Highland Warrior (13 page)

Making no effort to hide her body, Fiona began to dry herself. Bending over, twisting her body about, and rubbing herself with the cloth, she hoped she was enticing Ewan. If his increasingly heavy breathing was any indication, she was succeeding despite her ignorance of the art of seduction. It amazed her a little that she was so wantonly displaying herself, but decided that a fortnight of enjoying Ewan’s passion had made her far less concerned about her scars than she had been in the beginning.

“Fiona,” Ewan said, vainly trying to clear the huskiness from his voice, “what are ye doing?”

“Drying myself,” she replied, looking him over and pleased to see that he wore only his breeches, obviously having returned to their bedchamber to retrieve some clean clothes after washing away the dust of his morning’s labor. “Taunting ye.” She reached out to lightly stroke his erection. “Tis working, I think.”

“Tis the middle of the day.”

After glancing at the sun shining through the small window, Fiona smiled at him as she unlaced his breeches. “How perspicacious of ye, husband.”

“Ladies dinnae care for a romp in the middle of the day.”

Since he made no move to stop her, despite his words, Fiona tugged his breeches down. “Now, our Gilly ne’er told me that particular rule.” She knelt before him and finished removing his short boots and breeches. “In truth, I do believe she and Connor were ne’er so constrained.”

Ewan stared down at Fiona kneeling at his feet. It was a sight that rent what little control he had regained after feeling her shatter beneath his touch. He trembled as she kissed the insides of his thighs while she stroked his hips with her hands. The way her soft hair brushed against him made the blood pound in his veins. When she placed her warm, soft lips against his aching manhood, he cried out in startled delight and a touch of shock.

“What are ye doing?” he demanded, thinking it a particularly stupid question even as he asked it, yet unable to believe that his delicate wife was planning to do something he had heard of but never dared ask for.

“I would have thought that was obvious.”

“If ’tis what I am thinking of—but nay, ye couldnae ken about that.”

“Our Gilly told me a great many things about what can occur between a mon and a woman.”

Since she interspersed her words with kisses and slow strokes of her tongue, Ewan had to struggle fiercely to keep enough of his wits clear to continue the conversation. “She told ye about such intimacies?”

“Aye. Her cousins told her many things and she said the knowledge made it much easier to go from maid to wife. Dinnae ye like it?” She decided the hoarse groan that escaped him as she licked him was as good as an
aye
, then she kissed the scar that ran so dangerously close to his manhood. “I am so verra glad ye were rescued ere your enemies could carry out their threat.”

“Ye cannae be any happier about it than I am.”

“Mayhap we can agree to be equally pleased. I have certainly appreciated the stout lad, and mayhap ’tis time I gave him a wee reward for being so verra kind to me.”

Ewan opened his mouth to tell her she was the one who deserved a reward for gifting him with her passion. The words he began to speak turned into a strange mixture of a gasp and a groan when she took him into the warmth of her mouth. He shuddered and threaded his fingers through her hair, blindly holding her in place even though she showed no inclination to retreat.

Despite all his efforts, despite all his years of practice in keeping a firm control of himself, Ewan knew he could not savor this delight for long. He watched her pleasure him until he feared his trembling legs would no longer hold him up. Briefly, he considered allowing himself the full measure of this ecstasy, then decided he dared not test her so. She might have knowledge, but she had no experience save what he had given her, and that could make her reluctant to gift him with this joy again.

Cursing softly, he grasped her beneath her arms, picked her up, and nearly ran to the bed. He dropped her on top of it, savoring her husky laugh as he threw himself on top of her. Ewan slipped a shaking hand between her legs and nearly prayed aloud in thanks when he found her ready for him. The fact that she had been aroused by loving him touched him in ways he dared not examine too closely. He kissed her even as he buried himself deep within her, determined to cling to the frayed threads of his control long enough to give her pleasure. To his relief and astonishment, it took very little time to fulfill that promise. The moment he felt Fiona’s slim body tighten around his, he gave himself over to his own need, his release and joyous cry blending perfectly with hers.

