Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) (5 page)

Chapter Five

THEY were of the same mind.

At least that was what Macrath thought as he hurried into the great hall in search of his wife and watched her storm out of the kitchens, determination written in every line of her body.

“What’s happened?” he asked, rushing forward.

She shook her head. “Naught that matters.”

“Tell me. Everything matters to me where you are concerned.” He meant every damn word.

Macrath clasped her lightly on the elbow and tugged her toward an alcove that was partially concealed by a curtain. Tucked into the corner, he spun her around, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. She sank against him, a sigh escaping her.

He breathed her in, feeling comforted almost immediately.

“By the gods, this day has been most unpleasant,” she murmured.

Macrath chuckled. “Indeed, though I might have said it differently.”

“How would you say it?” she asked, pressing her lips to his heart.

Macrath closed his eyes for a trice, just enjoying the way she felt in his arms. “I’d have said it was a maggot-infested slop-heap of a day, or ’haps even a pus-filled whore’s sore of a day.”

Ceana laughed. “Och, but that is awful. And foul.”

Macrath laughed and rubbed his nose against hers. “Aye, but did it make you forget your troubles for a little while?”

She nodded. “But there is something else I need, too.” Ceana wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at his nape. Her voice was throaty. “Take me away to paradise, at least for a little while.”

His skin tingled at her touch, and his body tightened. “I could never deny you,” Macrath said. “And, saints, but I want you, too.”

He brushed his lips over hers, feeling the warmth of her skin, her breath. When he was with her, all else disappeared but pleasure and need. He kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth as though it were the first time, and loving it that much more. Ceana was an eager, energetic kisser. She stood on tiptoe to get closer to him. Moaning softly, she shivered against him.

“Never was there a more perfect pair of lips to kiss,” Macrath said, sliding his mouth over her chin to her ear where he teased her earlobe.

“You speak poetically.”

“How else could I speak when holding such a beautiful woman in my arms?”

Ceana caressed his chest, her hands playing with the belt at his waist.

“I need you,” she said. “No more poetic words. Show me with your body how beautiful I am.”

Macrath laced his fingers with hers, prepared to lead her up the stairs to their chamber.

“Nay.” She shook her head.

He furrowed his brow, suddenly concerned. Perhaps their visit to the woods and finding the women had upset her even more than he previously thought. Enough that she couldn’t be intimate with him. “Have you changed your mind?”

But she’d not let go of him. She clung to him. “Nay. There is no one here, take me now and quickly, for soon we will be called outside. I just need to feel you inside me.”

Macrath worked hard to keep his mouth from falling open. “But if someone should walk by—”

Ceana shook her head, her gaze determined and damned convincing. “Shh. The longer you linger, the less time we have.” Her fingers curled around the strap of his belt and tugged.

“If we are to be quick”—he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his hardened length, shuddering at the contact—“then we need not remove my belt.”

Her eyes widened with understanding, and Macrath turned her around. Ceana slapped her hands to the stone wall, her back rising and falling rapidly with her breaths. His hands lingered on hers, sliding amid the space between her fingers, over the backs and down to her wrists.

“Aye, do it. Now,” she said.

His blood pulsed, racing through his veins. They’d made love a few times already, but not like this. They’d been loving explorations. But this—this was animalistic need. This was the two of them needing to be one, and a hurried coupling to remind them of what they had, and who they were.

He tossed her skirts up around her hips, her creamy buttocks soft and exposed. He smoothed his hands over them, sliding one between her thighs to find that she was already wet and ready for him. Macrath groaned.

“You never cease to amaze me, lass. I love you.”

She pressed back against him, eager. “I love you, too, husband.”

Husband. The word would never get old, and he feared he’d never get used to it either.

He tugged up the front of his plaid, taking his solid length in his hand and sliding it between her wet folds until he came to her entrance. Then he surged forward, gripping her hips for anchor.

They both let out harsh breaths, choking on moans in an effort to remain quiet.

Almost as soon as he’d entered her, he was ready to explode. Felt the need for a powerful release to let go of the tension of the day, the emotions that had gripped him since that morning.

He reached around the front of his wife to the apex of her thighs and the swollen bud of her pleasure. Stroking gently and in tiny circles, he coached her body toward the ultimate peak.

