Highland Warrior (9 page)

“If I guess right, and ye hint at seduction, I am nay sure that is wise,” Fiona said finally.

“Why? Ye want him and he wants ye. Ye just need to make him see that the world willnae end simply because he gives in to that want.”

“Fine. So, he beds me. Then what? He would be appalled by his weakness and run away again, farther and faster. Or he could feel he must wed me because he stole my innocence. Or others could force him to the altar for the same reason.”

“Isnae kneeling before the altar where ye want him to be?”

“Aye, but I would like him to go there willingly.”

Mab smiled in understanding. “I am nay sure many men go willingly, and those who do are usually thinking of good bloodlines, heirs, and dower lands. Exactly why would ye be kneeling there, lass? Because he makes your blood run hot?”

Fiona blushed. “He does do that, but I ken he is my mate. I kenned it the first time he kissed me. I foolishly thought that I could make him see that.”

“If ye had the time, ye might. Considering how stubborn Ewan can be, that could take a verra long time, however, and I dinnae think ye have that. If ye were wed to him, ye would have a lot of time.”

“But if he is forced to wed me, by his own sense of honor or the demands of others, he willnae be feeling verra kindly toward me. All the old problems will still be there, but a few more will certainly be added.”

“True, but ye will be close at hand to try to sort them out.” Mab held up her hand when Fiona started to speak. “I ken what worries ye, but ye must think hard on this. What we speak of here isnae a good way to get a husband, but what other choices do ye have? Ye have a few days to weigh the matter in your mind and heart ere ye decide. But keep
this in mind. His birthday is in but ten days and he will be healed enough by then to go to the village. If he sates himself on some whore, ye might weel find that he gains a renewed strength to resist ye.”

The very thought of Ewan in another woman’s arms, even a whore he cared nothing for, was almost too painful to endure. There was also the flicker of anger at the thought that he would flee what they could share, yet pay some woman for a soulless rutting. The mere thought of it was enough to make her consider Mab’s plan. How much worse could it be? It would hurt to know he was an unwilling groom, but at least he would not be giving some other woman what she herself craved.

Fiona looked out the window and all thought of seduction, forced marriage, and consequences fled her mind. “Jesu, Mab, there must be nearly two dozen men out there now.”

Mab peered out the window. “Some of the younger men have joined the dance. That often happens. The lads have a few tankards of ale and think that nonsense looks like fun. It does improve the view, however.” Mab laughed along with Fiona, then gasped. “Oh, dear, the women are coming.”

“Are they going to—” Fiona squeaked in surprise when a large, calloused hand was placed over her eyes.

“Ye ladies should be ashamed of yourselves,” scolded Gregor, biting back a grin over the way Mab and Fiona blushed. “Come away from there.”

“I think ye are calling the wrong people to account,” mumbled Fiona as Gregor tugged her away from the window.

“There is naught I can do about those fools. I can but stand amazed that none of them get the lung fever. Simon sent me to find ye, Fiona. He was wondering if ye would play a game of chess with him ere ye sought your bed for the night.”

For a brief moment, Fiona hesitated. She was not really in the mood for a game of chess. Simon was still new to the game and that meant there was more teaching than challenge. Then, she inwardly sighed. Simon was undoubtedly bored beyond bearing. Her sympathy stirred, she nodded and left to go to Simon.

“She seemed in better spirits,” Gregor said as soon as Fiona was gone. “Did she say aught about Ewan?”

“Now why would the lass talk to me about the laird?” Mab kept her back to Gregor as she sorted through the gowns she had chosen for Fiona, trying to ignore Gregor and decide which gown to sew first.

“Dinnae play that game, Mab.”

“What game do ye mean, lad?”

Gregor laughed at her supremely innocent expression, then grew serious. “My idiot of a brother was unkind to her, Mab. When she left him, she was upset. Women like to talk to other women when they are upset. Since ye are the only woman at Scarglas she spends much time with, I thought she might have spoken to ye about it.”

“Aye, she spoke to me, but ’tis none of your business what she said. What was said was personal, confidences she entrusted me with. Ye must ask her your questions.”

Seeing how nervous Mab was, Gregor wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “I have but one question: Does Fiona-of-the-ten-knives want our dour, monkish Ewan?”

“Ah, weel, I dinnae think I will be breaking any confidences in answering that.
Aye, she does, but she isnae certain he wants her.” She peered up at him a little warily. “I tried to explain how matters stand at Scarglas, to make her see why the laird is the mon he is. I think she does understand some of it for she spoke of her brother Connor.” Seeing the keen interest in Gregor’s handsome face, Mab told him all Fiona had said about her brother. “Tis my opinion that she has dealt with a mon much akin to our laird, that she would understand him verra weel.”

