Claimed by the Highlander (28 page)

She glared up at him with malice. “You may pretend to be sure of yourself and your wife’s affections, but I see the fear in your eyes.”

“You see nothing.” Anger pulsed through him as he helped her into the saddle.

A moment later they were cantering through the woods toward Kinloch, while Angus strove hard to banish her poisonous premonitions from his mind.

*   *   *

The following morning, when it was time for Raonaid to leave the castle, Lachlan stood just inside the open gate. He was there to ensure she left without incident.

“That dirty MacEwen wife will betray him,” Raonaid said, slinging her basket of bones and potions over her shoulder as she mounted the horse she had been given. “And when she does, you’ll wish you had kept me here.”

Lachlan escorted her across the bridge. “I don’t reckon I’ll ever wish that.”

“You could have had me for yourself, you know, if you were clever. Instead, you turned him against me. I blame
you
for this, Lachlan MacDonald. You’re the one who took him away from me, and it’s your fault I am being sent away. I know what you said about me. You called me a lunatic.”

He led her off the bridge and tapped the rear flank of the horse, sending her galloping across the meadow. “Safe journey, now, and try not to ride off any steep cliffs.”

She reined in her mount and watched him enter the bailey. He gave the final signal for the gate to be closed.

“He’ll soon be dead!” she shouted. “And when that happens, it will be all your doing! I will curse you for this! I will hunt you down and make you regret the day you set foot on my island!” She wheeled the horse around and galloped toward the forest.

Lachlan watched her until the gates closed in front of him.

“I’m not sorry to see that one go,” the young sentry said, as he barred the doors shut. “She was fetching, no doubt about it. I’ve never seen such a chest on a woman, but there was something wicked about her. The lass gave me chills.”

“Can’t say I disagree with you,” Lachlan casually replied. “I haven’t slept a wink since she arrived. But she’s gone now, and that’s all that matters.”

He turned and headed back toward the hall, his expression laden with concern.

Chapter Twenty-four

That night, Angus knocked gently on Gwendolen’s door and entered. A warm fire was blazing in the hearth, and the bedclothes were tousled and strewn, as if she had just awakened from a nap. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“You are mourning the death of your brother,” he said.

“Aye.” She moved to the table by the fire and offered him some grapes. He reached out and tore off a bunch, then strolled about the room eating them, while she poured him a goblet of wine and held it out.

He accepted the glass, swirled it around, and raised it to his lips. It was a superb wine—full-bodied with a spicy mix of flavors. He tasted cinnamon and cherry. “This is very good. You’re not having any?”

She blew her nose into a handkerchief and shook her head. “I’m drinking ginger tea now. Mother said wine makes the morning sickness worse. Besides, that bottle is for you, especially.”

He looked down at it again. “Why?”

“Because it was your father’s. According to one of his servants, he said it was the best wine he ever tasted, and I thought this was a special occasion. We haven’t yet celebrated the fact that I am with child.”

Angus was pleased to commemorate such a happy event, even though he hated that he knew nothing of this wine his father had cherished. He believed his heart would always ache for the rift that had existed between them, for it would never be closed.

Gwendolen strolled to the window and looked out at the sunset. “When my father took Kinloch from yours,” she said, “he kept that bottle for a long time as a trophy. He intended to drink it when Murdoch returned, but in light of recent events…” She paused, then faced him. “You should have it and enjoy it. Kinloch is yours. There is no longer anyone who would dare to dispute your rule here. And now the trophy is our first child together.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, so he approached and wiped it away. “It’s never an easy thing to bury a brother,” he said.

“Perhaps that’s the worst part,” she replied. “I didn’t get to bury him. I never even had the opportunity to say good-bye.”

Angus held her face in his hands. “I understand your grief. I lost my father in much the same way.” He gave her a moment, then laid a hand on her shoulder. “No one can ever replace Murdoch or your father,” he whispered, “but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you and our future children. I’ll be a good husband. I promise. You won’t ever be alone.”

Splashes of coral light from the horizon illuminated her face in the window. “All I want to do now is live here in peace,” she said. “I want to put all this death and conflict behind us. Raonaid is gone, and I am glad. And though I grieve for my brother’s death, I still feel joy in my heart, for I cling to the hope that we will be happy together. There is much to look forward to.” She laid a hand on her belly. “I am going to give birth to your child.”

Angus could barely think through the shifting fog of his emotions.
God,
but she was exquisite, and she was
his.
Never in his life had he felt such desire and affection for another human being. He would do anything for her. He would walk through the fires of hell. He would sacrifice everything he owned, everything that he was.

He was not sorry for expelling Raonaid from Kinloch. It was the right thing to do.

“To your brother and your father,” he said, raising the goblet of wine and taking a deep, hearty swig. “Both brave and worthy Scotsmen.”

After setting the goblet down, he softly touched his lips to hers. She curled into his embrace and clung to him with sweet, overflowing fondness.

“Come to bed,” she pleaded. “Make love to me. I want to feel you inside of me.”

He drew back slightly. “Are you sure, lass? You lost your brother today. If you would prefer that I just lie with you and hold you…”

He would do anything.

She shook her head and proceeded to remove his weapons. “No, I want to make love. I want to feel alive and grateful for all the wonderful gifts that are still mine.” She pulled his pistol out of his belt and set it on the window seat, then slowly unbuckled his sword belt and laid the heavy weaponry there as well. Next, she slid his tartan off his shoulder, unraveled his kilt and tossed it aside. He pulled his shirt off over his head.

