Highland Captive

by Alyson McLayne

  Instead, she floated back down to earth, her body languid, her lids heavy as her breathing eased.

  And just in time.

  “Mama!” she heard Ewan call. She sat up and listened for a heavy tread in the hallway or the door to Gavin’s solar opening and closing. Isobel had let her know that Gavin rarely slept more than a few hours a night. Maybe now that Ewan was safe, and he could see that their son was happy, he would be able to sleep through the night.

  “Mama!” Ewan cried again, closer this time. Rising from her bed she quickly moved to her washstand, dipped her hands in the water-filled basin, dried them, and then hurried to the door.

  She peeked her head out, looking for Gavin, but all she saw was Ewan barreling down the dim passageway toward her. With his white nightshirt glowing in the candlelight, he resembled a wee ghost.

  “I’m here, sweetling,” she said, stepping out and scooping him up when he reached her. He curled into her immediately and went limp.

  She peered into the shadows again, searching for Gavin. When he didn’t appear, she retreated, shut the door, and leaned against it.

  Is he leaning on his door, thinking about me the same way I’m thinking about him? About Ewan? Does he miss us?

  Maybe he used to hold Ewan at night and he’d like to do it again? It didn’t seem fair that she got all the nighttime cuddles.

  If they were truly parenting him together, then shouldn’t he get this time with their son too? At the moment, Ewan wanted only her, but that could change.

  It should change.

  * * *

  Gavin waited for a moment in the dark at the top of the stairs, his eyes glued to Deirdre’s closed door. He took several long, deep breaths as he tried to calm his racing heart and slow the pounding of his blood through his veins.

  By all that was holy, he had never, in his life, seen anything more arousing than what he’d just witnessed—Deirdre stepping into the hallway in the candlelight, wearing her linen shift, her cheeks flushed and her eyelids heavy like she’d been asleep, her long hair tousled and hanging free. The tie at the top of her chemise hung loose, exposing the valley between her breasts, the outline of them—high and full—revealed by the soft light behind her. And if that wasn’t stirring enough, her nipples had pressed hard and erect against the soft material, causing his mouth to water just thinking about them.

  How would they taste? How would they feel on my tongue?

  And then she’d turned away from him, toward their son who was running along the passageway from the opposite direction. She’d reached down for him, and Gavin had had to clench his teeth to hold back a groan at the feast that had been laid out in front of him—the thin material clinging to her arse, dipping into her cleft and molding against the rounded globes; her small waist, usually hidden by the folds of her plaid over her arisaid, indented like an hourglass; the curve of hips he could hold on to with his hands. For a moment, he’d even imagined he’d seen the outline of her sex, swollen and damp, against the flimsy chemise. She’d been backlit when she straightened, and he’d almost felt like he was gazing at her naked.

  God’s blood! Why couldn’t he lay her down and…

  Nay, he could not! Not ever. She was married and under his protection. She’d saved the life of his son!

  So he’d covered his eyes, but not before she’d turned and peered into the shadows, looking right at him for a moment, his son in her arms and her lips gently pressed to his hair.

  The virgin, the mother, and the siren all rolled into one…and he couldn’t ever let on that he thought of her in such a way. This was her home now. He never wanted her to leave it.

  She’d turned and retreated into her room, and he’d sagged with disappointment and relief against the cool, stone wall.

  He’d been sitting in front of the hearth in the great hall when he’d first heard Ewan call for her. He’d moved up the stairs quickly and quietly, ready to help if Deirdre didn’t appear. But she’d stuck her head out the door after Ewan’s second yell, making sure the hall was empty before she stepped out. Making him a pervert in the shadows.

  But by then it was too late.

  Who else might have been watching from the shadows? Who might have seen her? A surge of protectiveness washed through him, and he marched to the other end of the passageway just to be safe.

  No one was there.

  When he passed her door on the way back to his chamber, he slowed, listening for any sound. He leaned his forehead on the wood and imagined that she was just on the other side, listening for him.

