Authors: Connie Mason
Highland Warrior (18 page)
“I’d like a private word with you, Sinclair,” Ross bit out.
“I’ve been expecting you, MacKenna,” Sinclair sneered. “There is an alcove nearby where we won’t be interrupted.”
His eyes cold and flat, his mouth turned down, Ross followed Sinclair around the perimeter of the hall and down a hallway, where he found a sparsely furnished alcove that held only a small table, two chairs, and a narrow sideboard.
“Have your say, MacKenna,” Sinclair challenged. “I’ve naught to hide.”
“You attacked my wife,” Ross charged. “Tell me why I shouldna kill you.”
“I entered Gillian’s chamber at her behest.” He sent Ross a sly smile. “Mayhap she wanted a real man in her bed.”
Ross’s temper hung by a slim thread. Another remark like that and it would snap.
“Gillian denies she invited you to her chamber.”
“Aye, I ken why she would. She’s afraid of you, MacKenna. Gillian wanted me long before you came into the picture.”
“You think Gillian is afraid of me?” Ross snorted in disbelief. “Ha! My wife fears naught. If you knew her at all, you wouldna make such a foolish statement. Gillian said you wanted the feud to resume. I want to know why.”
“Gillian misheard me. Surely you ken she was a reluctant bride. She didna want the truce; ’twas her father’s idea.”
Ross sent Sinclair a grim smile. “If you had any idea how much passion resides in Gillian’s body, you wouldna have waited so long to claim her. She is magnificent, Sinclair. But Gillian’s passion is mine alone. If you so much as look crosswise at her, I will kill you.”
Sinclair did not appear intimidated despite Ross’s threats. “If Gillian wants me badly enough, we will find a way for us to be together.”
Sinclair’s cockiness was more than enough to snap Ross’s control. He seemed so sure of himself that Ross began to doubt Gillian. Had she lied to him about inviting Sinclair into her bedchamber? Had she fed him naught but lies? Ross had one more question to ask Sinclair before he beat the man to a bloody pulp.
“Gillian hasna been out of my sight since our arrival at Braeburn. When, pray tell, did she invite you to her bedchamber? Think carefully before you answer, Sinclair, for your life depends upon your reply.”
“Ha! It should be obvious to you,” Sinclair sneered. “When Gillian returned to her bedchamber before the procession to the kirk, she looked back and sent me a look that could be mistaken for naught but an invitation.”
“You lie!” Ross shouted as he lunged for Sinclair. Though Sinclair could be telling the truth, Ross preferred not to believe it.
Ross had but a few pounds and a few inches on Sinclair, but rage made Ross the stronger man. They struggled violently, knocking over the chairs in the process and falling against the table. It splintered beneath their combined weight and broke apart. Finally Ross got the upper hand. Pressing his forearm against Sinclair’s throat, Ross backed him against the wall.
“Tell me why you are working to destroy the truce.”
Sinclair, unable to speak because of the pressure against his neck, merely shook his head.
“Admit you lied about Gillian inviting you to her bedchamber.”
Naught emerged from Sinclair’s throat but a gagging sound. Ross was too incensed to realize he was slowly choking Sinclair to death.
“What in God’s name is going on in here?” Tearlach cried from the doorway. “We could hear the ruckus from the hall. MacKenna, release Sinclair before you kill him.”
“The bastard attacked your daughter in her bedchamber,” Ross bit out.
Tearlach skewered Sinclair with a look. “Is that true, Sinclair?”
His eyes bulging, unable to do more than make gurgling sounds, Sinclair tried to pry Ross’s forearm away from his throat.
“Release him, MacKenna!” Tearlach demanded. “Let him speak.”
Ross heard Tearlach’s order through a red haze. He wanted to kill Sinclair; he truly did. But little by little he released the pressure and stepped away. Sinclair slumped against the wall and slid down.
“He tried to kill me,” Sinclair croaked hoarsely.
