Chapter Thirteen

Bastard? Adam had brought a bastard to Ulva, something he swore to his father he would never do.

It was dawn, a new day, but he had no idea what to expect of it. He closed the door to the room that had been a nursery in Gylin where he and his brothers had slept as bairns. It was the only other one that currently had a real bed in it. Lark had shared the smaller bed with him but had laid way on the other edge. It was a wonder she had not fallen off.

He’d hardly slept, listening to her mumbled words and watching her face pinch as if she grew afraid. He’d nearly woken her, demanding to know what demon she fought. But then she’d quieted, and he’d lain still, wondering if the demon looked like him.

Why hadn’t she told him she was a bastard? If she’d planned to do so before they came together, why hadn’t she? Did she really think he would try to get rid of her because of her inauspicious beginning? Would I?

“Nay,” he murmured as he reached the bottom of the tower stairs. How would the isle or Grissell even know that Lark’s parents had not wed? They may have wed under God’s law anyway. Lark said they fell in love.

There was no one in the great hall. Good. His orders to his brothers the night before were to start early. He wanted answers and that Bible as soon as possible. Last night, with his sour disposition and Lark being present, they had not asked him about her revelation on Mull.

Adam stepped out into the bailey. Beck glared at him as he stuffed a flask into the satchel he was taking. Was it just the morning that made him look full of fury or had they been talking about Lark after they left them last night?

Beck coughed and tugged on the strap to close it. “The Bible, fabric, a midwife. Anything else I should retrieve from Mull?” he asked. “Brides for all my brothers, perhaps, and that priest to marry us?”

The wind blew the thin, whip-like limbs of the dead willow tree in a dance. A long tendril snapped close to Adam. I do not believe in curses.

“Adam?” Beck said, raising his voice.

“What?” His voice cracked like the leafless ends.

“I said, should I also bring back brides and a priest?”

“Just get the damn Bible.” He looked up at some clouds blowing in from the ocean on the west. “And take a tarp. It will rain.”

Beck snorted and grabbed his satchel. “Walk with me,” he said. Adam glanced back at Gylin, but no one else was outside. Hopefully Lark was armed if she went to check on the pregnant woman. They stepped out the small door in the wall and headed down the path toward the dock.

“Ye should know that Rabbie was talking last night about what Lark said.”

Adam didn’t respond as he walked along, trying to keep his anger contained. Beck was Adam’s brother, best friend, and second-in-command of their clan. He did not deserve Adam’s ire.

Beck continued. “He wanted to know who Lark’s father is if the man at the festival, who signed her marriage license, is not. Do ye know?”

“He died before Lark’s mother wed Roylin Montgomerie. He was in the English army and was killed.”

“English? Bloody hell. That’s akin to marrying Lucifer himself,” Beck said, but a slight grin on his face showed that he jested.

Adam could weave a tale of Lark’s parents being married, but look where deceit had led them so far. He kicked a rock to fly forward along the trail. “They were not wed.”

He took two steps before he noticed that Beck had stopped in the path and turned to him. Beck’s mouth was open, his face impassive. He swallowed. “They were not wed? At all?” Could one be partially wed?

Adam shook his head and continued walking. He heard the crunch of Beck’s boots as he caught up. “Well damn.” Beck cursed under his breath.

Adam stepped up to their rowboat and untied the thick rope from the stake in the ground.

“What are ye going to do?” Beck asked, staring at him wide-eyed.

Adam continued to coil and finally raised his head. “I am not divorcing Lark or having the union annulled.”

“The priest who did it is at Aros,” Beck reminded him of the well-muscled cleric with the lewd smile.

“I do not trust him.” He met Beck’s gaze. “And I said I am not having the marriage annulled. For all I know, Lark is with child already.”

“From one night together?” Beck asked but stopped talking when Adam glared at him. “Pretty damn powerful of ye if she is,” he murmured under his breath and stepped aboard the boat. Adam walked over to a wooden chest and drew out a tarp to throw at him.

“Keep this between us,” Adam said.

Beck picked up the oars. “Rabbie will ask ye as soon as he sees ye.”

“Aunt Ida told Lark that the curse revolves around us fathering bastards. It matters not who we wed.”

“I certainly hope that is what it says,” Beck said, his brows pinched.

