The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  “I think ye are ready,” he said, breathing hard. “Do ye think ye are? Do ye want me to wait longer?” There was a strained, pleading quality to his voice.

  “I want to feel ye inside me.”

  He made a strangled sound and surged forward. She felt a sharp pain, and something inside her ripped.

  She must have cried out, because Ian covered her face with kisses. “Are ye all right, love?”

  He called her “love.”

  “I am,” she said. The sharp pain was gone, but she could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her.

  “You’re so tight,” he said.

  “Too tight?” she asked, panic rising in her throat. “Will it be all right?”

  “Ah, ye are perfect,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ye can have no notion how good it feels.”

  Then he was kissing her, and she forgot everything except him. She groaned when he began moving slowly inside her, causing exquisite new sensations. His kisses were hungry, urgent, as he moved faster and harder against her. She lifted her hips and pulled at his shoulders, wanting him closer, deeper.

  So many emotions were coursing through her veins that she felt as if she might burst into tears or shatter. Joy. Love. A closeness to another human being she had never felt before. She never imagined it would feel like this, encompassed in his arms, their bodies joined and moving as one. She could not tell where she ended and he began.

  “Ye feel so good, Sìl.” His words came in soft bursts. “I… I can’t wait, love.”

  She held onto him as he thrust into her faster and faster. She felt the pressure building inside both him and her.

  “You’re mine,” he gasped. “Mine. Mine. Forever mine.”

  Forever. She had loved him forever.

  “Sìleas,” he cried, as he surged against her, and she shattered in his arms. Stars sparkled against her eyelids as her body squeezed around his. She called his name as waves of pleasure coursed through her.

  He collapsed over her. Though he was heavy, she welcomed the weight of him, the certainty that he was here, that he was hers.

  Ian had claimed her as his at last.

  In truth, she had always been his. Always.

  Oh God, he was a bad man and a poor husband. For certain, he’d been too rough with her—and she a virgin. But he’d never needed a woman like that. Never. At least he had stopped himself from plunging into her and taking her hard and fast as he’d wanted to.

  He should have talked to her and been gentle from the start. Ach, he probably frightened her half to death attacking her the way he did the moment the door was closed. And then he shocked her by tasting her. He smiled to himself. Nay, he couldn’t regret that part—and he was quite sure she didn’t, either.

  When she found her release… there was nothing like it in this world, and probably not in the next one, either. He was still shaking from what making love to her had done to him. He was a blessed man to have a woman who could make him feel like that.

  He pulled her close so that her head was resting on his chest, breathed in the scent of her hair, and started to drift off to sleep.

  “I met the English lady ye wanted to wed.”

  Her words jarred him from his stupor. “What?”

  “Philippa,” she said in a soft voice. “She’s all that ye said she was.”

  “I can’t remember what I said about her.” Why was she talking about Philippa?

  In a small voice, she said, “Do ye still regret that ye were prevented from marrying her?”

  “Sìl, I don’t want any woman as my wife but you.” After what had just passed between them, how could she be asking this? Women could be very hard to understand at times.

  “I’ve told ye there will never be another woman,” he said, “but I cannot change the past.”

  And that was the problem. Their past was precisely the reason she needed reassurance.

  He rolled her onto her back and leaned over her. “Ye have no cause to be jealous of Philippa,” he said, looking into her eyes. “And it’s not just that ye are more beautiful than she is.”

  “Ach, now I know ye are lying to me,” she said, making a face.

  “Ye don’t know how lovely ye are.” She was beautiful with her hair all wild on the pillow and her cheeks rosy from their lovemaking.

  She sucked in her breath when he leaned down and flicked his tongue over her nipple. It stood up for him, begging for more. He pressed his cock against her side so she would feel how hard she made him.

  “Wedding Philippa would have been a terrible mistake,” he said.

  She licked her lip and asked in a breathy voice. “Why is that?”

