Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (22 page)

Freya turned and grabbed his head, drawing him forward to meet her mouth. She claimed him in that kiss. Seconds later Ronan lifted her and placed her legs around his waist to carry her back to lay her on the furs.

He fell with her to the pallet and covered her with his solid mass of heated flesh. Their fingers tangled as they both fought to remove his tunic. Once over his head, he tossed it aside and spread her legs wide. Ronan gazed hard into her eyes and lifted her hands above her head, securing them there with one of his.

In one swift movement, he plunged into her and took her mouth at the same time. The ferocity of their joining was like none other. This was their first time as husband and wife and Ronan appeared to be making a point. He possessed her, never letting her forget he was the only one to ever make her body soar to extreme heights of passion.

He stroked her deep and fast, pushing her body up the pallet as he pummelled her. Freya had lost the ability to think. Sensation after sensation raced through her veins as he brought her to the edge of climax, peering over, but not quite able to dive off.

“You are mine, Freya. Never forget it. Mine.”

His words were her final undoing. She tumbled into climax and her body squeezed around his pulsing erection. Ronan slammed into her twice more before he tensed above her, his hot breath panting on her neck. As his seed spilled into her body, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh at the base of her neck and thrust into her again. The combination of a gentle bite and his still hard member inside her set off another climax that left her boneless and unable to form conscious thought.

Ronan collapsed on top of her, scooping his arms underneath her as he stayed joined with her and kissed her lips while the final quivers of their lovemaking subsided. Now she was thoroughly and truly his.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sitting at the head of the table in the great hall, Ronan watched the MacIntosh pace while he, Fergus, and the MacKenzie sipped their ale. The Fergussons were long gone and he had Freya and his mother and sister comfortably situated in their new chambers. He had expected more protest from Freya about their sleeping arrangements, but was pleasantly surprised when she did not. Their chamber was the large one beside the old laird’s chamber his uncle had held until this morning.

Though the chamber had been scrubbed clean, there was no way he could ever occupy it, or expect anyone else to, so he and his wife now occupied the former lady’s chamber. He shifted in his seat as he thought about her writhing beneath him just a few short hours ago. They had not spoken one word after and he thought it best to give her time to accept what had passed between them. She was his now and forever, and nothing would ever keep her from him again.

The sun had set, casting a yellow-orange hue in the great hall, and all hands were prepared for a great feast to celebrate their victory. Fergus had foiled the merriment by telling MacIntosh about the king’s intent. Ronan watched the man scrub his hand down over his face as he stopped to gaze into the fire, his arm resting above the hearth.

There was little doubt MacIntosh was in a predicament. It was his loyalty to the king that had earned him the Earl’s title to Moray two years ago. Now only a select few of his closest allies like Fergus still called him MacIntosh. To everyone else, he was Moray, a formidable and strategic nobleman who had distinct influence over the king.

“You did not think to share this upon my arrival?”

“No,” Ronan said. “We had more immediate problems that needed tending.”

MacIntosh turned. “You are certain, King James comes here to demand your allegiance and assume your authority?”

“Aye. Our titles will be in name only. It can never work,” Ronan said. “Surely, you realize the only way to keep any sense of peace up here is for the chiefs to hold fast to the power they have always held. Your king’s handling of Alexander proves his inability to effectively claim our authority.”

“Guard your words, Sutherland,” MacIntosh said.

His warning was valid, but Ronan would not sit back and hand over the power he required to protect his clansmen. A king ruling from hundreds of miles away was useless to him and all the other chiefs up here.

“When is MacDonald expected?” MacIntosh asked.

“Any time now, if he decides not to kill my son,” MacKenzie said.

“He will come,” Ronan said. “He will take any opportunity to oppose the king and free his father.

“Aye, that he will,” Angus MacDonald said from the entranceway. “And he wonders what this traitor is doing in this company,” he said pointing to MacIntosh. “I should slice you through where you stand.”

Fergus was on his feet in seconds and standing in front of MacIntosh. “You’ll have to come through me first, lad. And I do not think you want to take me on.”