Ceana rolled her hips, pushing her buttocks back against him, moaning softly. Her head was turned to the side and he could see that she was biting her lip, enjoying every thrust of his cock and stroke of his fingers. It was too much for him. He was going to finish.

He pounded harder.

“Are you close?” he asked her.

“Aye,” she whimpered. “I’m…right…now…”

That was enough for him. Macrath drove hard inside her, stroked her nub faster and within seconds he felt her tighten and quiver around him. A soft moan, broken off by the bite of her lips. He groaned and let himself go, his release gripping him from the base of his spine and circling around to his cock. His seed burst inside of her, his legs unsteady, hand clutched tight to her hips.

Together, they trembled, neither moving, as their bodies’ quivering slowly subsided.

And then he slipped from inside her, straightened her skirts, his plaid.

“By the gods, lass, that was—” He couldn’t even describe it. His heart still pounded, his breaths were still ragged.

“Much needed, and wonderful,” she said, turning around to face him. Ceana placed a hand on either of his cheeks and tugged him down for a heady kiss.

“Thank you, lass,” he said.

“Why are you thanking me?” A bemused expression covered her face and curled her lips.

Macrath tapped her chin and gave her another swift kiss. “Because I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

She smiled. “I didn’t know until I saw you. Until you had me in your arms.”

“I’m still shocked by the power of our touch.”

“It’s amazing. It cures.”

Footsteps clicked on the floor outside their hideaway. Macrath held his fingers to her lips, not wanting to be caught emerging from the alcove with Ceana’s reddened cheeks. But the people who’d entered the great hall did not pass through, they stopped, and only about a dozen paces away.

“We cannot have this, Beatrice. ’Twill not be tolerated by the king.” The voice was male, and judging by the way he spoke to the formidable councilwoman, he had to also be a member of the council.

“And what exactly are we having?” Her voice was filled with scorn.

Macrath and Ceana exchanged confused glances. What was happening?

“An uprising,” said the man.

Ceana nearly choked on her gasp in an effort to keep silent. An uprising? Were the people outside now gathering ’round to save the life of that monster? Macrath shook his head, perhaps just as confused as she was.

“I’ve yet to raise arms,” Beatrice replied.

If the people were outside, prepared to fight, wouldn’t they have called for Macrath and Ceana to solve the issue?

Another male member chimed in. “But it is only a matter of time. Already the bastard prince called you out in front of the people.”

Macrath’s eyes widened a fraction and understanding dawned in them. The royal council was discussing
them
. She and Macrath were the uprising. On the one hand she was glad they’d taken note that she and Macrath planned to rule this land themselves, but on the other, she was now terrified as to what they’d do about it.

“And now he is going to burn George,” added the third councilman.

“I rather liked his nickname,” Beatrice said. “Gowp really did give him a sort of, how would you say it, fearsome reputation?”

The name Gowp… it wasn’t a name, but an action. To gowp meant to throb painfully. He had been their henchman. Beatrice was so callous. So cold. The woman had no heart. Ceana would not have been surprised to find out that the woman had been forged from a stone tossed to earth from Hades itself.

“Will you stop this nonsense and treat this with the amount of caution it deserves?” said the first man.

Beatrice’s confidence in their failure was so strong she couldn’t even take her own council members seriously. Ceana couldn’t wait until the day they took her and her minions down.

“Oh, posh, Leonard, you must relax. The Bastard and his Bitch will not be a problem to handle. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good. Gowp’s death is necessary to bring the people and their new overlords to heel.”

The mention of their cruel nicknames only fueled Ceana’s rage. She’d hated being called the Bitch of MacRae and Macrath had hated being known simply as the Bastard of Argyll. She fisted her hands, her nails digging into her palms. Gods, but she wanted to rush out and strike Beatrice where she stood.

“How so?” a councilman asked.

“Because if they think we will not step in, we are at the advantage.”

“And what will you do?”

“Gather our forces in the south. They must be ready for our call when it is time.”

“For what?”

“You are too slow for this position, Leonard. Perhaps we should have this discussion at another time?”

There was grumbling from the men of the council.

“Give me a few days to formulate a plan. For now, we must observe these two, for they are much different than past victors, and I do believe we must tread carefully before we bury them.”

