The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  She hadn’t felt comfortable in her own skin since the beating. After hiding her scars for so many years, she began to feel at ease in her nakedness as Ian moved over her back with his soft, warm kisses. While he kissed her, his hands moved in circles—up and down her sides, brushing the sides of her breasts and following the lines of her waist and hips.

  “Ah, Sìleas,” he said. “Ye are so beautiful. I want to touch every inch of ye.”

  Gòrdan and other men had told her she was beautiful, but she had never felt it. Ian’s hands made her almost believe it. His touch was reverential and soothed her.

  More, his acceptance began to heal the scar on her heart.

  Five years ago, Ian’s harsh words on the day of their wedding had been like the sting of alcohol on her fresh wounds. They had deepened the scar inside her. Perhaps that was the reason only he could heal her.

  Ian moved off her to lie beside her, turning her with him so that she felt the comforting heat of his body down her back and all around her. She closed her eyes, following the movement of his hand up her thigh and over the swell of her hip to her waist.

  Then she felt something hard and urgent pressing against her backside—and her sense of peacefulness vanished. Her heart was beating twice as fast as before. Despite Ian’s statement that he did not intend to take her virginity—this time—she suddenly felt her vulnerability, lying naked in bed next to an aroused man.

  She licked her lips. “While this has all been verra pleasant, I should get up now.”

  She managed to sit up, but Ian sat up with her.

  “Not yet,” Ian said with a firm hand on her hip. “Trust me.”

  “I can guess what comes next,” she said and tried to wriggle away from him.

  “I don’t think ye can,” he said, pulling her closer. “But I’m looking forward to showing ye.”

  She turned to face him. “I know ye feel guilty for things that aren’t your fault—like your father’s lost leg and the scars on my back—and for a few things that may be your fault. But ye can’t fix them by tying yourself to me now.”

  “I told ye, I won’t take it that far,” he said, cupping her face with his hand. “I know you’re not ready. Ye can trust me.”

  Trust him or no, she let him coax her back down on the bed. She lay on her side again, with him behind her.

  “I can smell summer heather on your skin,” he said, as he nuzzled her neck.

  She held her breath as his hand moved up her belly, then let it out in a small gasp when his hand encompassed her breast. All her senses were ajar, with the heat of him surrounding her, pressed against her everywhere. His breathing grew harsh as he planted hot, wet kisses on the side of her throat. Then he held her tight against him so that her body moved with his in a slow rocking motion.

  “I do want ye,” he said in her ear. “Tell me ye know that.”

  “Aye.” For certain he did, but he’d likely want any woman who was pressed up against him naked in bed.

  He distracted her by rubbing his thumb over her nipple. The sensations shot to somewhere deep in her belly. Then he turned her on her back and took her breast in his mouth.

  Did all men know to do this? She was breathing too fast. She was arching her back, her body begging him not to stop, as the sensations ripped through her and settled in a dull ache between her legs.

  She wanted to feel his skin against hers. “Can ye not take off your shirt?”

  “Do ye want to kill me, lass?” he asked, but he sat up and whipped his shirt off.

  When he pulled her into his arms, she clenched her teeth, savoring the delicious sensation of his hard muscles and rough chest hair against her breasts. He kissed her until she felt as if she were floating.

  His tongue moved against hers as he ran his fingers in slow circles from her hip to the top of her thigh. Each time his fingers brushed the place that ached between her legs it caused a burst of sensation. She felt so sensitive there it almost hurt—and yet she nearly groaned in disappointment each time his hand moved away.

  When he finally slid his fingers between her legs, the word “Aye!” came out of her mouth. Ian made a low sound in his throat and clamped his mouth over hers.

  This wasn’t the slow, sensual kiss of before but greedy, demanding. While he ravished her mouth, his fingers did a magic dance between her legs. She held on to him, wanting him closer, closer still, as the silvery sensations cascaded through her.