  “Because ye are the woman who was made for me.” He rolled on top of her, pushing her legs apart. “If ye have any doubt, let me show ye again.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Ian winked at Sìleas and squeezed her leg under the table as he scooped up the last of his porridge. He knew he looked like a lovesick fool to the other guests, who were having breakfast or a cup of ale before going about their business for the day, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

  “Ye look pretty this morning,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, either, though he knew it embarrassed her.

  “Will we collect the others and leave Stirling this morning?” Sìleas asked.

  He was about to suggest they could go back to bed for another hour or two first, when a man entered the tavern and scanned the crowded room. Damn, with that bushy black beard, he looked like a Douglas. Then the man’s gaze settled on Ian, and he strode through the tavern toward them. Damn again.

  “The Douglas has a wedding gift for ye,” the man said, sounding more like he was delivering a threat than a felicitation.

  Ian took the parchment the man handed him and broke the seal. It was a charter for Knock Castle and the surrounding lands signed by the queen, as regent.

  “Give my thanks to the Douglas,” Ian said, rolling the parchment back up and sticking it inside his shirt for safekeeping. “I don’t suppose ye know if it’s the only one?”

  The crown had a bad habit of giving charters for the same property to more than one clan, which tended to fuel the conflicts already burning between clans.

  The man ignored his question and sat down next to him on the bench. “Donald Gallda MacDonald of Lochalsh is raising trouble again.”

  Donald Gallda was leading this latest rebellion against the crown. Like his father and cousin before him, Donald sought to resurrect the MacDonalds to their former glory, when their chieftain was Lord of the Isles. After his father’s failed rebellion, Donald was taken by the king to be raised in the Lowlands, which was why Highlanders called him Donald Gallda, the Stranger.

  “The days of the Lord of the Isles are long past,” the Douglas man said. “Siding with the rebellion will do you and the MacDonalds of Sleat nothing but harm.”

  Ian agreed, though he wasn’t about to share his thoughts on the matter with a stranger. It had been twenty years since the Lord of the Isles had been forced to submit to the king of Scotland. Since then, the MacDonald clan had broken into several branches, each with their own chieftain, and there was no going back from that. The MacDonald’s former vassals—the Macleods, the Camerons, and the Macleans, among them—were used to their independence as well.

  “I hear Donald Gallda ousted the royal garrison and took Urquhart Castle,” Ian said.

  “Ach, they’re devils,” the man said. “Starting this fight on the heels of our bloody losses to the English.”

  “I’ve a new bride, so the rebellion doesn’t concern me much one way or the other today,” Ian said, putting his arm around Sìleas. Would the man never leave?

  “We share enemies,” the Douglas man said.

  That was true, though a man would need a chart like Sìleas kept for the sheep and cows to keep track of the shifting alliances among the clans. The Macleods of Harris and Dunvegan, however, we
re long-standing rivals of the MacDonalds of Sleat, and they were supporting the rebellion. Lachlan Cattanach Maclean of Duart, otherwise known as Shaggy Maclean, had taken the rebel side as well—and Ian had a personal grudge against Shaggy, having spent time in his dungeon.

  “If the Douglas could be certain your cousin would support the Crown,” the man said, “he could be convinced to lend a hand when Connor is ready to take the chieftainship from his uncle.”

  “I’ll be sure to give Connor my best advice,” Ian said.

  When the man finally got up and left, Ian blew out his breath. “I can see that taking the chieftainship from Hugh Dubh will just be the start of Connor’s troubles.”

  “Aye,” Sìleas said. “But the sooner he is chieftain the better.”

  “My wife is a wise woman,” Ian said, lifting her chin with his finger. “What do ye say to going back to our room?”

  Ahh, her eyes were so green. And, better yet, they were telling him just what he wanted.

  He was halfway off the bench when a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Who now? Brushing the hand off, he turned to find a wild-haired man who smelled as if he’d been living rough far too long.

