A Highlander’s Homecoming (23 page)

“Then came the Great War. A battle between factions of the Fae for control of the Fountain and the power of immortality it bestowed. The foundations of life itself were shaken. Soul Pairings were ripped apart, many never to be reunited, and the world was divided between Mortal and Fae.

“Since that time, the souls that were separated—the ones that survived, that is—have sought one another, lifetime after lifetime, their misery creating disharmony in both worlds.”

Here he paused, listening to Isa’s breathing, wondering for a moment if she’d fallen asleep.

“I’ve never heard such a sad story, Robbie. Does it have a happy ending?”

She lifted her hand and laid it on his chest, and he felt his heartbeat speed up under her touch.

“For some it does. Every once in a great while, two struggling souls will find one another, repairing a tiny piece of the damage that was done, returning a sliver of harmony to both worlds.”

“That’s a lovely tale,” she breathed, turning her face toward his. “What was it about this night that brought that story to yer memory?”

He’d swear the moonlight pooled in her eyes, flowing out to set her entire body aglow—she was that beautiful to him.

“You,” he whispered. “Standing there with yer hair wisping about in the breeze. And now, with you in my
arms, it’s as though the story is fact. You feel that right to me when I hold you.”

She lifted her hand again, this time to trace her fingers down his cheek, and he felt his body tremble under her touch.

He lowered his lips to hers, swearing to himself he would kiss her once and nothing more. Knowing, even as he thought it, the oath was a falsehood he had no intention of keeping.

Her hand glided to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she leaned into him, deepening the kiss as if she were as desperate for his touch as he was for hers.

When she pulled away from him, her rapid panting echoing his own as her fingers flew to the ties on her shift, clumsy in their haste.

The ties were of no importance to Robert.

He grasped her shoulders, guiding her to her back, shoving her skirts up as he covered her with his body. His plaid slid up as he pushed himself in between her legs and she moaned, threading her arms around his neck as she drew his head down for another kiss.

Skin to skin, her body called to him in a primal way. In the space of a heartbeat, the need he’d felt building turned to frenzy, and he drove into her heat, not stopping until he’d buried himself deep inside her welcoming folds.

He had to get hold of himself or this would be over before it had even begun.

“Sorry. Trying to . . . slow down.” He forced the words through gritted teeth, dropping his head to her shoulder.

Another of her sexy little moans and he felt his tenuous grasp on control slipping.

“Again,” she panted, tilting her pelvis and pushing against him.

The thread of reason snapped.

Grasping her hips within his hands, he withdrew and drove back into her, reveling in his power as she demanded more. Again and again, he plunged into her, until her hips bucked up and the contractions of her orgasm drew him into his own mind-numbing release.

He pushed his weight off to one side, unwilling to separate their bodies for several minutes.

When at last his breathing had returned to normal, he looked down at her smiling face, her eyes closed, and he brushed a tangled curl from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

“That was even better than the last time,” she murmured.

The laughter he felt building in his chest would not be denied.

With one arm under Isa’s shoulders and another under her knees, he rose to his feet and carried her back to the cottage and through the open door.

Inside, he set her on her feet, tugging his shirt off over his head as she scrambled out of her overdress and shift. His hand froze on his plaid, forgetting what his brain had ordered it to do as he took in the sight of her standing there, her curves bared for his pleasure.

“Yer the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

The words were pulled from deep inside as Isa stepped forward, pushing his hand from the waist of his plaid and unwrapping it for him.

Once again, he lifted her into his arms, ignoring the tearing burn in his side. Stopping at the bed, he stared down into her radiant face.

Her hand covered the Mark of the Guardian on his arm, and his skin felt sensitized to her touch as if all the energy in his body gathered in that one spot.

“The story you told out there, Robbie, the Faerie story? When I’m with you, I can almost believe it. And if it were to be truth? I’d wish to have you as the missing piece of myself. You and normal life to complete my soul.”

She lifted her lips to his and he lost himself in the taste of her. His ears filled with a strangely familiar humming, and for just an instant he felt as if the world around him exploded in a burst of light.

His knees weak, he lowered Isa to the bed, climbing in beside her.

Outside, on the grassy bank, he had taken her hard and fast. And though it had been a magnificent coupling, this time he intended to take it slow and easy, pleasuring her long into the night.

The Magic might well take him on the morrow, but tonight belonged to him and Isa.

Chapter 21
 

“Yer wasting valuable time sitting here.” Roland Lardiner paced back and forth, his eyes darting around the large guest bedchamber at Castle MacGahan as if following the flight of birds. “As I tried to tell you before you even entered the gates, you should no be here. You’d be better served by going out to retrieve the lass this very night. I’ll send my own men along to assist you in finding her.”

“You’ll do that for me, will you?” Malcolm MacDowylt leaned back in the big wooden chair, lifting his booted feet to the small table in front of him. He tired of toying with this deceitful dog. “And why would you want to help me secure the means to take over the MacGahan holdings?”

More bluster from the idiot as he continued his frantic pacing. Nothing of any worth spewing from his
mouth. There was little of any value this deceitful dog had to offer. A few well-placed silvers on Malcolm’s last visit here had guaranteed him loyal spies within the household. He knew all that he needed to for the moment and had no reason to pay attention until the fool uttered the words he’d expected from the beginning.

“As the MacGahan’s tanist, I can assure you . . .”

“Yer no that.” Malcolm interrupted. “So dinna try to waste my time with that blether. The MacGahan named no tanist, only a succession order.”

That stopped the fool’s prancing about. Left him with his eyes bulged and his mouth opening and closing like that of a trout lying on the bank.

