“Yer father is going to have yer balls cut off,” Adwin warned.
Rolfe reached for a lump of soap and started to wash his chest. “He might curse me, but he’d no’ want to see his bloodline ended by castrating me.”
Adwin had been worrying the edge of his bonnet. He stopped and threw the wool hat to the ground in frustration. “Ye are no’ going to talk yer way out of anything, Rolfe. Yer father will no’ forgive ye for wedding an English lass.”
Rolfe slipped down in the tub until he was submerged and came up as water went streaming down his face. He wiped it out of his eyes before working the soap into his hair. “If me father was so worried about it, he should have arranged a match for me.”
“And that is how ye repay yer father’s kindness in no’ swearing ye into a contract with a woman ye’ve never laid eyes upon?” Adwin reached down and scooped up his bonnet with a motion full of repressed anger. “Ye’re fortunate beyond measure to have a sire who thought to let ye have a look at the fillies before deciding on one for ye to marry. He has them brought up every summer, and ye know it well.”
Adwin put his bonnet back on, glaring at Rolfe.
“She’s the one I want, the one I crave.”
Adwin’s fingers went still as he locked gazes with Rolfe. The chamber was silent for a long moment before Adwin let out a snort.
“Ye would settle on an English lass.”
Rolfe went back to working the soap into his hair. “Is no’ marriage for alliances?”
His captain gripped his wide belt and scoffed at him. “Do nae think I don’t know ye are just saying what ye think will gain ye me compliance.”
“True.” Rolfe sent his captain a cocky grin. “But I’ll admit, I do nae want to be known as the man who gave Morton what he wanted, when he demanded it. There is only one way to ensure he can nae wed her to someone else for his gain, and that’s if I take her as me bride before he knows about it.”
Adwin fought it, but he ended up grinning in response. “The earl does make a fair number of demands when it comes to us Highland clans.”
“He does,” Rolfe agreed. “And I am no’ going to have him thinking I will be less difficult to bring into his plans than Marcus MacPherson was.”
Adwin’s grin widened. “No, we can nae have that. Still, it’s a dangerous game. The earl is a Douglas and will nae be duped easily, nor will he be fool enough to not see exactly what game ye are playing.”
“That’s why I’m wedding Katherine before I ride down to meet the man. I want him to know the McTavish will not be dancing to his tune like those who inhabit his court.”
Adwin’s expression became serious. “He might still dissolve the marriage, consummated or not—or worse yet, clap ye in irons. The truth is, the girl’s family has no’ agreed to the match.”
“Aye, I thought of that meself.” Rolfe slid down and submerged his head to rinse the soap from it. When he came up and wiped his eyes free of water, Adwin was waiting for an explanation. “So I hope Marcus shows up soon to attend the wedding. I sent him word of me plans.”
“Ye did…what?” Adwin was back to throwing his bonnet onto the floor. “He’s as likely to kill ye as give ye his blessing.”
“With the MacPhersons, it’s one and the same.” Rolfe leaned forward and started washing his feet. “But it beats being fool enough to ride down to Morton with Katherine, hoping the earl plans to treat the McTavish well.”
Adwin made a low sound under his breath. “The earl has no liking for the Highland clans, and that’s a well-known fact.”
“So,” Rolfe continued, “better my father’s displeasure over what I’ve done than returning home with naught.”
“But…” Adwin was stroking his beard. “Ye do nae have to wed her. The contracts would do the trick.”
Rolfe looked toward his captain. “She did keep us from having to fight the bloody Gordons.”
“And sending her home with Marcus will even out the debt.”
Rolfe shook his head. “I can nae let her go.”
It was an admission, one Adwin wouldn’t dismiss because he knew Rolfe very well. Adwin still held Rolfe’s gaze for a time before shaking his head. “Well, ye’re no’ the first man to be taken by a lass and no’ able to separate business from yer cravings.”
“And I can no’ refuse to go to see Morton, since me father has ordered it so.” Rolfe inhaled deeply.
“So ye’ll wed her to deny Morton an easy path to claiming her,” Adwin said.
Rolfe slowly smiled.
“Get in one of those tubs, Adwin. Ye know there is naught like a wedding to make the lasses more receptive to a man’s charms after the feast has been finished. A few of Duncan’s housemaids watch ye as if ye’re something they’d like a taste of.”
His captain slowly grinned, a flicker of wicked knowledge in his eyes. He left the bonnet on the floor and unbuckled his belt. “That’s a solid fact, and I won’t have to be worrying about them following me home.”
Rolfe heard his friend shucking the last of his clothing before taking one of the kettles hanging over the fire and pouring the hot water into a tub. Then there was a splash and a sound of male enjoyment as Adwin settled into the bath.
* * *
It was over so quickly.
Katherine still heard her blood roaring in her ears, while each breath took effort. Her fingers felt like ice, while her body was hot, and her thoughts jumped about like rabbits after a spring rain.
“She’s going to wilt.”
Katherine stiffened and turned her head away from Rolfe to look at his captain. “I will do no such thing.”
Adwin was cleaner than she’d ever seen the man, his shoulder-length hair brushed and tied back, while his bonnet looked as if someone had brushed the dust of the road off it. Even his beard was trimmed and free of crumbs. He tilted his head to one side and fixed her with a narrow-eyed look. “Are ye doing that on purpose? Sounding more English?”
“She’s nervous,” Rolfe answered his captain.
Katherine returned her attention to him.
To her husband.
The word felt odd as she contemplated the look of satisfaction in his eyes. Many would tell her it was lust and the knowledge that he would have satisfaction now that the priest had finished the blessing.
She wanted to believe it was more.