  He broke the kiss and looked down at her with eyes that were dark with blue fire. “I want to see ye find your release,” he said in a ragged voice. “Do ye know what that is?”

  It was hard to concentrate with what he was doing to her with his hand, but she managed to shake her head.

  “I want to give ye such pleasure that ye cry out.”

  “Do ye?” she asked doubtfully. “Are ye sure?”

  “Oh, aye,” he said, giving her a wicked smile that made her toes curl. “Trust me. Let me do this.”

  He gave her another deep kiss. Then he was running his tongue between her breasts, circling her nipple, all the while working his magic fingers between her legs. When he took her breast into his mouth and sucked, she heard herself making high-pitched pleading sounds. Whatever he was doing, she wanted more. Sensations coursed through her until every fiber in her being was strained with tension, waiting for something, something more.

  Her body felt as if she might snap in two, but Ian was relentless.

  And then she burst into a thousand pieces. She heard herself cry out as her body clenched in a spasm of intense pleasure that left her shaking. Before she could catch her breath, Ian was kissing her with a need and an urgency that sent a new surge of desire pulsing through her. His hands were everywhere, squeezing, stroking, as he devoured her with his kisses.

  When he rolled on top of her and urged her legs apart with his knee, she didn’t remind him of his promise. She wanted what he wanted. She wanted him inside her, to be joined with him, to be one with him.

  A tear slid down the side of her face because this was Ian, the man who was always meant to be her husband. The man she wanted to be her first lover and her last. It could only be Ian. Always Ian, and no other.

  When his shaft touched her center, desire surged through her like a wave crashing onto the shore. She pulled on his shoulders, urging him forward.

  But he lifted his body away from hers and dropped his head to rest his forehead lightly on her breast bone. Her body was so tense that his breath prickled her damp skin.

  “I’m trying hard to remember my promise,” he said.

  “I want ye to forget it. Please, Ian.”

  But he moved off her and dropped onto his back beside her. The air was charged with the tension between their bodies, and they were both gasping for breath.

  “I just needed to stop a moment,” he said.

  She turned and tentatively rested her hand on the flat of his stomach. He started at her touch, then took her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss her fingers.

  He rolled to face her and laid his hand against her cheek. “Did ye like that?”

  “Aye.” She flushed, feeling embarrassed.

  “Ye were wonderful to watch,” he said, running his hand over her hair. “I love the sounds ye made, and the feel of ye under my hands.”

  At his words, she felt the tension growing in her again. She swallowed. The intensity of his eyes on hers made it worse. When he put his hand between her legs again, her breath hitched.

  Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he said, “I like that ye are hot and wet for me, Sìl. You’re a beautiful woman. You’re everything I want.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Shouldn’t I…” She tried to hold on to the thought, but Ian was moving his fingers in that way that made it impossible to think of anything else.

  “No love. This time is just for you,” he said, as he rolled her on her back.

  Then Ian’s mouth was on hers, and she let herself be swept away by the magic.

 
; CHAPTER 17

  Ian greeted each man at the door of the church to be sure no one entered they didn’t trust.

  “Father Brian, it was brave of ye to agree to let us meet here,” Ian said when the priest arrived. “But ye didn’t need to risk coming here yourself tonight.”

  “I prayed over it, and God approves,” the priest said, and went inside. Ian had heard the priest had a woman, and he supposed God had approved that as well.

  It was time to begin.

  Ian stepped out into the night and listened. When he heard nothing but the howl of the wind, he went back inside and signaled to Connor that all was ready.

  Duncan and Alex joined him at the back, where they would be the first to meet any uninvited guests, while Connor took his place at the front. Because of the church’s close proximity to Dunscaith Castle, only two candles were lit, one on either side of Connor. The men who were milling about found seats, and the room grew quiet. Although the rest of the church was in deep shadow, Ian sensed that all eyes were on Connor.

  “You have come here tonight,” Connor said in a voice that filled the church, “because the MacKinnons have stolen Knock Castle from us, and ye know we must take it back.”