Adam turned away to stride back up the hill. What would his brothers think when they found out? Would they react like Beck? He was the most accepting of people, the least superstitious of the lot. Rabbie would likely demand he throw Lark off the isle with Elspeth that very day if he knew. Adam rubbed his clenched fist against the throbbing at the back of his head.

Adam walked up to the gates but did not go inside. His other brothers were already working to finish the roof on the last room, but Adam wanted to follow the woman’s footprints that Rabbie had seen in the village. If they came from the south side, she’d probably walked from Grissell’s cottage.

He turned at the sound of the door in the wall opening. Lark stepped out, a shawl covering the top of her blue dress, her hair caught in a long braid that laid against her shoulder.

“Is anything amiss?” he asked, striding toward her. There were slight circles beneath her eyes showing her poor sleep.

“No,” she said, a hand to her chest as if she’d gasped at his voice. “Elspeth is still in our…your bedchamber. I have eaten and thought I would look for her footprints.”

“If they come from the south, she is probably the one living with Grissell,” he said.

They began to walk together toward Ormaig, a three-foot space between them. “Elspeth could not have rigged that poppet up in the church rafters,” Lark said. “Not by herself in her condition.”

The caw of a gull made her look upward, and Adam studied the graceful column of her neck. He cleared his throat. “Did ye sleep well?”

“No,” she answered, glancing at him. “And you?”

“Nay.”

He and Lark followed the pebbled path toward the village. “Ye were talking in your sleep,” he said, and she caught the toe of her boot on a buried rock.

“What did I say?”

“I could not tell, but ye sounded frightened. Do ye remember a dream or nightmare?”

She shook her head. Overhead, more clouds rolled in, and a breeze blew from the west off the ocean. They entered the town, silent without people. Their silence added to the ghostly feel.

“I remember when the village had life in it,” he said to break the eerie feel. “Before my father moved us back to Mull.” They stopped beside the first building. “It was sparsely populated. My father had only lived on the isle for about five years, slowly convincing what was left of our family and some of their friends to move back over. The soil was rich and fertile, and the isle was without predators so sheep could roam free.”

“And they all left after your mother died?” she asked, looking at him as they walked through the twisting path among the lifeless dwellings.

“They felt the curse killed her.”

“Unfortunately, many women die from childbirth, but Eagan lived.”

They reached the chapel and stopped. “He lived, but Eagan was a twin.”

“A twin?”

Adam watched the breeze tug at the curls around her face like errant ribbons. “Our sister died with our mother.” He breathed deeply. “Two Macquarie females at once, descendants of Wilyam Macquarie. People panicked. The two pregnant women left immediately. Then several women died of age and a few ewes became ill. It was enough to make everyone leave.”

“Even your father?”

“We were the last to go, but Ida said she’d take us lads with or without him.” He turned to scan the silent buildings with their vacant, watching windows. A curtain blew ragged ends with the growing wind.

“’Twas a hard time,” he continued. “People blamed the Macquarie curse for every little thing that went wrong. Many even moved away from Mull, taking on the Maclean family name.”

Lark did not reply, seeming to take in his words, words he should have spoken on their journey. Maybe she would have told him she was a bastard if he had been honest with her from the start. What would he have done if she had?

He cleared his throat. “I want to search the south side of the village for footprints.” They walked that way in silence.

Adam pointed to a structure without a roof. “A woman lived there who baked bread and tarts.”

“My sister, Anna, would like to start a bakery,” Lark said.

He opened his mouth to say that she could come to Ulva and start one but then closed it.

Lark glanced at him, her lips in a thin line. “Anna is not a bastard. She is Roylin’s daughter.”

“She is welcome,” he said, wishing he had said it before Lark spoke.

“Perhaps you should have wed her.”

“She was not the one being forced to wed that night,” he said, his voice even.

She stopped walking. “Do you wish to annul our marriage?” she asked, and he turned to her. They stood opposite one another in the center of abandoned, neglected, dead homes. “We can do so after we are certain I am not with child.”

Anger that she had not trusted him with the truth fought with an absolute want to be with Lark. He walked closer to her. “Ye are my wife, and I will not walk away from ye.” He watched the small flecks of gray in her blue eyes as she met his stare.

“Perhaps I should walk away from you, then,” she said. “Would that be easier on your conscience?”

