Her eyes held his body. He felt his cheeks warm with a blush. He watched her, not wanting her to be afraid at the sight of him. Her eyes widened, and he flushed again, but saw no fear.
Good.
He went to sit down on the bed beside her. His wound was still bandaged, now lightly, and the light linen made a white line round his chest, holding the covering in place. He saw her eyes go to it, a little frown on her brow. She reached out and touched it, a point of contact.
He hissed an intake of breath as her fingers, soft and tender, stroked his skin.
“Claudine,” he whispered. He gritted his teeth. She was innocent, and he was sure she had no idea what the touch of her hand on his chest was doing to his body. She stroked her fingers lower and he gasped, and then bent down to her. He lay beside her, his knees touching hers, propped on one elbow so he could look into her face.
She looked up at him, eyes shining with joy.
“Claudine,” he whispered. “My dearest. Do you...you're no' afraid of me?”
To his surprise, she smiled. “I saw more of you than you might think when you were wounded,” she said. “And as for the rest? No. I trust you.”
That simple statement made the blood wash through his body. He let out a ragged sigh. “I promise to try and be worthy of that trust.”
Claudine said nothing, simply reached for his hand. “You are worthy of it,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. That was enough to let the fire of his longing run unbidden through his body. He gritted his teeth against it and, bending, touched his lips to her brow. She murmured and shifted so that she sought his lips with her own.
That was too much for him. Gathering her in his arms, he pressed himself against her, hopelessly aroused as he drew that sweet, curved form against his lean, hard one. He pressed his tongue into her mouth and felt it close around it, warm and soft, and his body ached with wanting.
Gently, his hands stroked her spine, trying to hold back, to savor every moment. Her skin felt like satin and he could feel it touching every part of him.
He rolled over and pushed her, very gently, onto her back. Then he kissed her, slowly and deliberately, on the mouth, working down her neck to the soft paleness of her shoulders, and lower.
Claudine sighed as Brogan kissed her neck. The fire of longing inside her was becoming unbearable, and when his hands moved to her waist and then lower, to her hips, and slid between her legs, she thought she might explode with it.
She reached for him and drew his body against her, relishing the feeling of his hard chest, weighted on her own. She wrapped him in her arms and thrust against him, knowing that she wanted...something.
As if in answer, he knelt up and, gently, pushed into her.
She gasped. The sensation was so unlike anything she had ever felt before, so complete, so wonderful, that for a moment she would not have been surprised to learn she'd died, every nerve tingling, flooded with feeling.
She looked up at him. His face was contorted with intensity like the one she felt, so that she knew he must be feeling as she did. She gasped as he withdrew and then pushed in again. This time, she felt a brief moment of pain, but it was fleeting, gone the instant he repeated the motion. Now, there was only joy and bliss and wonder as he thrust in again, and again, filling her body over and again with the sweetness that she thought she would never have imagined, that she thought she wouldn't bear if it continued much longer, so much sweetness, throbbing and building and growing inside her...
She cried aloud as the feeling consumed her, drawing her down into a place of such bliss it felt as if she had fallen over some mighty precipice and was drifting in oceans of warmth. She closed her eyes and lay there, letting the fog of sensations flood her body as he moved and moved inside her and then he too cried out.
The sound of his voice tore through her, a new joy, and he collapsed on top of her, gasping, his breath rasping in his throat as he lay there, shuddering and sighing.
“Oh, Claudine,” he murmured, as he rolled off her, kissing her brow. “Oh, my love.”
He lay beside her and they lay like that till, pale and hazed, the light of a new day shone through the window opposite.
FRESH START
The next morning, Claudine awoke to sounds she did not recognize. She lay still, feeling the delicious bruised sensation in her stomach that reminded her – should she need any reminding – of the wonder that had taken place the night before.
She lay there, listening to the sounds that she recognized as Brogan getting dressed. She wondered at the fact that, so often, she must have lain in rooms at inns, or even at her cousins', so close to his, and been almost-privy to the scene she could now witness.
