Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (37 page)

A
WEEK LATER
Nicholas was shoveling rubble and ashes from the burned great hall, instead of moving rocks from the fallen curtain wall. Duncan worked alongside him and Uilliam oversaw the workers. It was oddly the same as when he’d first arrived at Dunlairig Castle more than a fortnight ago, and yet so much had changed.

He loaded up the cart and one of the older lads struggled to pull it toward the gate.

Elspet had been buried the afternoon after she died. Archie’s body had been returned to the clearing.

And now Nicholas and Rowan waited to be together, to be married.

Rowan did not want to rush her family into such a change even though it was inevitable. Truth was, Nicholas still did not think himself worthy of leading this clan so he was in no rush either, except that he desperately wished to wed Rowan, and she him. They had found little opportunity since returning to the castle to be alone together. A stolen kiss here and there was all they had shared and he found his patience growing thin.

“Nicholas of Achnamara.”

He turned to find Kenneth striding toward him, and he wondered if now was the time Kenneth would finally seek vengeance upon him for bringing all this trouble down upon Clan MacAlpin.

Kenneth drew near, his face stern. The man was intimidating, even to Nicholas, who had dealt with King Edward.

“Chief,” he said.

“I have been waiting a sennight for you to seek me out.”

“You have?”

“I have. I have been alone with my grief and that is not a good thing.”

Nicholas stared at him, at a loss for what the man was talking about.

“Hmmph.” The man shook his head. “My Elspet would not let me sit and sink into such gloom if she were here. She would not sit idly by while the Guardian’s chosen Protector does not take his rightful place as her husband… and as chief.”

Nicholas opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He opened it again. Nothing.

“Are you a fish?” Kenneth asked.

“Nay, it is only… we wanted to wait until you… until the clan…”

“Until we were over our grief?”

“I doubt you will ever be over it,” Nicholas said.

“Too true, but all the same Elspet would not wish us to postpone such a celebration as Rowan’s marriage to a man who has proved himself her true Protector. You love her, do you not?”

“Aye, sir, I do.”

“And she loves you?”

“It was she who asked me to marry her, so yes, I believe she does love me.”

“Then it would seem there is little left to be settled.”

“Except… I will not marry her if the clan deems me unworthy of her, and of the position I will have as her husband.”

“Do you think they will judge you unworthy?” Kenneth asked, looking about at the busy folk who had been working alongside Nicholas for days clearing the remains of the great hall.

“I do not ken. Do you think I am worthy?”

Kenneth considered him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “I do. Uilliam told me of your part in capturing the spy, and in protecting my niece. She speaks highly of you, and goes on and on about how you help her manage her gift. And you—you light up when you so much as look at her. You are a good man, strong, loyal to our new Guardian. You have put the clan above your own self-interests. I can think of no better description of a Protector, and of a chief.”

Nicholas didn’t know what to say. It was more than he’d ever hoped to hear from anyone, more than he ever thought he could be.

“My kinsmen,” Kenneth bellowed, drawing the attention of the folk working in the bailey. “Rowan has chosen this man as the Guardian’s Protector and all that entails. Is there any reason we should not accept him as such?”

There was silence and head shaking, and then a voice came from behind Kenneth. “I told you they would accept you,” Rowan said, her face alight with happiness. “Do you doubt it now?”

“How can I in the face of so many who do not doubt me?”

“So you will be my husband?”

Nicholas walked to her slowly, took her hands in his, and drew them to his heart. “Will you be my wife?”

Rowan threw herself into his arms and he swung her around and around as laughter and whistles sounded around them. When he stopped, he found Kenneth grinning at them, Jeanette standing by his side.

“How soon may I marry your niece?”

T
WO DAYS LATER
Nicholas carried Rowan into the bedchamber she had destroyed when she first assumed the role of Guardian. Jeanette had overseen its renovation and it was theirs now that they were finally wed. Preparations for the wedding had been hurried. Neither had been willing to wait. The wedding had taken
place that morning. The transfer of the chiefdom from Kenneth to Nicholas had taken place after the midday meal. They had this one night to revel in each other before decisions must be made about how to protect the clan when next Edward sent soldiers after the Targe.

But tonight it was just Rowan and Nicholas and the big bed that stood before them. Nicholas kicked the door closed behind him and let his wife slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. She reached up and kissed him shyly at first, until the hunger took over.

Clothes seemed to shed themselves and before Rowan realized it they were falling onto the soft bed together, hands everywhere. His dark hair fell in waves around the hard planes of his face and she could not stop herself from touching it, touching him.

He turned his lips into her palm, placing a kiss in the center of it, sending tingles through her blood. She closed her eyes and let the sensation play through her body, raising a dangerous need in her. She leaned forward, closing the small space between them, and kissed him. “I want you…”—she laid a kiss at the corner of his mouth—“… to touch me,” she said against the other corner of his mouth, “everywhere,” then moved to kiss him once more, letting her tongue brush against his lips.

He groaned and teased her lips open, pulling her fully against him until her breasts were pressed against his chest and she could feel the length of his arousal pushing against the apex of her thighs, fanning her own heat to a roaring fire within her. She needed to get closer, to feel him everywhere. She hooked her leg over his hip. He groaned, moving his hand to her bottom and pressing her harder against him, drawing a gasp from her as a wave of pleasure swamped her senses. “Do you ken what you are asking of me, lass?” he asked, somehow kissing her and talking at the same time, the words like a buzz against her neck where he nuzzled her.

“Aye, I ken exactly what I am asking of you.” She found his lips, letting her actions speak for her.

