Highland Steel (Guardians of the Stone Book 2) (33 page)

Soft light filtered in through the Roman-styled glass, casting a beautiful rainbow of light upon the wall. But the morning came too swiftly for Jaime’s liking. Twice he’d loosed his seed inside Lael’s womb, praying to God for a child—a girl as bonny as her mother, with a spirit as bold as the she-wolf in his bed. He thought for certain there must be marks upon his back from the fervor of her loving, and the very thought made him grin, for he’d been right about her after all. He very much doubted there was aught the woman in his bed could do without giving it her all.

Jaime liked that about her.

Lael stirred beside him and he tossed a hand about her waist, drawing her nearer, wanting to suckle again at her breast, still drunk with desire. His lips found the nub he craved without err, and he drew his mouth lazily over the soft buds, loving it with his tongue and lips, enjoying the way her sweet flesh puckered against his tongue.

He sensed rather than saw that she opened her eyes.

“Again?” she asked groggily. But it wasn’t a complaint. The sound of her voice was like that of a well-satiated lover, in spite of the fact that Jaime suspected she’d not found the release he knew he could give her. Too long he’d been without a woman and he had been far too hasty in finding his own release—particularly when she met his lust with equal measure.

He smiled. “If you would keep your end of the bargain, I will seize every opportunity to get me a child,” he told her honestly.

She laughed softly and he rolled atop her, ready to kiss her mouth… and suddenly froze, spying blood upon the sheets. Startled by the sight of red, for an instant he could not speak.

“You were a virgin?”

She answered matter of factly. “I am.”

“Nay. You
were
,” he clarified. “Bloody hell!” He rolled out of the bed, disgusted by the prospect, when it should have elated him. Foremost in his thoughts was that he had taken her so easily. She hadn’t even cried out when he’d breached her maidenhead. She’d been wet, the light dim and he hadn’t even thought to look after David’s numerous claims that her people loved so freely—a prospect that hadn’t overly thrilled him, but neither had it bothered him overmuch—not nearly as much as learning now that it wasn’t true.

She was a bloody damned virgin!

“Did your mother never teach you the ways of men?”

Her smile fell into a frown and her lovely brows collided. “My minny died when I was ten.”

“What about your elder sister?”

She sat up in the bed. “
I
am the elder sister.”

“Bloody hell!” he said again, and went after his tunic where it lay beside the tub. “Why did you seduce me?”

She sounded genuinely confused. “Because you wagered I could not.”

For a moment, Jaime was stymied by her response, mostly because it was true. Nevertheless, if he had but known, he would have taken far more care. He would have made doubly certain she enjoyed her first night.

She was a virgin, damn his over-eager cock!

He shrugged into his trews, lacing them hurriedly and then turned to face his wife. She looked utterly and beautifully confused. Her ebony hair lay prettily across her bare shoulders and she sat before him completely unashamed of her nakedness. Only moments ago, he’d had the taste of her flesh upon his lips, warm and sweet and the memory alone made his cock harden like a rock behind his trews. Was it any wonder he’d thought her unchaste? She didn’t behave like a virgin was supposed to behave.

And yet she was, and she deserved far more than he had given her. He quit the room, intending to find some way to make it right.

Lael scratched her head as the door closed behind her husband.

She couldn’t quite discern what happened. He appeared both angry and dismayed, but she couldn’t determine precisely why.

She glanced beside her at the bloodstain upon the bed and thought for certain it could not be
that
. He surely could not be squeamish over the sight of blood? That was simply not possible—not the demon butcher.

But then… She could no longer think of him that way. He had been gentle with her last evening, loving her thoroughly, and he had awakened with a drunken smile upon his face that made her heart leap clear into her throat.

She rose from the bed, and barely had time to dress, when a knock sounded at the door.

It was Luc. His cheeks were bright pink, and Lael could scarce determine why. She imagined he was chagrined over something, though for the life of her she did not ken. “’Tis scarce light,” she complained. “Can ye no’ wait to begin your tattles?”

“My laird Jaime sent me to pen a letter to your brother,” he said, ignoring her question, and then Lael was all the more confused. That was
not
their bargain. It was certainly what he’d promised to give her if
she
won, but she’d
lost
. Still he meant to give it anyway? By the cursed stone, she knew how to pen a letter on her own, but he clearly did not expect it. She supposed he thought her an eegit, and yet she found she couldn’t take any ill humor in that fact.

Opening the door to admit the pink-faced lad, she said, “Come in, daft boy, but then shut your haggis hole and pen only what I say.”

He nodded obediently and ducked inside and Lael shut the door behind him.

Scarce dressed for the weather, Jaime left the keep and emerged into the bailey, striding with purpose toward the little chapel harboring the entrance to their gaols.

The wind slapped him in the face, and it felt as though the hand of God himself were cuffing him for the offense to his bride.

Whatever else she might be Lael was a virgin.

She had willingly given herself to him in exchange for Broc Ceannfhionn’s life and freedom. The weight of that knowledge was like an anvil about his neck. It filled him both with hope and then with dread, for if she had already given her heart to Broc then Jaime was doomed to live in another man’s shadow. But he couldn’t believe she had, for no woman could love him as she had if, in truth, she craved another man. By God, if what he suspected was true, he vowed to worship the ground upon which she walked, because a woman like Lael came only once in a man’s lifetime.

I must know.

