The Laird's Daughter (15 page)

Jean smiled at her, awaiting her answer. Annie hesitated, remembering Father Cowan’s accusing words when he learned she’d gone to Rafe the first time.

“All you need to do, lass, is talk to him and tell him the truth of who you are. Until you’ve done that, there’s no hope for the two of you.”

“There’s no hope for us anyway, I fear, but I’ll go. Thank you, Jean.” She hugged her friend then hurried inside to serve the bowl of soup to Father Cowan.

“They’ve sent word to fetch me to the castle.”

“Be careful, lass,” the old man said and began to eat his soup.

He looked more tired than usual, his blue eyes dim and watery, his shoulders slumping beneath the rough woolen shirt. Though his work as a shepherd had not been as hard as some other tasks, the years wore on him. The sun and mountain winds had chafed and burned his skin ruddy. His gray, unkempt hair was twisted into an unruly braid down his back.

Impulsively, Annie leaned forward and planted a kiss on his brow.

“Ach, what’s that for?” He scowled at her, his soup forgotten. His weak eyes studied her in puzzlement. Plainly, he’d still not grown to accept her capricious nature.

“I but wish to show my affection for you,” Annie answered softly. “And to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“You’re the Laird’s daughter,” he answered and went back to spooning the thin soup into his mouth as if those simple words answered everything.

“Mayhap, ‘tis best I don’t go,” Annie said reluctantly.

“I’ll be all right whilst you’re gone,” he answered without looking up from his bowl. “I’m to bed early tonight. Have Bryce go about with you.”

“Nay, I’ll not bother him. He’s no doubt tired as well. I’ll be safe enough,” she answered lightly. “Don’t worry if I’m late.”

She hurried to her corner and reached for one of the gowns Jean had given her. Shucking off her everyday tunic, she pulled the soft peacock blue fabric over her body. It shimmered even in the shadows. By the time she was ready to leave the croft, Father Cowan was already settled on his pallet, emitting heavy snores.

The night was dark velvet. A soft breeze caressed her cheeks as she made her way to the bailey gate. Outside the village, she hesitated. The night seemed blacker, the Oban forests more foreboding. Where was Jean? She’d promised she and Captain Aindreas would accompany her.

“Annie,” a voice called softly, and two riders appeared out of the night. “’Tis Aindreas and me, Jean. We have a mount for you.”

Annie’s heart quickened as she ran to them. “What have you done?” she cried, breathless with fear and laughter.

Jean’s echoing giggles added to her lighthearted boldness. Obviously, the noblewoman saw this as a lark. Suddenly, her happy mood eased Annie’s misgivings.

“We can’t run all the way in the dark,” Aindreas said. “So I saddled some horses for us. Come, we’ve lost enough time as it is.”

“’Tis madness,” Annie said, but she climbed into the saddle.

They moved down the path, holding their mounts to a slow and quiet trot until they were away from the castle, then Aindreas picked up the pace. When they were well into the woods and nearing the pool, the MacIntyre captain drew his mount to a halt.

“You must go on alone,” Jean said. “We’ll wait here. Rafe would not have us know of his rendezvous with you.”

“Why not?” Annie asked, her heart sinking.

“Because the men tease him enough for his moodiness over you,” Aindreas said good-naturedly. “They think he moons over a wood fairy. I’m glad to see ‘tis not so.”

“We’ll be here if you need us, lass,” Jean reassured her. “You have but to call out.”

Aindreas had already dismounted. Now he lifted Jean from her saddle and reached for his tartan, which he spread on the ground at the base of a tree and took Jean’s hand. Gracefully and unhesitatingly, she settled on the place he’d made for her.

“Don’t tarry long, lass,” Aindreas said, glancing at the dwindling light. “I have no wish to spend long hours here in these woods with tales of ghosts and goblins about.”

“’Tis but a tale concocted by the MacDougalls to confound their enemies,” Annie reassured him. “I played here as a child. There is no danger.”

“No need to ease our fears,” Jean replied. “Be gone with you, Annie, and stay as long as you like.” She glanced at Aindreas and her intentions were clear enough for Annie to grin.

