The Laird's Right (12 page)

“Here is the woodworker’s home,” Cairine said with relief. She knocked.

A smiling woman with graying hair answered. When she spotted Portia, her friendly grin died.

“The lairdess is in need of your husband’s talents to redecorate the laird’s chamber.”

“All are welcome,” she said, still blocking the threshold. The ladies lingered at the door. In England, the villagers had welcomed her while here, it seemed they would rather ignore her and perhaps soon, burn her.

Cairine cleared her throat.

“Oh, Lairdess, please enter.” She stumbled back.

Portia crossed into the home, pretending she received her with a warm welcome. A peat fire licked the bottom of the pot and a fragrant meal filled the home. The curtains were pushed back, not letting enough light into the home especially since a goat poked its head through the opening. The furnishings were of excellent quality and proof of the woodworker’s skill.

The thin man rose from his chair. Cairine introduced the couple to Portia. Baird and his wife, Dara, remained anchored to the spot. Portia was unsure of the next action. She needed their help and the clan’s acceptance. Dara glanced to the small window while her husband put his arm around her shoulder as if she needed protection.

“I’m reworking the laird’s chamber and wish you to create pieces for it.” Portia ran her hands over the chair, feeling the solid back and nary a splinter of wood. “Something like this beauty along with the Cameron badge details.”

“I can make a matching chair to the one in his chamber.”

Portia glanced up. She avoided venturing into his old chamber. Too much of an invasion…nay, to walk through his space would reveal too much about him. She didn’t know if she was ready to learn more about him. Now she must invade his space so that the chamber reflected him and his position.

“I have many items at the workshop.”

“Then I must stop by after you finish your meal. I shall leave you.”

The couple bid a warm farewell. Outside a crowd had gathered. From their rigid bodies, crossed arms and intense stare, Portia knew how witches felt when villagers came to drown them.

“Perhaps, we should return to the castle,” Cairine said.

“Lairdess MacLean advised me to meet with Elspeth. Please show me to her home.” Portia lifted her head to the perfect angle to show her standing. The reason for their hatred she was unsure, but that didn’t fail to lessen the sting of their rejection.

“My lady, do not fret. You shall earn the respect and welcoming of the clan. They will see the kind person you are.”

“I shall believe you.” She held onto Leah’s words and tucked them tight to her chest, even as she knew it was a grand feat, near to as impossible as her climbing Ben Nevis.

“Cairine,” Quinlan shouted.

Leah and Portia halted. Cairine continued onward. Portia looked back at Quinlan. He always wore a scowl, yet the one he donned now seemed darker. His brows were slanted downward that she couldn’t make out his eyes. His nostrils flared, turning his broken nose a deep red.

“Halt.” His order fell on her shut ears. “You are my wife and you will obey.”

Cairine spun around and slammed her hands on her hips. “Are you calling me daft?”

Quinlan looked confused. “Nay.”

“I know you are my husband so there is no need to bellow it through the clattan.”

He shook his head and let out a frustrated breath. “I shall deal with you later.” Quinlan continued over Cairine’s shouting. “I have come for the lairdess. You are to return to the castle.”

* * * *

Alec leaned against the wall alongside the chimney of the great hall. His forehead rested on his raised forearm. Through his wrinkled liene, she glimpsed his tense muscles as his neck strained. Embers shot out. Alec never flinched though some must have scorched his legs. Portia let out a relieved sigh to see him hale and whole, but she turned to get away from hearing whatever dreadful truth that weighed him down. Portia stirred from the entrance way then halted.

“Portia, come here.” He faced her. His brows pinched. His mouth was turned down. “Sit down.”

“Please tell me what you wish to say.” She drifted forward. She peeked at the turret stairs but continued forward with heavy steps.

“Sit down, then I shall.” He waved toward the chair then turned back to the fire.

She perched on the edge of the chair. Placing her hands on her lap, she covered one with the other. Beneath her palm, she pinched the wool fabric. She counted, reaching ten before he faced her again.

“The MacKintosh and Chattan raided last night.” He rubbed his brow. “An outer crofter family was killed along with the cattle. Nothing but embers remain.”

