Sins of the Highlander (18 page)

“Dinna move, love.”

Rob hadn’t used the bed-curtain cords to tie her, but Elspeth obeyed his order to keep still all the same. Every time she moved, he stopped. She couldn’t bear that.

Every fiber of her body, every finger-width of her skin strained toward him, longing for them to join. He’d teased her with his cock’s nearness twice, slipping just the tip of him inside her aching emptiness, but he pulled back to torment her more each time. When she moved to stroke him, to entice him back, he gently pushed her hand away, pinioning her spread-eagled.

“This time is for ye, Elspeth.” He kissed down her ribs, past her belly, and settled between her splayed legs. “I dinna wish ye to think on anything but your own pleasure.”

“What of your pleasure?” she’d asked between gasps as his tongue flogged her intimate places.

He paused, midlick. “Any man who says this didna give him pleasure is a dead man. I love the soft, secret parts of ye, Elspeth, all musky sweet with your dew. And I love that this special bit of ye is only for me.”

She was ready to surrender every bit of herself, not just the throbbing mass between her legs. She trembled. She lost control of her limbs. She balled the sheets in her tightly clenched fists. She drew near, teetering on sharp-edged longing. Then as the first contraction pulsed in her nether lips, Rob pulled back.

“Ach, Rob, please!”

He rose and covered her, mouth to mouth, body to body. His full length filled her in one long thrust, and she was once again near the edge of bliss.

“That’s all I was waiting for, love,” he whispered. “Ye beg so prettily, how can I refuse ye?”

He rocked his hips, and the pressure on her sensitive spot sent her over the edge. Her inner walls spasmed around him in violent embrace. It was as if she was coming unraveled, and the only thing keeping her from unspooling completely was the solid length of his cock. He arched his back, plunging deeper as she continued to pulse.

His kiss swallowed up her cry of completion.

Once she finally stopped throbbing, he began to move slowly. Still aglow from her release, Elspeth fell into rhythm with him. She peppered his neck with kisses. She whispered urgent endearments. She loved every bit of this man with every bit of herself.

And when he came inside her, she held his shuddering frame, still rocking against him, drawing him farther in. He was hers. She would have all of him.

Peace descended like a mantle, draping over them, sheltering them. The armies beyond the walls faded from Elspeth’s mind. There was no rush. No need. All that mattered was holding each other and protecting their joining for as long as it could last.

“I love ye, lass,” Rob whispered as he finally slipped out of her. “Ye ken that, aye?”

“Aye. Ye loved me so well I almost dinna need to hear it, but I’m glad for it all the same,” she whispered back. “I love ye, too.”

“On the morrow—”

“Let’s not waste our time together on such things.” She put a finger to his lips. “The morrow will care for itself.”

“All right.” He rolled to one side and snugged her against him. “What shall we talk of, then?”

“I wasna thinking of talking.” She stole away from him and out from under the covers, braving the cold room long enough to retrieve one of the bed-curtain cords. “I was wondering what it will take to make
ye
beg.”

***

The morning dawned gray and mizzling. No hint of the sun’s warmth cut through the lowering sky. Rob girded himself in his hardened leather breastplate and strapped on his greaves and forearm guards. He was determined to have his parley with Stewart and Drummond before the heavens burst open and the light rain became a drenching torrent. He mounted the second-best horse in his stable.

He missed Falin. Since the stallion hadn’t found his way back to his own stall, Rob feared the worst. He hated to imagine Falin coming to a bad end in a wolf’s belly. He preferred thinking the wicked beastie was kicking up his heels, wallowing in his freedom, and rutting every stray mare he found.

Hamish sauntered into the stable and swung his leg up and over a roan gelding.

“Ye dinna have to come with me,” Rob said.

“I’m no’ likely to let ye go alone, am I?” Hamish said.

“I’ll come to no harm under a flag of truce.” Rob nudged his mount into a sedate walk across the bailey. Hamish rode alongside as the milling populace parted before them. Rob motioned for the portcullis to be raised, and the drawbridge lowered.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with ye. Men of honor respect an offer to parley.” Hamish hefted the pole with the white flag fluttering at the top, and clomped across the bridge behind Rob. “But that means ye must trust Lachlan Drummond to be honorable. I’ve no’ got that much trust in me. Ye might have signaled from the safety of the walls and given Stewart and Drummond safe conduct.”

“No, I need to be seen making this offer of peace,” Rob said. “By both sides.”

But only one person seeing him do this really mattered to him. He knew Elspeth watched him from the battlements of
Caisteal Dubh
, though he resisted turning to look at her. She needed to see that he was trying to settle this impasse, that he wished to make peace with her father.

