Desiring the Highlander (30 page)

A second later, Cole’s body peaked and went into hard tight convulsions. His arms clenched around her, and with one final deep fierce thrust, he gasped, “Oh, God, Elle…” He clung to her with his face buried deep into her hair as he filled her with the gift of life.

For several minutes, he held her, unwilling to let go as his body slowly calmed from the miracle they had shared. He had taken her, possessed her, claimed her, as he had never done with any woman before. He had let go of every bit of control, and in return he had made her his own. She was now a part of his heart and soul.

Long minutes passed, and Ellenor felt Cole’s heavy weight ease as he rolled to his side, pulling her close to his frame.

She didn’t think it possible to love him more, but she did.

Toying with the crisp dark hair on his chest, she sighed with complete contentment and said impishly, “I am assuming your answer is yes then.”

Cole cocked a brow and stared at the star-filled sky. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn’t imagine denying her anything at that moment. “To what I am agreeing to, I have no idea, but aye is my answer to whatever desire you have.”

Ellenor gave his shoulder a playful swat and balanced her chin on his chest. She looked at him, and when his eyes locked with hers, she caught her breath. A liquid fire still burned in the blue depths, matching the deeply sensual expression etched along his mouth. She traced the deep scar along his jaw and felt the growing tension within him. He appeared relaxed, but with a few small encouragements, she guessed he would be more than willing to join with her again. First, though, she needed to make sure just what role she was going to play in his future. “My asking you to marry me.”

Cole’s eyes widened with the memory. Her question had been a shock, but also a balm to his bleeding soul. He had reacted, not answered. Besides, he had wanted to ask
her
, not the other way around. “I think it was I who asked you.”

Ellenor propped herself on her elbow and shook her head. “No, I asked you, Scot, and I would like to know your answer.”

Moving to sit up, Cole pulled her across his lap so that she straddled him. “Now how would it appear for our clansmen to learn that it was their lady and not their laird who prompted our marriage?”

“It depends. To the women, you would appear quite clever, being wise enough to solicit and then accept such a request.”

“But the men?”

“Well, you Highlanders are a proud lot,” Ellenor started, “but I would think even the men would praise your ability to make an Englishwoman ask for your hand and not the other way around.”

Unable to squash the temptation, Cole bent his head and placed several feather kisses along the line of her jaw. “Aye, those answers would work,” he whispered against her skin, “but what if someone discovers that I
had
intended to ask you, but I waited too long, causing you to propose first?”

Ellenor tipped her head back to give him better access and moaned, encouraging Cole to continue. He nibbled at her earlobe and she lost the ability to think. “Umm, that would be a problem,” she muttered.

Cole’s mouth lifted. He cupped her cheek and then slanted his lips across hers. She immediately responded, opening her mouth to him, welcoming the hot glide of his tongue against hers. The passion building between them would quickly be unstoppable, and Cole knew it was too soon to take her again. He had never intended to ride her so hard, and in doing so, it would be days before she would be ready for any more lovemaking.

He lifted his head and grinned at her. The gleam in his eyes was full of tenderness and love, but a touch of humor was mixed in there too. “Then we agree. I asked you to marry me. And I am still waiting for my answer.”

Ellenor’s jaw opened slightly and then closed again. The man was impossible. And the sight of his dimples were making it difficult to counter his preposterous suggestion. Deciding to treat him in the same torturous way, she pushed him back down onto the blanket and covered his body with hers, recapturing his lips in a wild kiss that held nothing back. Cole instinctively returned the embrace, thrusting his tongue into her warm mouth with an almost violent need. Rolling her over to her back, he crushed her body to him. Ellenor responded and began to rhythmically flex and arch her hips into his growing shaft.

Cole broke free and pulled her into a spoon position against his frame. She was already quivering with need. He kissed her hair. “We will be married as soon as I return,” he whispered, sounding hoarse.

Ellenor tensed. “Return? Why not tomorrow? I don’t—”

“My men and I are leaving in the morning, as soon as the sun rises.”

