Her head twisted away which Hector calmly turned back to him, “Tell me, m'eudail, what wouldhae happened if ye had stayed?”
Lovely blue eyes closed and Victoria’s face was stained with pain, “I would be married off.”
“Dinnae ye ken tha' fightin’ fer love is better than dyin’ in cold comforts?” Hector asked while trying to see her eyes.
Slender fingers clenched the loose folds of Hector’s shirt, “Yes, but--”
Pert knocks were on the door and, in her shock, Hector kissed her mouth swiftly, “One moment, love.”
Walking to the door, Hector opened it to see a woman he knew, an old family helper, Nessa. She was not much older than his mother, but as she was kitchen help, she was dressed in drab gray, bearing a tray with bowls of warm soup, what smelled like fried wild brown fish, sweet potatoes, and carrots.
“Nessa, how on earth did ye make this so quickly?” Hector marveled.
“Ye ken Isla, oor master cook, is a mystery, an’ ye dinnae get tae ask her how she does it, just eat an’ kip yer maw. Ye must be hungry enough tae eat tha scabby heid aff a wean.”
Laughing under his breath, Hector took the tray from the woman, “No' tae tha' extent but thank ye, Nessa.”
Dipping out a curtsey, Nessa smiled, then went back to the kitchens. Hector carried the tray back inside and laid it on the table. Victoria’s face was calm, but her stiff shoulders told him differently.
“Eat, lass,” Hector said while placing an aromatic bowl before her. “When we’re done, I’m goin' tae get some women tae fill tha' tub in tha corner so ye can bathe. I will be gone fer a while. I hae tae speak wi’ me Maw, but ye’ll be safe, a sentry will be at tha door.”
Pausing with her spoon suspended over the bowl, Victoria swallowed dryly before she nodded. “I understand.”
The two ate in soft silence, during which Hector had gotten up to speak to the sentry his mother had sent to guard the door, a seasoned warrior named Felix. When they were done, Hector kissed Victoria on the cheek, took the empty bowl and left the room with assurances he’d be back soon and that she was safe.
While dropping the used tableware in the kitchen, Hector concisely ordered two maids to heat enough water for Victoria to bathe and then went to meet his mother.
Coira’s quarters were on the other side of the castle. The suite of rooms was designated for the head of the clan ever since the creation of the family. In time, the stately quarters were going to be passed down to him, but Hector wasn’t aiming for them to be given over in the near future.
Knocking on the broad doors, Hector didn’t wait long until his mother permitted him to enter. Stepping in, Hector never failed to marvel at how his mother had turned a drab square of stone into a warm, inviting chamber. There were rugs on the floor made of deep red and dark blue dyes, a thick tapestry on the wall and light, airy curtains on the wall.
Coira was sitting in a rocking chair beside the hearth, and Hector silently joined her on the matching seat across from her - noting with a pang of nostalgia that he was sitting in his dearly departed father’s chair.
“Maw,” Hector said softly, “I ken yer worries aboot me an’ tha lass but when I tell ye how I couldnae leave her in England, ye’ll unnerstan’.”
“I’ll be tha judge o' tha',” Coira said while wrapping a thin shawl around her and waving him on, “Go ahead, son, let’s hear it.”
Clearing his throat, Hector dutifully launched into his tale, telling his mother how he and Donald had gotten into England and were making their way to find this Duke of Crowland when a mysterious note appeared at the inn and the startling contents that spoke of his missing brother. Hector told her how he had prepared for an ambush under that tree but was astounded to see Victoria approach him.
“I swear, Maw,” Hector paused to reflect, “I’ve ne’er seen a woman so bonnie in me life…”
He told her how they had gone to stay with Roran, and how Hector had ‘accidentally’ met up ‘Aria’ one evening. He trudged on, admitting how suspicious he had been of her and the betrayal he had felt when he knew who this Aria was. He even admitted the heated confrontation and how his soul had been rubbed raw for those few days with her absence.
Coira took it all in, with widened eyes and surprised expressions at parts of the tale - especially the part when Victoria had shown up, declaring that she was going with them, and how she had stepped right in front of a deadly sword to defend Hector.
He told his mother how she had held up, not complaining even once about the arduous ride to Scotland and how they had followed her clues to trace Andrew that, sadly, had ended in futility.
When his tale culminated at them arriving at Clan MacTavish, Hector didn’t move as his mother fully digested the whole epistle. When she did, Coira’s eyes had a different gleam to them, one that was lit with astonishment and, thankfully, approval.
“Seems I was wrong.” Coira said softly, “She hae more mettle than I wouldhae ever kent fer an Englishwoman…some Scots, tae, I believe.”
Releasing a sigh of relief, Hector sat back, “So will ye gie her a chance, Maw?”
“Aye,” Coira replied. “Ye just hae tae convince some o' tha elders, especially Sir Brandubh - he’s tha one who's goin' tae gie ye tha most hecklin’.”
Resisting the urge to huff, Hector resolutely pushed the image of an old man, with a shock of wild silver hair and cutting ice-blue eyes from his mind. Sir Brandubh MacTavish was his father Fergus’s mentor, war-chief, and solid advisor from before Hector had been born. The man was a stickler for tradition, and Hector had hoped – vainly - to not trade words with the man.