MacIntosh sidestepped Fergus and moved to stand before MacDonald. Closer to Fergus’s height, the flaxen haired, green-eyed hulk stared down into his eyes, he jaw set and his expression hard and unforgiving.

“If you wish to address me, MacDonald, you may do so directly and not through someone else. Your father’s schemes caused many innocent people to die and others falsely persecuted. He deserves to rot where he is.”

A heartbeat later, Fergus’s hand was on Angus’s throat and a blade clattered to the floor. Ronan rose to his feet and strode over to intervene before they all killed one another.

“Enough squabbling,” he said. “Fergus, release MacDonald. MacIntosh, not another word. MacDonald, go sit at the far end of the table until this is resolved. We have a situation before us that will not end well unless we come together as one and agree on a solution.”

Fergus and Angus merely grunted at one another while MacIntosh sauntered back to the hearth and crossed his arms over his chest.

“The king will be here in a couple of days, and when he arrives, he will be hell bent on claiming our authority in the same manner he meant to four years ago at Inverness. Fergus, you were one of those imprisoned then. You know full well how unbending the man is. If we do not resolve this ourselves, he will do it for us. And we will have nothing left to fight over,” He added, hoping the gravity in his voice got his point across.

“MacIntosh, I know you have your reasons for supporting this king, but up here, he has no way to effectively rule. You must see that.”

MacIntosh nodded. “Aye, I do see that. But there have been too many underhanded schemes set to usurp him for anything we say to hold water anymore. He has set his mind to claiming your authority and I do not know what it will take to change it.”

MacDonald slammed his hand on the table. “The time for peaceful negotiations has passed. We must strike out at him and strike hard if we are to keep one inch of what is rightfully ours.”

“You wish to go to war against the king? Those are treasonous words, MacDonald,” MacIntosh said.

“Yer a lawless bastard, MacDonald,” MacKenzie said. “And you will not listen to anyone—just like your father. We might have resolved this years ago if he had not attacked my lands and blamed MacKay here. You don’t deserve the authority you claim.”

When MacDonald toppled his chair and moved toward Kenneth MacKenzie, Rorie stepped in and raised his blade to his throat.

“You will not touch one hair on my father’s head. ’Tis begging forgiveness for the crimes your father committed against our clan you should be spewing from that mouth of yours instead of your hateful words.”

Ronan had had enough. Nothing would be resolved with MacDonald present. While he agreed with him in principle, he did not in the execution. If MacDonald wanted to attack the king then he would do it alone. The rest of them would work toward a resolution that would hopefully satisfy all parties.

“MacDonald, do you wish to ally with us to negotiate with the king or not?” Ronan asked.

“I do not. My father has held favour with the Sutherlands for as long as I can remember and I will honour that. As for the rest of you, if you do not stand up to the Stewart’s tyranny, I care not what happens to the lot of you.”

With that he turned on his heel and strode for the door. No one stopped him.

“He will not be satisfied until he or the king is in his grave. There is no bending him and so no point in us wasting our time convincing him,” MacIntosh said.

“How did you convince him to come with you?” Ronan asked Rorie.

“Simple. I did not tell him about the king, only that there was a feast in honour of your reclaiming your seat and that you wished to ensure your alliance which he would do by his presence.”

Smart lad. “You’ve a good head on you, MacKenzie,” Fergus said. “But what do we do now?”

“The king loves a good tourney does he not?” Ronan asked MacIntosh.

“Aye, that he does. The man will use any excuse to hold one.”

“I wonder if we may use that to our advantage.”

“That would depend on how much faith he has in his guards,” Fergus said.

Exactly. “And if we can convince him to wager on that faith, we may be able to turn the tables and gain some ground with him.”

“You intend to trick him?” MacIntosh asked, frowning.

Ronan grinned. “Not so much trick as exploit. You and I both know his guard cannot stand up to our warriors. But he doesn’t know that. MacIntosh, you know very well he cannot take all our authority. We would never survive it. You said you were with us in this endeavour. I am holding you to your word. Do you tell me now you will not stand with us?”

For a long time, MacIntosh stared at him. It was obvious the man waged an internal war.

“Aye, I stand with you,” he said after an age.

Ronan clasped his arm and slapped his shoulder. “I am very glad to hear it.”