  “I saw ye talking to one of the Douglases,” the man said, in a voice so deep the bench vibrated when he spoke.

  “He was giving me a wedding gift,” Ian said, losing patience. “And if ye don’t mind, I’m taking my bride back to bed now.”

  “A moment, friend,” the man said, not sounding friendly at all. “Go home and tell your chieftain that we’re counting on the MacDonalds of Sleat to fight with us against the Crown.”

  God’s beard, how many men must he argue with before he could take his bride back upstairs?

  “Ye don’t think the English killed enough Scots at Flodden that we must kill each other now?” Ian took a long drink of his ale and slammed his empty cup down. “All in all, your timing seems verra poor to me.”

  “We must strike now, while there is no king to fight us,” the man said. “Even Lowlanders won’t follow an English woman into battle.”

  “I suspect it will not be the queen, but Archibald Douglas, who will be leading them,” Ian said. “I don’t like the man, but I wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him. The Douglas has iron in his eyes.”

  When the second man finally left them, Ian took Sìleas’s hand. “We’d best hurry.”

  “Ach, they’ve come for us,” she said.

  Ian turned to see Connor and the others entering the tavern. He heaved a sigh, knowing his friends had already given him more time than they ought. They could not afford to delay their departure longer. It was, however, a small comfort to see the disappointment on Sìleas’s face.

  • • •

  Sìleas fought to keep her eyes open as they sat around the campfire. Niall had lost the fight and was snoring with his head against a log while the others talked. The only thing that kept Sìleas awake was her rumbling stomach—and her sore behind. After one day, it felt as if she had been on that damned horse a week.

  Although the men attempted to restrain their pace out of consideration for her, Sìleas felt their urgency. Samhain—and the gathering to select the new chieftain—was less than a week away. They could ill afford the days lost fetching her from Stirling. And yet, none of them uttered one word of complaint against her.

  Nor would they.

  Because Ian had claimed her as his wife, the others simply accepted her. She could almost feel the tight bond that connected the four men wrap around her and encompass her within their protection. It was unspoken and subtle, but she knew with utter certainty that any one of them would die to protect her.

  Although she had known Connor, Alex, and Duncan when they were lads, she was coming to know them as men now. She let her gaze rest on each of them as they talked, starting with Alex, who looked like one of his marauding Viking ancestors—until he laughed, which was often. Then there was Duncan, a huge man, who could play the sweetest music you’d ever want to hear, but had a shadow of sadness in his eyes. When she asked, Ian told her Duncan had been in love with Connor’s sister, who was wed to the son of an Irish chieftain.

  Finally, she turned her gaze to Connor, who looked so much like Ian they could be mistaken for each other by someone who didn’t know them well. If the men made him chieftain, it would be because he was a strong warrior and very clever. But Sìleas believed Connor would be a great chieftain because he also had the humility to listen to the wise counsel of others and felt compassion for even the lowliest members of his clan.

  “I had as many men taking my measure in Stirling as I do at home on Skye,” Connor said as he turned the spit with the rabbits over the fire.

  “They want to place their wager on the right horse,” Duncan said. “What worries me is that they’ll be expecting a portion of the winnings.”

  “With the Crown in the hands of a babe, it’s every man for himself,” Connor said, shaking his head, “and the scavengers feeding on the weak.”

  “The Douglases and the Campbells are the worst,” Alex said. “They’re like two dogs with one bone.”

  “Aye, and I feel their teeth in me,” Connor said, and they all laughed.

  “Ye should have put Alex to work on the queen,” Duncan said. “Then we could all have fancy titles like the Douglases.”

  “Ye offend my honor,” Alex said. “I only do my duty for the clan with the pretty ones.”

  After the laughter died down again, Connor said. “We’d best keep our heads down, lads. We have enemies to spare without adding more.”

  The smell of the rabbits roasting finally woke Niall, who sat up and stretched. “Are they cooked yet? I’m famished.”

