Chapter 2
Sandra was not sure what to do. Should she help the man on the floor in front of her or run for her life? He claimed to be the rightful chieftain of Clan MacLachlan, but he had to be lying. The MacLachlans would have summoned him before they came to her father's door begging for help, especially if he had brought all this luxurious wealth with him.
He had the bearings of a chieftain. He had the handsome look of a MacLachlan. But he could not be. He just could not be. This could ruin the fragile truce between their clans if the MacLachlans did not need the MacEwens. And from the fine quality of the furnishings surrounding her, Sandra knew he could offer his clan more, much more, than the MacEwens’s weaving trade could.
Her time had come to marry a MacLachlan peacefully. She had to have faith. Of course nothing would change now. The arrangements were made. In two days the MacLachlans would become a branch of the MacEwens by the decision of their own elders. A stranger could not change that.
The man's head snapped up from its hanging position as if he had startled awake from a nightmare. With eyes large with wonder, he looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. When he finally focused on her, still straddling the tub with only her wet hair and towel for cover, a devilish grin slowly grew across his face. Unfortunately, it made him as savagely handsome as she thought it would, as handsome as the legacy of MacLachlans he followed. But it was the legacy of murderers in his family that made her pull her other leg quickly from the tub and take a step back, that and his eyes. They were the same deep color of the hills in spring, but there was no sign of the angry storm that had swelled in them just a moment before. It was as if they were happy, almost dancing with merriment.
"A warm welcome to my home, lassie." His crisp English accent was suddenly gone. If she had not seen his lips move, she would have thought it was the other man talking from somewhere behind him in the hallway, but there was no one else there. The Gaelic words rolled from his lips like a purr, a Scottish purr she was not expecting from this English stranger. "My, but does this feel grand," he continued on as he stood up slowly from his kneeling position and got to his feet.
He held out his hands and looked at them as if inspecting the fit of a pair of riding gloves. Holding the hem of his surcoat out to the sides, he looked down at his long muscular legs clad in tan fitted-leather trews with the same odd perusal.
"I would haff ta say it is quite a finely made body. Would you not agree, lassie?"
He was staring at her with jolly eyes and such a sincere look on his face. It was as if he really wanted her to comment on his physical prowess. Though her mind took in much to comment on, nothing came from her open mouth. She took another step further away from him and got behind the tub.
"Aye, but who am I to be bragging when all your bounty is so deservin'." He started toward her with an outstretched hand as if all he wanted to do was have a dance with her. Being that she was naked, she doubted that was all this MacLachlan had in mind. She was in his manor…alone, with no one left to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to her. She had to stop him.
"I am a MacEwen...daughter of the chieftain," she stammered out as she continued to back away from his advance. Her wet foot slipped once on the floorboards and she grabbed the tub to recover her balance as she looked frantically behind him for any sign of her two rescuers.
"Stop right there or you will spend the rest of your eternal days in the kitchens warming yourself with a pot of stew," came the Scottish woman's voice from somewhere very near. Sandra did not see her in the room or in the hall, but right now she did not care. The words had stopped the man's advance, but there was still a look of indecision on his face, a battle was again raging behind those eyes.
"I would stop if it was merely up to me, my dear," he finally answered. "But this virile body wants hers, and I am not havin’ much luck stoppin’ it." He began his unnerving stalking of her again. One black-booted foot at a time stepped toward her with every two steps her bare feet took away. His eyes roamed freely over her exposed skin that was still flush from her hot bath. His wide smile sent a fearful warning to her racing mind. “I think it would be best if you be leavin’ about now, lassie.”
Sandra darted out of his grasp when he suddenly lunged for her. She scrambled for the hearth and the only weapon she could see, the fire stoker. "Stay back or I will hurt you. I mean it," she said with conviction as she held the forged metal rod poised to strike at his head with one hand and her covering towel up to her breasts with the other.
He stopped for a moment to glance over her completely again, then broke out in the most mirthful roar of laughter she had ever heard. "The wee lass is threatening me?" he got out between deep chuckles as he held his arms out wide to show his tremendously large frame and muscular build towering over her.