“Ach, Maw,” Hector sighed while raking a hand through his already tousled hair, “I just couldnae leave her tae be hitched tae tha' bawbag Keating after she’s done so much fer us.”
“I unnerstan',” Coira replied, “But I’m one person. Hector. Tha question is, will tha Clan accept her, tae?”
An ominous sense settled into Hector’s stomach, one which he tried to brush off, but failed. “Maw, can you assemble tha council tomorrow? It’ll be me duty tae speak with them, alone, since it’s tha problem I brought tae them.”
“Aye,” Coira agreed with a sage nod.
Bidding his farewell to his mother, Hector left the room. Passing a window, he was solidly shocked to see how dark it was and how high the moon had risen. Victoria was probably asleep.
On the way, he had decided to make a kip on the floor as the lass had to be in his bed. When he relieved an alert Felix from his guardianship and went inside, he froze in the doorway. His eyes devoured Victoria, laying on his bed like she belonged there. The sheets were molded to her every curve and her hair a curtain on the pillows. Instantly, every intention of constructing a makeshift bed was gone from his mind.
The arousal he had valiantly held in for days, during those nights in the forest, and at the riverside, surged into him with a vengeance and consumed him like a ravenous beast. She was in his bed, his bed - where if he had any power and favor from God, she’d never leave.
Just looking at the sublime form cemented the notion. He knew…he had to have her.
Chapter 27
Despite Hector’s assurances about her presence in the Scottish castle, Victoria knew deep down that she had brought death to the Clan and it seared her soul. After eating what she could, she tried to imagine the outside world away, while immersed in the warm bath.
Sadly, the moment the bath was over, the troubles of the outside came back and even more troubling than before. Dressed in a plain nightgown, Victoria sat back in the chair and thought long and hard about her situation. She remembered when she had panicked, giddy to go back home to stay her father’s hand, but Hector told her the Duke would come for them anyway, even after she had gone back.
“I’d have gone back to prison,” Victoria murmured to herself.
Looking around the room, she noted that the living space had the bare essentials-- a bed, armoire, table, and a tin tub at the very en
d. The walls were austere and so was the floor. It was functional, with not a stitch of ornamentation anywhere. Before she caught herself, Victoria was imagining a soft fluttering curtain on the window and thick carpets on the floor.
“What am I thinking?” Victoria laughed, as she pressed her hand to her tired eyes. “I’m not his wife. What right do I have to be thinking of decorating this place?”
Her thoughts might be silly but that didn’t stop something deep inside her from hoping. Time seemed to drag on, and Victoria found herself falling asleep in the chair before she caught herself slumping.
Looking around, her bleary eyes met the bed. He wouldn’t mind, would he?
Her fatigue dragged at her and promising to apologize when Hector came back, she lit a thick candle and then peeled the soft sheets of the bed away and slipped under them, falling asleep soon after.
The dreams that flittered through her mind were insubstantial, more memories than dreams, portraying ghostly images of her father, and a younger Ruth. Her mind ran over her past suitors and then horribly, dragged up a pompous image of Mr. Keating. Unconsciously, her stomach turned with repulsion and then, like a beam of light breaking through the darkness, stood Hector.
Hector was no saint - Victoria knew that - but she had come to fall in love with his brusque manner and his tender touches. She felt a connection with his mind, loved his loyalty and determination, and felt fire whenever he touched her.
She was still under the soft blanket of sleep, but her senses jerked awake when she felt the bed dip. Her heart raced as her eyes flicked open and then, with one look at the man beside her, instead of going calm, her blood rushed through her even more.
Hector was bare-chested, and his ruddy skin looked russet under the warm candlelight. His hair fell into his eyes as he inched closer to her. A handbreadth from his face, Victoria felt the same passion she had felt those evenings, kissing behind the guardhouse, possess her again - only stronger, much, much stronger.
The way Hector was looking at her stole every drop of air from her chest, and she felt as though she was in a trance. Slowly, she reached out and rested her palm on his chest. The heat that she felt there was indescribable, but it was nothing compared to the one in his eyes.
Suddenly, Victoria was on her back with Hector possessing her mouth with a fervor she had only felt once. The kiss was a voracious, scorching bliss, the mere touch rendering every part of the young lady’s body aflame. She gasped softly when a large hand cupped her right breast, kneading the soft, full mound over her nightgown. The fire inside her grew to a fever pitch, and a warm surge grew inside her.
Frightened, Victoria yanked her head away and with wide eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling above, just before Hector’s wicked mouth started on her neck.
A low moan slipped out of Victoria’s mouth as her hand dug into Hector’s hair. Unconsciously, her back arched and her head canted to the side to allow a devious tongue a gateway to her throbbing pulse. A soft haze descended on her mind at the addictive kisses, licks, and the bulk of Hector’s warm body pressing into hers.
But then - he was gone. Lust-filled blue eyes shot open at the loss of Hector’s body, only to see the Scotsman crouched over her with his eyes clenched tightly.