Perhaps she was doomed to be cut deeply in the morning when Fate showed her again how little she seemed to be worth to those around her and Rolfe proved he’d wanted to bed her naught more. But for the moment, she enjoyed the way Rolfe gently captured her hands and warmed her icy digits.
“Nervous.” Duncan spoke smoothly from where he stood near Rolfe. “Nothing a good drink will nae soothe.”
Duncan’s people were enjoying the excuse to celebrate. The hall was full of music and good food. Although the Head of House had been given very little warning of the wedding, the woman had done a fine job in laying out a feast.
“Come, my friend.” Duncan indicated the two chairs in the middle of the head table. It was the place of honor reserved for the laird, but Duncan made it clear that Rolfe and Katherine would preside over the feast.
Katherine shuffled up the stairs, feeling all eyes on her and blushing because she was so ungraceful in the gown she wore. The lessons of her childhood paled against the reality of dealing with a boned farthingale and two skirts that had more fabric in them than anything she’d ever worn.
Two Lindsey women leaned over behind her and tugged the whole ensemble up when she sat down, tucking the fabric around her before two retainers pushed her chair forward toward the table.
“So lovely to see yer mother’s dress being used.”
It was the Head of House who spoke, and she sent a firm look straight at Duncan that made the man pause. Katherine gained a rare glimpse of the burly Highlander being taken down a peg before he masked his emotions and resumed offering the first toast to them.
The music was a fine treat, and servant after servant presented trays loaded with meat, fruit, cheese, and other delights.
Rolfe looked toward her after she stopped eating. “Ye do nae care for the fare?”
She discovered her breath catching. Suddenly, she was unbearably conscious of the fact that he had the right to touch her, and the rather firm knowledge that she wanted him to exercise that right.
He pointed at a platter, and a maid hurried over to carry it to him.
“No, really, I cannot eat another bite.”
“Ye’ve barely touched yer supper.” Rolfe contemplated her plate. “Me reputation could use a bit of a shine from everyone saying I made ye forget to eat in yer haste to get to the bedchamber, but—”
She lifted her hand and delivered a light blow to his arm in reprimand. “Honestly,” she said under her breath. “Keep talking like that, and you will spend your wedding night in the stocks for pride.”
Rolfe grinned at her and pointed at something off to her left. When Katherine turned her head, she caught sight of the clan priest. He had his head tipped back to empty his mug, and when the man finished, he licked his lips, to the delight of those sitting near him. A maid was already lifting a pitcher to refill the man’s mug when he started singing.
“The man seems to feel morality has been well and truly served by our wedding.” Rolfe spoke close to her ear.
Katherine shivered at the feeling of his breath against her skin, and he reached out and stroked the gooseflesh that rose along her neck. She felt her eyes widen as she locked gazes with him, lost in some sort of connection that made everything around them disappear.
A loud burst of laughter broke the spell. Duncan Lindsey was out of his chair and pounding on the tabletop with his fist.
“The lass is finished eating, Rolfe!” Duncan declared in a voice that shook the rafters. “Only a fool would argue with her about lingering at the table!”
The hall erupted into merriment. Men tipped their heads back as they laughed, and women shot her knowing looks. A few of them were downright catty as they cast longing glances toward Rolfe, making it plain they envied her.
“Off to bed with ye!” Duncan declared with a raised mug.
Katherine felt her eyes widen at the blunt mention of what her night would include, but she had little time to linger over it as her chair was pulled back and she was lifted right out of it. The Lindsey retainers never let her feet touch the floor, hoisting her high above their heads and carrying her toward the passageway, to the delight of the Lindseys watching.
But she was happy enough to go, because the suggestions being called out set her cheeks on fire more than the fact that she was being taken abovestairs to consummate her vows.
The Lindsey women weren’t going to be left out of the fun, either. They flooded the chamber, taking delight in kicking the men out before they turned on her.
“Let’s get ye out of that dress.”
“Aye, ’twould be a terrible shame if it were to be torn.”
“No man knows how a fine dress like that is laced.”
“It would be damaged for certain.”
“And ye do nae need it anymore.”
Katherine twisted and turned, but they still managed to get at the lacing that went down the back of the dress. They laughed at her as they lifted the bodice away, and Katherine felt hands on the hooks that secured the waistband.
“I really can tend to myself,” she implored them.
“Nonsense,” an older woman said from where she stood supervising the entire madness. “A dress like that, well now, it’s a noble one. Ladies do nae do anything themselves.”
“English ones,” someone added as the overskirt came free and was taken across the chamber.
“My stepmother ran the house,” Katherine said.
Some of the women stilled, fixing her with critical looks.
Katherine merely shrugged. “From what I recall, she kept the books and oversaw the kitchens and social events as well as keeping up with correspondence.”
“Sounds as though she set a decent example for ye,” the woman in front of her offered before she snapped her fingers and pointed at the underskirt. “But did she tell ye what yer duties are as a wife?”
There was more than one giggle in response as the women took away the underskirt and Katherine’s farthingale puddled around her ankles when the drawstring was released. Her hip roll was next, leaving her in her corset, smock, and stockings.
“I know what…well…how it all fits together.”
There was a fresh round of amusement at her expense as the women took to pulling every last hairpin from her hair.
“If a lass is lucky, it fits together very nicely.”
“I’d enjoy having Rolfe McTavish fit his parts to mine, and that’s a fact.”
“All right then.” The woman in front of Katherine raised her voice, and there was the unmistakable ring of authority in her tone. “Enough of that. Ye’ve had yer fun. Off with ye.”
There were sounds of disappointment, but the chamber began to empty, making Katherine realize how tightly she was clenching her fists. Her fingernails had pressed deep into the skin of her palms.