But damned if he’d make peace with her former bridegroom.

***

“This canna be. ’Tis a trick,” Lachlan said, narrowing his eyes at the approaching pair of horsemen. The colors of the caparison on one of the mounts declared its rider was the MacLaren himself. “Mad Rob wasna inside the castle when we parleyed last week. And not a soul has entered or left while we bided here.”

“That’s as may be, but they come under a flag of truce,” Stewart said, pulling on his heavy gloves. “The riders halted beyond the range of their archers and within the reach of ours. ’Tis a gesture of good faith. Whoever it is on that horse may have news of Elspeth, at least. I’m willing to hear what they have to say. ” He shot a cold glare at Drummond. “Come or stay, as ye will. ’Tis of no consequence to me what ye do.”

In the time they’d been encamped before the castle walls, squabbles between their men had strained the relationship between the two lairds. Drummond watched his ally stalk toward the groom who led the Stewart’s horse from the picket lines. If Stewart’s daughter was dead, their alliance was on shaky ground at best. It was time to mend the damage. Lachlan signaled for his horse to be brought as well.

But he didn’t hurry. The riders from the castle were the ones who wanted to parley, not he. He would have been just as happy to mount up and ride back to his own stronghold for the rest of the winter.

Once there, he’d be able to plan and find someone from
Caisteal Dubh
with a grudge against his laird deep enough that he might be bribed into opening the gates for Lachlan’s assault come spring.

The Dark Castle had never been taken from without. No one had tried to take it from within, but Lachlan was willing to be the first.

But Stewart would brook no delay in settling this question. If Drummond could have left him there in the mud and still kept his agreements with Stewart intact, he’d have been gone in a heartbeat.

When Alistair saw that Lachlan was making ready to join him, he reined in his mount and waited just beyond the first ranks of men. Lachlan knew all eyes were trained on them as he caught up to Stewart and they rode to meet the delegation from the castle.

He straightened his spine. Men respected strength, so he always tried to project it.

But
his
men also appreciated guile. Cunning was strength of a sort, after all. Lachlan wasn’t about to disappoint them.

***

“Well, Robbie,” Hamish said as Stewart and Drummond approached at a trot. “Ye’re about to get yer wish. Dinna say I didna warn ye.”

Rob raised a hand in greeting and also to show that he was unarmed.

Alistair Stewart’s eyes flared with recognition as they drew closer. Lachlan’s shifted from Rob to the castle and back, clearly reasoning that there were more ways into the stronghold than met the eye.

“Where’s my daughter?” Stewart demanded.

“Straight to the point. I respect that,” Rob said. “Your daughter is safe and well.”

“Ye’ll pardon me if we’re disinclined to take the word of a madman,” Lachlan said.

Rob reached into his saddlebag. His opponents’ hands shot to the hilts of their swords. They hadn’t come unarmed to parley.

“One moment, and ye’ll be able to see for yourself,” he promised Elspeth’s father. He drew out a pair of glass discs and attached them at either end of a leather cylinder. His grandfather had brought the strange ocular device home from the Crusades, and it was one of Rob’s most prized possessions. He always called it his “Grandsire’s Eye.” He handed it to Stewart. “Look at the rightmost turret. Elspeth is there.”

Lord Stewart brought the glass to his eye and scanned the battlements for a few heartbeats. A smile burst over his face. “I wish to speak with her.”

“That I cannot allow,” Rob said. “But you have my word she is being well treated. No harm will come to her while she bides in my care.”

“So ye willna kill her as ye threatened?” Lachlan asked with a sneer.

Rob ignored him and spoke directly to Elspeth’s father. “Your daughter has naught to fear from me.”

Stewart’s gaze flicked to Drummond. “We’ve been told she was injured.”

“Aye, she was,” Rob said with a glare at Drummond. “But no’ by me.”

“All this talk is a waste of time,” Drummond said. “Ye’ve heard our demands, aye?”

“Aye,” Rob said calmly. “Ye wish the return of Elspeth Stewart, which I’m prepared to consider. My head is no’ negotiable.”

“All I want is my daughter,” Stewart said.

“Then you and I can come to an accord,” Rob said, deciding he liked Elspeth’s father. “I’m prepared to release the lady to ye, Lord Stewart, on the condition that her betrothal to Lachlan Drummond be sundered immediately.”

“Ye canna do that,” Lachlan thundered. “There have been agreements made, moneys paid.”

“Unmake them. Return the money,” Rob said. “I’ll no’ release the Lady Elspeth if there’s the slightest chance she’ll be forced into marriage with ye. Ye may lay a siege on
Caisteal Dubh
till Our Lord comes again, but I willna budge. On that matter, ye have my solemn promise.”

