The Laird of Stonehaven (20 page)

“I dinna like to think it, Graeme, but mayhap one of your kinsmen set the fire.”

“ ’Tis deplorable,” Graeme said, “but not impossible.”

He rose, took the brush from her hand and began drawing it through her hair. “It pains me to think one of my own people wishes you harm.”

“I canna change how people feel, Graeme, but those who know me are aware that I would do naught to harm them.”

“Aye. ’Tis why I dinna believe any of my kinsmen would deliberately hurt you. They have come to know you and depend upon your healing skills. Even Stuart has changed his mind about you, though ’twas not an easy thing for him to admit.”

He set the brush down and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Then he tipped her face up, lowered his head and kissed her.

“Sweet, so sweet,” he murmured against her lips. “I want to make love to you, Blair. ’Tis been a long time.”

I want the same thing
. Fear of something unnamed kept her from voicing her need. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“What does wisdom have to do with wanting one another? What are you afraid of? Are you still feeling pain?”

“Nay.”

“Then let me make love to you.”

Blair could not deny him, nor did she want to. Since she still had her powers she supposed she was safe in believing she could guard her heart, so why should she deny herself the comfort of Graeme’s body? There was no shame in making love with one’s husband, or so she had been taught.

She rose and turned into his arms, lifting her lips to his in blatant invitation. Graeme groaned as he dragged her against him, taking her mouth with a hunger startling in its intensity. She felt his sex stirring between them and deliberately rubbed her softness against it, creating a volatile friction that brought a flood of moisture to her aching center.

With sudden impatience, he released her and dragged his boots off. Then he reached for her and pulled her with him toward the bed. They didn’t make it. Hastily he lowered her to the woven rug before the hearth, his face a study in desperate need and dark desire. He was about to remove his shirt and plaid when Blair caught his hand and pulled him on top of her.

“Later,” she whispered, her haste in direct proportion to her great need.

He went down willingly, catching her in his arms, kissing her thoroughly as he raised her skirt. Sweeping aside his plaid, he plunged inside her. Then he went absolutely still, luxuriating in blissful pleasure as Blair’s tight sheath drew him in. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her naked, wanted to touch her dewy skin, needed to feel the heat of her flesh against his hands.

Still connected to her in the most intimate way, Graeme worked Blair’s gown over her head and off. Her shift followed. Moaning in pleasure, he molded her magnificent breasts in his hands, then buried his face between them, rubbing back and forth, exulting in their creamy smoothness.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. His lips closed over one coral tip. Blair shuddered, her hips rocking against him. When he moved to tease the other nipple, her nails bit into his back, then slid under his plaid to dig into his buttocks.

Nothing in his past had prepared him for this heightened degree of passion, for no woman could compare with his wee Faery Woman. Patience deserted him as he caught both of her hands in one of his, pinning her wrists to the floor above her head so that her breasts lifted, giving him unlimited access to her nipples.

His mouth clamped down hard on one sweet bud as he began to move inside her. Crying out, she squirmed against him, yanking free of his grip and pulling at his clothing in wordless demand. But Graeme would not be hurried. His blue eyes were dark and feral, his teeth bared as he thrust and withdrew, reaching deep to give her the most pleasure.

“Your clothes!” Blair pleaded, tearing at the edges of his shirt.

“Later,” he gasped, grinding his hips against her. “We have the whole night ahead of us, lass.”

She gave a low moan of distress when he withdrew nearly all the way, then she clutched his hips and groaned when he thrust in and upward, going deep inside her. He nearly spilled when convulsions ripped though her and he felt her tighten around him in hard, rapid spasms.

He surged into her again and again, bucking wildly until he finally reached the ultimate peak and pleasure splintered through him. Panting, he rested his damp forehead against hers, waiting for his world to stop spinning.

“I canna love you,” Blair whispered.

Her words tore through his contentment, exposing the darkness that stood between them.

“So you’ve said before.”

He rose up on his knees, scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, his gaze dark and inflexible as he removed his clothing. But instead of joining her, he poured water from a pitcher into a bowl and cleansed them both of his spent seed. When he returned to her, his sex was stirring again.