“Aye,” agreed Gregor. “Tis
my
opinion that she would make a verra fine lady of Scarglas, and so say my brothers. The problem is how do we bring it about when Ewan is so determined to toss aside this gift?” He grinned when Mab blushed. “Aha! Is a plot already afoot then? Can ye nay share it with me? I may be able to help.”

“A plan has been made, but Fiona hasnae agreed to it yet,” Mab confessed, realizing that she had found a strong ally in Gregor. “All I can say is that, on the day our laird is to have his stitches removed, I might need some help in becoming, er, lost.”

Gregor laughed. “So be it. I can promise ye, Mab, that on that day ye will be as elusive as a wisp of smoke.”

“Ye dinnae think the laird will be angry about being ensnared, do ye?”

“A wee bit, but trust me, we will be giving him exactly what he wants. It may just take him a wee while to recognize his own good fortune.”

Fiona stared up at the ceiling over her bed. She was tired, but could not sleep. Her mind was too busy, her thoughts tangled and refusing to be quieted. Everything Mab had told her kept repeating itself in her mind, demanding she study each fact closely and that she come to some understanding of it all. She could almost wish she had not spoken to Mab, had stayed locked in her pain thinking all was lost. It had been far less confusing.

A decision needed to be made and it was obvious she would get no rest until she made it. The part of her that was certain Ewan was her mate was eager to follow Mab’s plan. The prideful part of her, however, shied away from the thought of entrapping a man, using her innocence to get him to marry her. She wanted Ewan to want to marry her, to ask her to be his wife. She wanted him to love her, to know that they belonged together.

She cursed and forced her eyes shut. Ewan was determined to keep her at a distance. He had set his mind on finding out who she was, ransoming her, and sending her home. He was not going to give her any chance to woo him, to make him see that they could be so very good together. If she wanted him, she was going to have to be ruthless, to use any means necessary to hold him at her side until she could knock some sense into him.

Realizing she had just made her decision, Fiona felt encroaching sleep begin to weight her down. What she planned held as much promise of pain as it did pleasure. No man liked to be forced or tricked. And any man who had the strength of will to feed his lusts only once a year while surrounded by willing women would undoubtedly prove very stubborn about changing his mind. Her last clear thought on the matter was—
Och, weel, at least I can be sure he will be faithful while we thrash out our problems
.

Ewan knew the alarm he felt was probably clear to see upon his face when Fiona strode into his bedchamber. Despite Gregor and Simon’s claims that they could not find Mab, he had been expecting her. He had obviously made his eagerness to have his stitches removed too clear and they had decided he could not wait until they found Mab.

Fiona smiled sweetly at him as she approached his bed, and he felt his innards clench with desire. Obviously keeping her at a distance, even out of sight, was not enough to cure him of his passion for her, but he should have recognized that sad fact. He had, after all, spent the eight days since he had banished her from his presence thinking about her. Time had not dimmed the memory of how she tasted, the sweet heat of her kiss, or the softness of her skin. He quickly bunched the covers over his groin to hide his erection.

“Where is Mab?” he asked

“No one seems to know,” she replied. “Tis thought she may have wandered off to search for some herbs or plants needed for her healing arts. I am sorry, but ye shall have to deal with me, no matter how distasteful ye find it.”

“I dinnae find ye distasteful,” he muttered, then hastily added, “Tis just that I am accustomed to Mab.”

“Of course.”

She did not have to sound so blatantly disbelieving, he thought crossly. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his resistance to her care. After all, he had known Mab for years and she was a very motherly sort of woman. There was also the simple fact that no man would like to be seen in such a weak state by a young, beautiful woman.

He tensed when she bared his leg. The light brush of her fingers against his skin as she removed his bandage had him gritting his teeth against the flood of need that gripped him. To his utter dismay, the removal of the stitches did not cause enough pain to dim his rapidly rising passion.

The beast was stirring to life within him. With each light touch of her hand, it snapped another of the chains that he kept upon it. Ewan tried to think of crops, livestock, his ledgers, but nothing worked. He had spent far too many hours thinking about her, about the fierce heat of their embraces. When her thick braid slipped over her shoulder to brush against his thigh, he trembled. Ewan watched himself reach for it and knew that, this time, he was not going to be able to rein himself in.

Fiona removed the last stitch and tried to concentrate on studying the scar left behind, but failed. She had to clench her hand into a tight fist to stop herself from stroking Ewan’s long, well-shaped leg. Smoothly muscular and lightly dusted with black hair, the leg looked beautiful to her. Fiona inwardly shook her head, amazed and a little amused by how besotted she was.

Then again, stroking his thigh might be a way to seduce him, she mused. Mab had made it very clear that, if Ewan was determined to be a gentleman, seduction would be necessary. A slight nudge in the right direction, Mab had called it. Praying she was not about to embarrass herself, Fiona put her hand on the top of his strong thigh.