Ellenor felt her heart begin to thump wildly. He was leaving her. He was going to Fàire Creachann without her. “I can come with you. We can marry when Father Lanaghly has time to visit—”

“No.” Cole’s voice left no room for argument. “When I take you to our home, it will be as my wife, not as an Englishwoman and not from handfasting.”

Ellenor froze. He still had not let go of who she was. “Then tomorrow. Why can we not marry in the morning and then leave for Fàire Creachann?”

“I must take care of things before your arrival. Until I do, you won’t be safe. Here, with Laurel and Conor, my mind can be at ease.”

Ellenor didn’t respond, but she didn’t argue either.

Cole stroked her hair and contemplated telling her the full truth of their situation. Knowing she would discover it herself soon enough, he decided to forewarn and prepare her for what lay ahead. “Beyond the men I bring, I command no loyalty. I was chosen as laird because of my army. I have been given a year to gain my clansmen’s trust.”

Ellenor flipped to her side and stared quietly at his chest. Lifting her gaze, she said, “Then I guess you have a few decisions to make, beginning with if you are going to accept the offer.”

The shock of her statement hit him full force. He had never really considered the option of declining the lairdship. Oh, he had the chance, but truth was, he wanted to be chieftain and not to just anyone, but to those Highlanders. They were a proud group of clansmen who had wandered too long without a leader to guide them. He wanted to build these clans back into the force they once were and he knew he could do it.

Ellenor traced one dark eyebrow down to his cheekbone and finally his mouth. “I’m guessing that not only have you accepted, but you would again even knowing all the problems that must be handled by doing so.”

His eyes caught and held hers. “Aye, I have.”

“Then your next decision is an easier one.”

“Which is?”

“What to do about Dugan Lonnagan.”

Again, surprise registered on his face. “That I have already decided.”

“Do you think he might resist the decision? Maybe even try to fight you?”

A small smile touched his lips before fading. “Eventually, aye. And it will cost him his life. Dugan is no leader, but he is a good man and a seasoned soldier. Scotland should not lose such men.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Cole took a deep breath and exhaled. “Make him my commander. He cannot refuse without looking foolish, and his honor will force him to be loyal, at least at first.”

Ellenor nodded, understanding his logic. “And you hope that, in time, it will not be his honor, but his allegiance that keeps him by your side.”

“Aye, but until I know you will be safe amongst our combined forces, you are to remain here, helping Laurel and preparing for our wedding.”

“And how long do you think that might be?”

“One month, perhaps two.”

The undefined timeframe was disconcerting, but Ellenor knew there was no other way. Throughout their marriage, there would be many things in which she could beg and plead and get her way, but knowing which decisions were not negotiable would save them both many hurtful exchanges. “Then I will wait and hope that your new commander quickly realizes just how lucky he is to be serving under you. Until then, remind me once more of what our life will be like once we are married.”

Cole almost denied her appeal, believing it would cause her too much pain. But the expression on her face brokered no excuses, and he knew then that he wouldn’t be able to deny her. His body was already responding to the passion smoldering in her eyes.

He reached for her and she gladly surrendered to his claiming. The urgency and demand for physical release would soon be too much. Until then, Cole intended to take his time with his lovemaking, crafting a slow sensual dance. He wanted to taste and touch every inch of her body, savor every sensation, and remember every moment of the next few hours.

A month was a very long time.

Cole surveyed the mass of crumbled rocks. They were strewn haphazardly around the base of the corner tower that would someday house his room, as well as Ellenor’s and eventually their children’s. The majority of stones, erecting the keep and surrounding structures, were still in place and secure, but they lacked the wooden beams and slats that fit into the notches and crevices for floors and ceilings. Until they were in place, Cole could not invite the clan, let alone Ellenor, here to live.

He had known progress might be slow. Restoration was hard work, but at the rate the men were progressing, the day he would be able to marry Ellenor and bring her to Fàire Creachann with peace of mind was far into the future. And that was unacceptable.