He inhaled fully. The air smelled of rain, and the sweetness of the strawberries was still coming from her hair. “I will hide the boat.”

She frowned. “You cannot keep me a prisoner.”

“I will until ye believe that ye are not dooming this isle.”

“And what happens if crops wilt and ewes die? What then? Will I be abandoned like this village?” There was no self-pity in her strong gaze, just mistrust and determination.

“Ye do not trust me at all,” he said and watched her look past his shoulder. She did not reply.

“I have nothing else hidden from ye,” he said. “No secrets, no plans that I have not told ye. I did not sleep with that woman.” His arm flew out toward Gylin. “There are no more curses of which I know. There is nothing in my past that should matter.”

He rolled up a sleeve and pointed to a scar, trying not to recall how she’d kissed it two nights ago before the fire at Aros. “I got this from Iain MacLeod when he raided Ulva several months ago.” He lifted the edge of his kilt. “This one was when Liam and I were boys and training like fools with real swords.” He touched his jaw. “From the sword of an Englishman who tried to attack Aros a few years back.” He yanked his tunic up over his head and off, turning his back. “And this scar,” he said, showing the long one that nearly cost him his life, “was from the same battle.”

He turned back to her, letting his hands out to the sides. “There is nothing else about me to keep hidden. I have no secrets.” He watched her swallow hard. Her beautiful eyes blinked as if she held back tears. “Lark…” He waited. “Lark,” he said again and reached out to touch her chin, guiding her to meet his gaze. “I know trust has to grow between two people, but I am asking ye to trust that I will not abandon ye.”

She breathed in through her nose and nodded slightly.

He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, marveling in the softness. “Someone has made ye distrust so easily.”

She blinked, her gaze centering on his chest instead of his eyes. He dropped his hand.

A white cat, likely the same one from before, scooted out of the cottage where they stood, breaking the moment. Not that he thought Lark would suddenly start talking, revealing all to him. The cat trotted to the chapel.

“I should check inside,” he said.

Lark nodded, and he turned to stride over to the chapel. They had opened the shutters to allow in light when his brothers had filled in Wilyam Macquarie’s grave with earth. Adam walked around the inside perimeter to the back where the cat slid along one of the pews.

“What were ye thinking?” he murmured at his great-great-grandfather as he glanced where the fresh boards were laid. If the man had known that he would destroy his entire clan by sleeping with the girl he kissed in the woods, would he have let his passion cloud his judgment? Had he feelings for her? Loved her? Had he wished he hadn’t married his wife?

“Everything as it should be?” Lark asked, peeking in from the doorway.

He dropped his hands, glad to hear her speaking again. “Aye. With a bit more washing, the chapel could be used.”

“That would be a good start for the village,” she said and stepped back from the door when he came out.

Adam nodded toward the winding road that was lined with weeds and overgrown bramble and scooped up his tunic. “When I bring in more sheep, they can eat here first on the grasses.” The sweeping wind on the isle kept the vegetation low and scraggly with only a few pockets of taller trees about. Somehow talking about the future of the village gave him hope that he and Lark might have one together.

Adam looked to one of the buildings that still had a roof. “We can salvage those with roofs, cleaning them and making them safe from the weather. I will get wood and glass panes from Mull or the mainland.”

A few fat drops of rain hit the road, making him look up at the brooding sky.

“Maybe we should return to the castle,” Lark said, but before she could finish the sentence, the sky opened like a filled bucket that had been sliced with a claymore. She gasped, her voice higher pitched, and he grasped her hand as the rain plummeted.

She ran with him as he headed straight for a house with a roof, pushing inside. Breathing hard, Lark spun in the doorway of the one-room cottage to stare out at the spring rain dropping like stones beyond the eaves.

“The roof is sound,” he said. The cottage was not too battered. It was one that had been inhabited when the isle was settled a score of years ago. A bed with a blanket sat against the wall near a hearth. Slabs of very dry peat sat next to it.

Thunder rumbled, and they watched more lightning splinter across the sky. “It does not seem likely to stop soon,” Lark said. She turned around, surveying the room, and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, clutching her shawl around her arms.