A swift inhale from Ewan caught her attention. She was just turning her head to look at him when he grasped hold of her braid. Fiona did not resist when he used her braid to tug her closer. She shivered beneath the look he gave her, his eyes darkened with desire. If he could look at her like that yet still send her away after one kiss, Fiona felt it
would prove that her quest was utterly hopeless.

“I told ye that ’twould be best if Mab tended to me,” Ewan said.

“Mab isnae here,” Fiona said, “and I cannae see what difference it makes if ’tis Mab who removes your stitches or me.”

“Nay? If ’twas Mab here, I wouldnae feel compelled to do this.”

A soft gasp escaped her when he caught her up beneath her arms and pulled her on top of him. It was such a swift, abrupt motion that the slightly large shoes she wore fell from her feet. She placed her hands against his broad, smooth chest to steady herself and he growled softly. Then, he kissed her.

His kiss was fiercer, more demanding, than the others he had given her. Fiona hoped that meant he had finally lost his iron grip upon his passion. There was such need, such hunger, in his kiss that Fiona found it increasingly difficult not to succumb blindly to her own soaring desire. She struggled to keep a few of her wits intact, for she wanted to be alert enough to sense when he might begin to regain some control over himself. Although she was not sure what she could do to stop him if he started to withdraw from her again, she wanted to maintain enough presence of mind to give it her best try.

She smoothed her hand over his chest and felt him echo the shiver that went through her. The feel of warm skin, taut muscle, and even the light feathering of hair in the center of his chest made her heart race. Her hands itched to touch all of him, to find every ridge, every hollow. Fiona soon became irritated by their position despite the fever his kisses were infecting her with. The way he had his arms wrapped around her, holding her on top of him, made it difficult to satisfy her need to touch him.

As if in answer to her prayers, he turned so that they were lying on their sides facing each other. She took swift advantage, slipping her arms around him to stroke his back. A whispery moan escaped her when he began to kiss her throat. What few wits she had clung to were rapidly melting away beneath the heat of the desire he was stirring inside of her.

“Ye should run, Fiona-of-the-ten-knives,” Ewan said even as he unlaced her gown, desperate to see her, to touch and taste her soft skin.

“Why?”

Fiona could feel him tugging at her clothes. A brief unease chilled a little of the heat in her blood, for she feared how he would react when he saw her scars. She ruthlessly buried that fear, shifting to make it easier for him to remove her clothes. If the sight of her scars repelled him, it was best if she knew now. It would mean he was not the man she thought him to be, that she had given her heart to an illusion.

Staring down at Fiona, who was now wearing only a thin chemise that revealed far more than it concealed, Ewan fought hard to cling to a few fragile strands of control. “Because ye have unleashed the beast.”

“Och, weel, that sounds intriguing.”

He opened his mouth to try to explain himself better, but she stroked his hip with one of her soft, pretty hands and all he could produce was a low groan. It was too late for her to save herself. Although she did not seem particularly inclined to do so, he thought as he unlaced her shift with badly trembling fingers. Her apparent willingness was making it impossible for him to think straight. He pulled off the thin linen garment, tossed it aside, and looked at her. One look was all it took for him to know that nothing short of death would stop him now. Just once he was going to take what he wanted, what
he needed, and damn the consequences.

The tension that had entered her body as Ewan looked at her fled swiftly beneath the heat of his gaze. “Is the beast still unleashed?” she asked in an unsteady whisper.

“Och, aye. Unleashed and on a rampage.”

She was not sure what he meant, and a heartbeat later, she did not care. He placed his big, long-fingered hands over her breasts and the heat that flared to life inside her was so intense she was surprised she could not see the glow of it beneath his hands. Certain that he would not be pushing her aside again, Fiona released the last threads of her control and let passion rule.

Ewan followed each caress of his hands with kisses and slow strokes of his tongue. Fiona found herself on her back. There was the soft sound of something tearing as he yanked the covers away, freeing his body from their hold. She got only a brief glimpse of his body. He was a very big man and Fiona decided it was probably for the best that she did not get a really good look at him just now. Then he took the aching tip of her breast into the heat of his mouth and she lost the ability to think at all.

Ewan was trying desperately to hold on to some small scrap of control, but it was impossible. The soft cries she made, the way her lithe body moved beneath his, pushed him blindly onward. His love-making grew fierce, nearly frantic, but she seemed to be equally enflamed. It was not until he thrust himself inside her, crashing through her maiden’s gate and hearing her cry out, that he regained a brief glimmer of sanity. He was just struggling for the appropriate words and the breath to say them when she wrapped her strong, slender legs around him. The way she arched her slim hips pushed him deeper inside her tight heat and he was lost. He was aware of nothing but his body’s screaming need.