Fiona clung to Ewan when he collapsed in her arms. Her whole body still trembled from the strength of her release. It pleased her that his did as well. How could he not see how perfectly they were matched, she wondered as she combed her fingers through his hair. Even if, in his man’s mind, he did not connect passion with love, he had to recognize that what they shared was unique. It might simply require more time, she mused, but she was growing impatient and she was afraid that impatience might cause her to do things that would push him away instead of pulling him closer.

Ewan raised himself up on his forearms and brushed a kiss over her mouth. He felt overwhelmed, uncertain of what to do or say. Despite having softened, he enjoyed the feeling of being inside her for a moment longer, then eased away, rolling onto his side. When he saw the blush upon Fiona’s cheeks and the way she cautiously eyed him, he
began to relax. She was as uncertain as he was.

“Does your brother ken what sort of things his wife was teaching ye?” he asked, breathing an inner sigh of relief when, after a brief hesitation, she smiled at him.

“She told me a great many things,” Fiona replied, “and if Connor kenned it, he did naught about it. Do ye object to your wife kenning a wee bit about such matters?”

“If I object, ye will cease, and I am nay such a fool as all that.” He kissed her again and got out of bed. “Mayhap I need to be taught a few lessons,” he said, winking at her as he began to dress. “I think I may have a few ill-informed ideas of what a lady wife should be and do.”

“Ye couldnae have any stranger ideas than my brother did.” Fiona slid out of bed and hurried to don her shift, suddenly a little too aware of her nudity. “He was fed lies all his life by our traitorous uncle, a mon who plotted the death of our whole family, who kept the feuds alive to do his killing for him, and who e’en tried to kill our Gilly.” Seeing the curiosity on Ewan’s face, she told him all about her uncle’s treachery as she continued to get dressed. “It took our Gilly’s arrival at Deilcladach to expose our uncle’s vicious perfidy.”

Ewan was so shocked by her tale, he silently tugged on his boots, and went to hold her in his arms. The thought of what her uncle had done, how he might have succeeded in his aim to see all his brother’s family dead and buried if not for the stubborn courage of her brother, chilled him. He knew that the tale troubled him so deeply because, for a brief moment, he had considered what his life would be without her. Ewan was glad he had never plagued her with his suspicions about her. After what she had suffered, he suspected his doubts about her would have deeply insulted her.

“He is dead now,” he said, responding to the touch of fear he had heard in her voice as she had told her story.

“Aye, murdered by my brother’s whore.” She tried not to see his impulsive embrace as any more than it was, a comfort offered for the hurt and fear roused by old memories.

“Your brother kept his whore close at hand after he was married?”

The shock on Ewan’s face pleased her. She might be slow in discovering much about the man and his feelings, but she could count upon his faithfulness as she tried to puzzle him out.

“Aye and nay. She abided close by, but ne’er in his bed again. She was hanged once Gilly proved Connor didnae kill our uncle, that whore did.”

“Such support from a wife is a good thing,” Ewan said as he took her by the hand and started to lead her out of their bedchamber. “Tis her duty, but ’tis far sweeter when given freely. That stands true of all else, too.”

And that, Fiona decided as he towed her down to the great hall, was probably the only compliment she was likely to get. When he ended those words with a light squeeze of her hand, which made her heart pinch with pleasure, she inwardly shook her head. It was going to be difficult to lead her husband down the path she wanted him to go if she could be so easily pleased. Unfortunately, she could no more tame her heart than she could her desire for him. Her goal to win his heart was obviously going to require a great deal more planning to reach.

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm?” Fiona had to smile, for Mab looked at the moss by the tree as if it carried the secret of the Holy Grail. “Only a hmmm? And is it a hmmm of disapproval or one of questioning whether we need moss at all?”

Mab put her hands on her well-rounded hips and gave Fiona a falsely stern look. “Tis a hmmm that asks if I want this moss which looks badly trod upon and has a great many ants.”

“The ants would certainly cause me to hesitate.”

“Ye are in a verra lighthearted mood today,” Mab said as she moved toward another clump of moss. “I must assume that all goes weel with your husband. Ah, good. Nary a single ant.”