The older woman waited until the rest of the Lindsey women were gone. She offered a kindly smile before she picked up a comb from the dressing table and came toward Katherine.
“There is no shame in admitting ye do nae know what is to come tonight.” She was pulling the comb through Katherine’s hair, sparking a memory from a time when her own mother had once done so for her.
So very long ago.
“I know,” Katherine said softly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. “The MacPhersons allowed me to train, and, well…”
“Ye think ye heard everything there is to know?” The woman continued to comb. “Mind ye, if yer groom treats ye as men talk in the yard, I’ll have the laundress pour salt in his washing.”
“Salt?” Katherine turned a questioning look toward her.
The woman offered her a knowing smirk as she extended the comb. “Makes the fabric itch, especially on the tender spots beneath a man’s arms and at the back of the neck. A gentle reminder that while a man is master of his house, only a woman can make it into a home.”
She moved behind Katherine and began to work at the lace holding the corset tight. “Little wonder ye were finished eating. I have no idea why ladies wear these. If you’re fortunate, you won’t be able to fit in it come summer’s end.”
The woman eased the corset down Katherine’s arms and knelt to untie one garter and then another. Her stockings slipped down as soon as they were free.
She hadn’t thought about children.
Of course that was a duty of a wife, but she had not truly contemplated what it would mean to force her blood onto a child.
Was it cruel?
There was a rap on the door as the woman stood and nodded at Katherine’s undressed state. Only her smock remained.
“That will be the midwife.”
The chamber door opened, and two older women looked in. The woman in front of Katherine waved them forward.
“Off with that smock now.”
Katherine gripped it instead, which earned her a raised eyebrow.
“It’s better ye are inspected,” the woman said softly. “Especially with ye being English and yer groom no’ having the blessing of his father.”
Katherine felt her mouth go dry. She had failed to consider just how easy it would be for Laird McTavish to annul the marriage. The women took advantage of her shock, pulling her last garment from her. She felt her hair flutter down to lie against her bare back as the two midwives lifted candles from the tables and brought them close.
They missed nothing, lifting her hair so that every inch of her back was seen. She felt the heat of the candle flame when they brought it close to check for witch marks or hidden nipples where she might suckle a demon. There was safety in submitting to the examination, and yet she felt unbearably exposed. The moment they nodded with satisfaction, Katherine plucked her chemise out of the first woman’s hand and put it on.
There was a little sound of amusement from one of the midwives.
“Ye’re no wanton,” the other said with a nod.
“Come.” The first woman was standing near the bed, with the bedding pulled down. “Yer groom will be on his way soon.”
Katherine slid into the bed, feeling none of the comfort of the fine sheets. There was a teasing scent of rosemary and amber, sprinkled about for fertility and good fortune. The three women contemplated her before nodding again.
“Good night to ye.”
* * *
Duncan slapped a book down on the table in front of Rolfe.
“There ye are, lad. Just what ye’ll need tonight.”
Rolfe cocked his head to the side and sent his friend a glare. Duncan wasn’t impressed at all. He wiped his mouth with a linen before scooping up the book and opening it to a random page.
“English ladies enjoy poesy,” he said.
There was a round of laughter in response.
“Ye’ll likely have to read her most of this book to win her over.” Duncan was searching through the pages.
“Be lucky to deflower her before dawn!” someone called out.
“Can’t be showing her too much strength, or she’ll wilt dead away!”
“A sleeping wife is no fun to tumble at all!”
Rolfe growled and started to stand. “I bid ye all good night.”
He really should have been less trusting of his friend, because the moment he was on his feet, a plaid was tossed around his body and pulled tight.
“Duncan!”
“No need to thank me,” his friend responded through his mirth. “Ye’d do the same for me.”
“I’ve a long memory,” Rolfe growled. “Ye can bet I will.”
His struggles were in vain. The Lindseys had him surrounded and were rolling him in yards and yards of wool while Adwin looked on with a huge grin.
“A fine wedding present, the wool,” Duncan replied. “Since yer bride retired so early, it’s best ye take it on up to…her…”
Duncan was nearly doubled over with laughter. There was so much fabric that Rolfe was swaddled like a babe and reduced to glaring at his friend. The Lindsey retainers were clustered around him, admiring their work. The fabric was twisted around him from neck to ankles, so that he didn’t dare move or he risked breaking his nose when he fell to the floor.
“Thank ye,” Rolfe ground out. “I promise”—he stressed the word promise—“I’ll no’ be forgetting yer gesture.”
Duncan heard him loud and clear but only grinned in cocky amusement as the Lindsey retainers hoisted Rolfe high and began to carry him toward his bride.
* * *
Katherine was out of the bed the moment the women left her alone.
You are being silly…
Perhaps, but there was no way she could stay in the bed, just waiting for Rolfe to come and find her there. So she opened a wardrobe and found a length of Lindsey plaid. She wrapped it around herself as she pinched out several of the candles near the bed to decrease the light, in case the Lindseys decided to escort Rolfe to his nuptial chamber with the same amount of zeal as they had her.
The wedding dress was lying across several chairs. It shimmered in the candlelight, the soft silk looking like something from a child’s dream. She moved toward it, gently stroking it with a single fingertip. There had been a time when she’d looked at her stepmother’s collection of dresses and wistfully longed to wear such finery.
She didn’t lament the past few years in Scotland. For certain, her life was nothing like those dreams, but she could never have imagined the adventures that she had been on.
And tonight?
Well, it was another sort of adventure, to be sure.
She became aware of the sound of men coming up the stairs. Her heart started to accelerate, making her breathing harsh. There was a rap on the door before it burst open, and she watched as at least fifteen Lindsey retainers came through the door in one mass, a chuckling, kilt-clad bunch.