Fiona stared up at the ceiling above Ewan’s bed. She idly stroked his broad back as he lay weak and breathing raggedly in her arms. The feel of their bodies united, the knowledge that she had given him pleasure, gave her pleasure. Yet right beside that warmth, that tingling delight, was a vague sense of dissatisfaction.

Her eyes widened as she realized what ailed her. Ewan had not made her yell. She could recall Gilly stumbling to explain what one could feel in the arms of the man one loved, the sort of feelings that made Gilly notorious for her bellowing when Connor made love to her. Ewan had not given that to her.

For a moment, Fiona feared there was something wrong with her, then shook aside that concern. She had felt passion, had been wild with it. The need within her had reached almost painful heights. Even the sharp pain of losing her innocence had barely dimmed it. With each thrust of Ewan’s strong body within hers, she had felt herself climbing toward some precipice. Then he had finished, flooding her womb with his seed before collapsing in her arms. And there was the problem, she thought.
He
had finished, but she had not. Ewan had brought her to the gates of paradise, then stepped through and left her behind.

She opened her mouth to inform him of this failing, then quickly closed it again. Instinct told her that any comment, even the smallest hint of criticism, real or imagined, would be a serious error. Whether the knowledge came from things she had heard, or things Ewan had said, she knew that Ewan had very little confidence in his attractiveness to women. A man like her brother Connor would see any hint of criticism as a challenge to be met. Ewan would take it as a hard blow to his confidence.

It did not matter if he made her yell, she told herself as she felt him grow calm in her arms. There was all the dizzying joy of his kisses and caresses to savor. There was pleasure to be found in giving him pleasure. It could also be that, since he satisfied his manly lusts only once a year, he was simply too needy, too hungry, to satisfy her needs just yet. That would pass and then he would give her that bliss Gilly had tried to describe. At the moment, her biggest concern should be stopping him from trying to retreat again. As she felt him tense slightly, she braced herself for a confrontation.

Ewan grimaced as his senses returned. He had lost all control. Worse, he was fairly sure he had left Fiona unsatisfied. He was not sure how to mend that, either, for she drove him wild. The way she warmed to his caresses pushed him past all control and, obviously, all consideration. Since there was no turning back now, he was going to have to find a way to hold that madness back until she found her pleasure.

Sitting up, he picked up a square of linen from the table by the bed and dampened it in the bowl of water there. He ignored her blushes as he gently bathed away all signs of her lost innocence. As he did the same to himself, he frantically searched his mind for the right words to say.

He settled himself on his side, propping his head up on one hand, and smiled faintly when Fiona hastily pulled the sheet over their bodies. It puzzled him that she said nothing about his poor performance as a lover. Helena had always been quick to complain if he failed to give her pleasure. Of course, Helena had not been a virgin. There was a chance that Fiona, being an innocent, had no idea that he had failed her.

“That was ill done of me,” he said and wondered why she frowned at him.

“I dinnae believe ye were the only one doing it,” she snapped. “There is naught to feel guilty about.”

There was, but he would not argue about that now, nor would he risk hurting her feelings by voicing his regrets or fears. “I didnae satisfy ye. I did a poor job of it.”

“Oh, nay. Twas verra fine.”

“Fiona, ye dinnae need to lie. I ken that I didnae satisfy ye, that ye didnae find your release.”

“Ye mean ye didnae make me yell.” Suddenly aware that someone might walk in on them at any moment, Fiona picked her shift up off the floor and tugged it on.

Although his body was already demanding more, Ewan did not stop her from getting dressed. He had briefly considered bringing her to release with his hand, but knew he would not be able to stop there. He would have made love to her again, given in to the craving to feel her tight heat around him once more. It was for the best if she put herself out of reach for now, if only so her body could recover from her first bedding.

“Make ye yell?” he asked as he watched her dress.

“Aye. Our Gilly yells when my brother loves her. Fair shakes the walls. She says ’tis the bliss which makes her sing out. She put thicker doors on their bedchamber.” Fiona smiled when Ewan laughed.

He grasped her hand as she started to move away from the bed. “When we are married, I will make ye yell.” Ewan watched her closely as he spoke.

It was what she wanted, Fiona told herself. It was what she and Mab had planned for. Fiona could not help but feel guilty, however. It was wrong to trick him, to entrap him, no matter how good her reasons for doing so. She had to give him a choice.

“Ye dinnae have to marry me,” she said.

“Aye, I do. I just took your maidenhead.”

“Twas mine to give away as I pleased.”

“Mayhap, but ’twas my duty to resist temptation. I may nay ken exactly who ye are, but I have no doubt that ye are of good blood. Your brother is a laird.” He almost smiled when she grimaced and mouthed a curse as she realized she had given something away. “My honor demands I make this right.”

“I dinnae want an unwilling husband, one brought to the altar for only reasons of honor.”