Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson Book 2) (10 page)

“Is there aught more I can do to aid you in your release, as you did for me?” She stroked down his sides and caressed his shaft through his leather pants. “I would hate for you to be in pain.”

“I can handle the pain. I need to kiss you again.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, moved his mouth over hers in a slow exploration that left them both ragged for breath when he pulled back. “When I come for the first time, it’ll be deep inside your body, right where I belong.”

“Is that so?” She smiled, so mischievously he didn’t doubt she would continue to tease him this mercilessly for the rest of his life. It was one life he couldn’t wait to live. Aye, he’d found his mate and now his soul rejoiced that they’d soon be one. “What are you thinking that has that intriguing smile on your face?” she murmured against his ear.

“My soul is rejoicing at being with you.”

“As mine is at being with you. You are the only man I ever want touching me, and after what you just did to me, I see the error of my ways. I should never have questioned whether or not I’d accept the bond. I shall, with all of my heart.”

“Those are the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.” He grinned, beyond taken by the woman who was his. Well, almost his. Once her betrothal was broken, he would lay claim to every last inch of her. She would be his wife, not Donnan MacDonald’s.

Before Tor lost all thought and took his mate just as he wished to, he instead lifted her bodice back over her breasts, righted her skirts and forced himself to rise from her bed. “I want you to stay right here.”

“Where are you going?” She sat up, her beautiful golden curls mussed and the circlet headband of red silk flowers with trailing red and white ribbons now completely askew. She appeared a vision in her royal blue gown with its lacy white embroidered scalloped neckline, cinched waist and leather girdle with blue tasseled ties draping down to her knees. All he wanted to do was climb back into bed with her and never leave her again.

“To my chamber to collect my belongings. I’ll pack what I need to and return. From now on, I sleep in here with you.” He strode to her door, unbolted and opened it. “I’ll also wash up and change since I’m already without a shirt. Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She grinned, her gaze roaming his body and halting with mischievous intent on his crotch. “Particularly since I enjoy your attention so well.”

“You’re a vixen.” He fixed his too tight pants.

“Aye, but I’m now your vixen.”

“No moving. Stay right there on that bed.” He closed her door then gathered his scrambled thoughts and strode down the corridor with its narrow window at the end emitting a stream of midday sunshine.

In his chamber, he shucked his clothes, donned a clean pair of pants in a soft, faded brown leather and tucked her red ribbon from the old pair into the pocket of his new ones. He chose a loose-sleeved black shirt with golden thread sewn in a circular Celtic belted design on the front pocket. The design surrounded a tiny symbol of a crown and sword-arm, his clan’s motto,
Fac Et Spera
, “Do and Hope,” emblazoned around the edge.

Shirt and boots on, sword once again belted around his waist, he collected his satchel, flipped open the leather flap then nabbed the remainder of his clothes from the trunk under the window and folded them inside. He crossed to the side table, his gut gnawing at him as he filled the basin with water from the jug and splashed his face. Even being only a few doors away from her was pure torture when all he wished to do was hold her in his arms and never let her go.

A knock sounded. “It’s Tavish.”

“Come in.”

His brother strode inside with the padded cotun he’d worn earlier during training slung over one shoulder. Tavish closed the door after himself, a determined look on his face, one that likely matched his own. “Kirk has welcomed the MacDonalds into the keep. Donnan and his men are partaking of the midday meal in the great hall. Word is Donnan’s here to stay until he and Layla have spoken vows at the end of the week. How’d your conversation with her go?”

“Very well, although she can’t complete the bond with me until she’s no longer betrothed to him. The guilt would consume her otherwise. I’ve told her I’ll be the one who speaks to Donnan, which will need to be sooner rather than later.” Bar of soap in hand, he lathered it then slapped the suds on his jaw. He unsheathed his wrist dagger and set to work shaving in front of the looking glass propped against the wall behind the basin.

“You’re going to have a battle on your hands seeing to her release, but I’ll be right by your side as you do.” Tavish leaned his leather-clad backside on the stone windowsill, the forested hills rising high in the distance beyond the glass.

“I’m prepared for whatever battle it takes.” In a firm line, he ran his blade from his ear to his chin, right side first then his left. “Is Julia available to sit with Layla in her chamber while I speak to Donnan? I don’t want my mate anywhere near him.”