Ceana glanced at Macrath. The rage on his face was much like she’d seen on him throughout the games. She threaded her arm through his and held tight. A silent message to stay quiet behind the curtain. Not to rush out and fight their enemies.

“How much time do you need? We don’t want these errant fool-born scuts ruling long. Best they be in the ground well before the winter solstice.”

The solstice was less than six weeks away.

The council wanted them dead. As if the condition of the land they’d been given wasn’t bad enough. For some had no food, no water, no shelter. Freedoms taken away. Basic needs for human life violently ripped from those who should have them.

Beatrice laughed. “Do not worry, lads,” she said, blatantly insulting them. “I’ll be sure the Bitch and the Bastard are taking up residence in a shallow grave well before the sun rises in the center of the stones.”

A stone circle—yet another thing they’d not yet seen.

“If not, we’ll be forced to inform the king.”

“Of what, you wastrels?” Beatrice spit out. “Were you not all a part of their crowning? Did you not all swear an oath to them? If you inform the king of any wrongdoing on my part, then best you tell him of your own contributions, for I will not falter in my telling of the tale.”

The threat in her voice sent an icy chill over Ceana’s spine. She’d known before the extent of Beatrice’s cruelty, but not that she would turn on her own council. Then again, they might turn on her—if she didn’t get rid of Ceana and Macrath.

The councilmen and Beatrice spoke a few moments longer regarding the missive they would send the king in which they would only make hints of being unhappy with the current prince and princess.

As soon as they were gone, Ceana and Macrath waited a few moments, eyes blazing as they stared at one another, and then silently, hand in hand, they stalked up the stairs to their master chamber, through the door and into the prince’s private library.

Chapter Six

HE’D not shaken like this since he was a child.

Not even when Letitia had abused him, nor when Beatrice had brought him into her torture chamber, chained him and molested him, or even during the games when fear had fueled his every move.

Perhaps it was because fear did not rule him at that moment. Nay, fury did.

Macrath was ready to tear the council from limb to limb. How dare they plot to steal the throne that he and Ceana had rightfully won? How dare the bastards plot to take his and Ceana’s lives after all they’d done to keep them? Day after bloody day they’d persevered. A bitter victory though it was, it had been theirs.

To the ruling council, he and Ceana were nothing more than pawns. Pieces to be played and discarded with a swipe of their fingers. The members of the council did not value human life. They did not respect the gift of breath.

He and Ceana were merely entrants in a contest where the rules were always changing according to the pleasure of five fucking arseholes.

Neither of them had been properly trained to play in this. Neither of them knew the right path to take and they could only trust each other.

“We will beat them,” Ceana said, her voice strangled with rage.

They’d entered their private library and stood there, staring out the narrow window, neither of them truly seeing what lay beyond that small gap in the rock.

Macrath glanced to his wife. Her profile was pinched—eyes squinted, lips pursed, jaw muscle clenched. Though she didn’t face him, her hand still clung to his. Tightly.

“We must,” he said, regarding her.

“How?” she asked. Slowly, she turned her head to face him. “They are strong and we are…”

“We are strong. Ceana, we are the ones who just fought to the death to win this position. Our victory is fresh, our pain still real. We are determined. We are the ones who rule here. Not them.” The words were easier to say than to believe.

Macrath briefly closed his eyes, flashes of swords clashing and flames assaulting him.
Enough!
He repeated the word, shouting it inside his mind.
Enough!

The savage images faded in a cloud and then were gone. ’Twas then he realized Ceana was kissing his hand and murmuring calming words.

“They happen to me, too,” she said.

Her hand fell from his and she walked—floated—to the window, setting her palms down on the sill. Deceptive hands. They looked fragile and yet he knew how strong they were, what they were capable of.

His mind still reeled from the power her comfort provided. And then he was a little disgusted with himself. He needed to be a man. Be a warrior. He breathed in deep and shoved away any pain and fear he’d felt. Courage and pride were weapons he’d sharpened over the years, though they’d taken a bit of abuse.

“We will deceive them,” he said. “They believe us to be weak. They don’t know we are privy to their plans. We have the upper hand.”