  “I’d best serve Sìleas first,” Connor said, as he lifted the spit from the fire. “Her stomach is so loud it’s disturbing the horses.”

  Her mouth watered as Connor held the spit out and Ian cut off a big slice for her with his knife. Though she enjoyed the men’s easy banter, as soon as her hunger was sated, she grew too tired to follow it.

  “Your wife is going to choke to death if she keeps falling asleep with her mouth full,” Connor said.

  She opened her eyes with a start to find the men all smiling at her.

  “That would be a shame, after we went to the trouble of fetching her,” Duncan said.

  “Goodness, Duncan, is that two jokes I heard ye make tonight?” she said, and they all laughed.

  Ian handed her a flask of ale and rubbed her back as she took a drink to wash down the rabbit.

  “Let’s get ye off to bed.” He set the flask aside and scooped her up in his arms.

  “Night, Sìleas,” and “Sleep well,” the others called to her as Ian carried her off into the darkness beyond the firelight.

  When Ian had found a secluded spot some distance from the others, he set her down and spread their blankets. She thought she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the ground. Instead, she lay in Ian’s arms listening to the wind in the trees and the faint sound of Duncan playing a tune on his whistle.

  When Ian lifted her chin and gave her a soft kiss, she opened her mouth to him and pressed against him. How she loved him.

  He pulled back. “Are ye sure you’re not too tired?”

  “Aye. I want ye, Ian MacDonald.” She ran her hand up his erect shaft to show him how certain she was.

  It was the same each night of their return to Skye. After riding so many hours that she could barely stand, they would eat and talk with the others. Then Ian would lead her off to make their bed away from the others.

  As soon as she lay down with him, her tiredness evaporated like the morning mist and they would make love half the night. What Ian did to her was a constant wonder to her, a magic she feared the faeries would envy.

  By the time they reached the coast, she was in an exhausted fog of happiness. They found a distant cousin of Alex, one of the MacDonnells, who was willing to take them across the Sound of Sleat in his boat. Despite the cold, we
t wind on the sea, Sìleas fell sound asleep to the rocking of the boat with Ian’s arms about her.

  She awoke to an awareness of tension in Ian’s body. When she opened her eyes, she saw Knock Castle shrouded in low clouds up the coastline to the north.

  “I hope ye believe I would want ye as my wife whether or not ye were heir to Knock Castle,” he said.

  She ignored the grain of doubt that remained in her heart and nodded.

  “But we must take it back,” he said.

  She tightened her grip on Ian’s arm. Even if she had Ian with her, would she be able to live in a place that held such sorrow for her? Could it ever be cleansed of her mother’s suffering or her stepfather’s malevolence?

  Could she and Ian be happy in a castle that made a ghost weep?

  She understood the importance of the castle and her claim on it to the clan, but just the sight of it made her stomach tighten into knots. Knowing Murdoc and Angus were there now made her feel worse.

  “They can’t see us from the castle, can they?” she asked, though it made her feel foolish.

  “They’ll see the boat, but there are many boats in these waters,” Ian said. “This isn’t one they’ll know.”

  Ian kept his gaze fixed on Knock Castle until it disappeared from view. “I’ll not let the man who hurt you keep your home.”

  But Knock Castle had never been a true home to her.

  CHAPTER 29

  Shouts of greeting filled the house as soon as Ian opened the front door.

  “Praise God, all of ye are safe and that ye brought her home to us,” his mother said. She hugged him and each of the other men in turn, while his father embraced Sìleas.

  “Is my thick-headed son treating ye better now?” his father asked, with his arm about her shoulders. “Sometimes a man needs a good scare to clear his head.”

  “Then my head must be verra clear, for she had me scared witless, da,” Ian said, laughing.

  Ah, it was good to be home.

  They caught up on news over dinner. Though no one was told of their departure, as happens on Skye, everyone knew of it within a day or two.