Reaching up, Victoria marshaled her gasping breath into some semblance of normality and cupped his cheek. When his eyes opened, she could barely see a thin line of his hypnotic green orbs as they were overtaken with dark black pools.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Hector kissed her palm, and his tone was a bit morose, “Many things, love - yer untouched, I let me lust get ahold o' me tae quickly, an’ I wanted somethin’ more…romantic fer yer first time. I wanted oor bed strewn wi’ rose petals an’ sheets doused in perfume. I wanted tae dance wi’ ye under tha stars, an’ kiss ye senseless. I wanted tae gie ye a night ye could remember fer years.”
His brogue, dark with lust but light with promise, sent soft shivers through Victoria, who then traced her thumb over his cheekbone only to have it trapped in his hot, wet mouth before she pulled it out. “What happened, then?”
“I saw ye in me bed,” Hector replied frankly. “An’ I realized tha'…I dinnae want tae see ye anywhere else. I want ye beside me, fer tha rest o’ me life.”
Victoria was speechless for a moment as the swirl of thoughts running through her head settled. She knew her reputation would suffer if it was found out that she had slept with Hector without being married but she didn’t care. It was high time she let her desires loose, come what may.
“Hector…there’s no other place I’d want to be…no other bed I’d rather be in. I give you myself, freely… so please, make love to me.”
No words were uttered from him, instead, Hector only searched her eyes for any hints of doubt. If he spotted any, he would have stopped immediately - thankfully, there were none.
Sitting back on his haunches, Hector softly pulled Victoria up from the bed, took the bunched-up folds of her nightgown and pulled the whole garment over her head. Victoria’s pulse quickened as Hector's eyes devoured her naked body, skimming over her bare flesh like a tangible touch and leaving burning paths in its wake.
He pulled her further, right onto his lap and with her bare breast pressing into his chest, he ran both hands down the slope of her back to her full bottom, and grasped the cotton drawers there. Swallowing tightly, Victoria eased up enough to let him pull them down, and the feel of his rough hands on her smooth skin ignited another fire inside her.
With both hands on his shoulders, she lifted enough for them to come to her knees and when her mound was free from her clothes, a warm hand cupped her just as a hot mouth closed over her nipple. Heat from her breast and her sex merged into one and Victoria saw small bursts of light behind her eyelids as Hector sucked her virgin flesh.
Then, one of his fingers slid over her tender flesh, stroking the wetness she hadn’t realized was coating her sex. Each pass sent the fire building, and Victoria found herself rocking on his hand, unconsciously begging for more.
Hector’s hand slipped from her back to her hip, and he held her there as two fingers parted her folds and one slipped in deep within her. Every muscle in her body went tight, and Victoria grabbed Hector's head, trembling as his fingers moved within her, stroking her tender walls.
“My God…” she choked out softly, not seeing Hector’s salacious grin as his thumb shifted and pressed on a tiny nub. A burst of white pleasure exploded in Victoria’s mind as the rapture from his touch overtook her.
Hector gently laid her back down and swiftly did away with her drawers and his kilt. Reaching up, Victoria framed his face and softly pulled him to meet her mouth. The kiss was languid and slow but the heat it built during the intimate embrace left both panting.
Hector pulled away and parted her legs to settle himself between them. This close, skin-to-skin, Victoria felt delirious. His roughness was so deliciously contrasted to her softness and his hard body a foil to her tender skin.
Callused hands dug into her hair, and a warm mouth kissed her cheek, “Let me pleasure ye, m'eudail.”
Nodding her consent, Victoria allowed her thoughts to sink and her senses to take over. Hector’s lips were hot, and his kisses were sinful, sucking and softly biting her nipples. His hand framed her hip and while making his way down her body, grabbed her bottom and squeezed it before going back to her wet sex.
There she was tortured with desire - hard fingers thrusted into her in a cruel parody of what she wanted another part of his body to do to her. Hector was merciless and stroked her to her shattering point many times, but eased just before she fell over into bliss.
Victoria found herself on her belly as Hector kissed down her spine and dragged her hips over his lap. Positioned this way, Victoria could feel his rigid manhood just under her entrance, but he never took her while on her knees. She tried to maneuver her mound over him so he would enter her but she got a short laugh and a slap on her rear for her efforts
.
“Nae, love, nae this way,” Hector scolded humorously.
It was agony, feeling her desire mount up so strongly time after time, only to get denied. When placed back on her back, Victoria was a trembling mess - she was leaking, and every part of her was tight with crippling need. “Please, Hector.”
The Laird covered her body with his and kissed her, “It’s goin’ tae hurt, me love.”
“I know,” Victoria said as steadily as she could. She knew losing her maidenhead was the last barrier to her pleasure and she needed it so strongly that everything in her body begged for it. “I’m ready.”
A hard kiss was pressed to her mouth, and Victoria readily accepted it as she felt Hector nudge her legs a bit further and position himself. The first touch of his shaft at her opening sent a surge of anxiety running through her, but she fought it down.
Gazing into his eyes, Victoria dug deep and found a strength she didn’t know she had. Hector kissed her again as his length, thick and rock-hard, slid inch by inch inside her, pressing her wet channel open until she felt him stop.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 22