“Yes, Lardiner, I ken the whole of it. All that went on here. Yer daughter’s marriage and the babe she carries. The babe that inherits only should it be a male child.”

“But, but . . .” Roland sputtered.

“Yer absolutely right about one thing. Until I’ve decided exactly what I plan to do here I’ve no intent to let this Isabella slip through my fingers, either. While I’m inclined to have her brought here to me, I’ll think on yer offer, Lardiner. And we’ll talk on it tomorrow.”

“But the longer you wait . . .”

“Leave me!” Malcolm shouted, watching in satisfaction as the annoying man scurried from his bedchamber.

“I wouldna trust that slime of a man as far as I could toss him.”

Malcolm nodded his agreement as his brother stepped from behind the massive draperies hanging around the bed.

“There’s something no right about his urging you to go after the crazed lass.”

“My thoughts exactly, Paddy. And exactly why yer here with me.” He offered the tankard of ale, setting it back on the table when his brother shook his head in refusal. “Tomorrow I’ll have the rat and his men bring the woman here to me.”

“As you say,” his brother acknowledged. “Do you think it might be wise for me and some of the boys to follow along? At a proper distance, of course.”

“I do at that.” Malcolm agreed.

Therein lay the beauty of naming his own brother as his tanist. They’d worked together so well and so long, it was as if Patrick anticipated his thoughts.

Malcolm pulled his dirk from the strap on his boot and cut a slice of cheese off the hunk on the table, tossing it to Patrick. His brother grinned and snatched up a piece of the bread as well, dropping down into the chair across from him.

Though they’d need to stay on their toes, Malcolm felt confident the MacGahan holdings would soon be his, made all the sweeter by the fact that he wouldn’t have to raise his sword against anyone in the process.

“Agneys? Agneys! I order you to open this door at once!”

Agneys dropped into her chair, clutching the polished silver mirror to her breast. She had absolutely no intention of opening that door to her father. Not this night or any other.

She’d known the instant she’d seen the MacDowylt enter through the big gates this afternoon that her father would end up in a crazed frenzy of anger. MacDowylt at the castle was not what he had planned, and he detested having his plans go awry.

Nonetheless, Agneys had plans of her own and too much to accomplish this night to subject herself to Roland’s madness.

With the MacDowylt only two doors away in the castle’s best guest chamber, her father would be unwilling to raise too much of a fuss and risk drawing the man’s attention. At least she hoped that would be the case.

Events had reached a point where her father had become a serious danger. If all went well, MacDowylt would eliminate that danger for her. And if not?

She knew of a potion or two that would do the trick. And wouldn’t poison be an ironic death for her father? Perhaps she would use the very one he’d used to rid himself of her mother.

“You dinna think I ken what you did, do you, Father?” she whispered in the direction of the door.

But she did know. She’d learned the herbs from her grandmother when the woman had come on a visit from France after her mother’s death. She knew the signs, and she remembered what her mother’s face had looked like when she’d found her that morning.

Agneys had no intention of ending up as her mother had.

Long, tense moments passed before the sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears.

Finally.

She let out the breath she had held and strode to her
bed, propping the small mirror against the covers so that she might have one last look at herself.

The nightdress she wore had belonged to the laird’s first wife, making it inappropriately snug across her ample breasts and around the curves of her hips.

Inappropriate, but perfect for her needs.

“Oh!”

She’d almost forgotten about her hair.

“Wearing yer hair loose is something only for unmarried lassies. Especially now, to show respect for the laird’s memory, you must be seen as the lady.” Her old witch of a maid had made the annoying claim this very morning as she’d pulled Agneys’ hair into the uncomfortably tight and ugly braids.

Agneys removed the bindings and worked her fingers through her hair, fluffing the golden locks over her shoulders and around her face.

She smiled as she considered the humor of her situation. In light of how she had dressed for tonight, an inappropriate hairstyle hardly mattered.

With one last admiring look into the mirror—and one last adjustment of her breasts to ensure they were displayed to their best advantage—she tossed her cloak around her and peeked out her door before slipping into the darkened hallway.

Two doors down, she stopped. She could do this. She could do anything to save her own life. And if she didn’t free herself from her father, it would eventually mean her life, she had no doubt.

One deep breath to settle her nerves and she rapped her knuckles lightly against the heavy wooden door, putting
her
plan into action.

*   *   *

When the knock sounded on Malcolm’s door, he looked up from his tankard, his gaze locking with his brother’s.

“You dinna think the fool is back to have another go at changing yer mind, do you?” Patrick shook his head, mirroring the disbelief Malcolm felt.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Malcolm stood. “Only one way to find out. Let’s invite our guest in.” He motioned toward the entryway, waiting as Patrick crossed the room and threw open the door.

“Looks as though we were wrong, Colm.” Patrick’s grin when he stepped aside to reveal their visitor said it all. “I’m guessing this might be a good time for me to go check on our men, aye?”

Malcolm nodded his agreement, his gaze fixed on his lovely visitor. “Dinna forget to close the door on yer way out.”

He’d seen this one before, perched on the dais next to the MacGahan laird.

“Would it be the MacGahan’s widow herself I have the honor of hosting in my bedchamber?”

“It is,” the beauty murmured, seeming to float across the room to stand in front of him. “I’ve a proposition for you, MacDowylt.”

With a flick of her wrist, the ties of her cloak came loose and the garment fell to the floor at her feet.

Little wonder the old laird would wed something as desirable as this. His body responded to her immediately, but even in his surprise he had the good sense to keep his weapon between his own legs until a time of his choosing.