“Weel enough,” Fiona replied as she knelt to help Mab collect some of the moss.

“After three weeks all ye can say is weel enough? Tis what ye wanted, isnae it?”

Fiona sighed, feeling her good humor wane a little. About the only change Fiona had seen in the week since Ewan had so delightfully interrupted her bath was that he had appeared once or twice during the day and made love to her. While it was true that he no longer remained almost completely unseen all day long, this was not the change she had been hoping for. It did mean there were a few more minutes of conversation between them, if only as they put their clothes back on, but she was the one revealing things about herself, not him.

“Tis what I wanted,” she replied. “Tis
still
what I want. The trouble is, ’tisnae yet
all
I want.”

“Ah.” Mab nodded. “No love words, no whispered confidences. Ye meet in the bedchamber and make love and nay more than that. I assume
that
is fine, aye?”

“Och, aye, verra fine.” Fiona kept her gaze upon the ground, looking for useful plants and hiding her embarrassment over the subject. Only Mab’s practical tone of voice made her willing to even attempt such a discussion. “He does desire me. I have nary a doubt about that now. S’truth, he makes me feel beautiful.”

“Tis no small thing that.” Mab carefully inspected a low-growing plant, then shook her head as she muttered, “Too soon to gather it.” She looked back at Fiona. “Many a wife would be happy with a lusty mon, one who holds fast to his vows and makes her feel beautiful.”

Fiona grimaced even as she took note of the place where another useful plant grew so that she could find it again when it was time to gather it. “I ken it and I feel most selfish and ungrateful when I find myself yearning for more. That doesnae stop me from doing so, however. I love him and I want him to love me,” she frowned, “although there are days when I wonder why.” She smiled when Mab giggled, then she sighed. “I want to be more to him than the woman who warms his bed and gives him daughters.”

Mab stopped, frowned, and looked at Fiona. “MacFingals breed sons.”

“I intend to break with that tradition. Weel, at least once.”

“I see. Weel, it would be verra nice to have a wee lass about, but MacFingals breed sons. Scarglas fair swarms with the laddies. And ye have five brothers. Of course, Fingal did have three daughters.”

“Aye, and my parents bore me. Our Gilly has given Connor a lass, too, and she feels the one she will bear next will be a lass.” Fiona smiled a little when Mab looked
confused. “Gilly can sometimes ken things. Her strongest gift is kenning how people feel, but now and again, ’tis as if she has a vision. She is certain that her next bairn will be a lass. I often wish she was here so that she could meet Ewan. She might be able to tell me why he holds himself away from me in so many ways. Och, weel, there are some people she cannae see into the heart of, such as my brother. I suspicion Ewan would be of his ilk.”

“Ewan does keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. A quiet, restrained mon. A good laird.” Mab turned to the east. “There is a small burn o’er this way. We may find some useful things there.”

“There is a fair crop of thistles growing here,” said Fiona as she followed Mab.

“Good, good. I think Ewan has lost too many people.”

It took Fiona a moment to realize Mab had changed the subject, bringing it back to Ewan and Fiona’s troubles with him. “What do ye mean
lost
?”

“His mother and three other women he was young enough to see as mothers. Fingal’s last wife came when Ewan was too old and too hardened to seek a mother again. He cared for his sisters and they are now gone away. Then there was Helena. I think he reached for her, opened his heart a wee bit, and her betrayal cut him deeply.”

“I am
not
Helena and I shouldnae be made to suffer for her crimes.”

“Nay, ye shouldnae, but I fear ye must. At least for a wee while.”

“Do ye think Ewan expects me to betray him?”

“Nay, I dinnae think so, but mayhap that alone troubles him. Then again, I am nay sure he trusts in the fact that ye are his, his wife, and that ye enjoy sharing his bed. Ewan has ne’er been the first choice of the lasses around Scarglas. That became e’en more true when his face was scarred.”

