Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance) (17 page)

Gilbert shook his head to release the thick fog that seemed to have permeated it. Too much whisky, perhaps. “Strip,” he mumbled.

“Why do you want me, Gilbert?” Her voice seemed to come from far away, and suddenly images of his mother flooded his head again. He felt like a little boy, like he had just after he’d lost her. Tears pricked his eyes.

She shrugged off the plaid and laid it carefully over a nearby chair. Then she pulled her shift over her head. It slipped out of her fingers and onto the floor, leaving her naked, the bruises covering her body a stark contrast against her pale skin.

Had he made those bruises? But she deserved all of them, didn’t she?

He hated Aileen Munro, damn her. She had plagued him since her infancy. When he was a lad, his mother had taken him to Dornoch to celebrate her birth. Dornoch was a beautiful castle, a dream world, a fantasy. Everyone there had been so cheerful, so kind to him. It was much different from Castle Aird, where he lived in fear of Colin Dunbar, who’d never really believed Gilbert was his son.

He blinked back the memory. “I’ve always wanted you,” he muttered to Aileen. “Always wanted Dornoch.”

Life at Dornoch had been a dream. He and his mother had stayed for months. The wee lass Aileen with her snow-white skin and raven-colored hair had entranced him. He’d wanted to touch her all the time, to hold her, to stroke her soft skin.

He knew then that someday she’d be his.

“Why me?” Aileen asked. “Why Dornoch?”

Because his mother had died there. Because when he’d gone home to Castle Aird, his father had blamed him for her death, beat him and made his life a living hell for passing the ague to her.

But it was Aileen who’d been sick first. Aileen had given it to all of them.

She’d killed his mother, and for the rest of his life, Gilbert had borne the blame.

She was his now. His to punish. And for the years of torture she’d put him through, punish her he would.

He’d seen her several times throughout her childhood, but he was a grown man by then and had kept his distance. Waiting ever so patiently. Then he’d gone away to England for a time and returned to find her married to Walter Munro.

The first time he’d seen her married to that brute, he’d been devastated by her beauty. She’d grown more alluring than he could have possibly imagined. It had nearly broken him to see the object of his obsession claimed by another man. And her cruel, icy behavior had enraged him.

Gilbert blinked, staring at the woman who’d brought him a lifetime of pain and misery, who stood before him meek and naked, her dark head bowed. Her breasts were rounded, the nipples taut, cherry red. One of her hands rested on the chair back, bunching the woolen fabric of her plaid in her hand. She was nervous. Good.

Gilbert’s fingers went to the ties of his breeches. “Bend over the bed,” he growled. “Prop your arse high into the air so I can see it.”

For a long moment, she stared up at him through her lashes, unblinking and unmoving. He dropped the ties and gazed back at her, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. But just as soon as he began to wonder whether she would force him to push her into position, she slowly walked to the edge of the bed, bent over and stuck her tight little buttocks upward. “Like this?”

“Exactly. Don’t move.”

The knot of his breeches was being stubborn, damn it to hell. He drew his dirk and sliced it free, then kicked his clothes off and dropped his blade on top of the pile.

Turning back to Aileen, he saw her fear. A trickle of sweat dripped in the hollow between her shoulder blades. A tremulous vibration shook her body from head to foot. Suddenly, he wanted to make it worse for her.

“I’m going to fuck you hard.” And perhaps in the process he’d cure her of her irritating condition. His wife wouldn’t give birth to another man’s child—not if he could help it.

Something like a strangled sob emerged from her throat, but she didn’t try to cringe away. Instead, she pressed her face into the blankets.

He licked his hand and fisted his fingers around his shaft, pumping hard. His prick had waited a long time for this moment, and it was so hard, it was difficult for Gilbert to think straight. All he could think about was her arse pointed at him, her little pink lips peeking out at him, soon to be wrapped around him. Satisfaction was so close, he could taste it.

By God, it tasted sweet.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to make you suffer, after all. Make you scream for mercy.”