Annie realized she had been dawdling because of some unnamed fear of what lay ahead, admittedly, she already knew. She could barely wait to see Rafe. Now, in the soft twilight world of the woods, she could forget all the reasons why she couldn’t see Rafe again, forget about Father Cowan’s condemnations, even about her clan’s needs. Tonight, she was a woman, loved and desired. But what of Jean’s advice? How would she find the words to tell Rafe the truth about herself and would such a revelation really help her clan? Not only her future but that of her clan depended on his reaction. She thought of how this tryst might in fact be the beginning of a peaceful existence between the Campbells and the MacDougalls. Perhaps, between them, she and Rafe could make things better for her people. But she’d not come for her clan’s benefit, she acknowledged. This mad dash to meet Rafe Campbell in the secluded privacy of Oban was for her heart’s need. She would think no longer about it. She would take what the night had to offer.

Twilight had gone. Darkness had settled soft as a lover’s touch. Moonlight reflected from the black surface of the water and gilded the leaves, making it an enchanted place. She was alone, and her heart beat dully with fear he hadn’t come and a greater fear that he had.

Recklessly she slid from her horse and walked to the large boulder where she usually sat drying her hair. Climbing up on its flat surface, she stood gazing at the bright orb glowing in the black velvet sky, then filled with some age-old yearning that might have come from her Pictish ancestors, she raised her arms in a fanciful invocation to the senescent moon goddess of yore. She was as one with the deities of old, translucent, weightless, an ethereal essence with the glittering gold of her unbound hair and the shimmery gleam of her gown delineating her very being. She was no longer Annie, the goose girl. She was Lady Anna MacDougall, beautiful and desirable, an exotic creature of the night and the woodland mistress of her domain.

Breathlessly, she waited on the threshold of a monumental shift in her world. Nothing would ever be the same from this moment on. She felt no fear, only the need to move forward, to meet her destiny, to be the woman she’d been denied by circumstances over which she had no power. She was Lady Anna. That would not change.

She spread her arms wide, calling on all the powers that be to accept her, to make her ready for her new role and she found the answer within. Her heart filled with joy. She felt the power and magic of the moonlight, and a song welled from her very soul, a song such as she’d never uttered before. It poured spontaneously from her lips, from her heart, rising over the towering trees, trilling to the night sky like the sweet warble of a bird, which must utter its song or die.

Rafe stepped into the clearing and gasped. Annie heard and turned to him.

“You’re here,” he said in wonderment.

Annie lowered her arms and turned toward him as if all along she’d been aware of his presence and perhaps she had. There was a new awareness within her. They stood staring at each other, their bodies taut, their hearts beating in perfect tempo, meshing as one.

“I had to come when I learned you’d be here,” he said fervently.

“Who told you?”

“Does it matter? We’re here together.” He ran the few steps up the side of the boulder and took her hand. As one, they sank to their knees facing each other, their hips touching, their fingers entwined.

“Lass, tell me your name,” he pleaded softly. “Don’t make me go without knowing who you are and how I might find you. I’ve been mad with fear I’d never see you again.”

“I’m nearer than you imagine.”

“That does me little comfort when I can’t find you.” His hand gripped hers stubbornly. Then his dark eyes gazed into hers. “I promised myself I’d not bedevil you for your name when next we met.” He looked down ruefully. His expression sobered when next his eyes met hers.

“You’re so beautiful in the moonlight,” he breathed.

He leaned forward and placed his lips against hers. At first his kiss was soft, then his lips firmed and slid across hers, demanding, tasting, relaying his hot desire. She answered with her own passion, her soft lips parting to accept his rasping tongue. Her heart pounded with a need as new and eternal as life itself. His tongue swirled across hers, drove deeper and withdrew, only to repeat the simulation of the long understood duel between man and woman, awakening within her a consuming desire that drove all fear and hesitancy before it.

When he released her, Annie gasped. This was what she’d longed for. This moment and every moment that went before in her life had led her to this man. She’d felt it before with him, but had tried to resist. Now there could be no denial. Her eyes shown with love, her face glowed in the moonlight. She gazed into his dark hewn face, into the moon-silvered eyes that mesmerized her so.

He stood waiting as if afraid of driving her away again, and she knew his wait would end with but a sign from her.