“Weel, I dinnae understand it. He is strong, weel formed, and that scar doesnae twist his features, simply mars the skin.” Fiona realized she was insulted on Ewan’s behalf and nearly smiled. She was glad he had not known a lot of women, but obviously felt he should have been seen as worthy of their notice. “Tis probably because he isnae verra good at the wooing game.”

“And ye want to be wooed?”

“Nay, I dinnae mind that lack. His words may nay be as sweet as what Gregor can spout, but Ewan has said things that please me. Tis just that I wish to be a true part of his life, to ken his thoughts, his plans, his feelings. He shares his body and his passion with me, but little else. I want him to love me as I love him, yet if he keeps this distance between us, I can ne’er reach his heart, can I?”

“Give it time, lass. Ewan has had nine-and-twenty years to build that wall round his heart, to grow into the mon he is now. Ye cannae expect him to change in but a month. Just keep reminding yourself that ye are the first lass he couldnae keep his hands off of, the first he pulled into his bed. Not e’en Helena could do that. She had to seduce him and it took more for her to do so than to just stand within his reach.”

That reminder cheered Fiona immensely. She was just about to thank Mab for that when they stepped out into a small clearing. A carpet of violets was spread out before them, and the beauty of the sight pushed Ewan from her mind for the moment.

“We could make some lovely soaps,” murmured Fiona.

“And scents,” agreed Mab.

“Our basket isnae big enough and we could do with some help.” Fiona realized
Mab was not listening to her and had grown very tense. “Mab?”

“Someone comes,” Mab whispered and slowly turned to look behind her.

Although she told herself it was foolish to be afraid, Fiona could not completely banish the flicker of alarm she felt. She had heard nothing, and even if someone was coming, it could easily be one of the MacFingals. Just as she turned to look in the direction Mab did, seven horsemen slowly rode out of the concealing shadows of the trees. When Fiona saw the man who rode a little to the fore of the others, her blood chilled so swiftly, she shuddered almost painfully.

“Greetings, my love,” drawled the man, a cold smile curving his sensuous lips.

“Menzies,” Fiona whispered as she struggled to shake free of the tight grip of fear. “When I say so, Mab, ye must run, verra fast, to the right of these swine,” she told her friend in as soft a whisper as she could as she kept her gaze fixed upon the very handsome and very mad Sir Ranald Menzies. “Run. Now.”

Fiona bolted to the left and was pleased to see Mab immediately bolt to the right. Her heart in her throat, Fiona ran as fast as she could, forcing aside all urge to see how Mab fared. She hoped Mab could hold to the same discipline. When she heard Menzies shouting and the sound of pursuit, Fiona tried to reach the cover of the trees. In the wood the men on horseback would be at a disadvantage. One of Menzies’s men moved to block the way, however.

Cursing viciously, Fiona tried to elude the grasp of the men chasing her. She closed her ears to the voice in her head that kept saying it was a fight that was already lost. Suddenly, she saw an opening to the woods and she ran toward it. The curses of her pursuers told her that she actually had a chance of making it.

“Fiona! Ye had best stop! Now!”

Something in the way Menzies bellowed his command, the smug amusement behind his words, caused Fiona to halt. The fact that the men chasing her had already halted struck her as ominous indeed. Even as her mind ordered her to keep running, to complete her bid for freedom, she turned to face Menzies. Her heart sank into her boots when she saw Mab’s squirming shape draped over Menzies’s saddle.

“Let her go, Menzies,” Fiona said. “She is of no use to you.”

“Isnae she?” Menzies grabbed Mab by the hair, stilling her movements, and held a dagger to the side of her bared neck. “I think the cow might serve some purpose.”

“Hurting Mab will bring the wrath of the MacFingals down upon your head. She is verra important to them.”

“Thus they allow her to roam about with only ye as her protector? And an unarmed ye, as weel, by the look of it. Threatening me with the wrath of such as the MacFingals, madmen and women-killers, isnae going to work, either. Do ye think they will use their witch’s lore to bespell me?” Menzies laughed and his men dutifully did the same.