Ceana nodded. He approached her from behind, touched the small of her back and massaged gently.

“They are scared of us, love. We’ve had more success in the last week than they ever have.” Macrath peered through the slitted window taking in the tranquil village beyond the walls, the imposing forest. The backdrop of Sìtheil was misleading. A calm scene that hid a foul and shaky past. ’Twas their job to wipe it clean.

“We have to be careful. The councilmen once ruled here as did Beatrice. They had to fight in the games and survive. ’Tis possible they are unnerved by our quick bond with the people,” Ceana said.

“I have no doubt. They were vicious then and vicious now. If the people feel they have a kinder ruler they will cling to us.”

“Or take advantage.” She rubbed her temples. “The council will create factions and lure people against us. Beatrice and her companions are certain to have garnered allies in their time here. More people like Gowp.”

Macrath kneaded the muscles in her tense shoulders and sighed. “We will ferret them out. They will not be that hard to spot. I think we will discourage most with our punishment of Gowp. They’ll not want to suffer the man’s fate. And the rest of the people will know we are sympathetic rulers, but rulers nonetheless.”

Ceana reached up, placed her hands overtop of his and leaned back against him, her head resting against his collarbone.

“Our plan for now will be to tread lightly. To let the council believe we trust them.” Macrath kissed the side of her head. “And when we are not dealing with them, with the vast grievances of our tormented people, we will spend time together—alone. We need an escape, even if only to rest.”

“And can we pretend that we are far from here?” She turned in his arms, the warmth of her body seeping into his. “Please?”

Macrath grinned and kissed her forehead, then her lips. “When I’m with you, I already do.”

There came a commotion from outside. The sound burst through the window and sent Macrath tunneling back into his seemingly permanent rage-filled mood. He gritted his teeth.

He couldn’t quite discern what was being said, but he’d recognize the voice anywhere—his half-brother, Victor.

Ceana stiffened against him, having heard it, too. “Why has he returned?” she asked.

After swearing an oath of loyalty to Macrath and Ceana, his half-brother and stepmother had made haste back to Campbell lands and his father, the Earl of Argyll. He’d not heard from them, nor his father, since. Though he hadn’t expected to hear anything so quickly given it had been less than a week since his victory.

And he’d been perfectly satisfied with that. He did not
want
to hear from them.

The journey to the games had taken him almost two weeks. There was no way Victor even made it halfway before deciding to return. Why was he here?

His entire life, he’d been shunned by his stepmother and then by his half-brother. Father had tried to bond with Macrath many times. Trained him. Had him working with the clan warriors. But it wasn’t until Macrath had left for the games over a month ago that his father had showed him how proud he was. The earl had given him his sword—a great family heirloom—and that had been approval enough. With the hell his father had gotten from his bitch wife, Macrath didn’t expect to see or hear from his father again. He knew in his heart his father was proud. That he’d expected him to win—why else give him such a valuable weapon?

“We must greet him,” Ceana said.

Macrath shook his head, clearing the cobwebs of his memories. “I do not care to.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Neither do I, husband, but we must. Then you can dismiss him. But you must face him first. Face him as the prince not as the brother he’s shunned.”

Macrath nodded, pressing his forehead to hers. “He is no brother to me. ’Twill be most unpleasant.”

“Aye”—she kissed him—“but ’twould be more so if you ignored him, for I do not put it past Victor to barge through our doors, even if he has sworn his oath to you. To a man like him, oaths are not worth anything. He whispers them to appease you, not because he truly means them.”

Macrath glanced back out the window. Victor was pointing and shouting at the grooms who led his horse to the stables. Macrath toyed with the dagger at his belt. “He is dangerous.”

“Aye. And impulsive. He could be your greatest enemy next to the council.”

A frantic knocking at their chamber door made them sigh in unison. “And so it begins,” Macrath murmured.

“Wait,” Ceana said. “They must learn we will come when we want, not a moment sooner.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss.

Her lips were warm, her tongue heady and velvet soft. They’d been quick in the alcove and he wanted to be slow. To savor her.

But the knocking persisted, and they each broke away, irritated.

“I won’t let him delay the execution,” Macrath said.

By the gods, whatever his brother had arrived to tell him had better be important, else he was half-inclined to throw the horn-beast into the dungeon and leave him there to rot.

