Sins of the Highlander (17 page)

The brocade was stiff and smelled of camphor and heather. The style of the gown was woefully old-fashioned, but it was pronounced a good fit by the lady’s maids Mrs. Beaton had sent up to attend Elspeth. The tunic and kirtle had belonged to Rob’s mother, they told her.

“Lady MacLaren, our laird’s lady mother, ye ken, was of a size with ye,” the older woman named Aileen told Elspeth. Nessa, the young one who’d helped her with her bath, had skittered out afterward, taking a single bucket of wash water and sending Aileen and Kate to take her place tidying up and seeing Elspeth made ready for supper. “A wee bird of a woman, she was. Not tall and buxom like his wife, the
young
Lady MacLaren. Now there was a fine figure of a woman. What a pair they made!”

Elspeth wondered if Aileen was aware young Lady MacLaren had taken her own life by leaping to her death from a tower room just like the one they were in now. If she were, she didn’t seem disposed to speak of it.

Aileen and Kate chattered quietly as they shook out other garments from the trunk. Elspeth ignored them and turned sideways to look at herself in the long sheet of burnished copper.

Her reflection was wavering and distorted, but she didn’t think she resembled a bird in the slightest. A copper-and-agate-studded snood gathered her heavy hair in a neat bunch at her nape, and the tunic and kirtle were at least clean and of good quality. She was clearly a lady of rank, albeit in borrowed and old-fashioned finery. It would serve for now.

Eventually, she’d send for her own things.

For she fully intended to stay in
Caisteal Dubh
, no matter how unwelcome Rob’s housekeeper or the serving women tried to make her. There was no going home to her parents after this scandal. She wouldn’t bring shame to their doorstep.

Elspeth couldn’t return to Edinburgh either. She’d be laughed out of Queen Mary’s court, sniggered at, and studied covertly with sidelong glances. Or worse, be slapped with a light-heeled reputation no amount of subsequent proper behavior would erase.

And there was certainly no way she’d submit to a loveless marriage with Lachlan Drummond after giving herself heart and body to Rob MacLaren.

There was only one way forward.

Rob hadn’t asked her yet, but he’d come to it soon. They must marry. It was the only thing that would serve.

Installing her in the chatelaine’s chamber was a good beginning, though it pained her not to share a bed with him. At first, she chafed at not being taken to his chamber, but once she thought the matter through, she saw the right of it. By demanding she be treated with deference, by placing her in his mother’s room, Rob had protected her good name. His people might wonder what had passed between them on the long journey from the kirk where she was abducted to
Caisteal Dubh
, but they’d have no hard evidence she wasn’t still a pure maid.

It would be best for all concerned if they decided to believe her so.

It was the same sort of outward show of respectability that enabled the English to accept and enjoy the fantasy that their Elizabeth was a virgin queen. At least, that was the tale for the masses.

Privately, her courtiers told a different story. According to the lordlings from England who visited her Scottish cousin Mary’s court, Queen Elizabeth had a new favorite so often it was hard to tell who was in and who was out of her special favor without keeping a running tally.

Though they never said so unless they were deep in their cups, and even then, not very loudly.

If Elspeth could maintain a virginal image here in Rob’s home, it would make matters less embarrassing for her parents. And easier for his people to accept her as their respected chatelaine once they married.

Because they must marry. That was all there was to it.

Surely he’d see that.

There was a rap on the door, and the serving women who grumbled as they took turns hauling her bathwater away, set down their buckets and stood at rapt attention.

“Come,” Elspeth called.

The door opened, and Rob was framed by the opening. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird beating its wings against the wire.

Rob had obviously had a bath and shaved off the stubble of his beard. He was a handsome enough man to turn feminine heads if he were dressed in rags. He’d been a raging madman painted with woad the first time Elspeth saw him, and he still made her breath hitch. Now he was every inch a laird. In full Highland regalia, Rob MacLaren was a sight to tempt even a nun to debauchery.

He smiled at Elspeth, and her insides trembled. The rest of the world faded away in his blinding brightness.

Then she remembered the serving women were hanging on every moment, so she dipped in a formal curtsey. “My lord.”

“My lady, will ye honor me by dining at my side this night?” His eyes shone at her.

