Highland Scandal (21 page)

Lachlan was hurt. Kenny should have been calling him da. “Well, we can do that now.”

“Aye.” Kenny hopped up and down.

“Laird.” Semias waited at the end of the stall.

“Come along, Kenny. It’s time to return to the hall.”

“Nay. Nay.” His face reddened. He squeezed a few tears from his eyes.

“I will bring you later.” That did nothing to appease him.

Lachlan was bigger and stronger and had him off the horse, in the hall and planted in his mother’s lap without much of a struggle. One fact he learned about his son. He was strong.

Lachlan sent one last glance at his son before seeing to clan business.

“He will never be a Gordon.” Only the pensive tone of Semias’s tone stopped Lachlan from throwing him against the wall.

“He is my son, and that is enough. He will receive the same means as the son who bears my name.”

“I shall see to it, Laird.”

The conviction in Semias’ voice irked Lachlan. He saw himself as the power of the clan. Would he use that against Lachlan and his son? Had the truth put his son in more danger?

“It can be a troubling to want to be a father when others do not see it as such.”

“I do want to tell all. I understand that is something I cannot do. One day, he will learn the truth and I can only hope that he forgives me and understands that I did all I could. For now, I do not care about anything else.”

* * * *

Again, Rowen dug into Kenny’s ear. He squirmed and bellowed. “How did you get mud in your ear? There, I got it.” She threw the balled up mud into the fire.

“I dinna wanna go to sleep.” Kenny squirmed to escape the washcloth she ran over his ear. His eyes drooped from sleep and he yawned.

“Then we shall clean you up and lay down. If you do not fall sleep, oh well.” She told him the same thing every night and every night, he would close his eyes and not move until morn.

“I wanna play wit’ the horse.” He stared at the toy horse. It was the same design used to train men to fight on horseback, except it was child size. Lachlan had Mistress Cullen unearth it from the bowels of the castle.

She had to pry him from the horse. He pleaded with her to bring it to the chamber. Rowen denied him and thankfully, his rumbling belly beat out the need for his horse.

“Tomorrow, the horse is sleeping.”

She finished cleaning Kenny. She grabbed the
leine
she put him to sleep in. Eacharn had told her she was babying him by putting him to sleep in a
leine
, but Rowen, with a mother’s instinct and fear, had always forced him to wear one to bed, at least during the coldest months.

“Up,” she said and slipped the garment over his head when he raised his hands. “Do you want your warrior?” His warrior was a stuffed doll made of old rags now stained from food, saliva, and the adventures he attended at Kenny’s side.

He took it from her and tucked it under his arm. “Ma, when is da coming back?”

When Eacharn first died, Kenny asked the question every night and there were days when he would wait for him to ride in or search for him, knowing he was home because his horse was in the stable. She always had to explain to him why he wouldn’t return. Kenny accepted it, but Rowen was always near to weeping for the son who looked for his father.

Though, tonight, she wanted to tell him that his father had returned. The father that was of his blood, the one who he inherited his looks from and the charming smile that always spread first at one corner before his mouth spread completely.

“Da is not coming back. He has died and that means we cannot be with him anymore.”

“Aye.” He rubbed his warrior beneath his nose. He would be asleep once the linens covered him.

“Into bed with you,” she said as Lachlan came into the chamber.

Kenny hid his warrior behind his back.

“Look, how bright your face is. Nice and clean. Did your mother do it right?”

Kenny nodded. “She knows how. Tell me a story.” He ran to the bed and climbed in.

Lachlan tucked him in and sat on the bed’s edge. He tapped his forefinger against his mouth, deciding on which tale to share this night. “Aye,” he started.

Rowen listened to his low voice as it rumbled through the chamber and with the warmth from the fire, she began to slip into slumber. This was what she had yearned for and the road here had twisted and vanished altogether.

She sensed a movement. She opened her eyes. Lachlan knelt on one knee before her. His hair had grown, brushing his shoulders. Unlike other men, Lachlan hated long hair. He kept it long enough to keep his ears warm, as he said. She lifted a hand and pinched the ends.

“Shall I cut your hair?”