He shook out his tunic and laid it over her shoulders. “A fire will keep the chill out,” he said and walked to the hearth. Adam layered the dry peat. He struck the flint he always carried, the sparks caught on the bit of wool in his fingers, and he set it on the peat, watching it catch quickly.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

He turned to see Lark sweeping with a straw broom left in one corner. She peered at the mantle that had flowers carved into it and stopped to run her fingers along the etching of vines. “Someone loved this little house.”

“Not enough to stay,” he said, closing the door against the rain that had turned sideways, wetting the floor inside the threshold.

She moved to the window to rub the wavy glass pane to look out. “They were afraid.” She turned, leaning her back against the daubed wall, lifting her gaze to his. “Fear makes us do things we regret.”

Had she been afraid? “Like asking a stranger to marry ye?” he asked.

“Like not telling your wife that she was responsible for helping you break your family’s century-old curse?” she answered.

Like not telling your husband that you are a bastard? Adam wasn’t a big enough arse to say it out loud. Especially when he knew Lark was thinking it from the flush rising in her cheeks.

Thunder rumbled as if anger rent the air. A sob broke from Lark’s lips, and she ran to the door, throwing it open to dash into the rain.

“Lark!” he yelled, following her. He chased her into the muddy road, both of them instantly soaked with the heavy rain. He caught her shoulders, halting her.

“Let go!” she yelled, but he turned her to him. Anguish pinched her forehead, her mouth open, rain pressing her curls down close to her head.

“Lark,” he said, rainwater rushing so hard he had to shout to be heard. Thunder boomed, and the trees on the perimeter thrashed.

“I was afraid,” she yelled at him as he held her there in the road at arm’s length. “Once I realized how important my birth was to you, I…” Her lips closed to swallow, the rain traveling like rivulets down her face so that he could not tell if she cried. “I did not want to get an annulment.” She shook her head, her gaze moving to his throat instead of his eyes. “I even took a bit of whisky to give me the courage to tell you before you came up to the room, but it did not help.” She shook her head again, her hands going to her face, covering her eyes. “You would send me…away.”

The tempest roared around them, mirroring the storm gathering inside Adam. Lark was afraid, truly afraid, and his warrior blood pounded in a rush to protect her. It hurt that she thought him so dishonorable. He grabbed her hand, pulling it away from her face, and slid his palm along her soaked cheek. “I want ye here, Lark. I want ye with me.” Her eyes lifted to his, and she searched his face. “I would rather abandon this isle than abandon ye.”

Her eyes opened wide at his words. His father was probably turning in his grave, but Adam realized he meant it. “No more secrets between us, Lark,” he called above the rain. “Just ye and me, wife and husband, together.”

Her hand came up to squeeze his where it cupped her cheek, her eyes closing as his mouth descended onto hers. Rainwater mixed with the taste of her as he deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms. Adam felt her hands lift to hold the back of his neck as he curved over her form, blocking the hard beat of the rain.

His hands slid along her form, her gown molding to her curves. Their kiss became wild, their hands stroking through the wet. The storm was like a curtain, blocking out the world beyond them, as if it banished the curse, the talk of bastards, his brothers, and his oath to his father. Only Lark remained.

Thunder cracked close by, and Lark jumped, pressing closer to him. Adam turned, half carrying her back the few steps to the cottage where the door stood open. They ran inside, and he slammed the door shut.

Both of them stared at one another, the fire crackling behind them. Would she turn away again? He would not let her. Not now that he knew she wanted him.

Adam took a step toward her, but she was already moving toward him. They met in the middle of the room, their mouths coming together in a rush of desperation. The fire already growing inside Adam erupted. The kiss turned wild from the moment their lips touched. His hands caught her head as she ran hers down his bare shoulders, holding him as if she were afraid he would slip away. But he was not going anywhere.

The rain pounded on the roof as the storm thrashed around them. Hands touching, exploring, bodies pressed together. Adam felt Lark tremble. She must be chilled. He backed them up toward the fire, and his fingers moved between them, plucking at the laces of her bodice. “Ye are soaked,” he said against her lips.

In answer, she shrugged her shoulders to release the bodice. It hit the wooden floor with the weight of the water, followed by the pooling of her soaked skirt. She bent to unlace her boots, bringing her mouth close to his jack, making it twitch. Rising, she balanced with her hands on his shoulders as she toed off the boots and leaned in to kiss him.