“Aye, with pleasure.”

He offered her his arm. She rested her palm on it lightly and let him escort her from the room. The heat of his body sizzled through the fine lawn of his shirt and into her hand. She tried to give no outward sign, but she was near to bursting into flames from wanting him so.

It felt different, being with him here in his home. As if he were a whole other person, one who still looked like the Rob MacLaren, who fought a wolf pack for her and stole her heart, but this Rob was suddenly weighed down by the cares of his station. He was courtly and correct. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he began spouting poetry.

As they walked down the corridor to the stairs, she leaned toward him. “Do ye suppose we’ll have barley bannocks and a rind of cheese?”

He laughed at the memory of the first meal he’d offered her. The correct and courtly laird fell by the way, and he was just Rob again. “We’re under siege, ye ken, but I think we can do better than that.”

Once Rob and Elspeth took their places at a raised table in the Great Hall, he introduced Elspeth with a no-nonsense announcement that she was his honored guest. A ripple of murmurs circled the hall, and none of the faces turned toward her brightened with a smile of welcome.

“My disagreement is with Elspeth Stewart’s bridegroom, no’ the lady herself. I’ll have more than words for any who show her the slightest discourtesy,” he said sharply, and the murmurs ceased.

Then he raised his glass, and the people of the Clan MacLaren joined him in a toast to themselves. After a long draught, they all sat down to their trenchers and fell to with a will to welcome home their wandering laird.

But the unfriendly glances in Elspeth’s direction didn’t cease. They were merely quicker and more stealthy, lest Rob catch one of them at it. Elspeth decided the best course of action was to study her own trencher.

The cooks at
Caisteal Dubh
certainly did better than barley bannocks and a cheese rind.

Elspeth lost count of the courses. There was a cock-a-leekie soup, smoked salmon, savory venison, and haggis. The Forfar bridies, a cunning pasty, must have been one of Rob’s favorites, because he wolfed down three of them in quick succession. And lastly, they were presented with a delicious
crannachan
, a concoction of raspberries, honey, oats, and whisky, mixing the sweet with an alcoholic tang.

The menu would have done credit to Queen Mary’s table.

But Rob didn’t speak to her more than necessary, and then with stilted courtesy. Instead, he leaned toward his friend Hamish, who was seated on his right, and spoke freely.

“I appreciate the welcome,” Rob said. “Our larder’s been thin during our travels, ye ken, but this seems a bit much seeing as how we’ve an army at the gate. I’d best have a word with the steward, so we dinna have a repeat on the morrow, or we’ll be in want by Hogmanay.”

“Och, let yer people rejoice,” Hamish said as he refilled his and Rob’s drinking horns with some of the oldest and smoothest whisky in
Caisteal Dubh
’s cellar. “They’ve been thrifty up till yer coming. We’ve had naught but
parritch
and barley bread and mutton stew. And mighty thin stew at that! But ye’re home now. Ye’ll end this trouble right enough.”

Elspeth tried to attend to her trencher, but she cocked an ear toward Rob’s conversation. How was he going to end the hostilities?

“I appreciate your confidence, Hamish, but since I willna meet their demand for my head, I dinna see how I can end the siege quickly.”

Hamish nearly spewed drink out his nose. “Och, Rob, I didna mean ye should offer them yer head. But ye’ve made yer point with Lord Drummond. ’Tis obvious ye’ve treated the lass well—something Drummond canna claim when he took yer lady. Ye’ve shamed the bastard. Just return the Lady Elspeth now, and all will be well.”

Elspeth stared into her soup bowl as if her future floated there among the leeks and bits of chicken.

“No, I willna,” Rob said. “I’ll no’ release her to the likes of Lachlan Drummond.”

Elspeth’s heart sang, but from the corner of her eye, she could tell Hamish wasn’t as happy as she with Rob’s words.

“If ye dinna, there’ll be war.”

“No, I’ll call for single combat to settle the matter. It’s come two years late, but it’s come now and welcome,” Rob said. “Drummond’s days are numbered. He’ll no’ be able to walk away from a challenge. Perhaps Fiona will rest easier once the deed’s done.”

Elspeth’s heart plummeted. He still intended to kill Lachlan. None of their time together had changed a thing. This was just about revenge for his dead wife.