From the moment he had left her side, a pervasive loneliness had filled him. Until Ellenor, he had chosen a solitary life, and therefore hadn’t expected such a deep feeling of loss. He had left a piece of himself behind, and it would be weeks before they could be reunited.

Cole pointed to a young lad who was moving the stones from one pile to another across the yard. The purpose eluded him. “You, what’s your name?”

The skinny boy came to a dead stop, holding one broken and apparently very heavy stone in his hands. His eyes grew large and he gulped before answering. “Tyrus, laird.”

“How old are you Tyrus?”

“Nine summers last month.”

Cole pointed to the rock the boy was struggling to hold but refused to drop. “Who instructed you to move these rocks and why is no one helping you?”

“I, uh, the commander told me to do it and that I shouldn’t ask questions.”

Cole felt his jaw clench and gestured for the boy to drop the heavy burden. A resounding thump was heard moments later. “Did Dugan explain why the rocks were to be moved away from where they are needed?”

Tyrus looked confused. “Commander Dugan didn’t instruct me to move the stones. It was the other one. The one with no hair.”

“Leith?”

Tyrus nodded. “He told all of us that we were to refer to him as commander and do what we were told. That if we didn’t, he would see that our families were barred from the keep and your protection.”

“I see,” Cole replied.

Dugan’s longtime friend and right-hand man had either slowed progress or impeded it since the day Cole had publicly accepted the title of laird. Leith was power-hungry and spineless, a dangerous combination. He had been hiding behind Dugan’s name in his efforts to disrupt improvements, and Cole had yet to determine if Dugan was an active player or an innocent dupe. Either way, Cole was beginning to wonder if his decision had been a wise one.

Three weeks ago, a small group of pseudonomadic leaders swore their allegiance and that of their people to a single clan under Cole’s leadership. Dugan and his longtime ally had surprisingly done the same.

Immediately afterward, Cole took the four commanders of his now combined army—Donald and Jaime, and Dugan and Leith—and assigned new responsibilities. Donald would oversee three dozen elite soldiers, half from Dugan’s men and half from his own army, each handpicked by Cole. These men were to protect him and what he held most dear. Dugan would oversee everything else with Jaime and Leith as his seconds. Cole would determine the clan’s needs and it would be Dugan’s responsibility to see that they were addressed.

Dugan had been shocked by Cole’s decision, knowing it was both a great honor as well as a test of ability and trust, but he had readily accepted it.

At first, he heavily leaned upon his old friend and longtime confidant, Leith, believing Jaime’s real assignment was to be a mole for Cole. Within the first week, though, the effects of Leith’s abrasive personality could no longer be ignored and Dugan put aside his distrust and enlisted Jaime’s help with managing the majority of the newly combined army. That sparked in Cole the first glimmer of hope.

In Dugan’s position, he had several choices to make. Through those choices, Cole was going to decide if his commander’s oath of allegiance was sincere or a method of reprisal. And after three weeks, Cole was no closer to deciphering the truth. Each time Dugan made a decision for the good of the clan and his laird, he would follow it with another—usually through Leith—that would indicate his position was one of slow, methodical revenge.

Cole looked down at the young lad still staring wide-eyed at him with a mixture of fear and awe in his expression. He was skin and bones like so many of the families for whom he was now responsible. Digging into his sporran, Cole pulled out some chunks of dried beef and tossed them to the boy. Tyrus caught them readily, but before he could speak, Cole issued an order. “I want you to go to the training grounds. Do you know where they are?”

“Aye, laird.”

“Good. Find Dugan and tell him that I want to see him immediately. Can you do that? And that beef is yours to eat along the way. But be quick.”

Tyrus didn’t need to be told twice and ran toward the path that led to the mainland outside the walls and cliffs of Fàire Creachann.