Stewart didn’t speak, but Rob could see he was considering the offer seriously.

“And once she is free, Lord Stewart, I ask your leave to court her and marry her,” Rob said.

“So that’s what ye’re about!” Lachlan all but pounced. “Ye wish to increase yer herds and lands by yoking yourself to the House of Stewart.”

Rob shook his head and turned back to Elspeth’s father. “I ask no dowry. I’ll pay whatever bride price ye name, my lord. My men will answer your call should ye find yourself in need of MacLaren swords, with no return promise of aid. All I want from you is your daughter to be my wife. That’s riches enough for any man.”

“
If
I accept your terms, and I’m no’ saying I do, ye must accept mine as well, MacLaren,” Elspeth’s father said. “While I might give consent to ye courting her, I’ll no’ force Elspeth to marry anyone. It didna work the first time. If she willna have ye, there’s an end to it, aye?”

“Agreed.” Rob’s chest burned with triumph. Elspeth would be his. He was certain of it.

Lachlan Drummond’s face was turning an unhealthy shade of scarlet.

“And as for the second of your demands, I’ll make it part of my own,” Rob said, turning to Drummond. “Ye may have my head, Lachlan, if ye’re man enough to take it. Before I release the Lady Elspeth to her father’s keeping, ye and I will meet in single combat.”

“Why should I agree to that when we have your castle surrounded?” Lachlan said. “Your people willna be satisfied to stay inside the walls come spring when there’s planting to be done.”

“Spring’s a long ways off,” Rob said. “D’ye really intend to pass Christmastide in a cold siege instead of warm by your own hearth? I’d warrant a coward such as yourself would prefer that.”

Drummond drew his sword in one smooth motion.

“Peace!” Stewart thundered, drawing his own and crossing it over Lachlan’s. “We are under a flag of truce, and the man is unarmed.”

“He insulted me!”

“Then accept his challenge,” Stewart said.

“Can ye no’ see what he’s doing?” Lachlan returned his sword to its sheath sullenly. “He only made this offer to divide us.”

“If so, he’s done a good job of it,” Hamish muttered under his breath.

“Ye’ll have your answer on the morrow, MacLaren,” Lord Stewart said as he returned Rob’s glass device. “I thank ye for your care of my daughter. I trust it will continue, whatever our decision.”

Rob nodded solemnly.

The Stewart reined his horse around and rode off the field. Lachlan glared at Rob.

“If we meet in battle, ye should know I give no quarter,” Drummond said.

“And I was set to show ye mercy,” Rob answered pleasantly; then his face went hard as winter oak. “The same mercy ye showed my wife.”

“Ye canna mean to consider this lunatic’s proposal!” Lachlan slammed his fist on the ornate travel table positioned in the center of Stewart’s pavilion. The large tent was furnished as comfortably as if it were a room in his keep, complete with a camp bed, a wash stand, and a wolf-pelt rug. Drummond’s camp was far more spartan than his wealthier ally’s. “We had an agreement!”

Stewart’s eyes glittered dangerously at him. “And I’m of a mind to alter that agreement.” He returned his attention to the stack of missives that had come by courier earlier that day, as if he were totally unconcerned by Lachlan’s outburst. At least one of the messages bore the royal seal. “So far, there’s no evidence MacLaren has harmed my daughter. She looked healthy, clean, and well fed. She even smiled a time or two while I looked at her. Why should I not consider what he had to say?”

“He admits she was injured. The bastard shot her with a crossbow bolt.” Lachlan paced the perimeter of the tent. “I saw him do it with my own eyes.”

“Aye, so ye say.” Stewart looked up from his missives only briefly. “He denies it.”

“Are ye calling me a liar?”

“I’m saying it was dark, and the eye can play tricks.”

Lachlan dragged a hand over his face. “Ye’re distraught, so I’ll let that go for the sake of our bonds.”

“What puzzles me is why ye dinna wish to fight the MacLaren,” Stewart said, laying aside the stack of correspondence. “I’ve a feeling if the tables were turned and ye had stolen his bride at the altar, heaven and earth couldna turn him from taking up his sword against ye.”

“I dinna know why ye hold the MacLaren’s actions up to be admired and repeated. He broke the sanctity of a kirk, for Christ’s sake! He stole your daughter. Probably stole her maidenhead as well. The man’s no’ exactly sane.”

“He seemed perfectly sane to me, and you will keep your scurrilous assumptions to yourself. There’s no evidence he’s harmed Elspeth in
any
way. It appears she’s been accorded every respect.” Stewart rose to his feet and stared at Lachlan until he was forced to look away. Then Stewart took his seat once more and picked up another oilskin packet, breaking the seal with his dirk.