He entered the chapel and strode across the nave. Built in the shape of a cross, the interior had seen far better days. If there had ever been any pews they were gone, likely used for firewood during some cold, bitter winter. It didn’t appear to him that the MacLarens had been overly pious. In fact, it was entirely possible the church was built to conceal the portal, which lay nestled cleverly into north transept, half hidden by a worn tapestry that now lay in tatters upon the floor.

Either that, or it was built by the previous tenant… the MacEanraig laird, whose only living son now sat in Jaime’s gaol.

He found the burly blond giant wrapped in the hefty fur he’d given to Lael. “’Tis cold enough to freeze a witch’s paps,” Jaime remarked.

“Aye, though at least the walls arena weepin’ any longer,” Broc replied.

Jaime assessed the Scot, taking in his bedraggled appearance and the sorry state of his cell. He planned to remedy that. Enemy or nay, no man need be tortured. He believed it far more just to take his head if he were so inclined, but he was not. He sent the guards away, then took one of their stools, dragging it before the cell.

“I ask you only once more,” Jaime entreated. “What are you to Lael?”

“Er ye awake?”

Cameron MacKinnon bolted upright in the bed at the sight of Cailin’s bright green eyes peeking in from the doorway. He peered behind her nervously. “Where’s ye
bhràthair
?” he asked quickly.

Bursting into the room like a stubborn ray of morning sunshine, she carried a vat of water in her hands. Cameron tried in vain to comb his hair with three fingers, but they tangled amidst his sticky locks.

“Dinna fash herself,” she replied. “My
brother
is busy with his bairn. He’ll no’ be troublin’ ye this morn.” She smiled beauteously. “I came to bathe ye,” she disclosed.

Heat exploded into Cameron’s cheeks. “Ach, nay!” he protested, his body responding against his will.

Bloody hell, he did not wish to find himself dead after only just returning from the brink of the Netherworld. He had a sudden inexorable vision of Aidan dún Scoti bursting into the room while his cock was in the pretty lass’s hands. He nearly fainted over the image—although which of the two was most responsible for his heart beating so painfully he might never ken.

The object of his affection smiled sweetly and his heart did another strange somersault. “Ye’re not supposed to be here, are ye?” he worried.

She scrunched her nose as though she thought him daft. “Ye’ve more blood on your noggin than ye do in your veins.” She gave him a reproving look. “Seems to me ye’d like to be clean?”

“Just my head?” he asked, and then blushed even more fiercely, hoping the lass wouldn’t realize he had more than one—more’s the pity, but the one on his willie was a stubborn little dobber at the instant. He jerked up the covers to hide everything below his waist and then sent her back to the door to be certain it was open wide,
just in case.

“Ye’ve wounds to clean as well,” she said with a gentle smile as she set the vat down upon the bedside table. Then she did as he bade her, returning to the door to open it wider, all the while casting Cameron knowing glances.

Cameron’s heart danced a jig as she turned once more, returning to the bed, and the excitement made him light-headed. She paused and for an instant, merely stood, peering at him, and Cameron forced his thoughts in another vein. “I’m sorry about your sister,” he said nervously. “She’s a brave lass.”

Cailin nodded, her gaze falling to her feet, looking suddenly distraught, and all Cameron could think was that he’d managed to foil her sweet, bonny smile—what a dolt he was!

“If I know Lael,” he added, for her sake, “she’ll put the lot of them in the ground sooner than they would her. She’s a fierce one.”

“Aye,” was all Cailin said, and then into the room ambled the old hag who had been tending him now for days.

Una eyed Cailin with a sharp, disapproving green eye and turned that good eye toward Cameron, shrinking his willie with but a single glance. “Humph!” she said. “If there be less snow upon the ground, I’d put ye arse outside the door simply for your thoughts.” And to Cailin she added. “Go away, child. I can manage well enough without ye.”

Cameron held his tongue, though he begged to differ with Una’s description of Cailin. There was naught childlike about the girl who’d begun to occupy his every waking thought. But in truth, he wanted her to leave as well, for he felt uncharacteristically bashful in her presence.

“I mean to stay,” Cailin asserted.

The old hag shook her head. “Nay, ye’ll no’ or I’ll go tell Aidan. Try me now and see if I dinna!”

“Ach!” the girl protested, and spun where she stood. “Ye’d think I’d never seen a mon before,” she told the old woman, and then to Cameron’s relief she marched right out the door, though not before giving him a last backward glance.

His skin prickled over her imaginary caress.

Once she was gone, the old woman ambled over and pushed the door shut, trapping him alone in the little room. The walls seem to shrink about him suddenly. Turning to the vat, she thrust a wrinkled old hand into water and retrieved a sponge, admonishing him, “The way ye’re going about it, boy, ye’ll no’ make it home alive, much less win yourself a bonny wife.”

Peering over at the closed door, Cameron felt a sudden burgeon of hope, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t actually considered getting himself a
bonny wife
.

But now the seed was planted…

Una wrenched his blanket away, baring him to her canny old eyes, yet he felt no less exposed than he had after her admonishment—somehow as though she knew his every private thought.

He’d met Cailin twice now—once the first time he and Broc arrived in Dubhtolargg to speak with the dún Scoti, then again when they’d returned to beg her brother’s aid. Both times he’d felt a sense of kinship with Cailin, and Cailin certainly seemed to like him back. He was two and twenty now and more than ready for a bride, but none of the lassies back home ever paid him any mind. Nor did he feel any sense of wonder about any of them as he did with Cailin.