"We will see how funny this is to you when you are sleepin' with a poker in your gut," Sandra heard the angry voice of the other woman come from over her shoulder. Then, just like her attacker had, Sandra fell to her knees as if struck from behind by the shove of someone's body. She could see the poker on the floor by his boots, her fingers still wrapped around the worn wooden handle. She tried to raise it in defense. She tried to pick herself up from her submissive position. But nothing happened. She could not move at all.
Fear coursed through her like a devil's spark. The blow from behind by that woman had paralyzed her and she was defenseless before the laughing man. Naked and defenseless. The towel she had been holding lay on the floor in front of her, just as useless as the fire poker.
Her head snapped up on its own as if someone had jerked back on a rope tied around her neck. Through the wet strands of her hair, her eyes came to rest on the knees of the man towering over her. Her body was moving again, but not at her command. Without warning, her hand came up from the floor and jabbed the poker into the muscled calf in front of her. She had not even been thinking of really striking him. It had all been a threat. But somehow her mind had just done it. Now she was even more terrified of what he might do to her.
"I thought that would stop your laughing," she heard herself say. Oh God! Had she lost control of her senses completely? Now she was taunting him too…and totally naked while kneeling at his feet.
The tall MacLachlan had indeed stopped laughing and was holding his injured leg with both hands, but he was still smiling. "I will forgive you because I know you did it out of desire for me. Just let the anger pass and I think you will start seeing things a little differently."
As if taking his advice without reservation, Sandra felt her body relax and let go of her fear. Then she suddenly felt a cheery smile raise her cheeks. "I do feel it now," she said, looking at her hands as if they were not her own. She came up from the floor and felt one of her hands smooth over the contours of her naked body as if worshipping herself. A flush of embarrassment flashed through her when she looked up and saw him staring back at her with his own worshipping eyes. At least she thought it was embarrassment. The flush of heat she expected to go to her cheeks traveled lower...much, much, lower. Oh, what was happening? Why was she acting this way, as if she wanted to attract him closer? She wanted to get away from him, she should be running for her life, but she was not. When her head came up again from inspecting the smooth curves of her own body, she looked directly into the deep green depths of his eyes and was no longer certain of anything. He looked magnificent, he looked hungry…for her. There was no denying his body’s intentions in the least with those fitted leggings and short white over-shirt.
"I would say we have been given the perfect bodies for our needs," he said in a husky voice as he reached out and gently lifted a lock of golden hair that hung over her right breast. The slight curl at the end of the damp strand caressed her like a moist tongue as he purposefully swirled it around her sensitive nipple. She felt the heat again, and he must have seen it in her eyes as she stared boldly back at him without shame for her nakedness. He came a step closer and breathed into her ear. "These bodies were destined to come together. They both have a raw hunger for each other. The fire was instantaneous between them. Can ya feel it?" The stubble on his chin stimulated her senses even deeper with every slow movement of his mouth.
Sandra knew she should pull away from the intimate encounter, the strong arms that were wrapped around her, the male fingers feathering up her back at that very instant. But she did not. She could not…God, she did not really want to…she was not sure of anything anymore. What was wrong with her? Nothing was making any sense. When his large hands curved down over her hips she finally stopped fighting it and let herself just sink into the heat of his muscular body against her own. It seemed her body's desires were stronger than her fears. She saw her hand reach up between them of its own accord. Like finding her way in the dark, her fingers explored him, from the finely woven linen covering his broad chest down to his tautly stretched leggings cut from a hide of calfskin, tanned to perfection by a master of the craft. Every ripple, every bulge was like tasting the creaminess with her fingers.
"I do believe a Scottish plaid would have made things much easier," she said in the most sensual voice she had ever used. Then she stiffened. She had thought the thought, but she had never imagined saying it out loud…and to him!
“Remember to relax,” he coaxed her again with his deep Scottish voice that ran like soft velvet over her nerves and effortlessly soothed her. The anger was gone. The fear was gone. She was feeling intoxicatingly wonderful. "I fear to ask it, but is your body that of a maiden?" His eyes were alight with a spark waiting to be set free to do what fire does best. It was an absurdly rude question for him to ask upon their first meeting, but everything about this encounter was absurdly out of the ordinary. And somehow that made it even more exciting. She did not know how, or why she had let down her defenses so easily, but she could no longer find any reason in her mind to run from any of this.