They labored to haul something between them and left it in the middle of the receiving chamber.
“Night, ma’am.”
“Felicitations!”
“Pleasant…rest…”
“Get out, the lot of ye savages.” Adwin followed his order with a couple of kicks at the backsides of the men who were a bit slower in their obedience.
The chamber door was shut with a very firm sound that she felt as well as heard.
For it left her very much alone with her groom.
* * *
“I wondered…when ye’d come for me.”
Colum Gordon’s voice crackled with age, but there was a clear note of victory in it. Tyree moved closer, noting the glitter of satisfaction in the old man’s eyes.
“Always glad to be of service,” Tyree said mockingly.
Colum’s attention flickered to the pillow Tyree had in his fist. “I stopped sleeping in the bed years ago,” he continued. “Because I knew one of ye would try to smother me.”
Tyree grinned. “Easy enough in a chair.”
He tightened his grip on the pillow and raised it.
“No’ as easy as ye think, lad.”
Tyree froze. Diocail’s voice came from the far corner of the laird’s chamber. As he watched, Diocail emerged from behind a tapestry.
Colum chuckled. “I still have loyal men who will no’ allow ye to murder me.”
“Loyal?” Tyree questioned. “He allowed the witch to escape.”
Colum’s face tightened. “Is that true?”
Diocail came closer and braced his feet shoulder-width apart. “It is.”
Colum tried to say something but ended up hacking.
“And I will no’ apologize,” Diocail continued once his laird had quieted. “She was no’ a witch, and I will no’ feed the hunger for witch-hunting. ’Tis a nasty thing, that, breeding fear in folks who would have otherwise had the good sense no’ to see the hand of Satan where there is only the unfairness of life. The Gordons do nae need to be suspicious of one another. Before ye fault me for me actions, remember who is here to defend ye and who has come to further his own lot by snuffing out yer life.”
Colum had been digging his fingers into the padded armrest of his chair. His eyes were mere slits in his head due to his rage, but he only opened and closed his mouth a few times once Diocail finished.
Tyree paled, realizing he was losing the battle. “The Gordons need new leaders, Diocail. Help me open the doors to a new laird, and ye will be me war chief. It’s hardly murder—he’s got one foot in the grave already.”
“Murder is murder,” Diocail replied. “I have enough sins to bear without adding that sordid bit of business to me list of transgressions, and I will no’ be standing by while ye do it. No’ when I’ve sworn me allegiance to Colum as laird of the Gordons. A man is only as good as his word.”
“Well, then.” Tyree dropped the pillow and pulled his dirk. “It will be a fine morning, because I’ll be greeting it with ye and Colum both dead.” He began to move in a slow circle around Diocail. “After all, I came here and found ye murdering our laird. Such a shame I was too late to stop ye, but I dispensed justice.”
Colum tried to cry out for help, but his voice was thin and didn’t carry across the wide expanse of his huge chambers.
Diocail only bared his teeth and curled his fingers in a come-hither gesture. “Try me, lad.”
Tyree grinned, but a moment later he was jabbing at Colum. Blood went spurting as the chair toppled and Diocail lunged at Tyree. They fell on the floor as Tyree turned the dirk on Diocail. It was what he’d intended, to make Diocail come at him so Tyree had the advantage.
The chamber was full of the scent of freshly spilled blood and the grunts of men fighting for their lives. Colum dragged his body away from the two men, leaving a path of blood behind him.
There was a bone-crunching sound, and the chamber went silent. Colum stopped trying to reach the door and turned to see what his fate would be. Both men were in the middle of the floor, a tangle of limbs and Gordon wool. The fresh blood was scarlet and covering both of them. For a long moment, Colum squinted at them, trying to find a hint as to which one had prevailed. It had been a long time since he’d tasted fear. Now, the taste was thick on his tongue as he felt his own blood slipping down his skin.
There was a heave and motion as Diocail sat up and pushed Tyree’s lifeless body off him. There was a wicked slice down the side of his face that he didn’t bother to wipe as he stood and came across the chamber.
Diocail opened the chamber door and let out a whistle. Colum started to chuckle as he realized he’d been delivered.
* * *
“It’s no’ something to laugh at.”
Katherine shrugged. “You look like a bundle of sheep’s fleece on the way to market.”
He did, too, with his blond hair sticking up and the rest of him bound by the fabric. The Lindseys had left him standing on his feet and really quite helpless, if such a thing were possible.
Rolfe sent her a disapproving glare when she softly snickered.
“Duncan even included a book of poetry for yer enjoyment, but ye’ll have to unwrap a few layers if ye want to find it.”
“I’m astonished to hear he even knows what poetry is, much less has a book of it.”
She was moving toward Rolfe, pulling one of the ends of the fabric free from where it was tucked into a fold. “There is a small fortune in cloth here.”
“Aye,” Rolfe agreed. “Although, for all Duncan’s insisting that it is a wedding present for ye, I rather believe his true intent was to make it so I must wait on yer whim to release me.”
Katherine stopped. She’d begun to circle him, unwinding the cloth, but froze as she remembered exactly what they were expected to do.
Her belly decided to knot as her hands started to shake.
Rolfe let out a very male, frustrated sound. “I suppose I’d be insensitive if I growled at ye to get on with it?”
“You would.”
Of course, she’d be a coward to stand there behind him, shivering over consummating wedding vows she’d decided to willingly take.
“And if I plead for mercy?”
She laughed. “You would never do any such thing.” But the break in the tension allowed her to get her feet to begin moving again. Katherine came around in front of him but kept her gaze on her work, succeeding in pulling a full measure of blue wool from him.
