He held her tighter. “This is not the first time I’ve hunted down a wretch and ousted them from this world. I know what I’m doing. Ye have but to trust me, aye?” Would that he could shield her from her fears, but it had to be done. They would never know peace as long as the duke lived.
She lifted her head, flattening both hands against his chest as she pierced him with a teary-eyed stare. “Then at least give me yer child first.”
“What?” Alasdair blinked and searched her face for affirmation of her meaning.
“Give me yer child.”
“Isobel—”
“At least if I lose ye, I’ll have yer child to console me.” She stared at him. Defiant. Determined. Unyielding. “If ye love me, truly love me with all yer heart, ye willna deny me this small comfort.”
Her request astounded him as well as touched his heart. A bairn. His bairn. With the woman he’d always loved. If only he could fulfill her request so easily. He cradled her face in one hand, brushing his thumb across the shimmering trails of her tears. “I canna delay my leaving for the time it might take to seed a bairn, my dearest love. I must leave tonight—or by morn at the latest.”
“Then lay with me before ye go,” she begged in a hitching whisper. “At least attempt to give me yer child one last time before I lose ye forever.”
“Ye’ll nay lose me, love. I swear it.” Alasdair wished he could make her understand. “Trust me, mo chridhe, believe in me.” He brushed a kiss across each of her teary eyes. “Dinna weep anymore. Hear me when I say, all will be well.”
“Give me yer child, and I will try,” she said in a desperate whisper. “Please. Cease making me beg.”
Her words cut him. If only she would believe him capable of making their dream real. But she wouldn’t. Her eyes never lied. Isobel had resigned herself to losing everything.
Very well. So be it.
He took her hand and led her to the back stair. Neither of them spoke as they climbed to the suite of rooms Isobel shared with Yeva and Connor. Alasdair paused in the sitting room, unsure which of the doors led to her bedchamber.
Without a word, she led him through the door farthest to the left. She closed it behind them, threw the bolt, and even lowered the beam, settling the bar firmly across it. Head bowed, she went still, both hands resting atop it. “I beg ye not to leave me, Alasdair. Please. Let us make our escape to France. Together. Aunty speaks French, and Connor will learn soon enough.”
“A life of running is no life at all.” Alasdair removed his waistcoat and tossed it across the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “I intend to free us, love. They will not deter me.”
“Verra well.” Fingers flying, she freed her bodice of its ties and shrugged the garment to the floor. The embroidered stomacher fell with it. Her skirt came next, followed by the padded roll tied just above her hips. She bent and unlaced her boots, then kicked them aside. Her hands stilled as she straightened, standing in nothing but her chemise and stockings, staring at him with such despair, it killed him.
“Isobel…please trust me.”
She shook her head. “I fear I cannot. Demons stole ye from me once, and now they’ve come to steal ye from me again.” She slid her chemise off over her head, then made to remove her stockings.
The sight of her stole his breath. Her fierce beauty owned him. He rushed to stop her, dropping to his knees at her feet. “Then let me worship ye as ye deserve.”
She stared down at him, tears abated, but her dark lashes and cheeks were still wet. She trailed her fingers along his jawline, then buried them in his hair. With a shuddering sigh, she stepped closer and closed her eyes.
Brushing his lips across the silk of her thighs, he untied the ribbons above each of her knees while reveling in her maddening scent. He pushed her stockings down to her ankles and slid his palms up the backs of her legs. Holding her steady, a groan escaped him as he kneaded her fine, round arse. She scrubbed her feet together and rid herself of the hosiery. He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to taste her, hungered for the sound of her cries as she found her pleasure.
She fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him harder into the juncture between her thighs. With a gentle nudge, he pushed her legs farther apart, diving deeper. The longer he quenched his thirst for what only she could provide, the more she swayed from side to side, her legs trembling.
Alasdair lowered her to the floor, thankful for the tapestry carpet beneath them. As he stretched across her and sated his need for her kisses, she yanked his tunic upward. He rose long enough to rip off his shirt and toss belt and kilt aside. He covered her with his body again, flinching with an appreciative groan as she reached down between them, wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and pulled hard on the length of it.