“Aye,” he said on low breath so it sounded more like a growl than acceptance.

“Let me get the scissors.” Why did she speak? She couldn’t say…to fill the silence, perhaps. “This must have been the Lairdess’s chamber since her sewing kit is here. It’s a very fine one, too.”

She lifted the top. Velvet lined the oak box. The needles, pins, and thimbles were made of silver, though there were iron ones as well. She picked up the silver scissors. She ran her thumb along the sharp edge.

Lachlan sat upon the stool. His hands dangled between his spread legs. She picked up the drying cloths she had used for Kenny. She spread one on the floor and draped the other one on his broad shoulders. She ran her hands over the cloth, smoothing it. He turned his head, watching her hands run over him.

She slipped her hand along his neck to her fingers into his hair. With her fingers, she combed out his hair.

“You have a nicely shaped head.”

“Aye, is that important?”

“I think so.”

He gave her a sideway glance. She pinched the warm strands between her fingers. She cut. The strands fell. She lost herself in the task, going on the feel. His warmth radiated through the thick strands as she cut. The oils from his hair softened her skin like the ointment she used. She brushed back the strands from his ear.

“Do not move.”

“Then stop touching me like that.”

“How am I touching you? I am only cutting your hair.”

“You’re running your hands through my hair. Your fingers are brushing against my skin and you are so close that all I can do is smell you. Your hips are in my face and your breast rest against me. Though in truth, just one touch from you and I go hot and want nothing more than to take you to bed or take you on this floor.”

She had realized she was breathless until air rushed into her chest. “Do you wish me to cease?”

“Nay, I want you to never stop touching me.” He palmed her hips.

She slipped her hand back into his hair, aware of the shape of his ear, the scar that raised the skin within his hairline…his manly scent. She couldn’t compare it to anything. Everything seemed lacking, missing one note. It was his alone. Rowen always closed her eyes to breath him in deeper.

Somehow, she was able to cut his hair without taking off her fingers. “Finished.” She gathered the cloth then dusted the roan colored clippings from his corded neck.

He stood up and drew her in for a kiss. Though Rowen was tall for a woman, Lachlan stood taller than her. She liked the way it made her feel, feminine, yet without taking anything away from her.

Air brushed against her legs as Lachlan lifted her
leine
. She stood naked before him. The firelight licked her body, adding to the heat building within her. His fingers danced along her shoulder to her neck. She shivered as his hand traveled down her chest and cupped her breast. She moaned. Without letting her go, he molded his corded form to hers.

“Do you know what I want to do to you?”

She shook her head. “Tell me.”

“I want to lay you down with me as your only cover.” He wrapped an arm around her and did just that. He tapped his forefinger at the vibrating piece of flesh. “I’m going to kiss that tender spot and feel your breath flutter against my lips.” He planted his lips for a lingering peck at the V of her neck. A thread of breath shook the spot.

She rested her hands on his upper arms.

“I don’t want you to touch me or I’ll explode. I have to feast on you.” She dropped her hands to the floor. He rubbed his chin against her skin. His stubble sparked prickles.

“I’m going to cup your breast and feel them grow heavy in my hands,” he mumbled against her. “Your body has changed. It’s fuller, more womanly, but just as intoxicating.” He bent his dark head to her breast.

She laid bare to him both physically and emotional. She had no excuse to hide from him, to keep part of herself closed off. She should have felt fear. “That’s not fair.”

He lifted his head. “Look, at how your nipple glistens.” He licked it, flicking the hardened peak.

“You tease.”

“Nay, you do, my temptress.”

She tugged at his clothing. Not making much of a difference, he helped her rid himself of the barrier. She reached to touch him. He grabbed her hand and folded it in his own.

“Nay, you don’t get to touch.”

Her hungry gaze ran over him. “I want to take your nipple into my mouth.” She raised her hand to her own and squeezed. His neck strained. “I want to taste the salt of your skin. Then I’m going to kiss a path down the center of your chest.” She moved her fingers along her body, showing the exact spot where she would do this to him. “Licking and biting you.” His nipples peaked out from the swirl of dark hairs covering his chest. The short hairs stood on end as they formed a line down his stomach.