“Did you attack my daughter?” Tearlach asked.
“Nay, Gillian invited me to her bedchamber.”
“Gillian denies it,” Ross growled. “He was forcing her when I burst into the chamber. If I hadna arrived in time...”
“I know my daughter, Sinclair, and she is no liar. I wouldna blame MacKenna if he killed you, but you are nae important enough to destroy the truce.”
“Ask Sinclair why he wants the feud to resume,” Ross prodded. “He hinted as much to Gillian.”
Sinclair stared past Ross and Tearlach, his gaze stopping at the door. Both men turned to see what he was looking at.
“I thought I told you to remain in your chamber,” Ross barked.
Gillian’s gaze took in all three men. “I had to know what was going on down here.”
“lf I hadna stepped in, Ross would have killed Sinclair,” Tearlach explained. “Tell me true, lass, did you invite Sinclair to your bedchamber?”
Gillian slanted a quick glance at Ross before answering. “Nay, Da, I didna. I doona know why Angus is lying.”
“ ’Tis not as though you are happy in your marriage,” Sinclair snarled. “The look you gave me was all the invitation I needed to follow you to your chamber.”
Tearlach ignored his outburst. “Did Sinclair say he wanted the feud to resume, daughter?”
“Not in so many words, but he hinted at it.”
“I refuse to allow the truce to be broken over jealousy,” Tearlach declared. “Gillian is wed to the MacKenna, and you, Sinclair, have no place in her life. Since I am inclined to believe my daughter, I think it best for all concerned that you and your kinsmen leave. I will countenance no more trouble in my home during this happy time.
“As for you, MacKenna, there will be no killing, do you ken? I want my future grandchildren to live in peace, and I am sure you and Gillian want the same.”
“We do,” Ross acknowledged, “but I canna promise to hold the peace if Sinclair continues to provoke my anger. He refuses to accept that Gillian is wed and no longer his for the taking.”
“Is that your last word, MacKay? Are you banishing me from your home?” Sinclair asked.
“Aye, for the time being, Sinclair. Peace must be maintained.”
“Verra well,” Sinclair spat, slanting Ross a venomous look. “But when MacKenna breaks the truce and you need my help, you will pay hell to get it.” He rose unsteadily to his feet and staggered off.
“You should have let me kill him,” Ross groused. “He is not finished making trouble for us, I fear.”
Tearlach shook his head. “I doona ken what Sinclair is about. He could have had Gillian anytime he wanted, but he waited until it was too late. He has no one but himself to blame.”
“Do you ken his reasons for wanting the truce to end?” Ross asked.
“I canna believe he would jeopardize the peace. His clan has as much to gain by peaceful coexistence as we do.”
“Angus does naught without a reason,” Gillian volunteered. “If he thinks I would have him after what he did today, he is sadly mistaken.”
Ross stared at her. “What are you saying, lass?”
Gillian looked her husband straight in the eye. “Angus isna the man I thought he was. I am glad I didna marry him. While I doona know what he is planning, it canna be good.”
A smile played at the corners of Ross’s mouth. He was glad he hadn’t killed the bastard. If he had, he might never have gotten such an admission from Gillian.
“I will be ready for whatever he plans,” Ross said. He turned to address Tearlach. “If I were you, I would watch Angus Sinclair closely.”
“Aye, I ken,” Tearlach acknowledged. “I’d best return to the hall. I want to see Sinclair and his kinsmen on their way.”
Ross and Gillian left the alcove on Tearlach’s heels. By mutual consent they made their way through the revelers in the hall, up the stairs, and to their bedchamber. The moment Ross closed the door behind them, he pulled Gillian into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless.
“I am glad you didna kill him,” Gillian said when he allowed her to breathe again. “Da wants this truce more than anything.”
“What about you, lass? There was a time you called me murderer, a time you would rather run me through than wed me. You told me often enough ’twas Sinclair you wanted.”