CEANA nodded, not wanting to speak on the subject of Gowp’s execution. How Macrath treated his brother was his business and she would support him any way he asked. Victor was a self-important, vicious little man, and he didn’t deserve Macrath’s attention at all. If he’d been her brother, she would have banished him from the land, for no good could come from Victor.

In life there was good and evil. Some people were born good and turned to evil, and others were just bad from the beginning. Victor gave her chills and she was certain he was the kind who was born bad. Born of hate. Born from a woman whose soul had blackened. And then raised to be prejudiced, mean and entitled. He had no empathy for others, nor did he take responsibility for his actions. He was the worst of humans, and having resources at his command made him all the more powerful and treacherous.

As for the execution, well, she’d rather not think about that, either. The idea of taking another life, no matter how deserved, made her want to curl up and cry with great sadness. She’d thought that when the games were over, they would be done with that. But what she was coming to learn as a leader was that the unpleasantries of life were never truly over, only muted.

With that in mind, she stiffened her back once more, afraid that one of these times when she did it, she would snap in half.

Macrath gave her one last longing look and then opened the door.

Beyond the entry stood a guard. He had sandy hair, a beard to match and was broad in the shoulders. He looked strong and robust. She recognized him but couldn’t place his name. The man regarded her and Macrath with great respect. Was it possible they could count him on their side?

“Aye, what is it?” Macrath asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was several inches taller than the warrior, and just as broad.

The man cleared his throat, hands straight at his sides at attention. “My laird, there is a guest here to see you.”

“My brother is no guest,” Macrath growled.

The man shifted on his feet with nervousness, obviously having not realized until then that Macrath would feel that way about someone of his blood. He quickly gained control of himself, giving a curt nod. “Aye, my laird. No guest.”

Ceana worried that the guard would take Macrath’s animosity toward his brother the wrong way. As it was, blood was thicker than water, and if their new leader didn’t hold any respect or affection for his relation, how could they trust him with clan members he barely knew?

She watched their interaction with vested interest. Macrath was her husband, her partner in rule and she would protect him from every enemy she could flush out. Instinct bade her believe that this man would be an ally. She felt no sense of warning about his presence.

“Where is he?” Macrath asked.

There was a subtle change in the guard. Was her assessment about the guard’s contemplations correct? He kept himself well guarded, and it was hard to tell. “In the great hall, my laird.” A slight shift in the tone of his voice—more respect.

Macrath nodded. “Good. Do not allow him anywhere else. He cannot be trusted.”

The guard’s entire demeanor changed at once. He looked relieved. A sense of calm settled over Ceana. She’d only allowed herself to believe they would win this war against the council. She couldn’t let the thought of failure cross her mind or all would be lost. But her fears had ridden her hard, breaking her down, making her doubt that winning was possible. They would win the people over one by one. First with the women they’d helped and now with this guard. A glimmer of hope sparked strongly within her.

Ceana and Macrath left their chamber, closing the door behind them, while the guard stood watch.

As they walked past, Ceana felt obliged to say to the guard, “Not everything is always as it seems. There are dark holes in everyone’s past, sir, and you’d do best to keep your judgments for the day the gods allow you to grace them with your everlasting presence.”

The man’s cheeks colored slightly. “You are wise, my lady.”

Ceana shrugged. “’Haps. With wisdom comes understanding. I am not bold enough to name myself knowledgeable in most things, but I do identity with people and I can discern one’s thoughts most of the time.”

The guard’s eyes widened slightly.

“You will find my princess is clever and intelligent. What is your name?” Macrath asked.

They reached the stairs, but she stopped when Macrath paused.

“Marrec of Clan Morrison, my laird.”

“Are you descended of a past chief?” Macrath asked.

With pride, Marrec’s straightened his posture. “Aye, my laird.”

Ceana filed away that bit of information.

Macrath continued down the stairs, nonchalantly asking, “And have you never joined the games?”

She glanced back to Marrec to gauge his reaction as they followed.

The guard shook his head. “Nay, my laird. I’ve no interest in ruling Sìtheil. I but want to see the land and its people protected.”

“Would that not best be done by ruling?” Ceana goaded.