She opened her eyes a crack and watched him. He was turned away, looking toward the wardrobe. His hair loose and shining in the brighter light, he was looking at his hands as they wound his belt around his body. He tucked in the end, finishing the clasping that would keep his kilt on, and then reached for his shirt. As he shook it to draw it on, he saw her eyes on him. He stopped. He grinned, reddening.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily.
She saw his expression change, his eyes brighter. She knew then that he was not in so much of a hurry to get dressed as she might have thought. She felt surprise mix with joy as he came and knelt on the bed beside her.
“Good morning,” he said. He stroked her hair then, and kissed her softly. “You slept well?”
“I slept very well,” she whispered. He must have caught the inflection of joy in her voice, for he blushed, seeming embarrassed.
“You did? I'm glad. I mean...I didn't...”
“I went to sleep very content,” she said mischievously. He grinned.
“Well, that's the best thing I ever heard,” he said, sounding sincere. He reached for her hand and held it. “But since you were so contented, might I ask if you are not too sated for another day...?”
She grinned, catching his meaning. “I will never be that contented,” she said. He chuckled.
“Good. Nor will I.”
Laughing, they kissed and he was soon naked in bed beside her. They did not go for breakfast until the sun had risen.
Downstairs, in the room that served both as a parlor and breakfast room, a sunny space that seemed the best-situated in the whole tower, they talked.
“Now that we're here...” Brogan began.
“We should send word to Douglas,” Claudine finished. “He and Marguerite must be so worried.”
“Yes,” Brogan nodded slowly. “And not only that. I think that it is best they know...”
“About the treachery South is capable of,” Claudine finished.
He nodded. “Aye, lass. My thoughts exactly.”
A man came in bearing a tray of food at that point. Claudine eagerly took the plate he offered – more cheeses, and a pat of butter – and Brogan, as he left, halted him.
“Brewer? You'll see Simmons?”
“Yes, sir,” he nodded.
“Can you ask him to take a message for me? To Duncliffe.”
“Yes, milord,” the man bowed swiftly. “I'll do that.”
“Thanks,” he nodded. “And watch the road. I'll be expecting messages from them, as well.”
Though the manor was not too far from Tor McRae – a half day's ride south – they had not sent any word of their arrival, or the marriage ceremony, knowing they should wait until her reputation was clear before they spoke aloud.
“Yes, milord.”
When he had gone, Claudine felt herself relax a little. At least with that concern addressed, she could breathe a little more easily.
“I will be glad when they are informed.”
“As will I,” he nodded. “And now, milady, we have more friendly tasks.”
“Oh?” she asked, cheeks flaring with a warm flush. She looked quickly down at her plate of bread and cheese, embarrassed lest he see the reaction he inspired.
“Well, there's that first,” he agreed.
“But, also, we have arrived here rather unexpectedly. And we need to address a lack. You brought with you no clothing. We must remedy it.”
“Oh?” she asked, heart thumping. He was so sweet to think of that!
“Well, then,” he said with a grin. “I suggest we go down to the village. They'll have all sorts of fine cloth there. It's market day.”
“Brogan!” she smiled, feeling a new sort of excitement. It had been a long time since she needed to shop for new clothes.
“Let's go,” he said
They finished breakfast in the contentment of silence and headed upstairs and then, much later, to the village.
The market was still in full swing when they arrived, stalls abounding with different colors and sorts of cloth. Most of it was local weave, some of it fine wool. Claudine picked out a bolt of crimson, and another one of blue. Then they found a merchant selling silk from France.
Claudine's eye fell on fine brocaded silk, and she reached for one in blue, feeling her heart soar. She draped it around her and Brogan nodded.
“Aye, that's the one.”
“Brogan?” she noticed the merchant smiling and knew it must cost a small fortune – such cloth, of such fine weave, was hard to come by. “You really..?”