  No thump or rustle emerged to give him a hint.

  Sighing, he straightened and walked to his own door. It opened and closed with a creak that he usually didn’t notice but now sounded as loud as clashing swords.

  He wondered if tonight would be the night he would sleep, as Kerr had suggested. Probably not. Tiredness shrouded him like a cloak, but he was also edgy and restless. And so damn aroused that every step he took hurt, as his engorged cock bounced and swayed behind his sporran.

  He’d definitely have to take care of that to have any hope of sleeping.

  He reached behind him to unstrap his broadsword and realized he’d left it downstairs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. No matter. He’d just go get it in case Ewan found it there in the morning. His son had a penchant for knives, and most likely Gavin’s broadsword would be the biggest and sharpest knife he’d ever seen—or remembered seeing.

  Gavin opened the door and glanced down to adjust his sporran over his jutting plaid—just in case anyone was downstairs. He stepped toward the hall and looked up in the same motion, stopping abruptly. Deirdre stood just inches away, holding a sleeping Ewan. Her clenched hand was raised in front of her as if she was preparing to knock.

  She gasped, those soft-gray eyes widening and her cheeks flushing, and she was so damned lovely that everything inside of him stilled for a moment to take her in. She’d wrapped a plaid around her shoulders and over Ewan, but he stood so close that he could feel the heat of her body radiating into his skin. She took an awkward step backward, and he quickly grasped her arms to steady her.

  Ewan protested sleepily and she raised a finger to her lips, then indicated that she wanted to come in.

  He raised a brow—and other parts of his body too. She wanted into his bedchamber?

  He stepped back into the room without thinking, and she walked past him. “Are you going to bed?” she whispered.

  He had to swallow before answering. Still, he could manage only a grunt and a nod.

  “Do you want to sleep with Ewan?” she asked. “’Tis not fair that I always get to hold him at night. By the time he wakes, it will be light, and at that point, he should be more curious than afraid that you’re beside him instead of me. I think it will work.”

  Again, she’d put her own needs and desires aside for someone else. He reached for his son, suddenly wanting to do exactly as Deirdre suggested. He’d often slept with Ewan when he was a bairn and in need of comfort, his soft, warm body a wee lump on Gavin’s bare chest.

  His eyes began stinging, and he blinked to clear his vision, lifting his sleeping son onto his shoulder and closing his eyes. He opened them when he heard Deirdre move and saw she’d stepped away from him and back toward the door.

  Her hair gleamed in the candlelight, a swathe of silky black all the way down to her wool-covered arse. But now he knew what was under that blanket and couldn’t look away.

  She turned at the door, and he glanced up to meet her gaze, which was a wee bit forlorn—and made him feel guilty. He considered returning Ewan to her based on that alone, but she must have read his intention, and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest, her mouth setting mulishly.

  He stopped, squeezing Ewan a little tighter. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  She nodded and stepped over the thr
eshold into the passageway. “I’ll keep bringing him to you until he’s used to it. He should adjust to sleeping with you in no time. Until we can break him of the habit, of course, and he stays in the nursery.”

  Gavin smiled. There was no chance she actually desired to break their son of the habit entirely. Neither did he. Not yet. “Of course.”

  He wanted to pull her back inside. He even shifted Ewan in his arms without thinking, so he could reach out for her.

  He grasped the door instead. “Good night, Deirdre.” Then, because he didn’t trust himself, he shut it and dragged the heavy bar through the loops and secured it. Best for Ewan that way too.

  But it felt wrong. Almost as if he was locking Ewan in with him and Deirdre out. And God knew he loved his son, but what he truly wanted was to have Deirdre in beside them.

  Which could be a problem, when your son’s mother was married to someone else.

  Ten

  “Stop going so fast!” Deirdre yelled.

  Gavin looked up at her sitting on Thor’s back and grinned. He kept striding around the bailey, tugging the stallion’s lead to make him go faster.