“Take me,” she ordered, guiding him as she arched to meet him.
“As ye wish.” He plunged inside, cradling her shoulders as he withdrew and dove back in again and again.
She met him thrust for thrust, raking her nails down his back and digging them into his buttocks as she urged him to pound harder. Head thrown back, body flexing, she cried out. Her blissful wetness clutched around him.
He remained buried and held fast, determined to bring her more pleasure before spilling himself inside. As her throes calmed, he took up the dance again, holding her steady as he hammered harder and brought her to her release twice more.
Isobel bucked beneath him, hugging him with her legs as she cried out again. Her pounding rhythm as she scratched her fingernails down his sides drove him insane. He could delay no longer. A rumbling roar tore from him as he drove into her, his bollocks clenching as he emptied inside her. Somewhere deep within the ecstatic daze, he committed the feel of her pounding heart forever in his memories. This was how they were meant to be. One instead of two.
“I love ye,” he rasped as soon as he could draw a steady breath. “Ye are my heart and soul forevermore.”
“And I love ye more,” she whispered against his cheek, her gasping breaths tickling his jaw. “Please, dinna leave me. I beg ye.”
“I must, Isobel.” Reluctantly, he rolled to the side, then stretched out on his back beside her. “I do it for us. For Connor. For our future.” He turned his head and watched her, willing her to understand.
She stared up at the ceiling. Renewed tears, silent tears, seeped from the corners of her eyes. She laced her fingers together and slid them across her stomach, settling them over her womb. “Then give me a child to ease my suffering when ye are lost to me.”
He blew out a desolate sigh. “I will stay with ye until the candle burns out and pray with all my heart that a bairn takes seed from our loving.” He raised up, propping on an elbow as he brushed aside a tear from her temple before it disappeared into her curls. “But then, I must go, aye?”
“Aye,” she whispered as she reached out and ran a finger down the center of his chest and into the thatch of dark hair swirling across his belly.
With a gentle shove, she pushed him to his back and straddled him. She rested her head atop his chest. As she lay there, she smoothed her hands up and down his sides and clenched her thighs tight around him, moving with a gentle rocking until he hardened once more. She rose and slid down his shaft, seating him deep inside her. “I love ye,” she said as she closed her eyes and increased the speed of her ride.
Alasdair gripped her by the waist, rising to thrust deeper with every rock of her hips. “I love ye in this life and the next,” he groaned. Eyes closed, he forced the melancholy of his leaving aside and concentrated on planting a small part of himself deep inside this woman he loved more than life itself.
Chapter Fifteen
Isobel pressed a hand to her middle, praying God had blessed her with a child as the infuriating, bullheaded man she loved rode out the gate.
“Keep him safe. I beg ye,” she whispered, thankful for the brightness of the moonlit night. She pulled her arisaid close, breathing in his scent lingering in its folds. She had wrapp
ed it around him earlier as he dozed, knowing it would bring her small comfort, but she cherished it just the same. It strengthened her, brought him close.
“Best get some sleep if ye can, m’lady. We leave at first light.” Sutherland stood beside her, watching Alasdair and Ian ride away.
“I would just as soon leave now.” She tore her gaze away from the men before they disappeared past the first rise in the hilly landscape of the glen. Ill luck, it was, to watch a loved one’s leaving ’til they rode out of view. It dared the fates to prevent their return. “Both Connor and Auntie have slept a bit. They’ll be fine. All we must do is wake them.”
“Ye dinna need more time to gather yer things?” Sutherland offered his arm as they strolled across the curtain wall toward the stone steps leading down to the bailey.
“I feel certain Auntie has us ready. I warned her earlier.” She swallowed hard, eyes gritty and throat sore from all the tears she had shed. And all in vain. Nothing had swayed Alasdair. Her headstrong warrior was damned and determined to mete out justice, whether it meant his own demise or not.