  Several of the men shouted and raised their fists or banged their claymores on the floor.

  “Ye served my father when he was chieftain,” Connor said when they grew quiet again.

  “And he damned well wouldn’t have let the MacKinnons take what belongs to us!” This outburst from one of the older men was followed by a loud murmur of agreement.

  “We need Knock Castle to protect our lands to the east from invaders,” Connor said. “It is a danger to all our homes not to have it in MacDonald hands.”

  Ian smiled in appreciation of how simply Connor put the matter before the men. He spoke a truth they all knew, in contrast to Hugh, who lied through his teeth whether he needed to or not.

  “For the clan’s protection, we must take it back,” Connor said, and again there were murmurs of approval. “The question is how to go about it without a chieftain to lead us.”

  “It’s time we had a chieftain willing to fight for us,” one man shouted.

  It was, but Connor was wise enough not to make that move yet.

  Connor let the rumble grow before he put his hands up for silence. “Hugh has declared himself chieftain,” he said, reinforcing in their minds that Hugh had not yet been chosen by the clan. “I don’t want to put anyone in the position of going against the man who may well become our chieftain.”

  There were grumblings. So far, this was going just as they hoped.

  “While Hugh has refused to fight for Knock Castle, he never said that others should not.”

  Connor paused to give the men time to consider this and come to the conclusion he wanted. He was good at this.

  “There is one man here who has a clear right to that castle,” Connor said. “And I say that a man with a right need not wait for his chieftain to act on his behalf, if he believes he can accomplish the deed himself.”

  Several men turned to peer at Ian in the shadows at the back of the church.

  “And if some of his clansmen wish to lend him a hand, all the better!”

  There were shouts of “Aye! Aye!”

  One man stepped into the center aisle of the church and waited to speak until Connor acknowledged him with a nod.

  “If ye are speaking of Ian MacDonald, he has no right to Knock Castle.”

  As soon as the man opened his mouth, Ian knew it was that damned Gòrdan.

  “It is Sìleas who is the heir—Sìleas, and then her child. So far as I know,” Gòrdan said, turning to look down the aisle at Ian, “the lass is no carrying Ian’s child.”

  A child would make Ian’s right certain. For now, he was claiming it on behalf of Sìleas and their future children.

  “Ian’s only been back a week,” Alex shouted. “Give the man some time.”

  Alex’s remark caused a round of laughter and an easing of the tension that Gòrdan’s interruption had caused.

  But Gòrdan wasn’t finished.

  “Ian deserted her,” Gòrdan said. “If Sìleas has decided to take a different husband, no one can blame her.”

  “She has done no such thing, nor will she!” Ian struggled to shake off Duncan’s arm so he could go up there and smash Gòrdan’s face in.

  “All I know,” Gòrdan said, turning around again to be sure Ian didn’t miss his words, “is that a man cannot get a woman with child if she’s no sharing his bed.”

  This time, Ian broke free from Duncan’s grip. He landed on Gòrdan, and the two crashed to the floor—but he only got in a few punches before Connor and Alex pulled him off. When Gòrdan sprang to his feet and tried to swing at him, Duncan caught Gòrdan from behind and held him.

  “If ye haven’t bedded her yet,” Connor hissed an inch from Ian’s face, “see that ye do before we gather the men to take the castle.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Ian said between his teeth, as he glared at his cousin.

  “As for you, Gòrdan MacDonald,” Connor said, turning and grabbing Gòrdan by the front of his shirt. “If ye think Sìleas might choose you instead, I suggest ye keep your mouth shut and your sword sharp for the fight for her castle.”

  “Sìleas is my wife,” Ian said, locking eyes with Gòrdan. “If Gòrdan wants to take her, he’ll have to kill me first.”

  Ian shrugged Connor off and pushed past the others to stand at the front of the room.