There were still at least three more lengths wound around him.
“Do nae doubt me, lass,” he continued. “The truth of the matter is, I took a bath, but I am sweating like it’s the dead of summer. So, if ye do nae release me soon, I believe I am threatening ye with the company of a man who smells less than sweet.”
“Well, I shall take that under consideration.”
She freed another length of wool, this one a brown color. “Is this a customary way to deliver a bridegroom?”
Rolfe snorted. “Only when Duncan Lindsey thinks I will no’ get the opportunity to repay his…kindness.”
“Hmm.” She held up the third length of fabric and admired the dark-ruby hue. “Perhaps he wishes to soften the blow of my having no dowry.”
“Katherine.”
There was a firm note in his tone. He wanted her to look at him and she knew it, yet she still worried her lip before she lifted her chin and locked gazes with him.
“If I wanted a fat dowry, I’d have wed years ago.”
There was a light in his eyes that made her tremble deep down inside her body. The reaction defied her understanding, and yet she felt it so keenly, it didn’t matter that she failed to make sense of it.
That was the way it was with Rolfe McTavish.
“I wanted ye,” he muttered in a husky tone. “I wanted more than to bed ye. I wanted to know ye are mine.”
She’d pulled another length from him and stood for a moment as she simply released it and let it settle to the floor. “There will be plenty who tell you how foolish it is to wed me for a tumble.”
His lips twitched. She’d seen him grin before, but this was something different, something more intimate. It was roguish to say the least, cocksure as well, but there was a promise lurking in his eyes that made her breath catch before she circled behind him yet again and pulled another layer away from him.
He shrugged, dislodging the remaining layers and sending them down his body. She stepped back and enjoyed the sight of him emerging from the cocoon, because he was too strong a creature to be bound. There was a majestic quality in his strength that mesmerized her.
He kicked the fabric to the side and contemplated her. The Lindsey plaid she’d wrapped around her for warmth was lying discarded on a chair. She stood there in her smock, feeling as though the candles behind her made it nearly transparent.
Yet where she’d been nervous, she was now curious to see what he made of her.
Would he be disappointed in his bargain?
For all she brought to him was herself. If he stayed, it was because he wanted to, and she found that idea endearing.
It felt as if the chamber had shrunk, now that he was free. He fixed her with a long stare before he grinned at her.
“Ye have the devil’s own courage, Kat.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Some call me hellion for it.” She plucked the book from where it lay nestled in the fabric and set it on a table before she turned to look back at him. “Best know I have no plans to adopt more submissive ways. If that displeases you, the door is behind you.”
He snorted before laughing outright at her brazenness. The Lindseys had wrapped him up in all his clothing. He started to work the buttons on his doublet as he finished chuckling. He locked stares with her before he firmly tossed it aside.
Her mouth went dry.
But her insides felt as if they were heating.
“I am no’ going anywhere.”
“So I see.” It had become impossible to stand still. She shifted slowly away from him, but her attention remained fixed on him as he pulled the end of his wide belt free.
You know what a man looks like…
Yes.
However, this was Rolfe. The man who made her breath catch. It was vastly different somehow. Time was moving very slowly as he tugged on that end of leather to release the buckle, and then it was free, the pleats of his kilts sagging and slipping down his hips.
It left him in his shirt and boots. Katherine found that pleasing because they were somehow more evenly matched now, even if she’d be a fool to think he wasn’t stronger than she was.
No, it wasn’t about raw strength.
“Do nae fear me, Kat.” His voice had become husky, but there was a genuine note of concern in it, too. One that warmed her heart.
“I wouldn’t have signed the contracts if I did.”
She wasn’t sure she’d thought about her answer, only that the words were very true and they pleased him. She watched his expression change to one of enjoyment. Not the same as when he’d been laughing—no, this was a deeply personal sort of satisfaction.
He’d sat down to work his boots off. The fire popped, a log shifting and sending up a spray of crimson sparks while Rolfe finished getting out of his boots. He stood and faced her, contemplating the way she’d come to stop in the shadows between the bedchamber and the arched opening that led to the receiving portion of the chamber.
She likely looked frightened.
Well, at the very least, nervous.
Even admitting that wasn’t enough to get her feet to move toward him.
It would be best.
Courageous.
And yet, she lingered in… Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what to call it. Part of her was caught in a rush of anticipation, while the other seemed to be embracing doubts about what she was doing.
“Are ye hungry?” he asked. “Ye did nae eat very much.”
Katherine shook her head. “The corset was snug.”
He cast a glance at the dress where it was draped over the chairs.
“I hope ye did nae mind that the dress was nae made for ye.”
“That sort of life was lost years ago when Morton stole me from England,” she answered. “I have not longed for it.”
“No’ even now?” he asked quietly.
She ended up smiling. “Especially not now. There are some things that Scotland and England have in common, and one is the expectation of children wedding whom their parents choose.”
Rolfe joined her in grinning. He was moving toward her, leaving the light behind, which suited her well. Of course, she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact with him as he neared, and his size made her heart accelerate.
“Ye do nae think I would be yer kin’s choice of groom?” he asked, a single step from her.
“No more than I am your father’s.”
Rolfe reached out and settled his hand against the side of her face. She shuddered with the contact, so intensely aware of him.
“Ye’re mine.”
He spoke in a raspy whisper before pressing his lips against hers. He’d intended it to be a soft kiss that wasn’t too startling, but she rose onto her toes so she could kiss him back, and it felt as though something snapped inside her. A leash that had been holding her back, because now she reached for him, hooking her hands into his shirt as she tried to mimic the way he’d kissed her before.
The hard, determined way.