Oh, how Nicholas wanted her. She was everything to him: sweetness, challenge, passion. She was unlike any woman he’d
known before. He needed to claim her in that most elemental, most primitive way.

Pushing thought away, he reveled in the sweetness of her lips, the taste of her skin, the scent of heather and fresh air that surrounded her. He pulled her riot of silky curls about them, constantly touching, caressing, exploring.

Tentatively, she ran her hand between them, down his belly until she touched the core of his need. Lightly, she ran her fingers over the length of him.

“I am not fragile, love,” he said. She looked up at him, a small smile playing over her kiss-swollen lips. “Do what you like.” His voice was low, gravelly with his need for her.

She looked down between them as she slid her palm down him, her fingers momentarily brushing his balls, making them draw up. She wrapped her hand around him and he could not help but push himself against her.

“This pleases you,” she said, almost to herself, as she tightened her hold, stroking him as his hips pushed at her again. She chuckled at the groan that escaped him and stroked him again, stronger now, more sure of herself. She explored, transfixing him with her innocent curiosity until he had to stop her.

“I do not wish this to be over too soon,” he whispered, taking her hand from him and rolling her to her back. It was his turn to explore, to learn her body as she was learning his.

Rowan lay back, her body heated, yet the warmth and weight of Nicholas where he lay half over her was welcome. He pinned her hands beside her head and plundered her lips, kissing his way slowly down her neck, lingering over the pulse point at the base of it before he continued his journey down, between her breasts. He released one hand and cupped a breast, running his hand over it, his thumb bringing the nipple to an aching hardness. And then the wet heat of his mouth was there, suckling, pulling, licking, and each sensation echoed in that aching place between her legs. As if he knew that other ache needed soothing, his hand skimmed over her belly and down, cupping her, pressing against her, drawing a moan from deep within her.

She pressed against him as he had pressed into her hand, squirming, not able to ease the ache. Indeed it built so hard and so fast she could not be still. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her other breast, all the while pressing against that white-hot need.

Suddenly, he slipped a finger into the wetness, rubbing her more intimately until he slid it inside her, drawing a gasp from her even as she pressed upward, urging him deeper. He slid the finger out, circling a point of almost excruciating sensitivity before sliding it back in, again and again until her head thrashed and her hips surged and everything shattered within her. And then he was over her, between her legs, and she felt a different pressure where his finger had driven her mad. Instinctively she pushed against it, another long moan rising from her as he pressed into her, then stilled.

“Nicholas.” She opened her eyes and peered up at him. She pressed her hands against his back, urging him inside her.

“I do not want to hurt you,” he said.

She tried to slow her breathing, to quiet the overwhelming sensations he was building in her body, to listen to him.

“I do not want to hurt you,” he said again, his teeth gritted and lines of strain marking his face.

She reached up and pulled him to her, kissing him more gently now. “I ken that there is some pain, but I want you. I want this.” She kissed him again, slowly, deeply and raised her hips to his. He groaned and with one swift stroke, filled her. She arched into him, the kiss forgotten with the swift sharpness of her maidenhead gone. Euphoria swept through her as he settled deep within her.

And then he began to move, to surge. He kissed her hard, and she met him kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, until they both were breathing hard, moans married between them, until every sensation, every sound, every scent gathered into a tight, bright moment and burst forth on a passion-filled cry as he surged one last time, deep within her, going rigid, her name on his lips, at the same moment her world shattered into thousands of blinding shards of light.

Sometime later when she could finally open her eyes she looked about and realized that the room was badly wind blown.

“I suppose I will have to learn to control my gift a bit better.” She laughed and felt him grow hard inside her again.

“I suppose we shall have to work on that together.” He smiled down at her as he slowly began to bring her to her peak again.

“Aye,” she said as a breeze fluttered the bed curtains. “We will have to work on that a lot.”

EPILOGUE

K
ING
E
DWARD HELD
his hand up to halt the procession of soldiers and camp followers as he moved from London toward Carlisle. A rider was bearing down upon them from the north. The captain of his guard sent two men out to meet the rider. They stopped, spoke very briefly, then returned to the king’s procession, riding down the column until they pulled up close enough to speak to the king.

“He has news from Scotland, sire,” one of the soldiers said.

Edward eyed the bedraggled man. “What news?”

The messenger looked askance, then said quietly so his voice did not carry far, “From the two you sent to Oban.”

Edward summoned the man closer and bade those around him to move away, giving them some little privacy.

The tired man took care to convey all that he had seen and heard before he had escaped the trap the witch called Rowan had sprung upon them, felling the cliff with an outstretched hand. He told of the fire, of the stone in the ermine sack that Archie claimed was the prize they sought, and of his railing against Nicholas’s betrayal. He spoke of the battle the man had been lucky to survive.

“I saw it all, your majesty, for I hid in the woods until I was sure there was no hope. The one called Nicholas gave the ginger-haired one—Archibald he called himself—over to the Highlanders as their prisoner. Nicholas supported the witch, calling her ‘love,’ protecting her from Archibald. He gave her the stone and the ermine sack that Archibald said was yours. He was right, my lord, Nicholas has betrayed you. He has taken sides with the Highlanders and their witch.”

Edward let out a vicious roar and backhanded the man so hard he fell from his horse. The king leaped off his own mount and dragged the man to his feet by his tunic. “Can you find your way back to this half-destroyed castle?”

The man nodded rapidly, blood flowing freely from a deep cut on his cheek. “I can, sire.”