Portia covered her gaping mouth with her hand. An innocent family working the fields was ruthlessly killed because of land. That was the way of this world but Portia hated it. The innocent always suffered.

“The attack was because of me?” She gripped the chair’s seat.

He lowered his head. “Nay, though you played a part.”

Her lip trembled. “I am to blame.”
Again.

And the clan blamed her for it. Alec never neared, sending signals for her to keep her distance. It was the same rejection she had received from the clan. It seemed they were following his behavior. Leah’s words blew away, leaving nothing but the empty space of where she planned to create a new life.

“You are not to depart from the castle. Here you will be safe.”

She stared unseeing at the floor. Instead, she conjured images of smoke rising into the air, screams and smell of burning flesh. The terror the family must have been racked with, awoken in the night as devilish men attacked.

“Portia,” he snapped. He must have said her name a few times because he seemed to be yelling for her attention.

She licked her dry lips. “Is there any way I can help?”

“Nay, I cannot protect you.”

“Protect me from?” Her voice shook.

“The clan’s hot blood is demanding your head.”

“And you?”

At this moment, him standing before her, tall and straight with his powerful feet planted firmly on the ground, he appeared every part the laird. She swallowed hard. Time slowed. He did. She shut off every emotion within her.

Not willing to run from another rejection, she rose and said, “What will protect me from your anger? You are my husband and I stand at your side.”

“Do you?”

Portia stepped back from the blow the question delivered. She bolted to the laird’s chamber when she ached to run to England and her childhood home. She didn't care that her life might end there since anything was better than this torment. The burn in her eyes began once the latch fell. She let a few tears drop then scraped her hands across her cheeks. No more tears. Again, she was snagged under a man’s cruel control.

* * * *

Night hung heavy over the glen. The flames of the beacon flapped about as the wind raced down the mountains. Even that light failed to banish the thick blackness covering the glen. The clouds obscured the moon. Not one sliver of moonshine bounced off the River Loy, a perfect night for retribution against Clan Chattan and MacKintosh.

Mackintosh had sent patrols to ride the lands with Liam in command. This night, Alec planned to find the bastard and kill him.

Quinlan directed a small force of Camerons toward the crofters while Alec, along with his men, rode from the oak forest to the fields. Twenty men rode tonight. For a few, this was their first raid—a chance to bloody their swords and prove themselves as Cameron warriors as they helped run the Chattan from the land.

“Camerons are gentlemen but tonight, we are jackals.”

A frisson thickened the air. Inhaling, Alec caught the balm of the grass, blending with the musty scent of peat and earth just beneath the scent, he smelled of his own sweat. His sight acclimated to darkness. Hell, he could hear the worms beneath the top soil. Alec remembered his first raid, the excitement cut with fear. Much like Alec, those untried warriors would prove themselves tonight.

Alec charged out of the cover of the shadows and in to the opened glen. Cattle scattered, braying their fear. A bull charged Alec. He turned his mount and corralled the beast, adding it to the numbers of fattened beast. From the east, a blaze ran through the night, appearing like sunset. Quinlan had burned the crops.

The Chattan cry split through the night. Damn, Liam wasn’t among them. Alec learned that the bastard had been sent to help the clan and led the attack on Cameron folks. To hell with the cattle, Alec hunted Liam.

In a flash, the fight began. He swung his sword, striking at men. There would be no running. The clash of metal striking metal drowned out the horses’ cries and blended with the grunts of the men.

Sweat dripped down Alec’s face. The metallic stench of blood hung thick along with the growing stench of horses lathering from the battle and their fear.

“Cameron!” He turned toward that voice—Liam. The bastard filled his vision as he charged toward him.

Alec chopped down the solider and raced to meet the bastard. “I’ll kill you.”

Liam cut at Alec. He raised his sword. The meeting of the two swords rumbled up Alec’s arm. Putting his weight behind his sword, Alec shoved back, throwing off Liam. Alec knocked his pommel against the horse’s head. Liam fell to the ground and his horse fled.

Alec leapt atop him. Liam kicked him in the gut. The blow threw him back. He stumbled a few steps but stayed on his feet.