Almost two hours later, Dugan rode into the yard with Leith right behind him. They dismounted and Dugan did a double take when he saw Cole. Correctly interpreting his laird’s unwavering stare, Dugan whispered something to Leith. The bald man nodded, issued a blank look to Cole, and then grabbed the reins to both horses before heading to the stone enclosure designated as a makeshift stable. Only stalls and a roof were missing.

Dugan reached Cole’s side and said, “Young Tyrus said you wanted to see me.”

“Aye,” Cole replied and swung his arm open, gesturing for Dugan to walk through the keep’s archway. Both men marched up the stairs to the second level and entered one of the few rooms in Fàire Creachann with a floor, a roof, and windows.

Cole moved to the decanter of ale and filled two mugs. He handed one drink over to Dugan, who accepted it. “What’s on your mind, laird?” Dugan tried again, following Cole’s example and easing into a chair.

Cole downed a few swallows and leaned back, carefully considering his next few words. “This room is the only place in Fàire Creachann that a man can get away from the cold.”

Dugan’s eyes narrowed in question. “There is also the Lower Hall.”

“Aye,” Cole agreed, “but the windows have yet to be mounted and the draft is monstrous when a storm blows off the sea.”

“I told Leith to get shudders attached. I’ll find out why it hasn’t been done.”

Cole took a deep breath and swirled the remaining contents in the cup. “Do you remember when I first arrived at Fàire Creachann and you and I walked the whole of what was to be our home, our protection?”

“Aye.”

“And do you remember what you said?”

“There was much work to be done, too much, perhaps.”

“And then you made me a promise, Dugan, a promise which you have yet to fulfill.”

Dugan’s fist tightened around his mug and his jaw became rock hard. Cole’s words had the effect of a strong kick to the groin. His instinct was to retaliate by driving a fist into his laird’s jaw. The only reason he didn’t was—although painful to admit—the man was right. He had not kept his promise. The keep, the towers—hell, not a single building had been restored and made usable in the past few weeks. And blaming others—more specifically Leith—would not be an acceptable excuse.

Cole watched Dugan wrestle with his emotions. It was possible he was acting, just as it was possible he was truly angry over the situation. “After three weeks, rebuilding has not taken place and repairs, even little ones like the shudders you mentioned, are nonexistent. And now I am to decide why. You never believed Fàire Creachann the best place for this clan. So are you trying to sabotage my efforts to erect a stronghold here? Or are you oblivious to the nonexistent progress being made? Either way, I am left with an unpleasant decision. Remove you from my army and risk the fallout from the clan, or publicly dishonor your work, making it impossible for my men, and future recruits, to respect you.”

Dugan took a deep breath and counted several seconds, flexing and relaxing both fists. “Leith was—”

Cole leaned forward and cut him off. “Leith is not the problem. You are.”

Dugan narrowed his gaze and stared Cole straight in the eye for the first time since the discussion started. “But I assigned
him
the responsibility of resurrecting this place,” he said coolly, angry that he, and not Leith, was being admonished.

“And
you
are responsible for the actions of your men. That includes Jaime and the soldiers in training
and
Leith.”

Dugan looked away and stood up abruptly. He walked over to the windowsill and looked down. Leith was near the stables laughing with two other men. He was relaxed and resembled the man Dugan remembered. Leith had fought alongside him in numerous battles, rejecting assured death. They had been best friends for years, sharing dreams and hoping for a better life. But in the month since the council chose Cole, they had not laughed together. Their friendship had not been able to create a bridge between their vast differences of opinion. Instead, Leith sought new relationships and all with one thing in common—those were opposed to Cole being laird.

Dugan knew his friend was not happy, and not knowing what to do, he did nothing. He had allowed Leith to fester and ignored the malcontent he was brewing among the clansmen.

“Pride can be an evil thing, laird,” Dugan began, his eyes still directed to the scene below. “And in my desire to save mine, I failed to see how others around me interpreted my actions. It was not my intent to ignore my promise. I swore to you Fàire Creachann would be habitable and thriving again, and it will be.” He turned toward Cole and looked him directly in eye. “This time I will personally see to it.”