“But he demanded we sever our alliance.”

“And if ye kill the MacLaren in single combat, perhaps we’d renew it. Ye can take him surely,” Stewart said. “All in all, his demands dinna seem unreasonable.”

Stewart would think that. He wasn’t risking his neck in single combat with the bloody MacLaren. Lachlan had the reputation of being a wicked swordsman, and it was well deserved in his younger days. But drink and soft living had caused him to lose a step or two, more than might be expected of a man who should be in his prime. Sometimes, his hand shook uncontrollably when he took up a blade, one of the reasons he’d shifted to the crossbow as his weapon of choice. Now he fought only men he was certain he could kill. Whether by superior swordsmanship or by cunning.

He didn’t feel confident either would help him best Rob MacLaren.

“What do ye intend on the morrow, Stewart?”

“I havena decided.” Alistair Stewart sent him a withering glance. “Ye’ll know when I give my answer to the MacLaren, but if I were you, I’d polish up my swordplay. Now will ye leave me in peace? I’ve been gone from home too long, and there’s a great deal here that requires my attention.”

Lachlan shoved out of the tent flap and stomped toward his encampment. Matters were spiraling out of control. He had to get a grip on them again. His body servant had lit the lamp inside his tent and stood by ready to serve, but it would take too long for him to pour wine into a horn. Lachlan lifted the wineskin from its peg and upended it into his mouth in a long stream of red.

“Leave me,” he growled and swiped his mouth on his sleeve.

The fellow, whose name Lachlan couldn’t even remember, bowed and started to sidle out.

“No, wait.” An idea suddenly rushed into him. “Send Randall to me.”

Randall was the best marksman under Lachlan’s command. He was wicked enough with a long bow, but deadly accurate with a crossbow. And best of all, he owed Lachlan more fealty than was common, since he’d killed a man and Drummond had covered the deed for him by accusing and executing someone else for the crime. Randall was bound to serve the House of Drummond by an oath he dared not break.

When the man appeared, Lachlan didn’t acknowledge his presence for about ten heartbeats. He was still poking at his idea to see if he could detect any flaws. He found none.

“I want you to leave camp this night.”

“Where am I bound, my lord?”

“I want ye to find a place to hide near the castle walls, a snug spot from which ye can shoot a bolt far enough to reach the place where we held parley this day.”

“Ye mean for me to kill the MacLaren by stealth?”

“No,” Drummond said with a sly smile. “On my signal, I want you to plant your bolt in the heart of Alistair Stewart.”

After a few more instructions, the man left, ready to make his way to a place of concealment. On the morrow, because of the direction of the bolt’s path, it would seem as if one of MacLaren’s men broke the truce and killed Stewart. After that, Stewart’s men would never let MacLaren or his second reach the safety of their castle. They’d be torn to pieces before their own walls.

If there were men worthy of the name inside the castle, they’d not suffer their laird to be cut down before their eyes. The Clan MacLaren would throw open the gates and flood out to meet the angry Stewarts. Lachlan would quietly lead the Clan Drummond from the field.

And when the dust settled and the bodies were collected, there’d be two clans in want of leadership, weakened and broken. And they’d both be beholden to him for keeping his head and negotiating a peace settlement between them, a settlement that would include fealty and yearly tributes to be paid to the Clan Drummond.

Lachlan might be laird in all but name of three clans by the time the moon rose twice.

***

Elspeth felt better about attending supper this night. Rob’s people had been friendlier to her all day—all but Mrs. Beaton and her niece Margot. When Elspeth stood at the battlements, folk talked of her bringing their laird luck in his negotiations. And since he returned to the castle unharmed, she was considered
good
luck.

Rob had come to escort her down to the Great Hall again, and she was greeted warmly by several people who’d glared at her the night before as they took their place of honor. Rob looked so handsome, she could scarcely tear her eyes from him. Though he didn’t share what he’d discussed with her father, he assured her she’d be happy about it once he was able to tell her.

“At least, I hope ye’ll be happy,” he’d said, stealing a quick kiss in a dark corridor on their way down to the evening meal.

She didn’t think she could cram in much more happiness than she felt now. If only she didn’t have this niggling headache. It was like a claw at the base of her skull, and nothing she did could shake it.

She took a sip of wine, hoping that might ease the discomfort. Then one of the serving girls lit another candle at the end of their table, and suddenly her vision tunneled and Elspeth was sucked into the flame.

Brightness
burned
the
backs
of
her
eyes. Then the light dimmed, and she could see.