"Untouched by the hands of man," she answered him back and held her arms open wide for him to look his fill of all of her. Slowly, one half-step at a time, she began to turn in a circle against her will, her hands rising up over her head, making sure his eyes saw the totality of what she had to offer. She felt so wanton and yet it felt so good…so free. Her mind could think of no consequences now, not with him looking at her so longingly and when the delightful thought of what was happening between them seemed so right. It was as if she was suddenly freed of all her inhibitions and could openly express her real emotions when she looked at this stranger.
"Do not tempt me, lassie. I have little control over the desire that your body has stirred in mine already. It is stronger than any I have felt before."
She could tell he was holding back with an iron control. Part of her was grateful for his sensible restraint when she seemed out of control of her own, but another part of her just could not leave the blessing alone. "I do not think one little roll on the bed would do any harm." The bed? What had made her say that? Her voice sounded like a rumbled version of his own, laced with a desire she felt deep in her belly and tingling through her bare thighs, but desires were one thing and actions on a bed another.
Her hands danced down over the brushed silver of his belt buckle, lingering just above the tip of his swelling with her extended thumbs. Oh dear God, what was she doing? Was she actually touching his…? "Join me," she heard herself say, tilting her head up to look at him with eyes half closed and an enticing smile. Had she really said that? Was she inviting him to bed with her? With his deep smile and a groan of pleasure, suddenly she did not really care about the answers to her own questions. She just wanted him, stronger than anything she had ever let herself imagine wanting with a man before. No maidenly dreams of her wedding night with a MacLachlan had ever transpired like this.
His eyes closed completely and she saw the tension of his inner battle as his jaw clenched tightly and he inhaled deeply. “You torture me, lassie. This untouched body is not mine to take.”
One swift downward stroke of her thumbs got a moan and a response she had not intended, but neither was she displeased. It was as if she had done this before and knew exactly what would elicit his raw desire...but they were strangers and she was a maiden. She had never done these things with any man before. She had never more than kissed a boy softly on the lips. Where was the knowledge coming from?
“I warned you once," he growled with a challenge-accepted grin.
He reached out with both of his large hands to grab her but she eluded his clutches with an elegant and seductive twist of her shoulders. A squeal of delight rang out from her throat as she felt her body dive for the velvety bed.
He was on her in an instant, pulling her by her ankles back to his edge of the bed. She fought only slightly, for something inside her wanted this more than not. Did she want this? She did not know for sure, but there was no time left to ponder her thoughts or feelings or anything.
Her sensitive peaked nipples were dragged over the smooth texture of the velvet quilt, and when she felt the cool metal of his belt buckle press deep into the warm flesh of her behind she moaned at the heavy weight of him pushing up against her, a sound completely foreign to her own ears, but somehow completely appropriate for what she was feeling lying beneath him. His body came down over hers and enveloped her in an encompassing squeeze. Nuzzling his nose into the nape of her neck, he let out a deep rumble of pleasure into her wet hair. Her back arched in response, bringing her ear to his waiting lips, and her backside flush against his readied maleness.
"You smell of a man's pine soap, just as I have always dreamed my wife would smell after being loved by me."
With great gentleness he rolled her over until she was face to face with the owner of those beautiful words. She had never seen this man before, yet she felt she could safely give her heart to him in that instant. He was the MacLachlan chieftain of her dreams in every sense of the word and the one who was to be her husband. Somehow she just knew it deep in her soul.
She lost herself once more in the welcoming green depths of his eyes and saw there an emotion so strong mirrored back from him that a breath was involuntarily drawn from her lips. From his glazed-over look, he was as drunk with desire as she was, and she felt his struggle of indecision in his body as well, pushing forward yet pulling back all at the same time. What were they doing? She searched his eyes again and he searched hers, and then he smiled and she had his answer. There was no stopping any of this now.
His lips parted as his tongue licked out to moisten them. She closed her eyes in her own preparation for his kiss. Her neck stretched ever slightly upward, her own tongue copying his technique in anticipation.
But nothing came. No contact. No moist lips hard against hers. No warmth pressing into her where she ached for him.