It was a little disappointing that she didn’t try to run after that threat. He would have enjoyed playing a little game of cat and mouse. But that was for another day. Instead, she whimpered and clutched the bed tighter, her fingers clawing the blanket.

Grasping her hips, he yanked her against his groin. Ooh, that felt good. Her crack cradled his prick, and her cool, soft skin soothed the hot blood raging through it.

With a hoarse cry, Aileen twisted in his grip.

Something swiped through the air, glinting silver, heading right for his heart.

He ducked away, but not fast enough. The dirk sank deep into the fleshy part of his shoulder.

Oh, Jesus. The pain. It seared through him, hot, cold, he didn’t know. The blood—the blood was hot. It hurt.

She yanked out the dirk and stabbed him again, this time lower.

He staggered backward, the hilt jutting from his flesh, knowing his eyes were wide as he stared at her. His docile, sweet wife? The cooing babe he had once held in his arms?

Nay.
The murderess of his mama. Now she’d kill him. What a damned bloody fool he’d been for believing her charade. She’d planned it all along.

He remembered her… Her grandmother was a witch. After his dear mama passed, she had come to him, stared at him with those wicked purple eyes and cast a spell of evil upon him.

Now he knew Aileen was the same. She had enchanted him when she was a babe and he’d succumbed to her spell again tonight.

Gilbert’s back slammed into the wall. His knees buckled. Hot blood trickled down his chest. He sank to the cold stone floor.

The last thing he saw before his vision faded was her face. Dark purple eyes narrowed in hatred. Pink lips twisted with rage.

“Witch,” he whispered.

She swung something at his head. And then everything went black.

***

The men had made camp hours ago, but Niall couldn’t sleep. He sat on a riverbank, tossing stones into the water. After all the rains, the stream ran high, sloshing over its lowest banks. The sound of the rushing water soothed Niall, prevented him from doing something rash—like riding ahead to try to rescue Aileen alone.

Knowing she was with her kidnapper nearly killed him. The man could be hurting her. Raping her.

Gritting his teeth, Niall stared hard at a swirling eddy at the edge of the river. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t know Gilbert’s castle. What use would it be to try to infiltrate it on his own? There was no way he could do it.

No, he had to wait for his army to rest. They had to do this the customary way.

Overwhelmed with frustration, Niall stared at the water, his patience as thin and brittle as a sheet of ice. If he moved, he would crack. He would do something foolish. Even now, tiny fissures formed along his resolve. Aileen needed him. He had to save her.

A dry leaf crunched behind him. Niall spun around, his hand on the hilt of his claymore. But it was only Aileen’s man, Iain, who’d volunteered to join the force Mackenzie had gathered to rescue her.

“Sorry to disturb you, MacRae.”

Niall made a noncommittal noise in his throat and turned back to the water.

Iain cleared his throat. “I…uh…I wanted to let you know that you have my promise. I will stand behind you to do whatever it takes to avenge my lady.”

“Thank you.”

“You have never been to Castle Aird?”

“Never.”

Iain knelt down to pick up a handful of pebbles and methodically began to toss them into the water.

“I have.”

***

Aileen’s marriage celebration was still going full swing in the great hall, and the castle passageways were deserted. After quickly dressing in her soiled shift and plaid, Aileen ran out of Gilbert’s bedchamber. Biting her lip, she began to descend the twisted stairway that led down to the ground level. She kept to the shadows as she crept down the corridor, staying away from the noise of the party. Finally, she turned down a second corridor. At the far end, she found a door that led to the back of the castle.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped outside, intending to take cover and then run as far and as fast as she could.

She turned, sidling down the edge of the wall, approaching another door. The door swung open, and before Aileen had a chance to move, a laughing woman carrying a bowl of discarded bones stepped out.

The woman nearly ran Aileen down. She reeled to a halt, dropping the pan with a clatter, bones tumbling every which way.

It was the woman who had brought her food every day, the kitchen maid who had been so kind. “Lady,” she gasped. “What in heaven’s name are ye doin’ out here?”

There was no reason to lie. She could only pray the woman would help her. “I’ve escaped from your master.” Aileen glanced to her right and left. Nobody else was near, thank goodness. “Please help me, Mary.”