As they descended the steps, Sutherland nodded. “Verra well then. I shall see to the horses and have them waiting in the courtyard whilst ye gather the others.” His mouth tightened as he cast a sideways glance at her. “Ye dinna wish to wait ’til morning so ye might bid everyone farewell? They care about ye, m’lady. Care about yer plight.”
“Farewells are not one of my strengths.” She clutched her wrap, fighting the forlorn sense of loss about to crush her. “I wrote out notes while Alasdair slept. One for each of them.” At least she’d managed to delay his leaving ’til well after the candle had snuffed itself out. They’d loved away the day, and exhaustion had briefly closed his eyes. But when the moon rose, he awoke, and she lost him.
“I understand,” Sutherland said quietly.
She released his arm as they rounded the corner of the keep. Auntie Yeva and Connor stood in the courtyard between the main building and the stable, bundles clutched in their arms.
“I knew you would want to leave as soon as he left,” Auntie explained. “We are ready.”
Connor yawned, then resettled his bundle against his chest. “I get my own horse, aye?”
“Aye, lad.” Sutherland held out a hand. “Come. It’ll take us no time to saddle him.”
Auntie hitched her way over to Isobel’s side. “You know this place we go to? Know of the people? Their ways?”
Isobel shook her head. “All I know is it’s the northernmost tip of Scotland, and they are expecting us.”
“Hmpf.” Her aunt pursed her lips, scowling at the stable. “I did not have time to read the stars. Not sure about this journey without being prepared.”
“At this point, I would just as soon not know, Auntie.” Isobel took one of the bundles from her and stepped forward as Sutherland led a horse to stand in front of her.
“Needless to say, we shall skirt Fort William and get as far beyond it as we can before daylight.” Sutherland helped her mount.
“We shall travel until ye decide to stop. Alasdair has left us at yer mercy.” She settled into the saddle and took up the reins as she waited for the others. She had always liked Sutherland, but at the moment, he felt more like a guard than a friend.
“Aye. That he did.” Sutherland gave a resigned groan as he mounted his horse. He took the lead, and they exited Tor Ruadh, turning east to head higher up the mountain. “Stay close, and call out if ye see anything concerning, aye?”
“Like what?” Connor asked.
“Soldiers. Strangers. Wild animals.” Sutherland scowled at the surrounding landscape. “Anything ye fear could cause us trouble.”
Isobel knew her son. Sutherland would regret arming his imagination with such possibilities. She straightened in the saddle, a desolate weariness and complete loss of caring rooting deep in her soul. She warred with the dark feeling. There was still her son to protect. And hopefully, another, she silently added.
“Connor—keep yer horse beside Sutherland’s, aye?” She and Auntie rode close behind, the terrain growing more treacherous as they climbed the mountain and accessed one of the passes. “And hang on tight to the saddle as the land grows steeper.”
Connor rode well for a lad, sat a horse like one who had ridden for years. But he looked so small on his horse.
Isobel relaxed somewhat as they reached the pass, and the land leveled out. Crags and cliffs rose high on either side of them, shading the trail from the light of the moon. Their pace slowed as they entrusted the horses with finding the way.
They rode for what felt like hours. Sutherland finally took the reins of Connor’s horse and tied it to his, as the boy draped himself across the beast’s neck and slept. Isobel kept her gaze locked on her son. If he slid out of the saddle, he’d surely break his neck. They kept well east of Fort William, and Isobel was relieved when Sutherland held up his hand to stop for a rest along the shores of Loch Lochy.
Dawn’s light glittered across the rippling waters. The sight increased her weariness. She yawned as she squatted behind a cluster of bushes to relieve herself, then blinked against the tired, scratchiness of her eyes. Best get used to the feeling. According to Sutherland, it would take them near a week to reach Cape Wrath. Once she finished, she joined the others.
Sutherland and Connor stood at the water’s edge. Auntie knelt beside it, wetting her face and wiping it dry with the extra kerchief she always kept tucked in her sleeve. Isobel held out a hand to Sutherland. “Give me yer pistol. Connor and I shall stand watch whilst Auntie and ye take yer rest.”