“Then I’m going to trace your navel with my tongue. Will your muscles stiffen like iron beneath my exploration?” It did exactly that. “Then I’ll curl my hand around your hard manhood, feel its heavy weight in my hand.”

His manhood jerked.

“Then I want you to enter me.” She cupped the very center of herself. “I’m so hot and wet.”

He growled and pushed aside her hand and entered her. The mutual groan of delight and torture broke around them.

She clutched his round buttocks. The muscles were hard. He lifted her legs so her knees were almost on her chest. He pumped into her.

“Harder. Harder.”

He gave it to her. Sweat ran down his face and into his eyes. Stroke after stroke the frenzy built. He called out. She felt the coil of her body tightening, nearing the point where she would snap from the tension. She lifted her hips, bringing him deeper, urged on by primal instinct. The slap of their skin sounded like the sweetest music.

Her nails bit into him. Her back arched. She gasped. His roar rumbled through her and it was the one thing that brought her back to earth.

Between their ragged breathing and the dying fire, there was no other sound in the room. It didn’t take longer to recover, though she thought it should have lasted longer. Something that taxing should need more time.

She rolled to her side. Lachlan sprawled on his back. She traced the vein bulging in his arm. She smoothed his arm hair.

He looked to the bed. “Do you think we woke him?”

“Nay, he would have spoken.”

“Perhaps, he did and we didn’t hear him.”

“Then he would be standing right here.” She burrowed her head against his chest. “Lachlan, I am not leaving you. I love you and we have been given another chance. We will fight to keep it.”

“Aye, we will and be triumphant.”

* * * *

Sheena stepped into the kitchen. Servants darted about, preparing the meals. The delicious scent of bread baking blended with the roasting meat, and her stomach growled. She wend her way to Mistress Cullen, trying to avoid being in the servants’ way. Her guard was present behind her.

“There ye are. Ye dinna come down for the evening meal.”

“I was tired and went to bed.”

Mistress Cullen narrowed her eyes, but let the falsehood lie. “Well, ye can have some bread and cheese.” She filled a platter.

“Thank ye.” She took the platter and went to the kitchen bench. Her guard settled at her side, taking up most of the space. While eating, she noticed the busy mood dimmed. She kept her eyes on her food.

When Ewan lived, she had seen the scorn and acted as if it hadn’t bothered her. She had done what she had to in order to survive. Yet, here in the smoky space, she realized how alone she was. These people believed her a whore and a murderer. She wished she had the chance to judge. But she needed to eat, to live. They could keep their high-hand morality.

She ate her meal as she had every one before this one. Though, she missed having someone to talk with, to share stories and tales or just to waste time. The laird believed her. Rowen did, too. She had to learn the secret Semias kept. She couldn’t ask him. There was one person who knew every happening in the castle walls. Mistress Cullen.

Once finished, she returned the platter to Mistress Cullen.

Sheena left the kitchen with her guard. With Laird Cameron’s presence, Mistress Cullen would see to his chamber herself. Sheena would wait in her chamber for her to pass.

Most of the day had wasted away. She had laid down, a fretful sleep since she wanted to sleep on her stomach. What ye canna do is the one thing ye want. She hoped she hadn’t missed her. She started growing restless.

Humming reached her ears as Mistress Cullen pushed in the door. Sheena struggled to sit up.

“Let me help ye, lass.” Mistress Cullen took her by the hands and helped her up.

“Thank ye. Ye have always been kind to me.”

Mistress Cullen made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat.

“I ken that Ewan had many women aboot.”

“Aye, I dinna like all of them. But I understand why ye acted as ye did.”

“Weel, at the end I dinna understand. Ewan was mad. Him going on aboot his past and
her
, whoever she was?”

“That’s true.” She crossed herself. “He did.”

“Do ye remember that night when he came back covered in dirt? That was the first time I was frightened of him.”

“Aye, the devil got him that night. He was at the kirk.”

“At the kirk? Whatever for?”

“Weel, I dinna ken. His parents be there, but not for them. I’m thinking it must be the laird’s mother.”