She didn’t want soft.
She wanted him.
Rolfe didn’t disappoint her. He took her kiss as permission to discard his attempt at being gentle. His chest vibrated with a growl as he closed his arm around her body and clamped her against him. His hand slid across her cheek and into her hair, where he closed his fingers into a fist that tugged the strands of her hair tight.
Then his mouth claimed hers in a demand that sent a jolt down to her toes. It was raw and hungry, the way he moved her mouth beneath his. There was a touch from his tongue, and then he was pressing her mouth open wide so he could thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth.
She let out a little moan.
He ripped his head away from hers in response, gaining another little cry from her.
“No, don’t let me think.”
He frowned at her, holding her head in place and keeping her from following him. “I am nae a beast. It does no’ have to be this very moment.”
But he was hard. His member was a solid length pressed against her belly. She’d seen them before, man parts, but now she felt something entirely new in regards to them. She wanted him inside her.
“I like your strength.”
She wasn’t entirely certain what she meant, but understanding flashed in his eyes a moment before he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. It seemed perfectly correct, in all its wickedness.
Honestly, that wickedness made it even more enticing as Rolfe crawled into the bed with her. He was hot and heavy, and that felt so very good against her flesh.
So right.
As though she’d been made just for the purpose of fitting against him.
“I do…nae…want to hurt ye,” he muttered against her neck, pressing tiny kisses against skin that was unbelievably sensitive. The kisses stirred the cravings inside her, making her writhe against him in an effort to get closer.
“It cannot hurt so terribly,” she answered him. “Not with the way the maids defy the Church to tryst.”
She slid her hands beneath his shirt, absorbing the way he felt. She had never thought she might enjoy touching another human being so very much.
“Where the devil did ye see that?”
He’d lifted his head and was glaring at her.
“You know I trained in the yard, as a boy.”
Her answer hit him, making him blink, right before Rolfe McTavish did something she’d never thought to see him ever do.
He flushed.
She laughed at him and raised her thigh so his hips slipped between her legs. It felt so very right in a way that she had never imagined carnal intimacy might.
“Would you rather I lay here dreading this?” It was an honest question. Wives were expected to perform their duty in a dignified manner that she doubted included kissing him back. Uncertainty needled her, and she let her hands fall back onto the bed, feeling as if she were being denied the best food on the table in favor of devotion to piety.
“No,” he answered sharply. “Sweet Christ, I think I’d agree to anything ye demand so long as ye put yer hands back on me.”
It was what she wanted, and knowing he agreed was like striking a flint stone over a bowl of tinder. She felt the first teasing sparks hit her skin as she laid her hands on him, arching when it felt as if they were connected at some level of awareness she had never encountered before.
Enchantment?
Bewitchment?
All she knew for sure was that she was intoxicated, and happily so. He shifted, pushing their clothing aside as he settled between her thighs. She opened them wide and sucked in her breath when he touched her folds. The sensation was so acute that she wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure.
Only that she wanted him to touch her again.
“Easy.”
He was cooing to her, his tone soothing as he stroked her open sex. She was wet, and he teased the sensitive folds with delicate touches of his fingertips.
“I’ll…no…rush…ye…”
Frustration edged his tone, but he seemed to be fighting the urge to get on with claiming her. She wanted that, too, and shifted beneath him, seeking out his member. She’d never felt empty before; now, it seemed to be the single thought she could manage. Everything had melted away beneath the feeling of his hard body.
“No…no’ just yet.”
He lowered more of his weight onto her, imprisoning her beneath him as he stroked her folds, drawing her wetness from where it emerged from the center of her body.
“Rolfe…”
He made a soft, male sound of amusement under his breath. “I like the sound of me name on yer lips.”
He pressed a kiss on her, all the while teasing her spread sex. She writhed beneath him, gasping when he touched a spot at the top of her sex.
“I like that sound even more.”
He sounded arrogant now, pleased in a very male fashion. Part of her recognized that, even if it defied her understanding completely. All she knew was that it was too difficult to keep her eyes open. She was lifting her hips up toward his hand, her lips parting because containing everything inside herself was completely impossible now.
There was too much sensation, too much tension twisting beneath his fingertips. She wanted something so badly that she was straining toward it. Desperation drew her muscles tight as she felt her abdomen ache from her effort to press herself more firmly against his touch.
Then it all burst, like a bubble above her face. She felt the tiny drops of water splattering all over her skin, in a hundred different places. Pleasure ripped through her, holding her in its grasp for moments that felt like hours before she was dropped back into reality, a panting mass of quivering flesh.
Her cheeks stung as she realized he’d watched her through the climax.
“Do nae be shy,” he muttered as he kissed her softly. “If I wanted to wed for duty, I could have done so years ago. I crave yer passion, and I will nae be content without it in our bed.”
They were in shadow, but she saw the glitter in his eyes, could see the way his jaw was tight, while his tone conveyed his determination. She relaxed beneath him, cradling him between her thighs.
“Then come to me.” Her voice was husky, and she lifted her hips in invitation.
She watched the muscles running down his neck cord. He nodded, his teeth clenched as he moved, and she felt the first touch of his member against her sex. It was hard and yet slid easily into the slickness he’d drawn from her body.
The first thrust only drove his length halfway into her. She gasped as her passage stung, feeling as if the skin was being ripped. But he withdrew, granting her a moment to suck in a breath before he was thrusting deep, opening her wide.
He caught her hands when she raised them in defense, pressing them to the surface of the bed as he remained lodged deep inside her. What had been white-hot pain suddenly eased, like a scab jerked off the surface of a partially healed wound. One moment, it was agony, and the next, bearable.