Sutherland stared at her as if she’d lost her senses. “It is I who is to protect ye, m’lady.”
“Ye canna remain alert if ye dinna sleep at least a few hours between here and Wrath.” She pointed at the gun stuck in his belt. “I’m as good a shot as I ever was, and since Connor is quite refreshed from his nap, I assure ye, I willna sleep until ye relieve me. My son will keep me awake.”
Connor bobbed his head, then lobbed a stone across the water. “I shall help Mama stand guard and keep ye all safe. Promise.”
Auntie had already curled up on a grassy area at the base of a tree. Sutherland scowled at the land, scanning their surroundings with a critical eye. “It appears quiet enough.”
“It will be fine.” Isobel held her hand higher. “I promise to wake ye in a few hours.”
“I dinna like this,” Sutherland said as he grudgingly handed over his pistol. He turned in a circle, checking the area one last time. “Call out at the sight of anything, aye? Absolutely anything.”
“Aye.” She nodded.
His scowl twitched a notch tighter, then Sutherland joined Auntie at the base of the tree. He sat beside her and folded his arms across his chest.
“Are ye not going to lie down?” Connor called out.
Sutherland shooed away the boy’s concern and leaned more comfortably against the trunk and closed his eyes. “I be fine. Go help yer mother. It be a braw day for walking the shoreline.”
“Can we, Mama?”
“Aye, lad, come along.” Isobel hurried him forward. Poor Sutherland would get no rest if she didn’t get the child out of earshot.
The lad found a suitable walking stick of driftwood. He stabbed the mud, overturned rocks, and poked any dead fish they passed as they strolled along. Isobel trailed along behind him.
The shoreline rose, then dipped low behind an embankment riddled with washed-out holes, ridges, and piles of rocks. She cast a casual glance around now and then. The loch held a comforting quiet she could not enjoy without Alasdair at her side.
She hurried on as Connor disappeared around a bend. Peaceful or not, she didn’t want the boy out sight. “Connor! Slow down, aye? Stay where I can see ye.”
He didn’t answer. Only the sound of sliding rocks and the endless shushing of the waves against the shore filled the air.
“Connor?” She silently cursed the rocks slowing her down as she scrambled around
an uprooted tree. Her heart beat faster. “Answer me, son.”
A strong hand clamped around her wrist and snapped the pistol out of her hand. The man rose from the shadows behind the fallen tree like a wraith rising from the grave. “Not a word, or yer son will be the worse for it.” The burly fiend, all in black from his greasy hair down to the tips of his boots, twisted her arm around to her back and shoved her high enough over the embankment where she could see three more men standing over Sutherland and Auntie.
“Where is my son? What have ye done with him?” She fought to turn and search the shoreline.
“The young marquess?” the blackguard asked as he twisted her arm harder, sending an excruciating burn through her shoulder. “Why…we done trussed the lad up and thrown him o’er a saddle, o’ course.”
With a shove of his knee into the small of her back, the man knocked her to her knees, then yanked her back to her feet. “His da paid us good money in advance. Good money.” He let out a cruel laugh. He knotted a fist in her hair and jerked her around to face him. “Said he’d pay us even more when we return the boy alive.” He wheezed just inches from her face, the stench of his breath nearly gagging her as his spittle showered across her. “And promised extra coin for us to kill ye and the old witch. Told us to end ye slow and ugly. Said he’d pay extra for proof ye suffered before ye left this world.”
She had to save Connor or die trying. With a feigned cry, she closed her eyes and went limp, sagging to the ground. Her free hand hit a good-sized shard of rock, and she surged upward with the jagged edge and smashed the brute’s face.
The lout roared with pain, letting loose of her arm. Yanking her skirts out of the way, she scrambled back to where she had lost the gun. She found the pistol, dropped to her stomach, took aim, and fired.
“Kill them!” yelled the enraged kidnapper, blood streaming from the cut on his face. He stumbled forward, one hand clamped to his upper arm. “Kill every last one of’m! Now!”
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 18