“Enough of this tonight,” MacKenzie said. “I cannot think with an empty belly and an empty goblet.”

He was right. The day had begun early and much had occurred. Tonight was meant to be a feast to celebrate their first victory. With any luck the plan would be fleshed out on the morrow, once their bellies were full and their heads rested.

“You speak true, MacKenzie. Tonight, we feast. My men will see to your comfort. I wish to see my wife before we begin.”

“How does she fare?” Fergus asked, leaving the great hall together.

“Her fever has broken and she is in no danger. She is weak from everything that she has been through, but she will endure.”

“She always does,” he said. “And how are things between you?”

“She has not forgiven me for using her to get information out of my uncle. I do not know if I have forgiven myself for that. Perhaps I am as bad as my father and uncle after all.”

Fergus stopped and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You are nothing like them. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

Fergus’s statement took Ronan by surprise. He really did not know anymore. He had betrayed the one person who should have been able to rely on him above all others, and at the moment, he did not know up from down.

“Ronan, you are a good man. I have known the evil that was your father for as long as I can remember. You are not, and can never be, that man. You made a decision and you were fortunate enough that it worked out. Freya feels betrayed and that is understandable. In time, she will come to accept the limitations of your options, given the circumstances.”

“If only I could believe you, Fergus. The truth is, I have not considered whether or not I had other options. I acted without thinking it through, with my only thought to destroy my uncle and leaving all other considerations out of it. That one act makes me a selfish bastard. We both know my family is full of them.”

“You are far too hard on yourself. I have seen the goodness in you and I am certain Freya does as well.”

Ronan nodded and walked away from him. He had Freya’s hand in marriage, but without her forgiveness and trust, it was meaningless.

* * *

Sitting near the fire with a maid pulling a brush through her hair was like a long lost luxury. It seemed like an age since she had left Tongue with Alexander Sutherland, not knowing from one moment to the next what sort of peril she would face. But face it she did. Though she came through it physically unscathed, her heart was another matter.

Whether or not she and Ronan ever resolved their differences, she was now his wife. Lady Sutherland. Part of her wanted to leap for joy that they had finally managed to find their way over all the obstacles life had thrown at them since their first powerful meeting two years before. She rubbed the ache in her belly as she often did when she thought of the early days when she had fallen hard and fast for him.

He was younger, wilder, and she was just as reckless in her pursuit of his affections. The years of leadership had changed him into someone she barely recognized. But did that mean she could not still love him? This new Ronan, who had to make decisions and sacrifices for the greater good, even if it meant her? And what about children. God willing, she would bless him with bairns before too long. Would he sacrifice them too?

She had to know. The only way she could ever move forward with him was to find out exactly how far he was willing to go to protect her and their future family. She would never stand by and be his pawn. Ever.

The maid had finished her hair and helped her into her gown just as Ronan entered their chamber. Dark circles under his eyes and his overall tense demeanour told her he had endured much in these past weeks.

There was much they needed to work through, but she could put it aside for the time it took for them to resolve the issues with the king. She would not add to his burden by griping with him at every turn.

“How did it go?”

Ronan shook his head and closed the door behind the maid after she left. “Not well. MacDonald was completely unreasonable and has since left. We are all battle weary and have put off further discussions until the morrow. We feast this night to celebrate our victory over my uncle, and—” He stopped as he took a step toward her.

Freya’s pulse picked up with the anticipation of him drawing near.

“And?” She was well aware of the other required celebration and did not actually mind the wariness in his expression. Did he seek her approval before adding their marriage to the festivities?

Ronan stepped closer and reached his hand out to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. “By God, you are enchanting.”

Heat flooded her face as he continued staring while caressing her.

“You were saying why we feast,” she reminded him in a quiet voice.

He blinked several times and cupped her face in both hands as he moved directly in front of her.

“Freya,” he whispered. “I cannot think when I am near you.”

The air rushed out of her body at his words. The world seemed to turn on its end when they were near each other.

He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “You are so beautiful, my Freya. My love. You steal my wits.”

His mouth closed over hers and her wits fled too. For long moments, they savoured one another as though the world outside was not in turmoil and they had not a care.