The moment she sucked in a deep breath, the cravings returned. They were deep inside her, echoes of the intense feelings that had drawn her tight right before pleasure burst through her, but she knew what they promised now and was eager for the satisfaction that might be gained.
“More,” she prompted him.
He let out a half bark of male amusement before she felt him shift his body above hers, withdrawing his length and driving it back into her with a smooth thrust that made her gasp when he lodged himself completely within her.
“I’ll happily give ye plenty more.”
He was as good as his word, moving with a pace that was slow and easy, helping her find the rhythm. He smoothed the hair back from her face and then held on to it as he began to move faster. His chest filled and emptied faster, his breath rasping between his teeth as she felt him growing harder. The bubble was growing tighter inside her, the approaching moment beckoning to her as she strained up toward him.
He was holding back; she felt him struggling as she clawed at his arms in need. It was all-consuming, the boundaries of right and wrong dissolving into a storm of cravings and demands from her flesh. She wanted to be taken and he didn’t disappoint her, pinning her beneath him as he drove his cock into her over and over until she burst.
Pleasure wrung her body and tossed her against the wall. She was gasping, straining upward when she felt him slam his cock deep into her and groan. His hot seed flooded her, spurting against her insides as his hand tightened in her hair. For just a moment, there was pain, and it enhanced the moment in a manner she couldn’t completely explain, but it unleashed another ripple of satisfaction. One born from the knowledge that he was stronger than her.
She didn’t know what it meant, couldn’t form serious thoughts if she had needed to. Her body felt heavy and more satisfied than she’d ever imagined possible. So she didn’t bother to open her eyes, but drifted off into sleep while wrapped in bliss.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to face her circumstances.
* * *
Gordon land
“He’ll no’ last long.”
Diocail nodded once in response to the healer before the man made his way out of the laird’s chamber on shuffling footsteps.
“Bury that bastard in unhallowed ground,” Colum growled from his bed.
Diocail only sent him a steady stare. Colum tried to rise, but the wound was weakening him too much.
“I am still laird.”
“Aye,” Diocail agreed. “And I’ve served ye dutifully.”
“No’ so well as ye think,” Colum snarled. “I am still dying.”
“Ye’ve lived a long life.”
Two of Colum’s captains eyed Diocail, waiting to see what Colum would make of his words. Their laird looked out from his bed, hate twisting his features. He even sent that same look toward the priest who had come to offer him last rites. Instead, he looked at his secretary and gestured him toward the bedside.
“Diocail is me chosen successor.”
The secretary nodded and pulled a sheet of paper from his small traveling desk. Colum pointed at Diocail. “And ye’ll take the Hay lass as yer wife. Bring me the offer.”
His secretary was off in a moment, going through the opening into the outer chamber and beyond it to where Colum kept his business papers.
“Ye’ll do as I say,” Colum informed Diocail. “I can see ye mean to argue with me, and I will no’ have it.”
“Better to wed the MacPherson girl and put an end to the bad blood between our clans.”
“I…will…no’…have…it!” Colum growled, straining to rise from his bed, but his blood was draining from his body. Tyree’s blade had sunk deep into the man’s belly, and it was a better death to go with his blood than to linger as infection from the wound took him slowly with fever and rot.
So they had not bound the wounds, but laid him in his bed.
“My laird.” The priest ventured closer, recognizing the look of approaching death. “’Tis time to repent, embrace peace, and be welcomed into heaven’s grace.”
Colum had no intention of embracing submission to the Church’s doctrine. His eyes glittered with hatred as he pressed his signet ring into the wax his secretary had poured onto a document.
“The Hay girl…” Colum’s voice was becoming weaker. “Bring me the offer…now…”
More of the Gordon captains filed into the room. Colum tried to lift his hand, but in the end, he couldn’t press his ring into the wax. He slumped back against the bedding as the priest tried to gain a confession from him.
He died with hatred in his eyes.
“Do any of ye mean to challenge me?” Diocail asked the captains. They were men who had earned the respect of the Gordons, and they contemplated him for long moments before one of them shook his head and the others followed.
Diocail obviously hadn’t thought it would be so simple. The most senior of the captains slowly grinned. “Ye’re welcome to the burden. I have enough authority to content me, and ye will have to ride down and give yer vow to Morton. I want none of that, yet whoever takes up the mantle of laird will have to see it done.”
“I will do it,” Diocail declared.
The senior captain nodded before lowering himself to one knee and pulling his dagger. He pressed a kiss of allegiance against the blade before rising.
The other captains slowly made their way over to kneel before Diocail. Colum looked on in death, the priest finally closing his eyes once the last man had knelt.
His mother would have enjoyed the moment.
Diocail felt her spirit rejoicing to see her son, the unwanted whelp, being given Colum’s blessing. She’d taken him into the isles to make sure he survived, and the harsh life had aged her. But he was strong and enough of a man to reclaim what she had always told him was his birthright.
He turned and left the chamber, going to face the first true challenge of his lairdship. It wasn’t coming in the form of feuding clans that he needed to run his land.
No, it was in the form of the Earl of Morton, and Diocail would have been a fool to dismiss how very dangerous the coming meeting was.
* * *
Katherine’s eyes popped opened the next morning while it was still gray.
“I thought they’d at least wait until dawn,” Rolfe groused as he rolled out of the bed and found his shirt. “Best rise, lass.”
There was a flutter as her chemise came sailing across the bed toward her.
She grabbed it and tugged at the sleeves to pull them right side out, her fingers fumbling as she heard the footfalls coming closer.
“Lord, it sounds as if half the Lindsey clan is coming,” she muttered as she succeeded in getting into her shift.
