Highland Rake (22 page)

But still, she had loved the way he had made her feel, cherished and even now she felt lightheaded and in heaven.

How Dougald loved the woman who had sat upon her horse, so boldly eyeing his nakedness at first, then challenging him to race after her in the heather. He'd wanted this of her, to feel her beneath him, to burrow deep inside her soft willing flesh, to take her as a man takes a woman ever since he'd pulled her onto his horse and felt her arse pressed against him. And then again, when she'd been naked in the bed at the tavern when her ghostly brother had frightened her.

She couldn't imagine how much seeing her buried underneath the furs and covers had tortured Douglad's vivid imagination. When they'd touched over the meal, he couldn't help thinking what it would be like to join her in that bed, his staff tenting his plaid so much, he couldn't have moved quickly out of the room if he'd wanted to.

But this was different, more so than he'd ever experienced with any other woman. To see the way she came for him when he'd only suckled on her breast. To feel her come again just from his pressing his fingers into her soft woman's core. To watch the emotions playing across her face—worried that she was doing everything right—she had nothing to concern herself there. He'd witnessed the joy in her expression, and he'd felt it, too, at seeing her delight in the pleasure of lovemaking, so oft faked by the women he'd known. He hadn't known why they had wanted to see him again, if he couldn't make them feel the pleasure in the act like he could. Except mayhap those lasses wished to say that he had been their conquest because no matter how many thought he bedded every lass he chanced to meet, he had not.

He loved the way her fingers stroked his skin. Though her touch was tentative at first, he was certain as they grew to know each other better, she would trust her instincts more. He was having a devil of a time taking this slowly as much as he wanted to conquer and possess her, but he had to be careful so that she would enjoy the experience the first time and be all the more willing to want him again, because he knew one time would only lead to craving her more.

She looked startled when he began to pull out of her.

He pushed into her again, feeling her tense. He kissed her mouth and that made her relax as she was caught up in kissing him back, her tongue swiping over his, dueling, turning him on. As if she was so glad he was not done with pleasuring her, she wanted to show just how much so.

He began to pick up the pace, easing into her and out, and in again, until he was thrusting as if it would kill him if he didn't.

She wrapped her legs around his, her hands clasping his belt, and he swore the next time they made love, they'd both be naked. Although he couldn't deny seeing her breasts bared, the chemise clinging to her waist, while the rest of her was naked, had him burning hot with desire, too. Clothed or not, the woman had his devout attention.

She smelled of lavender, mint, and sweet woman, her body soft and willing, her skin sweetly decadent.

He thrust into her faster, so close to reaching the peak that when he came, he felt as though a bonfire had been lit inside him he was so hot. She moaned his name with such pleasure that he couldn't help but smile. He cherished his sweet wife.

When he finished, he rolled off her, got to his feet, and she looked alarmed that he was leaving her. But he quickly dispensed of his belt and plaid. Her gaze quickly shifted to that male part of him that even at her perusal had him beginning to harden again.

He pulled her chemise down her hips and tossed it on the floor. Then he climbed onto the mattress with her, yanked the fur covers over them and nestled with her.

"I thought you were leaving," she said, kissing his chest, still sounding concerned.

Had she thought he was such a rake that he'd leave his bride after lying with her and rut with some other wench? He sighed. He would have to prove he had no desire to do thus with some other woman.

"'Tis my chamber, lass," he said. "But I wouldna leave you for the world. Even if fighting broke out between my men and yours."

"The Cameron men are your people also, now," she said, snuggling against him.

"Aye." Though he did not feel the sentiment.

It might take years before he could earn their camaraderie. Dougald had to admit that his believing in the lass's ability to speak with those who had not quite departed this world and were in a state of limbo might relieve her uncle's mind somewhat, if he worried what a husband might do to her who believed she was possessed. The other matter of Dougald seeking another wench's bed? Staying in Alana's was the only way to prove to her uncle that Dougald wasn't about to stray.

Barely aware of snuggling with Dougald as she drifted off to sleep, Alana found herself in the woods again, her reoccurring nightmare that she never recalled upon waking, but remembered every detail upon falling asleep.

She heard whispers. "Her horse is over there. She has to be nearby."

More hushed voices. "What if she didna ride with her da this time on the hunt?"

"He said she was coming. She always goes on the hunt with her da. 'Tis her horse. She is hiding."

"He willna like it if we return without her."

The voices faded into the distance. The tromping of boots walking through leaves and stepping on twigs moved away. Her heart thumped fast. Her blood pounded in her ears. Her nose twitched, tickled, the urgent compulsion to sneeze as she breathed in the moldy leaves, causing her to feel panic.

She darned not move. Dared not unsettle the blanket of leaves hiding her. What if one of the men was still standing nearby, watching, waiting while the others travelled farther away? Then as soon as she stirred, he'd pounce on her.

Forever, it seemed, she waited. Then horses ran through the woods, and the MacNeill men spoke with one another some distance from her hiding place.

That's when she heard the man standing near her shift his position, moving closer. Felt his boot brush her arm. Thought she was going to die right then and there.

The MacNeill found something, Angus said.
Tears flooded her eyes
. They found…her men? Her da?

Alana sobbed, waking herself.

"Alana." Dougald pulled her tighter into his arms. "Shh, lass, you are safe with me. Shh."

She snuggled with him, waking enough to remember she had a husband and he was Dougald and everything else fled from her thoughts.