“I canna go on hating you, Ross. ‘Tis true I wanted Angus, and that I blamed you for my brothers’ deaths, but ’tis likely you are going to be the father of my children, so ’tis time I realized that I must accept our marriage.”
That wasn’t exactly what Ross wanted to hear, but it would do for now. For the first time he felt that their marriage had a chance to survive and flourish. More existed between them than simple passion.
Ross, Gillian, and the kinsmen accompanying them left Braeburn two days later, even though the revelers continued to celebrate Murdoc’s wedding. Murdoc and his bride had departed the day following their wedding to spend time in Inverness. Nab and Ramsey planned to leave the next day for Edinburgh, where they intended to spend the winter enjoying big-city life while Tearlach and Murdoc minded the keep in their absence.
The return journey to Ravenscraig proved uneventful. Not that Ross was expecting trouble. For the first time in generations, peace reigned in this part of the Highlands. And if Ross had anything to do with it, Clan MacKenna and Clan MacKay would suffer no more raids or battle deaths.
His people fell into their winter routine after Ross’s return to Ravenscraig. Crops were stored, wood was brought in and piled up to fuel the many fireplaces, meat was salted, and preserves were made of the last of the fruit taken from the trees in the orchard.
During the following days, Ross and Gillian seemed to have begun feeling comfortable with each other. Ross could scarcely wait for nightfall so he could make love to Gillian. Her response to his lovemaking had him eagerly anticipating the moment they could mount the stairs together and shut the door on the world.
The weather, though cold, wasn’t snowy. During the lull, Ross decided to go to Wick to purchase staples and supplies to last them through the winter months, when travel was difficult if not impossible. He asked Donald and Niall to accompany him in the cart to transport the supplies back to the keep.
After a particularly satisfying bout of lovemaking, Ross told Gillian about his plans to leave two days hence, weather permitting.
“Make a list of foodstuffs you think we may need to survive the winter,” Ross said.
“May I go with you?” Gillian asked.
“Not this time; mayhap in the spring, when the weather is more predictable.”
“I’ll confer with Donald and Hanna and have my list ready before you depart.”
Ross intended to gather Gillian into his arms and sleep, but his good intentions flew out the window when Gillian settled her soft curves into his body and sighed. The moment his hands found her breasts, he knew he had to have her again. His unaccountable need for his wife perplexed him. The more he had her, the more he wanted her. Did Gillian feel the same way? he wondered. She never refused him, so mayhap she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
He slid his hands down her stomach and over her hips to the warm place between legs. Gillian turned her head and stared at him.
“Ross?”
“I canna seem to get enough of you, lass.”
“But we just...”
“Aye.”
He thrust his fingers inside her, working them slowly, diligently, while kissing her, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth in imitation of what he wanted to do below. When Gillian began pushing her hips against his hand, he removed his fingers, moved over her, and shoved his throbbing cock inside her.
Their second mating was fast and furious. Ross and Gillian reached their peak within seconds of each other.
Gillian couldn’t believe how easily Ross had aroused her after their first mating. Though she didn’t want to appear as insatiable as Ross, she was always eager to go where he led. In fact, she no longer thought of Ross as the enemy. Their relationship had become too intimate to maintain a semblance of animosity. What did she feel for Ross besides sexual attraction ? she wondered. What did Ross feel for her?
Had a truce not been declared, Gillian would never have met Ross, let alone wed him. Somehow that thought was discomfiting. She would have wed Angus and considered herself lucky to have him for a husband. The thought of spending the rest of her life with Angus no longer seemed attractive to her.
Gillian sighed, wondering what that said about the woman who had once wielded a sword against Ross MacKenna. She fell asleep before the answer arrived.
The following day Gizela confronted Gillian in the hall. “Doona let him go, lass,” the old woman said, gripping Gillian’s arm so hard, Gillian knew she would bear a mark on her tender skin.
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