Blair stared at his groin, then lifted her gaze to his. “Did I not satisfy you?”

“Aye, but you left me wanting more.”

“Already? Is that possible? So soon, I mean.”

“More than possible.”

He leaned over, parted her legs and kissed the fragile skin on the inside of her thigh. Her sighs spurred him on as he spread his hand over her belly and kneaded the gentle curve, then drew the heel down over the slight rise of her woman’s mound. She moaned deep in her throat and began grinding her pelvis into his palm. The sweet scent of female arousal joined with the scent of his own rising ardor to produce the keenest aphrodisiac known to man.

He slid his fingers through the dainty blond curls and probed her intimately, grinning when he felt her wetness. Pushing her thighs apart, he gazed at her moist, pink center; the petal-like folds of her body were swollen, and the bud at their center glistened with pearly dew. She made a choking sound when he covered the sensitive bud with his mouth and suckled.

Murmuring his name, she thrust her hips upward, into the hot cave of his mouth. He continued his passionate torment until the convulsions raking her body subsided.

Throbbing and ready, he crawled upward and entered her clutching warmth, again and again, driving them both to a bone-wrenching climax.

Light-headed, utterly sated, he collapsed against her, wondering if he would ever move again. Blair’s quiet sobbing brought him abruptly back to reality. Raising himself up on his elbows, he looked questioningly into her eyes.

“Did I hurt you, sweetheart? I didna mean to.”

“You didna hurt me,” Blair hiccuped.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I am a wanton. What must you think of me? I dinna believe what we did is within the bounds of what the church allows.”

“ ’Tis my belief the church has no say over what takes place in the marriage bed. I love having a responsive wife. Passion between husband and wife is what keeps a husband from straying; it keeps the marriage vital.” He grinned at her. “Rest assured, I will never stray. You are the only woman I need in my bed.”

Warmed by his words, Blair curled into his arms and buried her head against his shoulder. He smelled of sex and sin and dark desire. How could a woman not love such a man?

Graeme was gone when Blair awoke the next morning. A blush stained her cheeks when she recalled their loving the night before. She couldn’t believe her boldness. She had responded with wanton abandon to Graeme, but he did not seem to mind. She flexed her muscles, finding aches in unmentionable places. Swinging her feet to the ground, she attempted to stand. Suddenly light-headed, she plopped back down on the bed until the feeling passed.

When the giddiness eased, she rose and began the simple tasks of washing and dressing. Feeling much better, she went downstairs to break her fast. Graeme must have seen her enter the hall, for he soon joined her.

“I hoped you would sleep longer,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. “How do you feel?”

Blair sent him a covert glance from beneath lowered lids. “I feel fine. Why should I not?”

Graeme grinned. “I am glad to hear it. I too feel fine. Invigorated, in fact.” He leaned forward to whisper against her ear. “You bewitch me.”

Blair recoiled in alarm. “I canna bewitch people.”

Graeme straightened, aware that his kinsmen were watching. “I dinna believe it. Everyone can see I am clearly besotted.”

Blair’s eyes widened. “You are?” Somehow that was hard to credit. Was Graeme teasing her?

He placed a chaste kiss on her brow and backed away. “I was just about to leave when you arrived.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the MacKay stronghold. I need answers about the men who attacked you and Stuart.”

“Think you Donal MacKay sent them?”

He touched the dirk sheathed at his waist. “I’d wager my
skean dhu
that he did. Stay close to the keep until I return.”

“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

His brow furrowed. “What is it?”

“Is there a chamber within the keep that I might use to prepare my herbal remedies after I replenish what I lost in the fire?”

A vein pulsed in Graeme temple. “Did you learn naught, woman? ’Tis best you direct your energy in another direction.”

“You know I canna,” she said softly. “Please, Graeme, dinna make me defy you. Let me do what I was born to do. When winter comes, your clansmen will seek cures for fevers, chills and sniffles. My salves can heal their burns, and teas brewed from certain herbs can cure minor ills and aid women giving birth.”

Graeme appeared torn. “If I allow it, will you promise that no magic will be involved?”

“I but intend to gather herbs, mix salves and prepare soothing teas.”