Not a moment too soon, either. The door burst in without a knock as Katherine held tight to the covers. The chemise was puddled around her waist, and her bare bottom was still beneath the bedding.
“Ye are a dead man.”
Marcus MacPherson stood in the doorway, wearing enough dirt to tell her he’d been riding hard for a long time. His face was coated with it, so when he flashed his teeth at Rolfe, they looked even brighter due to how much grime was on his face.
“Marcus…” Rolfe began, but that was all he got out before Marcus was lunging at him.
The chamber was full of people now. Someone drew her out of the bed, pulling her into the small antechamber to be dressed. Katherine fought against the women trying to shield her modesty as she heard the crashing and cursing coming from the bedchamber.
But the Lindsey women were too many, keeping her in place. She finally decided to help get her clothing on, because it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere until she was dressed.
“Pull those two apart.” Duncan arrived, and his men acted upon his command.
There was cursing and growling, but there were just too many Lindsey retainers, and Marcus ended up pushed against one wall, while Rolfe and Adwin were kept against another.
“I do love weddings,” Duncan declared as he looked toward the bed. The soiled sheet was plain in the dawn light. “Looks like it was enjoyed by everyone.”
Marcus let out a snarl and surged toward Rolfe again. “Ye should have kept yer hands off her!”
“Marcus!” Katherine slipped beneath the arms of the men holding him back. He drew himself up as she straightened up in front of him. The rage on his face cracked to reveal relief. “Christ, lass, it is good to see ye well.”
He wrapped his arms around her, using so much strength that he nearly cracked her ribs.
“And ye do nae have to stay married to him,” Marcus spat out once he’d finished embracing her. “Leave that sheet and get out.”
The Lindsey women had turned their attention to the bed, pulling the stained sheet off. They looked at Marcus, clearly resistant to his order.
“Katherine is me wife,” Rolfe declared. There was a glint in his eyes that made it clear he would back his words with his body if necessary.
“We’ll be seeing about that,” Marcus promised in return. “Get out, the lot of ye. I will be hearing what Kat has to say when she is no’ surrounded by those who have something to gain by forcing her hand.”
The Lindseys bristled at the insult and looked toward their laird. Marcus glared at Duncan.
“Ye’d say the same if ye were standing in me boots right now.”
No one moved until Duncan gave them a wave with his hand. The chamber began to empty, but Marcus had to yank the soiled sheet out of the hands of the Head of House when she tried to carry it past him.
“Ye’d have the lass shamed, then?” the woman declared. “If I appear below without that, there will always be rumors about her.”
Marcus didn’t lose his temper often. That iron control was a trait Katherine had come to admire about him. Right then, it was stretched thin, but she was distracted by the look on Rolfe’s face. Her new husband was looking straight at her, waiting for her to make a choice.
“Take the sheet,” Kat said.
Marcus shifted his attention to her, his eyes narrowing. The Head of House didn’t wait for further discussion. She hurried out of the chamber, leaving Katherine feeling her cheeks burning scarlet as she realized everyone was there to discuss what she’d been doing with Rolfe.
But what made her belly tighten to the point of nausea was just how determined Marcus was to see the marriage dissolved.
* * *
Colum Gordon was interred beneath the floor of the church beside his son. His wife had been buried in the graveyard behind the structure in punishment for only providing one living son to her husband. If Diocail had his way, he’d have let the man rot in unhallowed ground for all of the hate he’d kept festering inside him. The Gordons were despised by the clans on all sides of them because of it, and it would fall to Diocail to change their ways.
That would be a difficult task, but one his mother had reared him to face. He would not shame her by failing.
Especially on the very first day.
The hall was unusually somber at supper. Diocail sat at the high table, contemplating his new clan. He finally stood.
“I will be heading down to swear fealty to the Earl of Morton.”
There was a grumble among the Gordon retainers.
“The man is the regent for our king, and I will no’ be frightened away by the tales of him. Even if I believe a great many of them are true.”
There was a rumble of approval.
“I’d expect ye to toss me out on me arse if I were no’ man enough to face the earl.”
Now there were grins. A few of the retainers lifted their mugs toward him.
“And I’m going to say what is being said among ye.” Diocail braced his feet wide and faced them. “That I am no’ a Gordon because me mother left this land.”
He stopped for a moment and watched his words sink in. There was a shuffle among those eating at the long tables as they eased closer, wanting to hear what else he had to say.
“Me mother took me away so I’d live to see this day.” Diocail spoke clearly. “But only after someone tried to poison her, while I was still on her breast. Me father died from it. Colum’s ambition was stronger than his decency. Now that he is gone, I intend to speak clearly and truthfully.”
It wasn’t considered right to speak ill of the dead, but there was more than one nod among those watching.
Diocail came down the steps and stood on the hall floor. “So, if there are any among ye who wish to challenge me openly, now is the time. Any man who resorts to potions and daggers in the dark shadows is a coward and no’ fit to lead the Gordons. For those whispering behind me back, I call ye out now. Make yer arguments here, before all, or have done with trying to split the Gordons. I will honor the choice made by the majority and leave this castle, but so too will whoever stands against me.”
It was as silent as a graveyard. No one moved, and most of those watching held their breath as they waited. Diocail watched the looks some of the men made, quick glances toward silent members of the clan that told him exactly who was talking behind his back.
None of them stepped forward.
“It is done,” Leif said from the high table. He was the senior captain, a man who had served the Gordons for over thirty years. “Aed can start with the swearing of fealty.”
Aed was one of the men the other clansmen had looked toward. His jaw was clenched as he hesitated. He moved forward and drew his dagger. There was a long moment as everyone waited to see if he’d challenge or kneel.
He knelt and pledged as a line formed behind him.