A young girl with a cascade of golden curls spilling down her back took up a harp and began to sing. Rob seemed to enjoy the music as much as anyone, but Elspeth didn’t miss the sly looks the girl cast in his direction when the lyrics spoke of love.

Her song of longing was directed at Rob. Only a blind man would miss it. Elspeth couldn’t bear to remain in the hall for another moment. At the end of the third tune, she stood and asked to be excused.

“Ye dinna wish to retire yet.” Rob stood and took one of her hands. “The night is young. Margot Beaton is a talented singer, and she knows a hundred songs. Each of them lovelier than the last. I’m certain she’d take a request, if ye have a favorite.”

Elspeth didn’t think the girl would take a request from anyone but Rob. “I’ve no ear for music this night.”

His brow furrowed. “Are ye unwell?”

“No,” she said. “Just verra tired.”

He nodded and signaled one of his men. “Light the Lady Elspeth to her chamber, Albus.”

Her belly spiraled slowly downward. Rob wasn’t going to escort her to her room.

“And stand watch over her door till ye are relieved,” he added. The next song was beginning, and Rob’s gaze flicked to the pretty minstrel. “See that none enter the Lady Elspeth’s chamber…or leave.”

If Rob had slapped her, she’d have been less surprised. She wasn’t manacled and chained to a wall, but she was definitely his prisoner. It was as if the last few days hadn’t happened at all. The air seemed to flee from the hall, and her vision tunneled for a moment. Then she forced herself to breathe, and Rob’s face came back into focus.

“Good night, my lady,” he said and sketched a courtly bow.

She narrowly resisted the urge to kick his bowed head into next week. If she did, the people of
Caisteal Dubh
would probably tear her to pieces. Instead, she dropped a curtsey. “My lord.”

Then she followed Albus and his torch out of the hall and through the dark corridors to her very gilded cage.

After Albus lit a candle for her outside her chamber, he ushered her in and closed the door. The latch dropped into place behind her with finality.

Elspeth refused help from a serving woman, so Albus called none to aid her. It was better to be alone with her thoughts than be the object of a lady’s maid’s speculations. The room was cold despite the lit braziers. She could see her breath.

She wiggled quickly out of the borrowed finery and draped it with care on the ornately carved trunk to which it would be returned. Shivering, she slipped on the fresh chemise that Aileen had left draped across the foot of the bed next to a warm bed shawl.

The linen was frail and the lace at the bodice yellowed with age, but it would serve.

She had no desire to climb into the thick feather tick yet, though it looked inviting. The room smelled much sweeter since the linens had been changed and the mattress aired. The window was still propped open slightly, but the glowing braziers weren’t keeping up with the cold that rushed in with the fresh air.

Elspeth wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, walked over to the window, and looked out, hugging herself against the breath of winter. Fires from her father’s encampment dotted the plain beyond the curtain wall, hundreds of men intent on freeing her from Rob’s imprisonment.

Of course, some of the men were Lachlan’s, but she wasn’t sure why he was even here. He couldn’t claim to love her. He didn’t even know her. Drummond could have arrayed his fighting men against Rob only out of a sense of insult to his own honor, not hers.

But even after all that had happened, her father was here because he loved her. She was surer of that than of the beating of her own heart. Her longing to see someone she was certain loved her made her chest ache.

Even if Albus would allow her to leave her room, she wondered if she’d be brave enough to slip into the chapel, pry up the flooring under the altar, and steal out through the secret entrance to
Caisteal Dubh
all alone.

Hamish was right. The only way to resolve this crisis short of bloodshed was for her to leave.

Which was why Rob put her under guard, she realized. Just in case she should decide to flee. He wanted the coming fight, and he wouldn’t be denied. There wasn’t a pinch of forgiveness in him.

“Ye bloody-minded man,” she muttered.

She looked into the bailey at the cobbles far below. Her belly clenched at the sheer drop. Fiona MacLaren had willingly taken just such a long fall, never knowing what her action would set in motion.

What misery drove her to that awful choice? Elspeth wondered if Fiona repented that last step as she fell to her death. Did she cry out for mercy as the ground rose to meet her? Or did she fly into eternity with her lips closed and her eyes wide open?