  Every time she yelled at him, Gavin’s cock hardened a little more. Sweet, angelic Deirdre, losing her temper and showing all the fire she had buried deep inside was a sight to behold. Frightened, timid Deirdre, gaining her confidence and feeling safe enough to express how she really felt was a sight to hold close to his heart.

  She hadn’t averted her gaze from his once since she’d started hollering.

  Deciding to wake Deirdre up early the next morning and teach her how to ride had been an impulsive idea, but it was good for Ewan too. Gavin looked over at his son, laughing and squirming excitedly on the back of Kerr’s stallion, which Kerr led in much the same way Gavin was leading Thor. The lad had no fear of being on the back of a horse and was a natural rider.

  His mother, however…

  “Ewan, sit still!” Deirdre shouted at him.

  “I canna. I want him to go faster. Ruith!” the boy said, leaning forward and repeating the word he’d heard Gavin say to make Thor gallop. The horse ignored him, of course. He was trained to respond to Kerr’s commands alone—just like Thor would respond only to Gavin.

  Kerr, however, could follow orders. He picked up the pace, making Gavin grin and Ewan whoop with delight. A couple of prime Highland lairds and warriors, leading highly trained warhorses around the bailey, with naught but a bairn and a frightened woman on their backs. Gregor would love every minute of it.

  “Gavin, stop him. Now!” Deirdre shouted.

  More blood pooled in his groin, and he grinned. “Aye, sweetling. Whate’er you want.” He broke into a jog across the bailey, making Thor increase his speed as they headed toward Kerr and Ewan. Deirdre shrieked and grabbed on to Thor’s mane. If she fell, Gavin would be there to catch her—and squeeze all those soft curves against his body.

  Lusty images from last night played in his head—Deirdre in her flimsy, white chemise, picking up Ewan in the passageway, the candles backlighting the dips and swells of her body. But in his mind’s eye, when she looked into the shadows this time, she saw him and beckoned him forward with a sultry smile, her breasts swaying against her linen shift, her eyes promising a night filled with—

  “Gavin!” she screeched.

  His fantasy shattered, and he saw she was leaning too far to the left, her eyes wide and her breath coming in panicked gasps. One of her feet had come out of the stirrup. How had that happened? And why hadn’t she put it back in?

  He slowed Thor and anchored a hand on her waist to push her upright again. His fingers just brushed the underside of her breast, and when she was properly seated, he let go only reluctantly. God’s blood, he didn’t want to. He wanted to touch her in the same way Darach and Lachlan touched their wives, the same way Callum had touched Maggie when he was courting her. Aye, Callum had always had his hands on Maggie even before they’d been married. They’d even slept together every night.

  The difference being, of course, that Maggie had been Callum’s betrothed, and Deirdre was already married to someone else.

  Anger and denial clamped down like a vise in Gavin’s chest. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, scraping his fingers across the bristles. She. Was. Not. His.

  He grabbed her foot and placed it firmly in the stirrup. “Doona take your foot out again. What did I tell you?”

  She glowered at him, and that lush, kissable mouth flattened into a straight line.

  “Deirdre?” he commanded.

  “If I take my feet out of the stirrups, I lose control.” She repeated his words begrudgingly.

  “Aye. And what just happened?”

  She threw her hand in the air and gesticulated wildly. “You started running across the bailey, that’s what happened!”

  She started to slip again, and he pushed her back upright. “So you thought taking your foot out of the stirrup would make it better?”

  “Nay. I doona know what happened. Suddenly my feet were just out.”

  “Feet?” He looked around Thor and saw her other foot dangling free. “God’s blood! Well, why haven’t you put it back in?”

  “Doona yell at me, Gavin MacKinnon!”

  “I’m not the one who’s yelling!”

  “Mama?” Ewan asked, sounding concerned. He had that uncertain look on his face that always gutted Gavin.

  Deirdre paused, then forced a smile on her face and lightened her tone. “I’m well, dearling. Just becoming acquainted with this…sweet…horse.”

  “Then why are you yelling at Da?”