Oh, God! The battle scene. Not again.

Hundreds
of
bodies
littered
the
field, bleeding into winter-brown grass. Corbies cried and circled overhead, waiting. Women culled items of value from the fallen or searched, weeping, for dead loved ones. A large carrion bird swooped down, impatient for the upright humans to clear the heath so the corbies could feast on the bodies that remained.

Elspeth
wandered
through
the
glen
of
death, looking for something. She knew not what. The only thing that made it possible for her to put one foot before another was her certainty that she had Seen this battle before. This was all but a vision, as insubstantial as a dream and over as quickly.

Someone
groaned, a dying man among the dead. Another bleated piteously for his mother. Whose son was he? She couldn’t see his face.

No, he didn’t have a face.

She
jerked
her
gaze
away. It started to rain, heaven weeping for the fallen.

Oh, Merciful God! This vision was different. She saw something she recognized—a scrap of Stewart plaid. She ran toward it. Her father stared unblinking into the dripping sky. A crossbow bolt protruded from his chest. She sank down beside him, rocking in agony. A soft keening escaped her throat.

Then
a
shout
drew
her
gaze. A rabble had surrounded a single man. He fought like a demon, slashing and turning, but there were too many. A blade cut him, and he roared in agony. They closed in like wolves around a wounded buck. As he went down, he turned toward her, and she saw his face for a blink before they hacked him to pieces.

Rob!

The
blades
fell
like
scythes
on
wheat.

Someone
started
wailing, a wordless cry with no end.

Elspeth had no idea the screams came from her. Even once the mists of Sight faded and she was back in the Great Hall of
Caisteal Dubh
, she couldn’t make herself stop.

***

Mrs. Beaton and Nessa followed Rob when he carried a shrieking Elspeth up the long stairs, away from the shocked faces in the Great Hall. While he paced outside the room, Elspeth calmed a bit, crying out only at intervals as portions of the vision seeped back into her in stark clarity.

The serving women stripped her of her evening finery and put her back into her chemise for bed, murmuring softly to each other but not to Elspeth. She wasn’t offended. Their words were only muffled sounds, garbled and wavering, as if they spoke underwater. She didn’t know if she could have answered them intelligibly anyway.

Mrs. Beaton sent Nessa for a steaming cup of willow-bark tea, and supervised while Elspeth drank it. Only then did Elspeth’s heaving sobs finally subside into sniffles. Rob burst into the room, despite his housekeeper’s protest, refusing to be kept out a moment longer.

“Hush,
leannán
,” Rob crooned, stroking her brow. They were the first words that made sense to Elspeth’s mind. “There’s no need for tears.” He turned to the servants standing by Elspeth’s bedside. “Leave us.”

“But, my lord, ’tis not seemly for ye to—” Mrs. Beaton began.

“And it’s no’ seemly for ye to question your laird,” Rob fired back at her. “If ye canna obey a simple command, mayhap ye need to seek employment elsewhere.”

“As ye wish, my lord,” Mrs. Beaton said, tight-lipped. The serving girl, Nessa, followed her out of the chamber. When the door was open, Elspeth caught sight of Albus’s long, worried face in the corridor. He’d taken up his post as her guard once more. Her heart was eased by his presence this time.

Elspeth thought she heard the brush of a corbie’s wing making a low pass over the room. She grasped Rob’s shirt and pulled him close. “Rob?”

“Aye, love, I’m here. There’s naught to fear. None will harm ye, no’ while I breathe.”

“Oh, but they’ll harm ye,” she sobbed.

“Whist, now, no one’s going to harm me.” He cradled her head on his chest. “Where d’ye get such notions?”

She sat up straight. “Because I’ve Seen it.”

In halting words, she started to recount the details of her horrifying vision.

“I told ye I have the Sight. My Gift visited me this night, and if ye leave the castle, if ye meet Lachlan on the field of battle…” Her voice faltered.

“Then I’ll kill the blackguard.”

“Ye’ll die, Rob. Ye’ll die horribly, and I willna be able to bear it.” She pounded a fist on his chest once. “And so will my father.”

Hot tears scalded her cheeks, and she fought for breath.

“But ye’re wrong,
leannán
. In your vision, ye see many men dead on a field of battle. But there won’t be any battle,” he said, stroking her softly. “On the morrow, I’ll meet Drummond in single combat. Your father will be in no danger. This vision isna a true one.”

“All my visions are true,” she said woodenly. He might not be planning a battle, but one would overtake him nonetheless. The knowledge pressed against her chest, heavy as an anvil. If Rob parleyed with Drummond again, he and her father would die.

Unless she did something about it.