Sins of the Highlander (6 page)

Elspeth sheltered behind Rob, her insides quaking. The panting sound was unmistakable now.

Then she heard a sharp whistle and a shouted, “Ho, Fingal, dinna range so far ahead, laddie.”

A thin, shaggy deerhound appeared around an outcropping of rock.

The set of Rob’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He lowered his knife and chuckled. The hound loped toward him, teeth bared in a doggie grin.

“Ye know this beast?” Elspeth stiffened as it sniffed her with thoroughness, Fingal’s great head higher than her waist.

“Aye, and he’s meek as a kitten so long as ye pose no threat to his master.” Rob ran a hand over the deerhound’s spine from neck to tail. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Angus, ye great bear! Come claim your dog, or we’ll fit him with a saddle and ride him back to your house.”

“I wouldna, if I were you,” came a gravel-throated reply. “I gave him leave to eat the last fellow who tried it.”

A man as shaggy as his dog rounded the same rocks. His hair and beard were the color of an old bird’s nest, and Elspeth suspected he might be hiding one or two in the tangled mess. As he came nearer, she realized that he topped Rob by half a head, and the MacLaren was a very tall man. His ugly face split in a snaggletoothed smile that might have terrified her if she hadn’t lived through the events of the last few days.

“What are ye doing in the forest instead of waiting for us by your boat?” Rob asked.

“Well, ye’re no’ there yet, are ye, and ye said ye would be,” Angus said. “I thought ye might need some help. Where’s Falin?”

“Halfway home, I expect. We ran into a spot of trouble with a wolf pack.”

“Ach, I thought I heard the demons early this morning.” The big man turned to Elspeth and bowed. “And ye must be the Lady Elspeth. Angus Fletcher, at yer service.”

“Ye know me, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Aye, but only by hearsay, ye ken. Robbie said ye’d be making this trip with us, but he didna mention ye were so comely.” The big man’s hairy ears blushed rosy red. “We’ve no lasses near so pretty as ye hereabouts. I’d be beholdin’ to ye if ye’d call me Angus.”

This giant was the first person she’d met since Rob abducted her. Elspeth decided to take a chance.

“Sir…I mean Angus, ye seem a gentle soul. I dinna know what your friend has told ye, but if ye would truly help a lady, then know that I have been taken against my will by Rob MacLaren,” she said, taking care to hold the gap in her skirt closed as best she could. “A boon I beg ye, please. Return me to the bosom of my family, and I promise ye’ll be rewarded for it.”

Angus glanced at Rob and then back at her.

“Weel, Robbie lad, ye’re no’ a liar. She’s a lady, right enough. Talks a fair treat, aye?”

“Talks a lot, ye mean,” Rob said sourly. “And she’s cast a shoe and needs to be carried. D’ye think ye could manage it, Angus? I’m fair done in just carrying myself.”

Without another word, Angus scooped Elspeth up, not slinging her over his shoulder as Rob had, but cradling her in his beefy arms as if she were a bairn.

“Now wait a moment, Mr. Fletcher—”

“Angus,” he corrected.

“Angus.” There was no point in antagonizing him if she wished to convince him to come to her aid, so she wouldn’t complain of the way he carried her. It was certainly better than the undignified way Rob had, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of meal. “Doing the MacLaren’s bidding is no help to me.”

“Och, I canna go against Rob. I owe him a debt, ye see.”

“My father will see your debt paid if ye help me.”

“I owe Robbie for a life, ye see, and no one can pay that debt but me. I know ye’ve had a miserable time of it, what with the wolves and all,” Angus said, “But I expect ye’ll sing a different tune, my lady, once we get ye back to my house.”

“Oh?” That sounded vaguely threatening. “What’s at your house?”

“Weel, since the pair of ye canna have broken your fast, I expect ye’re right sharp set. I’ll fry up some of the good haggis and see if the hens have left us some eggs.”

Just the thought of a hot breakfast made Elspeth’s mouth water.

“And while I do that, ye can…weel, not that ye need it, mind”—Mr. Fletcher’s cheeks pinked above his beard—“but if ye wish it, I suppose I could heat some water for ye to have a bath.”

At the mention of the word “bath,” Elspeth decided she could forgive Angus Fletcher anything.

Even refusing to help her get away from Rob MacLaren.

***

Rob stripped off his filthy clothes on the loch’s shore and left them in a pile as he walked to the water’s edge. He squatted down and splashed himself all over, sucking a breath over his teeth at the cold.

Normally, he’d have skipped a bath in this weather, but Elspeth was getting clean somewhere inside Angus Fletcher’s cluttered, wattle-and-daub two-story home. He didn’t want to smell like a boar pit beside her.