He shrugged. “Of course, dearest. I couldn't leave it – you look too beautiful to resist you.”
She flushed. “Oh, Brogan.”
He bought the cloth and they headed back to the manor.
Later, they sat in the tower, the fire burning low. The room was tiny – just big enough to fit themselves beside the hearth, on an ancient wooden settee that made her think of tales of knights, and dragons. The silk was already being made into a gown, and she felt sleepily content with life.
The only worry was for her cousins.
“Brogan?” she asked softly. “Do you think we'll hear from Duncliffe soon?”
“I doubt it not,” he said softly. “Don't worry, lass. All will be well, I'm certain.”
When the man entered, Claudine looked up in surprise. She glanced at Brogan, who coughed hard.
“Lewes?” he frowned. “What is it?”
“Milord! Urgent message. The fellow as brought it waits to speak with you.”
“Oh?” Brogan frowned, taking the parchment he held out.
Claudine leaned over, watching his expression, her own heart thudding faster as she did so.
His brow raised and then he leaned back, putting down the letter swiftly. “Lewes?”
“Yes, milord?”
“Where is the fellow who bore the note? Send him up. At once!”
“Yes, milord.”
“It's Douglas.”
“What?” Claudine felt her heart thud with alarm. What had happened? Was Douglas here? Or was the message about him? Had some harm befallen him? She turned to the door at the moment she heard the sound of running feet.
“Douglas!”
She stood up swiftly as her cousin entered. His face was gaunt and his hair disheveled – he must have ridden fast. She felt alarm at his appearance.
“Cousin,” he acknowledged, inclining his head. “Thank Heavens! Marguerite was distraught. McRae,” he nodded to him in brief acknowledgment. “What is this about?”
Claudine swallowed hard. “Cousin, I am unharmed,” she said, realizing at once what they must have deduced. “I...Laird McRae rescued me. He helped me. I went with him of my own will.”
Douglas' dark eyes were instantly relieved. In that moment he looked more like the Douglas she remembered – calm and youthful for his years.
“I am glad of that. Marguerite and I were worried sick for you.” He smiled at her, gently, and then turned to Brogan. “There is another matter we must needs discuss.
“Oh?”
“Dunstan South,” he said quickly. “He went to Duncliffe recently, with such a tale...I had needs come here at once, to find the truth of it.”
“A tale?” Claudine stared at him, heart thumping in alarm. “What is it, Douglas? What happened?”
“Sit, please,” Brogan said at once, waving Lewes, who had hovered in the doorway, nervously, to fetch their guest a chair. He complied swiftly, and Douglas sank gratefully into it. Claudine realized, then, how hard he must have ridden to reach them. Their own message had left perhaps nine hours before, meaning that Douglas must have ridden at top speed to reach them so speedily. Whatever it was, his news was clearly urgent.
“Now,” Brogan said, once Douglas was seated and had a cup of tea. “Tell us the news. What happened?”
“I was about to go out to survey the border-fort,” Douglas began, when Marguerite called me back to say we had a guest. Imagine my surprise when who should it be but Dunstan South? He'd headed off, quietly, a few days after your disappearance,” he added, leaning back a little. “We were so much in upheaval, I hardly noticed that.”
“Sorry,” Claudine began. He shook his head.
“We should have known no ill would befall you with McRae. He is a trusted neighbor, and a friend. Still...” He sighed, shaking his head. “Be that as it were, you can imagine my surprise when South arrived, disheveled and gaunt, with a tale so fantastical I scarce believed it.”
“Go on,” Brogan said grimly.
“He claimed that you and Claudine were Hanoverian sympathizers, and that you would direct a hostile force against my lands. I was alarmed, and sent out men to scout the woods. Imagine my shock when, true to his reports, they caught sight of scouts and soldiers, riding together in the woods! These woods,” he added, gesturing before the forests that skirted his land, and that of Clan McRae both equally. His eyes were wide as he appealed to them. “When that happened, I vowed I had to find out the truth.”