Cole gave a slight nod and placed his mug beside Dugan’s. “Come, let us see just what has been done and discuss where to start next.”

Dugan nodded and followed Cole down the staircase and back out into the yard. They began their trek around the castle, but throughout the walk, multiple clansmen came up to Cole with a wide range of questions. Some dealt with minor issues or work needs; others were less simple, requiring resolutions to conflicts or determining which clansman’s needs took precedence over another’s. Each question, Cole answered quickly and decisively. Some replies gained him gratitude, but many others garnered scowls and grumbles. But Dugan noticed one thing in common across all the clansmen who walked away: they respected Cole. They might not have welcomed his decision, but Dugan could see that they all believed their laird to be fair, impartial, and dependable.

For the past three weeks, Dugan had truly believed he had been doing Cole a favor by accepting the position as commander in his ranks. Dugan had assumed that his presence alone would mollify the clansmen and bring a sense of unity. He had been a fool.

On a battlefield with a sword in his hand was where he felt comfortable, maybe even invincible, but these past few weeks had proven to Dugan that, without question, he had not been ready to lead anyone, especially a wary people who needed clear and decisive leadership. He would have been their friend, and consequently, far from impartial and, therefore, far from consistent. These people did not need friends. They needed someone who could plan ahead, predict needs, and proactively address them. In time, Dugan knew he would learn such skills, but only if Cole kept him as his commander.

Dugan made one final vow. This time to himself. He would earn Cole’s trust and never again give the man a reason to doubt his integrity. To do so, he knew his loyalty had to shift from that of Leith and his friends to that of his new laird. Dugan hoped they, too, would learn to appreciate Cole and his wisdom and become loyal clansmen. Regardless, Dugan would no longer protect Leith and his antics. Either he stopped, or he would be forced to leave.

“Put that baby down!” Brighid scolded, running over to Ellenor and taking the infant out of her arms. She cooed at the six-week-old babe, whose enormous silver eyes were still on the shiny strands of dark gold hair locked in her fist. “No, no, no, Bonny, your mother has spent a significant amount of time getting your soon-to-be aunt’s hair just so.” After finally prying the child’s fingers loose from Ellenor’s hair, Brighid quickly gave her over to her mother before full-blown wailing ensued at the loss of her new toy. She then issued Ellenor another stern stare. “See?
That’s
why I told you not to pick her up. Once you do, only her mother can console her.”

Laurel bounced her daughter gently, and immediately the babe quieted to her normal placid state. “I don’t know what I am going to do with both you
and
Brighid leaving. The twins are growing and getting into mischief all the time and now with Bonny…”

Brighid nodded with some sadness and picked up a simple tiara. Situating it on Ellenor’s head, she said, “I will miss the children very much. Donald doesn’t want to start a family until he is assured the new clan is established, and it was comforting looking after yours every once in a while.”

Laurel scoffed. “There are plenty of young girls in the village who would leap at the chance of looking after the children. It is
I
who will miss you. Two of my four best friends gone! With Hagatha refusing to visit more than once every couple of weeks, poor Aileen will be the only one around with whom I can vent my frustrations.”

Aileen waved her hand dismissively and adjusted Ellenor’s bridal gown on Laurel’s bed so that she could finish with the final stitches. “Don’t let her make you two feel guilty. Laurel knows how much I enjoy hearing the trials and happenings around this place.” Aileen bit off the end of the thread and studied the fixed hem. “There, I don’t think anyone will ever know the twins played tug of war using your gown as a rope. We’re lucky they were pulling down along the lower hem and not along the sleeve, interfering with Brighid’s beautiful work. You really outdid yourself this time.”

Ellenor attempted to turn around and look, but Brighid pulled her head firmly back in place and continued to fiddle with the headpiece, fastening small flowers along the edge. “I was inspired. There,” she exhaled with satisfaction and picked up the polished silver dish, handing it to Ellenor.