“I am lost in the taste of ye,” he murmured against her lips, his arms around her, pulling her cold body against his hot skin. Lark yanked the lacing tie on her stays, and they followed, leaving her in a wet, white smock.

He looked down at her. “Ye are lovely, lass,” he said, taking in how the wet linen clung to her peaked breasts.

“I want you,” she said, untying the top of her smock. “And this is cold.” He helped her find the edge, pulling it over her head.

Adam’s breath caught as his gaze fell upon her. Naked, standing in the glow of the fire, Lark was like a beautiful, otherworldly nymph. Her long braid of coppery hair fell over her straight shoulder. A gentle swell to her stomach, curved hips, and full breasts made her lush and soft everywhere. His hardness yearned for all that softness, and she wanted him.

With a tug of his belt, Adam let the sopping woolen wrap around his hips fall to the floor. He stood in only his boots. Lark’s gaze dipped to his jack, which stood upright, hard and demanding.

She reached for him. Adam’s groan came out like a growl, up from his gut, and he walked her back until she was pressed against the wall, the window at their side. They met in a frantic touching, tasting, giving, and taking. Thunder rumbled outside, but it seemed farther away. Pulling the tie from her wet braid, Adam fingered through the length gently.

“Strawberries,” he said against her as they kissed. He dipped his head, sliding his lips along her neck, his thumb strumming her taut nipple.

She moaned softly on an exhale, the crux of her legs pressing against his length. “Touch me,” she whispered, her words more powerful than the thunder. The rain still hammered outside, adding to the frantic energy building between them. Lark breathed against his mouth, and he caught her moan as he found her heat. She was soaked with want.

He felt her shudder and looked into her face. “Like hot, sweet honey,” he rasped.

Her eyes were closed, her lashes spiked with rainwater. Pink lips parted, she groaned, pressing into his hand as he stroked her flesh. His lips savored the taste of her skin as he kissed down to her breasts, pulling one peak and then the other into his mouth, his tongue swirling to pull another moan from her. Lark’s head lulled back against the wall as he played her body. She was gorgeous, the long column of her throat exposed above her full breasts, her body open and wanting, her red hair draping behind her, skimming her slender shoulders like silk cloth.

He turned her to the wall, his hands cupping her breasts and his thumbs tweaking the hard pebbles. He leaned into her, pressing his rigid jack against the soft crevice of her perfectly round arse.

She stilled, her back suddenly rigid. “No,” she said, turning abruptly.

Adam stared down into her face. “What is it?”

She shook her head, breathing heavy, and looked up to meet his gaze. “Not that way,” she whispered. Her arms went around him, and she buried her face into his chest. Adam held her tightly.

“I want to see you love me,” she said.

He slid a hand into her hair and pressed warm, deep kisses on her lips, and she reached onto her toes to wrap her arms over his shoulders. They clung to each other as he walked them to the bed. Their breaths mingled, and she pulled him with her down onto the low bed, the old frame creaking as he followed.

Damp hair spread across the hay-filled tick, her hands lifted under her breasts, and her knees fell open, Lark was the most sensual creature he had ever touched, tasted, or even seen. She was glorious, and she was his. He swooped down to kiss her. He would hold onto her forever. No more talk of annulment, no talk of being a bastard and what that might do to his plans, no holding back from this incredible creature moaning under his kisses. Her hand grasped him, guiding him to her heat, and he pressed forward, thrusting deep.

Her lips fell open on a moan, and she pressed up, her body seeming to pull him farther inside. Meeting his thrusts, a deep and frantic rhythm built between them. The bed cracked and creaked with each meeting of their bodies as they climbed higher and higher.

His hands caught her face, and he looked into her eyes. “We are one, now and forever,” he said, the words like an oath as every muscle in his body coiled tightly.

“Yes,” came out on her breathless exhale. The pale skin of her neck was flushed, her lips parted, but she kept her eyes open, staring at him as he watched the peak of her passion tear through her. “Adam!” she yelled.

Thrusting wildly, Adam roared as he exploded, Lark grabbing hold of him to ride their carnal tempest out together. Straining, clasped together, the bed under them moved. With a cracking sound, the warped legs gave way. But Adam barely noticed as they clung together, the bed dropping soundly onto the floor beneath them.