The sun was moving steadily across the southern sky. He’d hoped to be sailing across the loch by this time, but they’d missed the narrow inland sea’s “tide,” according to Angus. His friend knew more about Loch Eireann than any soul alive, so there was nothing to do but wait till the wind and water were more favorable to their cause.

Rob scooped out a dollop of soap from the stone jar Angus had loaned him and smeared his whole body with it. He even gingerly sudsed up his hair, working out the matted blood and hoping not to reopen the gash left when he knocked himself out in that fall against a log.

The savory smell of richly spiced sausages frying wafted out to him.

He turned around to look at the house. Elspeth was behind one of the vellum-covered windows. Did she wonder where he was? If it had been high summer and the windows left uncovered to let in a breeze, would she have peeked out at him as he stood on the shoal, naked as God made him?

He soaped up his groin. Just the thought that Elspeth might spy on him at his bath made part of him happier than it ought to be, considering the temperature.

A cloud covered the sun, and the air cooled even more.

Rob turned and dashed into the loch, the chilly water snatching his breath as he ducked under the waves to rinse off the tallow soap. Then he splashed back out to the shore and rubbed his body briskly with the cloth Angus had lent him.

He sincerely hoped Elspeth wasn’t looking now. After a November dip in Loch Eireann, no man was at his best.

“Ye half-wit,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled the fresh thigh-length shirt over his head. It was an old one of Fletcher’s, so it was a tad long and worn thin in spots, but at least it was clean. “Ye muckle-headed blatherskite!”

Why should he care whether she looked or no’? She was his prisoner, not his sweetheart.

If he muddled that fact, he was destined for trouble.

He wrapped one of his friend’s plaids around his waist and cinched it with a belt. There was plenty left to sling over his shoulder.

And he still had plenty of rage left for Lachlan Drummond. Unfortunately, it was becoming increasingly hard to connect Elspeth Stewart with her betrothed. She was a bonnie lass with more courage than half the men he knew. She certainly showed her quality when the wolves surrounded them. Most lasses—hell, most men—would have shite themselves.

But if his plan for revenge was ever to work, he had to keep thinking of her as Lachlan Drummond’s bride.

He suspected he wasn’t thinking clearly from lack of sleep. During that brief nap with Elspeth in the cave, Fiona hadn’t come to him. He’d merely sunk into a black oblivion. His dreamless slumber hadn’t rested him one whit.

The sausages called to him again, a greasy, flavor-ripe summons.

He followed his nose back to Fletcher’s house.

Some folk said the Scots race had a miserly streak that ran wide and deep. Angus Fletcher would have argued he was merely thrifty. And because of this, he never threw away anything. His home was crammed to the ceiling with bits and pieces of broken tools, moldering animal hides, and scraps of wood that used to be a chair or an ax handle—things he fully intended to repair someday. A body never knew when something might come in useful.

Rob found his friend squatting by the fire. Plump sausages sizzled in the iron skillet bedded in the low flame. Angus speared them and flipped them over to brown both sides.

“Och, laddie, ye smell almost human again,” Angus said with a laugh.

“I dinna think ye’ve been over concerned about bathing yourself, from the looks of ye.” Rob thought it wise to refrain from mentioning that his friend smelled a bit like damp wool.

“I had me bath just last month, thank ye kindly, and won’t be due for another again till spring.” Angus slanted him a sour look. “Unless I spend a night like the one ye just had.”

Rob chuckled. A lifelong bachelor, Angus Fletcher kept his home in an order only he understood. In contrast, his boat, an echo of an old Viking longboat, was as spotless as any goodwife kept her hearth, but Angus was indifferent on the matter of personal cleanliness.

At least when the weather turned cold.

“Water is powerful wet stuff,” Angus warned. “Best applied in small doses.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Aye, and while we’re jawing about your mind, I’ve got to wonder if there’s aught in it.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“Stealing away a man’s bride.” Fletcher shook his grizzled head. “Ye told me ye’d be bringing along a Stewart lass, but ye didna tell me she’d be comin’ as your prisoner.”

Rob filched a bite of sausage from the skillet and popped it in his mouth. It was near to scalding, but the thin skin burst in a rush of flavor that set his tongue dancing.

“Does that mean ye willna help me?”

“No fear of that, lad. Angus Fletcher honors his debts. But if ye want my help, it might make things easier all around if ye tell me all.”

“Soon, friend.” Rob laid a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “Where is the lass?”

“Upstairs. Tell her the breakfast is ready.”

Rob headed for stairs so steep, going up them was like climbing a ladder. Most folk with such small houses didn’t bother with more than one floor, but Angus always complained his feet got cold if he couldn’t heat the room beneath his bedchamber. The main level of the house boasted a new slate floor. He’d gotten tired of trying to sweep dirt clean, Angus explained. No matter how hard you packed it, there was always more to sweep. But upstairs, he claimed his wood floors always felt warmer under his bare feet.