“No herb-gathering excursions without at least six of my guardsmen protecting you. Do you understand?”

“Aye. Do you have a chamber in mind?”

“There is an unused chamber on the first floor, next to the armory. It has a window and a small hearth and should serve your purpose. I may be mad for allowing it, but I canna argue with the fact that your remedies help my kinsmen.”

“Thank you, Graeme,” Blair said sincerely.

He gave her a hard stare, bent and kissed her lips, then strode off.

“Be careful,” she called to his rapidly departing back. A nod and a wave acknowledged her warning.

Graeme crossed the boundary between Campbell and MacKay lands and rode with an escort of a dozen men toward the MacKay stronghold. As he passed through the village, he noted the run-down condition of the dilapidated huts, comparing them with the neat cottages in his own village. He had more respect for his kinsmen than to let them live in poverty. His own people were well fed and reasonably prosperous.

There was no mistaking the hostile glares directed at him by MacKay clansmen. His distinctive Campbell plaid was eyed with distrust. There had been bad feeling between the Campbells and MacKays since Graeme’s great-grandfather had stolen Marta MacKay and made her his wife. Unfortunately, the lass died in childbirth and the child with her. The ensuing years hadn’t softened the animosity between the clans.

Reiving was not uncommon, and many a Campbell sheep now grazed on MacKay lands. Still, Graeme had done everything in his power to keep communications open between the two clans. Blood feuds were destructive and counterproductive.

Graeme reined in before a nondescript grog shop and ordered his men to wait outside as he entered the dim interior.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” the surly barkeep asked. “ ’Tisna often we get a visit from the Campbell laird.”

“I developed a thirst on my way to visit the MacKay.” He slapped a coin down on the scarred counter. “Ale.”

Graeme took his ale to a table and sat down. Three men seated at a nearby table eyed him warily, but when it appeared that Graeme was merely interested in quenching his thirst, they lost interest. Not so the barmaid, who ambled over to Graeme and indicated the empty chair.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Since Graeme was after information, he invited the overblown woman to sit down.

“My name is Nell. Ye look lonely. I’m not busy right now, and my room is above stairs.”

Graeme stifled a smile. There was nothing subtle about Nell. “Your invitation is tempting, but I canna linger.”

Nell’s eyes narrowed. “What business do ye have with our laird? I heard ye wed the witch woman the MacKay wanted.” She leaned close, affording Graeme a glimpse of large, pillowy breasts. “What is it like bedding a witch? Our kinsmen were relieved the MacKay didna bring her here.”

Graeme stiffened. “Blair isna a witch. She is a Faery Woman and a healer. But my business concerns your kinsmen. Have any men from the village gone missing recently?”

Alarm widened Nell’s brown eyes. “How did ye know? My own brother and four of his friends have disappeared. Do ye ken what happened to them?”

Graeme decided that half-truths would have to suffice. “Aye, mayhap. We found five bodies in the forest after the summer storm that ravaged the area several days ago. They didna wear MacKay plaids, so we had no idea who they were.”

“Did ye find them on MacKay lands?”

“Nay, we found them on Campbell lands. Their deaths were acts of God, not man. They were crushed beneath trees felled by lightning.”

Tears filled Nell’s eyes. “I am sorry to hear my brother is dead. It sore grieves me.”

Graeme finished his ale and rose. His visit to the village had been enlightening. There was no way that MacKay could lie about sending the men to kidnap Blair when the truth had been so easily obtained. He withdrew a coin from his sporran and flipped it to Nell.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said as he made his way out of the grog shop.

“Did ye learn anything?” Heath asked when Graeme reappeared.

“Aye, a great deal. Five men have disappeared from the village. I see Donal MacKay’s hand in this. He will stop at naught to get what he wants.”

“I dinna ken why he wants Blair,” Heath mused.

“He believes she can use witchcraft to bring him riches and power. You saw the state of the village. I am willing to bet his keep is in sad repair and his coffers are empty. He needs gold to support the king and gain his favor. Both MacKay and Niall MacArthur are power hungry. The king does naught without a reason, and those he befriends must pay for the privilege.”