She leaned toward him, letting her feelings show. His face lit with joy and wonder. His arms claimed her, pulling her close. His mouth slanted across hers in a frenzied kiss that left them both breathless.

“Annabella, you’ve stolen my heart, my very mind from me,” he whispered hotly.

He kissed her cheeks, the curve of her throat and finally her breasts. Even through the sheer fabric of her gown, she could feel the heat of his mouth and longed to have his hot tongue rasp across her nipples. She’d been a virgin when he’d taken her before, but now she was a woman in full knowledge of what to expect. A knowledge that lent urgency to her expectations. She arched against him, inviting his touch, aching for it.

Her arms tightened around his waist, and she marveled at the wonderful hard lines beneath his tunic. Their hands fumbled in an attempt to remove the barrier of clothing. He drew back, his eyes were dark in the moon’s shadows, yet still burned brightly with hot desire. With one sweeping gesture, he pulled his tunic over his head and stood bare-chested before her. The moonlight glinted on smooth muscles and exquisite planes that invited her touch. Laying her hands flat against his chest, she felt the mysterious contradiction of smooth flesh and the roughness of crisp hair swirling across his chest and downward to the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned at the delicate touch of her fingertips against his nipples, at the innocent, inquisitive exploration of his chest and waist. Her arms curled around his sides, her hands exploring the smooth breadth of his back, reacquainting herself with the subtle length of muscles and sinew, the breadth of his shoulders, coming to rest finally on his chest again while she leaned against him, her mouth raised for his kiss.

His hands molded her to him, so it seemed nothing separated them, they were one, despite the silk of her gown. She wondered why she’d held herself away from him for these past days. She’d longed for him over and over again, but she’d denied her feelings, willed herself to stay away. What a fool she’d been. His hands, large and rough from battle and all things masculine, grew gentle, his touch tender as he unfastened her gown, so it lay in a shimmering puddle around them. His gaze moved down her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. “Your perfection takes my breath away.”

His hands smoothed over her naked flesh, his fingertips exploring as hers had done earlier. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs flickering across her tender nipples, then his palms moved over her waist and the flare of her hips and the curve of her buttocks. His breath grew ragged, and she guessed his growing need for she felt it, too.

He pulled her to him and she felt the sensuous, breathtaking excitement of warm skin gliding against skin. That a man could be at once rough and soft surprised and delighted her. The crisp curly hair on his chest scraped her nipples, awakening sensations throughout her body, but especially between her thighs and deep in her belly, so she gasped and closed her eyes against the rich passions that claimed her.

“Did I hurt you, lass?” he whispered against her ear.

“Nay,” she answered. “You pleasure me beyond measure.”

He made a sound, and she sensed that her words had pleased him. She leaned against him, her arms circling his waist, her head against his chest. Her unbound hair flowed down her back, and he plunged his hands into it.

“Will you stay with me this night?” he asked softly.

She hesitated. He sensed it, but her answer was steady enough.

“Aye, happily,” she said.

He lowered her to the flat stone, still heated from the day’s sun. He kissed her again, deep invasive forays of conquest and submission. His hands ran over her belly and thighs and finally to the soft secret flesh between her thighs. His touch was gentle, his fingers knowing and skilled. He was an experienced lover, she thought as his lips settled over one nipple and she felt the jolt of passion as his teeth, and hot raspy tongue assailed her tender flesh, then laved away any pain so all she felt was a growing need for more, ever more.

He rose and removed his breeches then hovered over her. She felt his penis, hard and throbbing with a life of its own, against her belly, then he parted her legs and settled between her thighs, that great, engorged member going unerringly to the moist place he’d prepared for it.

Her heart flooded with love for the man, and she spread her thighs wider, following her instincts as she gave herself to him. He thrust against her, seeking to go deeper, and she tightened against him. This time there was no pain, only the growing sensations inside her. He carried her into a world of rhythm and pleasure such as she’d never guessed. She felt his hard, hot rod slide in and out, exciting her with each stroke, rousing some primitive yearning that only he could fulfill. She whimpered with a need for more, and he moved tirelessly to fill that need. A mounting tension built within her, a cry formed deep in her chest, a desire to give voice to the emotions he evoked.