Elspeth’s heart pounded. She wouldn’t make the same choice. She may have behaved stupidly with Robin MacLaren, but she’d not compound the pain for her parents by adding to their grief. She stepped back from the window and closed the wooden shutters tight, blocking out the night.

Maybe Fiona thought taking her own life was the only way to prove Lachlan Drummond had raped her. Or maybe she couldn’t bear to live with the memories of what had happened to her. Or had she gone mad and was incapable of choice?

There was no way to know what had buzzed in her brain at the last. Perhaps that was why Rob was so obsessed with avenging her. He didn’t know
why
. Could never know why.

And killing Drummond seemed the only way to still his wife’s ghost.

Her head ached. She wondered if that meant she was about to be visited by her Gift or if she was just tired of thinking so hard.

She padded to the big bed, drew back the coverlet, and climbed in. The linens were icy, and there was no one to place heated stones at her feet. She might ask for whatever she pleased, Rob had said, but not if she was no better than a prisoner.

She curled into a tight ball and covered her head, trying to warm the space with her own breath. Between breaths, she heard a soft scraping sound, like stone moving on stone. She peered over the top of the coverlet to see the tapestry on the wall opposite her bed bulge out. The corner lifted, and a figure stepped from behind it, exposing a dark opening in the stone itself.

Her breath hissed over her teeth.

“Hush,
leannán
,” came a whisper. “’Tis only me.”

She sat upright. “Rob?”

“Who else were ye expecting, lass?” he whispered back. Rob walked toward the bed, peeling off his plaid as he came. “I wasn’t sure the doorway from the laird’s chamber to this one still worked. It hasna been tried since my father’s time, ye ken, but the workmanship was solid, and the lever still moved the stone.”

“What are ye doing here?” She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her nose.

His smile flashed white even in the dim light of the braziers. “That should be obvious.” He pulled off his boots and stockings, unbelted his kilt, and let it drop to the floor. He stood by the side of her bed in just his thigh-length shirt with his hands fisted on his waist. “I’m come to bed my beloved.”

“No,” she hissed, mindful of Albus outside her door.

He frowned down at her. “What d’ye mean ‘no’?”

“I mean unless ye intend to tie me down, there’ll be no bedding, my lord.”

“That sounds like a good game. We’ll use the cords holding back the bed curtains, aye?” He pulled down the coverlet and climbed in with her. “Ye surprise me, lass. I didna think ye were so adventurous.”

“D’ye want me to scream?” she asked, shocked that he didn’t seem the least deterred.

“Only if the pleasure is so great ye canna contain yourself,” he said, reaching to pull her close. “But I think we might want to be more discreet than that if we can.”

She straight-armed him. “Rob, no.”

“Ye’re serious?”

“As a three-day toothache.”

He raised up, sending cold air spilling under the blankets, and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?”

“How can ye ask me that?” She wanted to leap out of bed and pace the room, but it was too cold, and his body had brought much-needed warmth to the sheets before he sat back up. Even now, he generated more heat than both the smoking braziers. “Ye sent me up here alone.”

“No, I didna. Albus lit your way.”

“Ye know what I mean.”

“D’ye think it would have been better for your reputation if I’d escorted ye to your chamber?”

Irritation fizzed in her belly. She hated it when he was right. “Ye set a guard over me while ye make merry in your Great Hall with the people who hate me—”

“No one hates ye.” He lay back down and pulled the coverlet over both of them up to their chins.

“Ye dinna wish to see the truth, then.” She turned and gave him her back. “Your people blame me for the trouble outside the gates. No one wants me here.”

His hand was heavy on her shoulder, warm and reassuring. “
I
want ye here.”

“As your prisoner,” she said, refusing to be comforted.

“No, love.”

He stroked her from the tip of her shoulder to the nape of her neck. She fought against the shiver of delight that danced in the wake of his hand.

“Ye are guarded for your own protection,” he said.

“As a man protects his hostage, then.” She edged away from him, but not too far. He was so warm. “Ye intend to use me so ye can draw Drummond into single combat. So ye can have your bloody revenge.”