  The tightness in Gavin’s chest loosened, and he suddenly felt like his heart had expanded too much for his chest to contain it.

  For the first time ever, Ewan had called him Da.

  Even this morning when he’d woken up beside Gavin and they’d ended up wrestling on the bed, Ewan had never addressed him. And as a young lad toddling around the bailey before he’d been taken, Ewan had been slow to speak and had communicated mostly by pointing and grunting. He’d said An mostly, short for Annag. And up. Never Da, and he’d certainly never called Cristel Mama, like when he called for Deirdre.

  Gavin walked Thor over to Ewan, dropped the reins, and reached for his son.

  “Nay, Da. I want to keep riding,” Ewan protested.

  Gavin pulled him down and squeezed him tight. “You will, but you’ll ride Thor instead. And your mother’s only yelling because she’s frightened. She needs you with her on Thor to feel safe.” He placed Ewan in front of an alarmed-looking Deirdre, then looped the reins over Thor’s head and handed them to his son. Thor would follow Gavin’s direction no matter who held the reins.

  “Gavin,” Deirdre protested, “I doona think—”

  “Just keep your feet in the stirrups, Deirdre, clench with your thighs, and stay seated. Otherwise you’ll fall and bring our son down with you.”

  “I canna do it!”

  “Aye, you can. You’ll do anything to keep Ewan safe.”

  Kerr snorted, and Gavin flashed him a grin. ’Twas genius to manipulate Deirdre this way—for all the right reasons, of course. She would find a way to keep her balance if it meant saving her son.

  He whistled for his customary guard and strode toward the portcullis. Thor’s breath puffed on his shoulder as he followed obediently. Ewan leaned forward, shook the reins, and said, “Ruith!” Deirdre let out a distressed moan and mumbled something under her breath. Before he’d gotten to know her better, Gavin would have assumed she was praying for assistance. Now he knew she was probably cursing him in multiple languages.

  That also made him hard.

  “Where are you going?” Kerr asked.

  “I want to go to the forest. Ruith! Ruith!” Ewan chanted again.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Deirdre said. “One more time around the bailey
and that’s it. Turn around, Gavin!”

  Gavin didn’t turn around. “Down to the cathedral,” he told Kerr. “Do you want to come?”

  “Not bloody likely,” Kerr said.

  “Not bloody likely,” Ewan repeated.

  “Ewan!” Deirdre said. “We doona speak like foul-mouthed dogs.”

  “But Uncle Kerr did.”

  “And he will ne’er do so again, or Aunt Isobel will find a way to correct his behavior, and I’m assured he wouldnae like that.”

  Kerr clamped his hand over his heart. “Och! Doona tell Isobel. I’ll be a good dog.” Then he barked twice and panted with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Ewan burst into laughter, shaking the saddle.

  “Sit still,” Deirdre shrieked.

  Kerr barked some more, then veered off toward the stables. “I’m going to go find Isobel and beg for a treat.”

  “’Twill be good practice for you, Cousin,” Deirdre shot back. “But doona expect more than a pat on the head.”

  Gavin snorted as he led Thor under the portcullis, six of his men, including Clyde, waiting in the field beyond to group loosely around them. He liked this Deirdre who wasn’t afraid to best a man as big and powerful as Kerr. As smart as she was, she could probably best Gavin too—and maybe even Callum, the smartest of all his foster brothers.

  Aye, the thought of that, Deirdre besting every single one of them, hardened him even further. Which made the walk across the field toward the cathedral, situated halfway between castle and the village, more than a little trying.

  Ewan chattered the whole way there, and Deirdre muttered under her breath and gasped as Ewan flung himself this way and that. She shrieked once when her foot came out of the stirrup and then nearly fell trying to get it back in. Her muttering increased in volume and intensity after that, as did the glares she shot at Gavin.

  He was focusing on Ewan, who looked like he was trying to climb up Thor’s neck, when Deirdre gasped again—and not from fright this time, but from wonder.