***

As soon as Laird Alroy Cameron reached James MacNeill's stronghold, he studied the four towers rising up to the black night, torches lighting the massive entryway, the portcullis down, the gates shut, the massive gray stone walls thick and tall enough to keep out any rabid invader. He thought the structure impressive by even his own standards.

His military advisor, Bran, waited alongside him. "We have never been here to fight. Seems strange to be sitting outside the MacNeill stronghold with no intention of killing them. If she isna within, then what?"

"We will move on."

His men were restless behind him and were just as weary of traveling. He was certain the suggestion did not sit well with them.

He looked up at the two men watching them from the wall walk, the numbers increasing to five within minutes as the alarm was sounded as men hollered out, passing the word along.

"'Tis Laird Cameron seeking a word with MacNeill concerning my niece, Alana. I need to speak with him at once. We come in peace."

A guard on the wall walk called down in a gruff manner, "I will send word to Laird MacNeill, Laird Cameron." Then he disappeared from the curtain wall.

Five more men monitored Cameron and his men from the top of the wall walk as he waited for the word to reach James. Attempting not to appear annoyed with any delay, he was anxious about his niece, praying she was safely within.

"They will want to disarm us," Bran said, sounding like he did not care for the idea.

"We have been their rivals for years. It would be prudent for them to be cautious. They would expect the same if they came to our keep in the middle of the night with this many armed men."

He knew it would take considerable time for the guard to reach the keep and from there to wake James and for him to dress and then ready a force of men. Because in no way would he meet the Cameron unprepared. He half expected James to tell his men to speak on his behalf and not be bothered to see his enemy at this hour, that the gate would not be opened to a group of armed men in the middle of the night.

When the gates were unexpectedly opened, Cameron was more than a little startled. He was greeted by a number of armed men. That part he had expected. One of the men led the group, his hard jaw covered in black stubble, his black hair hanging loosely about his shoulders as if he'd just been awakened and hurried out of bed.

"My laird, I am Eanruig, Laird James MacNeill's advisor," the man said, his face tan, making it appear he spent a considerable time outdoors. He bowed his head in greeting. "He bade me welcome you inside. Your men must hand over their weapons, however. They can stay in the barracks for the rest of the eve. James will meet you in the great hall. I am to escort you there."

"My niece?" Cameron asked quickly. If she was not here, he had no reason to stay. Though if he did not find her here, he would welcome James's men to help search for her, if they would.

"She is sleeping in a chamber, my laird. Forgive me. I should have already said so," Eanruig said.

"She is well?"

"Aye, my laird."

"Take me to see James, then." Cameron motioned to his men to go with James's men.

Bran seemed a little reluctant, then dipped his head to Cameron in acquiesce and gathered their men as if he was in charge of the battle plan when James's men were instead.

"I am Fergus MacNeill," one of the men said. "We will take your weapons." As soon as the MacNeill men gathered up Cameron's men's swords and dirks, Fergus said, "Come, this way."

Seeing that his men were being taken care of, Cameron followed Eanruig. When they reached the keep, servants quickly opened the door. Inside, Eanruig led him to a table in the great hall near the fire in the stone hearth, the smoky, tarry fragrance of peat -- the compressed and partly fossilized loam of sphagnum moss and heather—burning blue, warming his tired body, and a servant quickly deposited a tankard of ale.

After sitting, but before he could take a swig of the ale, Cameron saw James stalk into the great hall, and he rose to greet the laird. Cameron couldn't help but admire the man for responding so quickly to his arrival. But not only that, that he would actually see him and not send just Eanruig or someone else in his stead. Cameron felt more optimistic concerning the situation for the first time since he'd learned his niece had disappeared.

The man was impressive in stature, dark-haired and eyed, his shoulders straight, his bearing saying he was a man used to being in command. He did not smile, but was all business. Which was to be expected, considering the troubles they'd had with one another in the past.

"My niece, Lady Alana, I wish to see her," Cameron said, without further ado. He had to see her for himself, to know that she was indeed well. He'd been worried sick about her ever since he'd returned home and discovered she'd left the castle grounds.

"Aye. She was sleeping, but a maid is helping her to dress and will bring her down shortly. We must discuss another matter. Please, have a seat," James said, motioning to the chair.

He should have known the lass would take longer to prepare herself to meet him. Cameron sat then and drank deeply of the ale, his throat dry. But then he sat up taller, unable to hide his wary expression. "What other matter?"

"How the lady came to be on our lands. I believe she was to have left as soon as you journeyed on your way, except somehow she didna receive the word for three days."

"I dinna understand." MacNeill wasn't making any sense.

"She was told the shepherdess, Odara, who lives near the border between our lands, was ill."

Cameron narrowed his eyes at James, feeling his temper rise. That was
not
the story he had received from Turi. What in God's wounds was going on?

"My brother was warned at about the same time that a raiding party from your clan had crossed the border," James continued.

Cameron opened his mouth to refute the claim, but James held up a hand to stay him. "We believe it was a ruse. That someone wanted my brother to find the lass crossing the border and bring her safely here."

"Why did she navigate the stream? Seeing to the shepherdess's health would not have caused her to cross into your lands."

"Odara claimed she was with child, a Rob MacNeill's child, and that the man had a sick niece. Lady Anice went to find him and give him the news of the bairn and see to the niece's health. She said that you wished another man to wed the shepherdess instead."

Cameron would not deny that one of his men had wished to wed the shepherdess and Cameron had been agreeable because the man's reasoning was sound. Cameron didn't like that Odara lived all by herself near the MacNeill lands. Since no one had offered for her, Cameron thought the lass would be pleased that Gilleasbuig had wanted her.