside. Since your father's tomb is there, I think he'd be honored."
Dirk nodded, his azure gaze turning slightly melancholy. "He will be with us in spirit, but I wish he could be here in truth."
"As do I, along with my parents. My mother always talked about attending my wedding." Tears pricked Isobel's eyes.
Dirk lifted her hand and kissed the back, staring into her eyes for a long moment. Abruptly, he turned to Aiden on his other side.
"Aiden, do you ken the ballad, The Laird 'o Logie?"
Aiden frowned. "Nay. I don't recall that one."
Isobel smiled at Dirk and swiped at the tears still blurring her vision. How sweet that he remembered she wanted that ballad played at their wedding feast. She wished to kiss him all over his precious, handsome face, but restrained herself and squeezed his hand instead. "'Tis a Lowland ballad," Isobel said to Aiden, remembering that one of the minstrels her father had employed when she was a lass had been from Falkirk.
"Mayhap Isobel could teach it to you," Dirk suggested. "'Tis her favorite. If you learn it in time, I'd love it if you
'd play it at our wedding feast."
Aiden's eyes brightened. "Aye. I'd be honored."
"She can play it for you on her flute," Dirk said.
"I didn't know you played, Lady Isobel," Aiden said, his voice excited.
"Only a wee bit. You're exceedingly gifted, and I look forward to hearing you play it." Giddiness charged through her again. She could hardly wait for tomorrow, her wedding day, when she'd marry the man of her dreams. She wanted to jump up and down and embrace Dirk. Instead, she caught herself bouncing in her chair a bit and grinning like a fool.
Dirk observed her from the corner of his eye, amusement lighting his expression. He looked mischievous, like he wanted to kiss her, but he tore his gaze away and scanned the people in the hall instead. She knew he wouldn't engage in public displays of affection, but once they were in private, he would make up for it with delicious, bewitching kisses.
She sipped her wine as the dessert tarts were served. She wondered if he had told Cook to serve tarts every night since she loved them so much. Dirk's cupbearer had already sliced off the side of their tarts to sample them, making sure they were safe to eat.
A male servant appeared at Dirk's shoulder. "M'laird, Master Keegan would like to see you outside. Three of the outlaws have been captured and brought in."
"I'll be right back." Dirk kissed Isobel's hand again, rose from his chair and, taking his shaggy wool mantle, followed the servant out. Erskine, Rebbie, Cyrus and Torrin trailed after him.
She wondered which outlaws had been captured. She hoped one of them was Nolan. Trying to put the knave from her mind and think about pleasant things, like Dirk and their wedding day, Isobel bit into her tart with relish. Mmm. This one was blackberry, one of her favorites. Truth be told, she loved all types of tarts.
"I look forward to learning the new ballad. Will you play it here in the great hall for everyone?" Aiden asked, popping the last of his tart into his mouth.
"Oh, nay." Isobel shook her head emphatically. "I'm very much an amateur. I fear my skills are not good enough to perform, but I'll be glad to play it for you on my flute in private."
He nodded, glancing at Dirk's wooden trencher. "He's not going to eat this tart, you know."
My Brave Highlander Page 33