  “A MacDonald fights for what belongs to him,” he shouted to the gathered men. “I ask you to join me in the fight for Knock Castle for the sake of our clan. But whether ye do or not, I will take it. For I am a MacDonald, and I keep what is mine.”

  Ian let his gaze travel slowly around the room, then drew his claymore and held it high. “I am Ian MacDonald, husband of Sìleas, and I Will Take Knock Castle!”

  The floorboards of the church vibrated with the thumping of feet and the pounding of claymores as the men shouted with him, shaking the building with their battle cry.

  “Knock Castle! Knock Castle! Knock Castle!”

  CHAPTER 18

  When Sìleas saw Ian and Alex coming up the path, she grabbed her cloak and ran out to meet them.

  “Where have ye been?” she asked, taking Ian’s arm and smiling up at him.

  Alex waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned, as if he were responsible for the change between her and Ian.

  “We stayed with Connor and Duncan last night,” Ian said. “I confess we drank too much to make our way home.”

  Sìleas clicked her tongue. “Well, at least you’re not lying to me about it.”

  Ian halted in the middle of the path, his eyes as warm as summer on her face. “I missed ye last night.”

  Alex took the hint and went on ahead toward the house.

  “We need to talk,” Ian said. “Not here.”

  Her heart did a little flip in her chest, knowing Ian wanted to settle things between them. She was ready. After staying awake half the night thinking about it, she had made her decision.

  She felt a nervous excitement as Ian led her down the path to the small beach below the house. Hopeful. That was what she felt. When he’d taken her upstairs, he had shown her the man she knew he could be, the man she believed in.

  She couldn’t fool herself into believing Ian loved her; he had other reasons for wanting to be her husband. But there was so much caring in his touch that she had reason to hope that one day he would. Even if he never did love her as she loved him, Ian had convinced her that he valued her and that he was determined to be a good husband to her from now forward.

  It was too late, in any case. If she was going to leave him, she should have done it before he took her upstairs yesterday. He may have left her a virgin, but she’d lost her innocence. She longed to feel his weight on top of her again, to run her fingers over the muscles of his back, to see the stars spark against her eyelids as waves of pleasure pulsed th
rough her.

  What woman in her right mind could say no to the whole cake once she’d had a taste of that? The thought of sharing a bed with Ian every night sent tingles all the way to her toes.

  Sìleas smiled to herself and fingered the special stone in her pocket for luck. When they reached the beach, Ian led her to the old lean-to that was hidden in the trees above the tide line. After ducking inside, they settled themselves on the low bench in the midst of a familiar assortment of fishing nets, ropes, and scraps for mending sails.

  “I meant it when I said I missed ye,” Ian said, fixing his intense blue eyes on her.

  “I missed ye, too.”

  “I’ll always want ye by my side,” he said. “And I don’t want to go another night without ye in my bed.”

  She held her breath, waiting for him to finish.

  “What I’m saying—what I’m asking, I mean—is if ye are willing to be my true wife, starting tonight.” He fumbled inside his plaid. “Here, I have something to give ye.”

  He took her hand and dropped a small silver ring into it.

  “I didn’t have a ring for ye the day we wed,” he said. “I want to make that right now.”

  Sìleas turned it over in her palm, the traditional gift of a man to his bride. She ran her fingertip around the circle, the symbol of never-ending love. The ring was formed to resemble two ropes twisted together, intertwined as a couple’s life would be.

  “I know our wedding was no what it should have been,” Ian said.

  Sìleas had to laugh at that. “ ’Twas the worst day of my life.”

  Ian made a face. “It couldn’t have been as bad as that.”

  “It was,” she said. “Don’t ye remember that gown your mother put me in?”

  Ian’s mouth twitched. “Three of ye could have fit inside it.”

  “And the color!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Nothing could have been worse.”

  Though they were laughing, it was a bitter memory for both of them. Still, it made Sìleas feel better to talk about it.

  “But ye did get the man ye wanted, aye?” Ian said, squeezing her shoulders and giving her a wink.