“Julia’s visiting kin at the fae village.” Tavish tapped his head. “I can ask her to return. She rode out so she can be back within twenty minutes or so.”

“Definitely ask her to come. You and I will wait with Layla until she arrives.” He swiped his blade down his neck and in the small space between his nose and lips then once done, splashed the remaining suds away and dabbed his jaw dry with a drying cloth. With his dagger sheathed, he slung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door. He’d already been away from her for far too long, itched badly to return.

Down the corridor, he strode with Tavish at his side then outside Layla’s door, he knocked and waited.

No answer.

“Layla?” He opened her door and the fresh breeze blew in through the open window and ruffled the thick burgundy curtains over her canopied bed. No Layla, not even a trace of her intoxicating wild cherry scent. “I told her to stay here.”

“I didn’t see her downstairs, or pass her on my way upstairs, so she can’t have been gone from her chamber for too long.” Tavish pulled his padded cotun on, palmed the hilt of his side-belted sword. “Gregor said she’s always been fiercely independent, and certainly not very good at following orders whenever he issued them.”

“Independence I like, except not right now.” He hauled his war coat from his bag, donned it then left his belongings on top of her wooden trunk before bounding downstairs to the great hall, Tavish one step behind him. He’d never allow her to talk to Donnan on her own. Not on his life.

The massive vaulted room held a sweeping crown of rafters rising to an impressive height. Tapestries of hunting and landscape scenes hung with pride around the vast room filled with a boisterous and hungry crowd. He searched the hall teeming with warriors wearing both MacDonald and Matheson plaids, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of the one woman he needed to find. “I don’t see her. Do you, Tavish?”

“I’ve got nothing, and worse, I don’t see Donnan MacDonald either. The man’s over six feet and wearing a great plaid, claymore sheathed in a baldric over his back. Dark brown hair that sits halfway down his back with war braids on each side, plus a scar cutting through his right eyebrow.”

“Damn it.” He couldn’t see anyone of that description about either. He weaved around the perimeter of the hall, in and amongst the mingling warriors. Trestle tables overflowed with platters of bread, meats and cheeses, and other savory dishes. A serving girl with an apron tied around her waist approached with a tray of tankards in hand and he caught her elbow. “I’m looking for Layla, Effie. Have you seen her?”

“Aye, she left to take a walk with her betrothed.” The lass motioned toward the front door. “If you hurry, you’ll catch her.”

He’d do more than catch her. Once he found his mate, he’d tie her to his very side, in every possible way. Completing the bond with her had now become imperative. No more could he wait.

* * * *

Layla climbed the trail leading up into the hills along the same pine-needle covered pathway she’d not long traversed down this morning with Tor, only this time she walked with Donnan at her back. Aye, allowing Tor to speak to Donnan wasn’t a possibility, not when she’d been the one to accept the betrothal and since she’d gotten herself into this mess, she would be the one to get herself out of it, no matter what Tor wished or said.

“We seem to be going for quite the jaunt.” Donnan stepped in beside her as the trail widened and came out at the stream that forked in two different directions. Along the waterway to the west lay the tip of their Matheson land which overlooked the ocean and the Isle of Skye across the sea, while to the east the stream ran through the forest and fields then joined a fast-flowing river which veered off toward the inner channel of Loch Alsh.

“This coming conversation is one I wish to keep between the two of us. I hope you dinnae mind.”

“No’ at all.”

“Then wait right here for just a moment. Go no farther, please.” She walked along the damp, mossy river bank a dozen steps then lifted her skirts and stepped into the stream. Should Tor follow her, then hopefully he’d be led in the opposite direction to where she was truly headed. Water splashed her ankles and calves as she back-tracked within the pebbly stream to Donnan’s side. “Now, step in with me.”

“Lass, do you mind telling me exactly where we’re going?” With his great plaid secured over his broad chest with a silver pin and belted low at his waist with a leather girdle, Donnan appeared every inch the great warrior he was. “You’re clearly wishing to evade someone. ’Tis impossible no’ to notice.”

“I promise to tell you soon.” She would, once she’d gotten them a safer distance away and she had plenty of time to speak with him. Aye, her mate could track with his bear’s senses, and far better than any other warrior could. “I’m going to levitate us both, Donnan. Are you ready?”

“Of course. This will be interesting.”