Rob’s head cleared the ceiling of the main floor, and his eyes adjusted to the dimmer bedchamber. This room was less crowded with things. An oversized string bed, to accommodate his oversized friend, dominated the space. There were a couple trunks and small table that held a ewer and pitcher.

Elspeth was standing with her back to him, next to the table. She poured water from a kettle into the ewer. Steam rose before she added cold water from the pitcher. She dipped a cloth into a basin, unaware that Rob was watching her.

He prayed that happy state would continue.

She was naked as Eve in glory.

Elspeth gathered up her heavy hair, gave it a twist, and pinned it on the top of her head. A few loose tendrils escaped and curled on her neck.

Rob ached to plant a kiss on the tender skin there. With extreme care, he climbed the last few steps, praying none of them creaked. Then he stepped into his friend’s bedchamber, tilting his head to avoid bashing his crown on the sloped ceiling. Cat footed, he moved farther into the room, where the thatch rushed up into a tall peak. He stood in complete silence, willing Elspeth not to turn around.

Not yet.

He longed to trace the indentation of her spine. Her back was smooth and tapered gently to a narrow waist. Then her hips broadened into a sweet bottom shaped like an inverted heart. He longed to run his hands over that glowing skin and palm the globes of her buttocks.

Her legs weren’t long, for she wasn’t a tall woman, but they were shapely, and her muscles were strong beneath taut skin. He noticed a few scrapes and scratches from her scramble up the tree.

He wanted to kiss each of those small hurts to make them better.

Angus had exaggerated when he offered Elspeth a chance to bathe. He didn’t own a hip bath. To him, a basin and kettle qualified. Rob was grateful. He’d never see this much of her if she was half-submerged in a soapy tub.

She lifted one arm gracefully over her head and washed her underarm. Excess water trailed down the side of her body in soapy runnels to the cloth she’d spread on the floor.

Rob didn’t dare draw breath. His cock tented his kilt in unrelieved lust.

Then her arms began working before her, and he realized she was soaping the front of her body from breasts to groin. She spread her legs shoulder width to wash her sex.

She seemed to be taking her time over it.

So
slippery
and
wet
.

Rob suppressed a groan as his cock twitched at the thought of her damp curls. And her fingers sliding through those intimate folds, all sleek and soft and tender.

He wondered if she ever pleasured herself.

Some night, all alone in her bed, did she ruck up her chemise, lick her finger, and find that little spot that sent delight racing through a woman’s veins? Would a virgin merely toy with herself, working herself into unrelieved frenzy because she knew no better? Or would she have learned how to rub herself until the tears came and her insides spasmed?

Oh, to see Elspeth in truth as he envisioned her, thrashing on sweat-damp bedclothes, her back arched and her body shuddering in release.

The imagined moment made him ache till he thought he’d explode.

Then she bent at the waist to run the soapy cloth down her legs, treating him to a sight of those damp curls and her glistening slit.

There was a tight, wet welcome.

Oh, to swive her till he couldn’t see straight. To grasp her hips while her fingers splayed on the floor and plunge himself into her sweet flesh up to the hilt.

Without his conscious volition, a soft curse that was almost an endearment, escaped his lips.

She straightened immediately and turned toward the sound, her eyes wide in the dimness. Then, like a doe surprised by the hunter, she froze.

Her breasts were high and exactly the right size to fill a man’s hands. He’d love to explore the crease beneath each one. Her nipples were drawn tight.

Rob could almost taste them, sweet and responsive between his lips.

His gaze raked down past the little goblet of her navel to the triangle of chestnut curls at the apex of her thighs. Such sweet nether lips.

Then he met her gaze again. Her mouth opened softly, but she didn’t say a word. Her tongue flicked over the bottom lip.

Was there anything that would convince her to flick it over his cock?

Merciful God, it had been nearly two years since he’d felt a woman’s touch, since he’d lost himself in the abundance of feminine softness. Every day of abstinence was now rising to torment his flesh with need.

Lust was no surprise. Present a man who’d not known a woman in a while with the sight of a naked one, and there was no power on earth that could restrain his cock from rising.

But the tenderness in his chest nearly knocked him down. He longed to hold her, to whisper endearments, to kiss away her fears and offer her the protection of his body as well as its need.

“Elspeth,” he said reverently, as if her name were a prayer.

That broke the spell. She covered herself, one arm across her breasts, the other hand protectively splayed between her legs.

He continued to look at her, drinking in her exposed skin, all rosy and fresh. It would be like silk under his touch. His hands would know every inch of her.

She snatched up the remains of the velvet skirt and held it before her, but her neat calves and ankles were still bare to his gaze.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded.

“Long enough.”

If she was waiting for an apology, she’d wait till the Last Trump sounded.