She lifted her head even higher, holding out her parted lips in open offering. What she met with was not the warm strength of him, but what felt like an icy cold battle shield pressed against her face. Her eyes flew open the same instant his did, as if they had both felt the invading chill.
She tried again to breach the short distance between their lips, and again it was as if her face were being smashed against a frost-covered wall. She could see him, her arms were holding him, but she could not kiss him.
Tears of frustration formed in her eyes. When he finally spoke, his own hurting could be heard in his words. "It cannot happen. We have not gotten proper consent."
"Damn!" The one word sounded odd to her ears coming from her own mouth with such vehemence, but it seemed so appropriate to sum up all the feelings of unfulfillment coursing through her.
"Soon, sweet one, nothing will stop me from making you my wife in name and deed."
A sudden gust of wind roared through the room with a deafening howl and forced her to shut her eyes to protect them. When she opened them again she knew something between them was different. No window was open and the ash in the hearth had not been disturbed, but the chill had stolen through the room and taken much more than warmth along with its eerie appearance.
Sandra felt suddenly cold and exposed. The warmth of his comforting eyes from a moment ago was gone, and in its place was that swirling storm again, just as cold and empty as it had been before. The window of passion they had glimpsed together was suddenly shuttered by doubts and fears once again.
He pulled back from their close contact and supported himself at arms-length. "I do not know what kind of tricks you play, woman, but I will not be forced into any marriage with a MacEwen. Your body is tempting and mine might seem willing, but my will is stronger than any games you can play." His speech was again choppy and crisp from his English twist of the Gaelic words, his tone as cool and disdaining as his scowl. His words declared he wanted nothing to do with her seductions, but he still had not removed himself from over her naked body. His eyes raked over her as his nostrils flared in controlled rage.
"I want no marriage to you at all," she retorted quickly, not sure whether to cry or scream. A moment ago he had promised to make her his wife, and he had wanted it as much as she did. She knew he had. She had felt it. She had seen it. Had she not? Now everything seemed different, as if that shared moment had never happened. Maybe it had not. What was happening to her? She turned her head away from his cold stare so he would not see her tears, and she was a little surprised when her body actually responded to her own wishes once again.
He finally pulled away completely and looked at her once more from afar. She was not sure, but she thought she saw the same confusion cross his expression as he pulled both his hands over his face to cover it for an instant, as if to make it all go away. If he had felt something on the bed with her, he was not going to let it show again. When he lowered his hands, his face looked as icy cold as the barrier that had seemed to block their kiss. Maybe it had been his cold face all along. His accented voice again reminded her that he was not the Highland chieftain of her dreams or the MacLachlan of the prophecy.
"Sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but I have made other arrangements for the evening...as well as for my life." He cocked his head and raised one dark brow as if questioning her on his clarity. "Be gone in the morning and I will find no reason to speak of this incident to another."
He was out the door with a slam before she could respond to him, but she knew not what she would have said. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She could not deny what had happened or that she had encouraged it all so provocatively. It seemed they had both wanted it then, but she wanted nothing from him now.
Her hands crushed into the lush velvet that surrounded her and she pulled it up to cover her cold naked body and wipe away her tears. Curling up in its warmth, she tucked her knees in close and stared at the door he had slammed. She would be gone before the first light of dawn had a chance to see her leave. There would be no void in her life if she never saw him again. Even more, she prayed she never did. Her life would go on as planned. She would marry Mangus MacLachlan in two days and disperse once and for all the billowing black clouds of destiny that had already spilled so much blood over their soil. No more MacEwen blood would be spilled by the MacLachlans, especially not hers by that particular MacLachlan.
***
After taking only three strides away from his chamber door, Lex MacLachlan halted and clenched his shaking hands into fists. His head twisted back to look, but he retained control over his feet this time and kept them moving away from the door, away from her.
It was her. It had to be.
Whatever had just transpired in that room had only one explanation, actually two--one blue and one green. As a boy, he had heard tall-tales of the girl born into the MacEwen clan with a telling birth-right written in her eyes. One MacEwen blue eye and one MacLachlan green, the MacEwen Charm. Now that he had peered into the depths of those eyes, he did not like what he was forced to read there. No matter what trick she might have played to control him body and soul, he could not deny he had wanted it, he had wanted her with every fiber of his being the second he saw her straddling his tub, and all sensible thoughts of hating the MacEwens were thrown from his mind. If she was truly the one destined to end the prophecy and destroy his clan name, then he had returned just in time.