He snorted like a stallion. “Aye, that’s how it began. I’ll no’ deny it.” Then she felt him shift toward her, and his next words were whispered directly into her ear. “But everything’s changed now.”

He planted a string of baby kisses along her neck and suckled her earlobe. Her body rioted in pleasure.

“Aye, ye’re certainly changed,” she said, tamping down her reaction to him. “So polite. So correct, ye are. So reserved to me before your people. I hardly recognize ye.”

“But I recognize
ye
. And every time I see ye, I ache to hold ye, Elspeth. I want to sling ye over my shoulder and carry ye off again, with a hand up your skirt fondling yer sweet arse as I go,” he said huskily, suiting his actions to his words. “But if I dinna treat ye with distant courtesy before others, how would that look, ye think?”

As
if
we’d become lovers during the course of our journey
, she answered him silently. Her bottom warmed under his touch, but she resisted admitting he was probably wise to restrain himself in public.

“I thought ye’d appreciate that I was having a care for your good name,” he said.

He continued to stroke her buttocks, pulling up the thin chemise as he did so, till he touched her bare skin. He circled each globe of her bottom then reached between her legs to cup her sex in his palm. Elspeth bit her lip to keep from making a noise of pleasure, but she knew he could tell her body had roused to him. She was moist and warm and swollen, aching for his touch.

“But if ye dinna care one way or the other,” he said as he nuzzled her neck, “I’ll swive ye on the main table in the Great Hall on the morrow before God and everybody, instead of breaking my fast.”

“Ye willna.” She wiggled out of his grasp, rolled over, and faced him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his belly jiggle with a suppressed chuckle.

“No, lass, I willna.” He claimed her lips with a quick kiss. “But not for lack of wanting to. Only because I couldna bear for anyone else to see ye in the glorious altogether. That’s a delight for me alone.”

Against her better judgment, a smile curved her lips. “Ye’ll no’ be seeing much of me now. ’Tis too cold to go about naked.”

“Then I’ll have to warm ye,” he said, pulling the covers over both their heads. Then he climbed atop her, settling between her legs before she even realized she’d spread them. “Skin against skin is the best thing for warming a body.”

“Is it now?”

“Aye, let me show ye.” He pulled off his shirt and flipped the blankets back long enough to give it a toss to the floor. There was enough light for Elspeth to catch sight of his handsome face, lit with lust and the promise of fevered lovemaking. Then he covered them again, throwing them into almost total darkness.

“I canna see for ye to show me anything,” she said.

“Can ye no’? I’m fair cat-eyed in the dark myself,” he said. “For instance, I can see to untie your chemise right enough.”

She felt his fingers working the drawstring knot above her breasts. After it gave, he spread the neck of her bodice wide.

“And I can see your beautiful breasts.” He kissed his way down to an aching nipple.

She couldn’t suppress the urge to arch herself into his mouth.

“And if sight fails me,” he said as he kissed along the valley between her breasts to claim the other one, “my mouth and hands seem to be able to find their way around ye just fine without my eyes to guide them.”

He demonstrated his ability by rucking the chemise up and pulling it over her head before she hardly knew that was his aim. Then he settled again, and his warmth and hard maleness chased away her chills. His lips found hers for a long, deep kiss.

“Oh, Rob,” she said when she finally came up for air, “ye make it so hard to think.”

“Good, I dinna want ye to think.” He smoothed her hair back, kissing her temples, her cheeks, her closed eyes.

“But—”

He covered her lips with a finger. “I only want ye to feel.”

He trailed his hand down from her mouth, skimming his fingertips over her chin, her throat. He teased her breasts; then he slid off her so he could continue his journey past her ribs to circle her navel in slow strokes.

“And when we’re done feeling?” she asked with a hitch in her voice. It was hard to think past the next time his fingers left her belly to tease the curling hairs at the juncture of her thighs. “Then what?”

“Dinna fret, lass. I have a plan for us.”

He stayed to dally in her damp curls, dividing, lifting, stroking each dewy crevice. Her breath shuddered.

“Trust me,” he said softly. “’Twill be all right, ye’ll see.”

“What…?” She tilted herself into his hand’s exploration. Sparks of pleasure licked her. “What d’ye wish me to do?”

“Beg,” he whispered. “I wish ye to beg, love.”