“Douglas...” Claudine trailed off.
“I know, cousin,” he said gently. “I could not believe it of you.” Gently, he turned to Claudine, gaze soft.
“You believed it of me?” Brogan sounded shocked.
Douglas made a face. “I didn't know what to think,” he said. “As it was, I had to ride quickly, for the soldiers are converging on my land. Even now, I have no idea what happens there...” He suppressed a shiver.
“Marguerite,” Claudine said flatly. She stared at Douglas in horror. If men were going there to storm the manor, and her cousin was there alone with their baby...
“I know,” Douglas said. His eyes were raw. “I had to come here and find out the truth. If you were against us, what could I do? You are my closest ally...” He trailed off, eyes tense.
“Douglas! How could you doubt that?” Brogan sounded hurt. “Of course I wouldn't betray you, or your cause! What did you think...?” He trailed off, sighing.
“Brogan?” Claudine looked at him appealingly. Her cousin could be besieged in their house, in danger. What could they do?
He sighed. “I know, lass. Right,” he added, nodding. “Lewes, summon the men. All of them. Get them to assemble outside the tower in an hour's time.”
“What are we going to do?” Claudine asked faintly. She imagined Brogan riding out, still wounded, facing an enemy he was not-yet ready for. She imagined him overwhelmed. She tensed.
He turned to her, a gentle smile. “Don't fret, lass,” he said. “We'll be cunning.”
Claudine raised a brow, but made no comment. She would have to trust him – something which was not, after all, too hard for her to manage. She had trusted him before, after all.
A PLAN PREPARED
Brogan sat at the table in the drawing room. The firelight washed ruddy warmth around the room, soaking into the rich wood of the table. The candles, where they stood in holders, had long since burned down. Brogan felt tired, but he also felt invigorated.
It was a good plan, the one they’d formed. Claudine had broadened it with some helpful suggestions, and Douglas added his own touch, and Brogan felt sure it would accomplish their ends.
“Now,” he said, yawning, “I reckon it's time we found a moment to sleep. We'll need all our reserves on the morro
w.”
He glanced sideways at Claudine, who nodded. Her pale skin seemed almost paler, yet she did not look particularly tired. She, like him, seemed grim with determination.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Douglas? I've asked Blaire to have a room made up for you in the wing beside our own.”
“Thank you, cousin.”
Of them all, Douglas looked wearier. He had dark bruising under his eyes and his cheeks seemed sunken, as though the worry had weighed heavily on him these last two weeks. Brogan felt a little responsible for that. The hurt that Douglas had expected a betrayal still cut him, but he could forgive that.
I had, after all, run off with a family member. That's not the action of a man you can trust.
He shook his head, barely believing he'd not thought to question what his hosts would deduce.
Now, he looked at Douglas, who nodded at Claudine, gratefully.
“Thanks, cousin. I'll be grateful for the rest.”
“So will I,” Brogan said, stretching. He hadn't realized how weary he was. “We meet again at first light?”
“At first light.”
They had to reach the manor as soon as possible. His men were assembled –tenants and cottagers, kinsfolk and bondsmen – they were asleep in the great hall as they spoke, ready for the early morning.
Douglas left first, leaving him alone a moment with Claudine. She looked worried, and he wished he could remedy that. He rested his hand on her arm.
“Brogan, you do think it will...” She trailed off, and he nodded, sensing what she wished to ask.
“It will work, lass. Or I reckon it should.”
“Good.”
He leaned over and took her hands in his, still amazed at the fact that he could, and loving the way her skin felt when he touched it, the way the light shone in her hair as she turned toward him, resting her lips, soft and tender, on his.
They kissed and went to bed. They found tenderness in one another's embrace, and he woke next morning at first light, feeling quite renewed.
Together, they dressed and went downstairs.
The Highlander’s Runaway (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 18