With only a thought from her mind and a flick of her fingers, she lifted them both up and sent them gliding downstream a foot or two above the water’s rippling surface.

“Your fae skill is incredibly strong.” Donnan eyed his feet, his war braids plaited at each side of his brown head blowing over his shoulders in the wind. “How fast can you move us like this?”

“Around the speed of a horse at full gallop.”

“Marvelous.”

“’Tis also rather helpful, particularly in moments like these.” She continued on, breezing them through the forest until it gave way to the rolling moors, the craggy hills rising higher on their right and the inner channel of Loch Alsh sitting just beyond the wide open field to their left. She left the stream behind and whizzed across the land bobbing with heather and awash with wildflowers. Her heart lifted at being so at one with nature, although her soul heaved at the distance she’d now instilled between her and Tor. He’d never be able to track her, not now. Goodness. He would be furious that she’d left the castle without him, but her decision to do so was a wise one and she was safe in Donnan’s hands. Along with Father, she’d spent a good fortnight on the Isle of Skye at Dunscaith Castle with Donnan and his clan during the time leading up to their betrothal agreement being formalized.

“’Tis almost as if I have wings and can soar like a bird.” Donnan lifted his face to the sky and breathed deep before glancing at her. “I believe we’re getting close to your warrior encampment, where the recent battle with Colin MacKenzie took place. Is that correct?”

“Aye, you’re right. The encampment is very close. I’ll take you there if you wish.” He nodded his agreement and she left the field behind, skimmed around the edge of the woods and breezed alongside the sandy shoreline of the loch. Time passed and the sun slowly lowered, its golden rays rippling across the jewel blues of the water while up ahead, the bay curved and tents dotted the edge of the forest running alongside their mountainous land border between them and clan MacKenzie, their cruelest and bitterest enemy. She gently settled them both back down on the beach, a short walk from the camp. “We’ll walk from here so we might have that opportunity to speak.”

“I can see you’ll be a treasure to have at my side.” Donnan offered her his arm and she slipped her hand through the crook at his elbow. As they wandered along the shoreline, he cleared his throat. “The knowledge of what you and your father can do, will always remain a secret, one my father has kept between him and my clansmen, and one I too shall keep with my men. Is that what you wished to speak to me about?”

“I’m aware you and your father have kept the secret of my father’s ability to yourselves, and mine too since learning of it. ’Tis of another matter altogether that I wish to speak to you about.”

“Then tell me.” His two-handed claymore bobbed in a baldric across his back, the burnished hilt glinting in the waning light. “You can speak freely with me. Never fear that you cannae.”

“My father waited three years after I came of age afore he signed the binding betrothal agreement, his desire to ensure I wasnae soul bound to another, the reason why.” She halted on the beach, let go of him and clasped her hands before her, straightened her shoulders and her never-ending resolve.

“Aye, and glad I am that you’re no’ soul bound to another as many of your fae kind are.” He stopped, towering a good foot over her as he eyed her.

“Ah, well, things have now changed.” She rocked from foot to foot. “My mate, the one my soul is bound to, has now tracked me down and made it very clear he willnae allow me to wed another. I’m so sorry, Donnan, but I cannae marry you, no’ when my mate holds the other half of my soul and I too wish to be with him.”

His gaze narrowed then he snorted and shook his head. “Our betrothal,” he issued between clenched teeth, “cannae be broken. We are already as good as wed and should I lie with you right now, right here on this beach and consummate our agreement, then none would ever gainsay my decision to do so. You would be my wife in truth.”

“Yet should I honor our betrothal agreement and speak vows with you, I would still forever long for him. Is that what you want? A wife who yearns for another?” She had to make him see reason.

“Give me his name and I’ll ensure you cannae yearn for him for long.” He ran one finger along the length of his jeweled wrist dagger. “I can dispense with him, quickly and assuredly. My sons will hold fae blood. ’Tis my duty to my clan to ensure it and your duty to your clan to honor our agreement. Tell me the man’s name and I’ll deal with the wretch.”

“Nay, you must accept my decision.”

“Speak his name, Layla. I demand that you do.” He thumped his fisted hands against his chest then let out a mighty roar. The thundering rumble echoed along the loch and sent birds nesting in the long grasses squawking and scattering into the sky. “I will have his head, lass, and you willnae stop me.”