“Rob, the haggis’ll get cold,” Angus Fletcher’s voice sounded beneath them. “Tell her to hurry.”

“The haggis’ll get cold,” he repeated woodenly. Rob was ravenous, but it wasn’t food he wanted.

She swallowed hard, as if she couldn’t find her voice, and clutched the skirt to her body. The uneven hem drew his gaze down to her bare feet and neat pink toes.

Pink.

He frowned.

The pink bit of foolishness along the bottom of the wine velvet was completely gone.

“Part of your skirt is missing.”

It was dim in the upper room of Angus Fletcher’s house, but Rob noticed she visibly paled.

“Aye, ye cut my skirt when I was trying to get away from that wolf,” she said, her voice tight. Then she rushed on, chattering like a magpie. “Do ye no’ remember? The skirt is ruined beyond repair, but I thought mayhap to save the fabric. ’Tis too fine a length of velvet to throw away. Angus gave me a skirt that had belonged to his mother. ’Tis hopelessly old-fashioned, but at least ’tis wearable and—”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said, his suspicions making him shove all thought of how tempting she still looked from his mind. “The silk on the bottom of your skirt isna there anymore.”

She worried her lip and took a step back. “I used it to tend your wound and—”

“Not all of it. Ye used only a small bit for that.” Their tramp over the heath and through the woods might have torn off some of the silk, but not all of it. He closed the distance between them and grasped her shoulders. “What have ye done, wench?”

“Take your hands from me.” She twisted out of his grasp, lifted her chin, and met his gaze with defiance. “What do ye think? I did what I could to let my father know where we’d gone. Tell me ye wouldna do the same if ye were taken against your will.”

“Ye stubborn, willful…” The fact that he’d braved a wolf pack for her meant nothing to this woman. He grabbed her and held her against his chest. She struggled to free herself, but he’d captured her arms. “If I were another sort of man, ye’d pay dearly for this.”

He tried to ignore the softness of her bare back or the way her breasts molded against him. The velvet skirt had slipped during their scuffle, and when he looked down at her, he realized only his shirt separated them.

But he couldn’t let his lust temper his judgment. He’d been so sure no one would guess that he’d gone north instead of south, directly to
Caisteal Dubh
. They’d traveled at her footpace for the first half of the night. Then they’d been delayed by the wolves, and he’d been forced to carry her toward morning.

Once Drummond and Elspeth’s father picked up their trail, they’d be riding as fast as they dared without overrunning another sign. Rob hadn’t put enough miles behind him to keep them from catching up. They might arrive in Angus Fletcher’s cove at any moment.

“Angus!” he bellowed. “We have to go. We’re about to have company.”

“Aye,” his friend called back. “But give me a bit to pack the haggis. They’re too good to leave.”

“Get dressed,” Rob told Elspeth as he released her. He settled himself on the end of Angus’s long string bed.

“But I can’t get dressed while ye watch me!” She pulled the velvet up to cover her breasts once again.

“Obviously, I havena watched ye close enough up to now. ’Tis an error I dinna intend to repeat.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Ye dinna wish to continue our journey naked, do ye?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I suggest ye hurry.”

If she could have shot fire bolts from her eyes, Rob knew he’d be but a pile of smoldering cinders. He smiled at her and almost saw smoke curl out of her ears.

She let the velvet fall to the floor and pulled her chemise over her head. Rob was treated to a quick glimpse of her whole body, quivering with rage. Her nipples flushed a deep rose.

Then, studiously avoiding Rob’s gaze, she wiggled into Fletcher’s mother’s skirt, which was long enough to bunch on the floor at her bare feet. The bodice was designed for a woman with smaller breasts, and it laced in the back. Rob watched her struggle with it for a few moments, enjoying her frustration.

But if they were going to stay ahead of the men who were undoubtedly on their trail, they needed to be gone.

“Turn around, lass.” He crossed the room and took her laces in hand.

She fisted her hands at her waist while he worked the leather strips through the eyes and cinched the bodice tight. A quick glance over her shoulder showed him her breasts pushed up and overflowing the old-fashioned bodice.

“There.” He tied the laces off and whirled her around to face him.

Rob kissed her hard and thoroughly—a seal of ownership. Until he finished his revenge on Drummond, Elspeth Stewart belonged to him. The sooner she realized that fact, the better she’d fare.

He released her mouth and looked down at her. The loathing he saw in her face made him step back a pace.

“Come.” He gripped her wrist and led her to the stairs, indicating she should climb down ahead of him. “And no more tricks. I’d better not catch you losing any bits of your wardrobe again. Or else.”

Fury made her eyes glitter.

That was better. Anger he could take. Her disgust made his chest ache.

“Or else what?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Or I’ll make sure you lose all of it.”