Uncertainty crossed over Mary’s face, then fear. “Och, lady, I canna—”

“Please,” Aileen begged. “You know what he’s done to me. He will kill me, Mary. Please. You know it’s true.”

“Aye.” Mary glanced warily around them then bit her lip. “I will help. But ye must hurry. Follow me.”

Chapter Fifteen

Niall and Iain had left the rest of the men behind and traveled to Beauly and the environs of Castle Aird in record speed. The other men would require an extra day or two for the journey, but when they arrived, they would provide additional muscle if it was needed. Niall hoped he’d have his work done by the time they arrived.

Niall and Iain came upon the castle in the dead of night. They’d tethered their horses a mile back, and covered the remaining distance on foot.

They were several hundred yards from the gates of Castle Aird, in what appeared to be an ancient pagan gathering area or place of worship—a circular clearing surrounded by trees, but now covered with weeds and grass. In the center, moonlight shone through the trees onto a circular stone altar grown over with moss and vines.

They were searching for an old cavern Iain had played in as a child. Iain said the tunnel had been in disuse for hundreds of years but led directly into a secret room beneath one of the castle turrets, just below the master’s chambers.

Iain had worked as a man-at-arms for Gilbert Dunbar until Gilbert had killed his brother. At that point, he’d gathered his family and they’d all escaped Castle Aird. They’d wandered north until they came to Dornoch, where upon hearing his story, Aileen had taken them in. They had been content to remain at Dornoch ever since, and Aileen had earned the man’s undying loyalty.

“There it is.” Frowning, Iain motioned to a ragged cluster of rocks and recently upturned dirt just beyond the altar. “Well, that’s odd. I expected the grass to be grown over it. When I left Castle Aird, this tunnel had long since been forgotten.”

Together they stood over the grate, a crisscrossed circle of metal bars flung open to reveal a stone ladder leading down into a dark hole.

“Someone has been here recently,” Iain murmured.

“Aye, but look.” Niall prodded a lump of recently turned grass with his boot toe. “It hadn’t been used for some time before that.”

“Should we risk it?”

“Is it the only way to get into the castle without being detected?”

Still frowning, Iain nodded.

“Then let’s go.” Holding his torch out to light the way, Niall descended

The tunnel was old indeed, and at times Niall and Iain waded through knee-deep mud and climbed over piles of rocks, scraping through small spaces on their stomachs. Tree roots hung down from the top of the passage. Despite the encroachment of nature, the way was still open, and he and Iain made rapid progress through the tunnel until they encountered a second grate.

Niall looked speculatively up at it.

“There shouldn’t be anyone up there,” Iain whispered. “It’s a storage room for the kitchens.”

Iain held back, holding the torch while Niall investigated. The room was dark, but the grate was partially covered with a crate of some sort, and it would hardly budge when Niall threw all his weight against it.

It took nearly an hour of awkward pushing and heaving before Niall and Iain finally emerged into the dark, silent storage room.

Brushing off their plaids, they opened the door that Iain said led to the stairs for the turret leading to the master’s chamber.

The door swung open right into the face of a maid carrying a chamber pot.

“Oh!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise. The pot slipped from her hands. Niall caught it neatly.

“Good evening.” With a smile, he handed her the sloshing pot. “We’re here to see your master.”

It was simpler than Niall could have predicted. He gave the chambermaid a small purse of silver, and without a peep, she led them up to Dunbar’s door, seemingly quite happy to betray her master.

The door was made of thick planked logs and was solidly barred from the inside. Niall placed his hand against it. He knew Aileen could be in there, but he couldn’t feel her as he had at Dornoch and at Ellandonan. Maybe when he’d left her he had completely severed the bond between them, after all. Maybe it was too late.

He nodded at the chambermaid.

“Sir,” she called, making her voice high so that her master hopefully wouldn’t be able to recognize it, “a message has just arrived from Ellandonan Castle.”

After a long silence, a gruff voice came from the other side of the door. “Well, come in, then.”