There was no way out of this trap, Fiona realized. Mab was staring at her and making little motions with her hands that told Fiona to flee. If Mab thought she would leave her in that madman’s hands, then the woman was as insane as Menzies was. Fiona knew he would kill Mab just to spite her. Menzies knew he had her, knew she would never trade the woman’s life for her own freedom. The gloating look upon his face made her wish dearly that she could be just so coldhearted.

“Release her, Menzies,” she ordered again in a cold, hard voice, determined to hide her fear of the man.

“Only if ye agree to come to me,” Menzies said.

“I agree,” Fiona replied and ignored Mab’s muttered protest.

Then, to Fiona’s utter horror, Menzies drew his knife across Mab’s throat and tossed her body to the ground. Fiona screamed out a curse and pulled a knife from her sleeve, but one of the men grabbed her before she could bury it in Menzies’s chest. Try as she might, there was no breaking free of the man’s grasp. When he roughly turned her to face him, she watched him draw back his fist. An instant later, he swung that big fist and Fiona suffered a moment of blinding pain, then let the blackness swallow her whole.

An awareness of pain came to Fiona so quickly she gasped and heard someone laugh softly. Her head ached and Fiona slowly trailed that discomfort back to the sharper pain in her jaw. The pain in her arms confused her for a moment, but then she recalled Menzies. Her stomach clenched from the strength of her fear and the remembered sight of Mab’s limp body hitting the ground, blood soaking the front of her gown.

Someone nudged her and she felt her body sway. It was clear that Menzies had hung her up by her wrists again. The brush of soft linen against her thighs told her that, this time, Menzies had at least left her shift on, and she tried to find some comfort in that. Slowly, she opened her eyes and glared at a faintly amused Menzies, hating him and savoring the way that bitter feeling pushed aside her fear.

“Ye will pay for killing Mab, ye bastard,” she said. “I will make ye pay that debt. Blood for blood.”

“With what?” Menzies pointed to where her daggers were set on top of the pile of her clothes.

“My teeth, if I must,” she replied in an icy voice. “There was no need for ye to kill her.”

“She tried to help ye run from me. That cannot be allowed.” He idly brushed some dust from the front of his elegant doublet as he spoke. “Ye are mine and those who try to take what is mine, try to hold it out of my reach, must die.”

He spoke as if Mab’s life was of no more importance to him than the dust he flicked from his clothes. That was almost as frightening as the things he did to her, Fiona thought. Such a callous disregard for the life he had just ended might be acceptable upon the battlefield, but it revealed his insanity when he spoke so of a woman he had just murdered. She had to wonder just how long he would let her live once he had laid claim to her.

The thought of this man touching her made bile sting the back of her throat. That he had tried to rape her several times had caused her trouble enough before she had learned the joy of Ewan’s embrace. She did not want to even consider how she would feel if Menzies succeeded in raping her this time. Or even more terrifying, how Ewan might feel. There was so much Menzies could destroy this time, it made her feel like weeping, but she fought that urge. She refused to show this man any weakness.

She knew from past confrontations that Menzies loved to talk about himself, his skill, his cleverness, his daring. Although she had no idea of how much help it would be, she decided to start him talking. It would buy her some time. It might simply delay the inevitable horror at his hands, but it might also produce a miracle. Someone at Scarglas might have noticed how long she and Mab had been gone and search for them. One of the men in the watchtowers might have seen something despite how far away she and Mab
had been. It was a small hope, but she clung to it, finding strength in it.

“How did ye find me?” she asked.

“It wasnae easy,” replied Menzies, giving her a look of irritation. “Then I heard that ye had disappeared, were lost.”

Was there a spy at Deilcladach? Fiona wondered. Menzies was certainly handsome enough, with his long fair hair and light blue eyes, to seduce some woman into telling him MacEnroy secrets. It was possible enough of a stir had been caused by her disappearance that it was no secret at all, but she had difficulty believing that. Since the trouble with Menzies had begun, Connor had kept the business of Deilcladach a close secret. Fiona could tell by the look upon Menzies’s almost beautiful face that he wanted her to ask him how he had learned she had left the keep. She subdued the stubborn part of her that wished to deny him that little pleasure by reminding herself that she was buying herself some precious time.