“The bitch didn’t die.”

“You will,” he spat out even though his mouth was dry. Their blades crossed, scraping the sharp edges. Sparks flashed then vanished. Liam’s hot sour breath puffed across Alec’s face along with spittle.

“I can’t wait to kill your wife. I might even sample her before I slip my blade into her gut.”

Alec saw red. “You’ll die before then.”

Liam laughed, revealing rotten teeth. The man’s taunts sparked a fire in his belly. Never in his life, had he had a sense of unbeatable power brimming in him. There was no way he would best Alec. His blood boiled. A fervor gave him stamina he had not felt since the day his father betrayed the clan and Connor.

Alec wasted time by battling him. Liam had skills but Alec had to make quick work. He swept out his leg and cut Liam’s legs from under him. As expected, Liam rolled, knowing a blow would come. Instead, Alec shifted and buried his claymore into the back of his neck, through sinew and bone and into the earth.

Chapter Ten

Alec stormed into the chamber. Portia popped up from her prone position. The linen fell to her waist. She climbed to her knees and crawled to the bed’s edge. The string of her nightdress dangled. The neckline hung off her shoulder, revealing the feminine slope of her shoulder. The firelight dappled her skin to a golden hue His gaze dipped down to the full roundness of her bosom. Her hard nipples pressed against the fine fabric. Her feminine aroma hung thick in the bedroom, banishing any lingering mark of his father.

Her gaze ran over him as if to see for herself that he was whole and hale. She stretched out a shaky hand before she threw her arms around him and nearly choked him. Short tremors racked her. He held tight. This was the place he needed to be. He just had to be willing to hold on.

“You’re here.” She slammed her lips to his. Their lips smacked and teeth clattered from the force of the kiss.

Alec snagged her bottom lip between his teeth and suckled the flesh. He slipped his tongue into her moist mouth. She curled her tongue around his. His mouth flooded with the sweet taste of her.

He caught her around the knees. He forced himself to lay her down on the bed when he didn’t want to be apart from her for a sliver of a moment. He covered her with his body. Tonight, he’d claim her, love her and be the husband he wanted to be for her. He trailed open kisses along her jaw, tasting the saltiness of her skin. Beneath his lip, her soft skin heated from his ragged breaths and stirred him to life. He sucked at the fine flesh of her neck. Her vein pumped against his lips. Her shortening breath puffed in his ear, blending with her growing moans of delight, and fired his blood.

Rising to his forearms, he stared down at her. “You are so beautiful. I don’t deserve you.” Her face was flushed and her lips shined from his kiss. Gone was the heaviness of sleep, replaced by desire. Unable to stop from feeling her life, he ran his thumb over her lips. No one would steal her life force, leaving her a shell of the woman he had come to care for.

The truth was Alec yearned for her since seeing her praying at Holyrood Abbey. His baser desires raged but it was more than a physical attraction. He was ready to break every vow he made to himself. Now, she was his. Was it possible Portia wanted him? If not, he had to make her feel the same burn that licked at him.

“Will you kiss me?” Teasing laced her thickening voice as her fingers traced over his lips.

“All over.” He nipped at the flesh of her finger. She smiled as she angled for a kiss.

She planted her bare feet on the bed. The nightgown slipped down her thigh and covered her womanhood from his hungry gaze. Goose pimples dotted her pale skin. Alec placed a peck on the dimpled inside of her knee. Because he couldn’t stop himself, he kissed the other one. He palmed her knee and inched his touch down her thigh, kneading her muscles and feeling his heat seep into her. A good thing otherwise, he’d burst into flames. He halted at a scar just inside her thigh. She froze. He lowered his head.

She grabbed him by the ears. “Nay, Alec.” She tensed.

He shook off her hold. “Portia, you are a warrior. You are beautiful even with the scars.” He traced the thin line with the edge of his tongue then placed a kiss at the edge. “These brought you to me.”

With each scar he caressed, he lavished with a kiss, stroking the flesh.

Her legs fell open. She clutched his upper arms. Her nails dug into his skin. This dull pain let him know he wasn’t dreaming. He was hard and wouldn’t wake hard. His cock jerked.