As he stood naked before her in the golden twilight, his heart pounded in his ears and his body quickened with a desire that was both tender and demanding. All he wanted to do was ease her woes, assure her that she was loved and adored, and that as long as he lived, he would stand between her and harm’s way. He would make her happy somehow. He would comfort her and satisfy her.

Yes. She was loved.

He loved her.

He inhaled sharply at the realization as she stepped forward into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, unable to get close enough. All he wanted to do was hold her like this forever. And when forever drew to a close, because of her, heaven might just be possible.

She led him to the bed and removed all her clothes while he stood and watched, assisting her when assistance was required. Together, they slid beneath the covers.

Her nipples hardened instantly under his touch, and she moaned softly as he took her breast into his mouth and pleasured her with careful, hungry caresses. She wrapped her legs around his hips and writhed beneath him, and their bodies moved together in perfect sensual accord.

When at last he entered her, his steely defenses began to slip away, and nothing could have kept him from opening his heart to her. He made love to her with agonizing, soul-drenching passion, and welcomed the flood of emotion that came when he climaxed. And when Gwendolen clutched his shoulders and cried out with a rush of orgasmic rapture, he couldn’t fight it any longer, nor did he wish to. There was nothing to be gained from resisting what he felt. He had not truly lived until now. Finally, he knew what love was, and now that he’d found it, he was never going to let it go.

*   *   *

Onora backed out of the Great Hall and crooked her finger at Lachlan. “Come hither,” she purred, as she watched him set down his tankard of ale and follow with tantalizing amusement. “I don’t feel like dancing,” she said. “I want to go for a walk, and I’m craving one of those raspberry tarts from the kitchen.”

“How remarkable,” he said with a smile. “I am craving the same thing. You do realize it is a MacDonald who is in charge of the kitchen, and not a MacEwen?”

“And what is your point, sir?”

“My point is that you must bow to our superiority in all things connected to pastry.”

Onora chuckled and scampered down the dimly lit passageway. “Fine. I will get down on my knees if it will please you, and I will be forever indebted to you for accompanying me.”

“Why?”

She twirled around to face him. “Because I hate the castle corridors at night. Everyone knows it. I am afraid of the dark.”

“You could always take a candle.”

She playfully poked him in the ribs. “I’ll have none of that insolence from you, sir. Not when I want something delicious in my mouth. Listen…” She halted and put a hand to her ear. “Those tarts are calling my name, and I think they are calling yours, too.”

Lachlan laughed, and her cheeks flushed with excitement. He was the most beautiful man she had ever known, and a flash of wild grief ripped through her.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll come with you, but then you must promise to release me. I’m weary from all this dancing and singing, and I have many responsibilities. I need my rest.”

She ran ahead, scampering down the corridor like a child. “Aye, I understand. I promise I will let you sleep when we are done. Now hurry up. My belly is aching with desire.”

“I’m right behind you.” His words were cut short, however, as he was struck in the back of the head by a wooden club. He crumpled to the floor, and Onora stopped short. All joy left her.

She whirled around to witness the second blow, then rushed closer and held up a hand. “No! You promised to let him live!”

Slevyn MacEwen lowered the club to his side and wiped a thick forearm over his shaved head. He was a large man—as big as an ox—and just as dim-witted. His two front teeth had been missing all his life, which was the result of a childhood scuffle, and a jagged scar stretched from his left ear to the corner of his mouth.
That
he had done to himself while shaving his head; he had used the blade to point up at a cloud that looked like a boat. He had pointed the blade too quickly.

“I don’t know what difference it makes now, Mrs. MacEwen,” he said densely. “He won’t like you much after this.”

“I just don’t want him to die.”

Slevyn shrugged, then gazed down at Lachlan, unconscious in the flickering torchlight. He tilted his big heavy head to the side.

“He is quite fetchin’, ain’t he?”

Onora grimaced up at him. “You are not fit to even
look
at him.” Then she covered her nose with a hand. “And you stink! Where have you been, Slevyn?”

“I crawled up the sewer to get past the sentries.” He chortled, then bent down and lifted Lachlan up off the floor. He tossed him over his shoulder like a pliable sack of wheat. “Let’s go, Mrs. MacEwen, before someone else comes along and I have to club them, too.”

Onora followed him to the staircase. “You are a revolting beast.”

“Aye, but it’s served me well. It’s why your son keeps me so close. Come along now. Slevyn is hungry. I heard you talking about raspberry tarts. Were you lying about that?”

“Nay,” she replied. “I was being quite truthful. About that, at least.”

She followed him down the stairs and laid a hand over the sickening knot of regret in her belly.

*   *   *

Gwendolen woke to a light knock at her door, sat up and laid a hand on her stomach. So much for the benefits of ginger tea. The morning sickness had already begun, and the sun was not even visible on the horizon.

She glanced at Angus asleep on his side. She didn’t want to be sick, but wasn’t sure how much choice she would have in the matter. She leaned over the side of the bed to see if the chamber pot was handy …

The knock sounded again, and she heard her mother’s voice. “Gwendolen, are you there? Are you awake?”

Groaning with queasiness, she rose from bed, pulled on her shift, and answered the door. “What do you want, Mother? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know that, and I am sorry to disturb you.” Onora rose up on her toes to peer over Gwendolen’s shoulder. “Is Angus with you? Is he asleep?”

“Aye,” she replied. “What is it?”

Nervously, Onora glanced up and down the corridor. “Something has happened,” she whispered. “It concerns Murdoch. There is news of him.”

“What sort of news?” Gwendolen asked.

Onora hesitated, then squared her shoulders and spoke directly. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but he is alive. Your husband lied to us.”