It was obvious from her lush curves that she had grown into her prime. She was also willing to do anything necessary to sweep every last MacLachlan into one big pile with the dirt of her filthy MacEwen clan. What he had returned to do could not be so easily stopped by supple skin and wandering hands. Though his desire for her was raw and strong, his will to crush her clan was stronger.
In London he could have his way with a tavern wench for a crust of bread or even a fine lady with little added compensation and his smile. So what had happened to him in there? He had felt a surge of hot desire when he first saw her, but then he no longer had control of his body or any desire to care. All he could see was her. She appeared so innocent and pure, in need of protecting. And what had possessed him to promise to make her his wife?
He walked back down the stairs with slow thoughtful steps as he retraced every one of her seductive moves in his mind. The images of her soft body under his brought his blood racing back to a passionate boil. It had to be a trap of some sort, but who knew he was even here yet? He had just arrived back and the roads were nearly impassable when he made it in. No other would dare to travel them in this storm...unless she did not travel in it but was already there, waiting for him with her ploy already plotted out. She was probably ordered to bring her papa the MacLachlan chieftain they had been waiting to snare for years. Maybe they were even the ones who had sent out the message that his father had finally died.
His contemplation only strengthened his conviction about returning to this god-forsaken country in the first place. He would do King Edward's bidding with joy. It was finally time for the MacEwens to meet the surviving heir of Angus MacLachlan, the one exiled to England to preserve the MacLachlan blood the MacEwens wanted so disparately to spill. Only this MacLachlan did not care about his remaining clan or his name surviving in the Highlands. He came only for justice for his dead brother. He would bring an end to the name MacEwen and every member who clung to it.
So far he had only met one MacEwen and he had not fared very well in his first clan battle. He was nearly defeated before he began, and by a wisp of a woman at that. He could not stop the slight smile that came to his lips as he recalled the smell of his soap in her hair and the innocent desire in those dual-colored eyes that had stared back at him with such intense longing. He had never seen that kind of unconditional surrender in a woman’s eyes. He had to admit it would have been one of his most pleasurable defeats. But defeat was no longer in his vocabulary.
His sword and wits had gained him much wealth from the English court as a bounty man, bringing in the highest-ranking treasonists of the crown. The MacEwen's price was low, worthless, actually, to any of his hunting peers, but to Lex it was the treasure of all treasures. The day he grasped the missive asking for a Scottish chief to be brought in as an example to all the rebels in the Highlands, he had not bothered to look at the bounty pay listed, or even the charges one could bring. He knew who he would bring in and on what charges; hell, he would even do this one for free.
He straddled the long bench in front of the hall hearth, then leaned back until he felt the knots of the rough wood wedge between his shoulder blades. It had been almost twenty years since he had lain like this, looking up at the high smoke-blackened beams of the ceiling. He had no intention of staying longer than he had to. He wanted to return home as soon as possible. But just for an instant, the bench, the beams, the hall, all felt more like home than his manor in London ever had. This was the last place he had remembered his family all together, sitting around on a cold night just like this one, in front of a hot fire.
He closed his eyes and let his memory dance over all the faces that surrounded him, even though the hall was empty and cold. His mother, his brother, his whole clan, laughing and singing, all healthy and hardy, celebrating their last raid on the MacEwens. Then it came. His father's cursing, his brother's anguished scream, his own hands covered in blood.
He gave his head a hard shake. The horrid image disappeared. It had been many years since he had been haunted by the memories of that day. He recalled looking down at his brother and mother laid cold on the manor floor, awaiting their burials, and his father pushing him, shoving him, sending him away before they were even put to rest in the ground. At the age of ten, he had been given the tremendous responsibility to preserve the clan bloodline at any cost.
The price had been a high one to pay for a boy on his own in a foreign land. He had paid with his youth, his pride, and his heritage, all ripped from him in his struggle to make a place for himself and put food in his thinning belly. It was now time for the rightful lord of MacLachlan Manor to collect his dues. He smiled to himself as he sat up and thought of just which MacEwen he would collect from first.