The monthly court was drawing to a close. Marcus felt as though it had drawn on for an eternity, but there were fewer cases than normal. The last of the MacPherson clansmen had their say before his father passed judgment. Marcus had never struggled so hard to maintain his focus, nor had his damned cock ever been so hard within an hour of losing his load.
He ground his teeth in frustration, trying to rein in his thoughts and keep his attention on the men in front of them seeking justice.
At least there were signs of the court drawing to a close. At the far end of the hall, people were starting to lose their serious expressions in anticipation of mead being served and the music beginning. But Katherine stepped forward, lowering herself before Shamus.
The English girl drew everyone’s attention. However, she proved her worth by standing straight and still under the scrutiny. Marcus realized she was still wearing the rags of Helen’s clothing that she’d escaped in.
“Do ye have a matter to bring to me attention, Mistress Katherine?” Shamus asked.
“If I am allowed,” she answered strongly and clearly.
There were curious looks sent her way, as well as a few nods of appreciation for her boldness, at least from the men. Marcus considered the way the women shifted back into the shadows.
“As me son Marcus’s sister”—Shamus stressed the last word—“ye do have the right to be heard if ye feel someone has transgressed against ye.”
There was a rise of hushed comments from the back of the hall.
“Not against me,” Katherine explained. “Yet I witnessed such an act.”
The hall grew quiet as people moved in closer to hear the case. Shamus made a motion with his hand. “Let’s hear it, lass.”
“Duana struck Mistress Helen across the face. Many saw it, and you could see the mark it left if Mistress Helen was not wearing a partlet.”
Marcus felt his temper straining to break free. He was out of his chair and beside Helen before she realized what Katherine had said in front of all. He moved the collar of her partlet aside, revealing the dark bruise.
“Duana,” he rasped out. “Present yerself.”
The crowd parted as the Head of House came forward. She lowered herself before her laird.
“Helen,” Shamus called over his shoulder since she was seated on the high ground beside Ailis.
Helen stood and joined Katherine. She lowered herself as well, and Duana lifted her chin confidently.
“Now,” Shamus began, “what manner of quarrel moved ye to strike me daughter-by-marriage?”
Duana opened her hands wide. “There has been talk of forced vows, but no proof of a wedding celebration,” she said clearly and loudly to the approval of many. “I agree full well that Helen did what any decent soul would under the circumstances, but that does nae grant her the right to interfere in the way I run the kitchens. Not when the McTavishes are telling one and all that they heard the union was unconsummated, and there has been no sheet flown nor has her kin been here to agree to contracts. She broke my rod, and I put her back in her place.”
There was a rumble of agreement from those watching. Shamus allowed it to die down before switching his attention to Helen. “Broke her rod, did ye?”
“Indeed.”
Shamus looked at Katherine. “Why do ye think Helen broke Mistress Duana’s rod?”
“Ye ask an English bastard girl?” Duana demanded. “I have served in this house for thirty years.”
“Something we are grateful for.” Shamus lifted a finger to keep her from saying anything further. “Yet when it comes to this matter of me son’s vows, it is a complicated one, as are all the dealings with court and the king’s regent. What should be simple is nae, which is why I am ever glad I was born in the Highlands.”
Duana nodded, her lips pressed into an expression of distaste.
“Answer the question, Mistress Katherine,” Shamus repeated.
“Me,” she replied simply.
There was a round of comments from those watching. Marcus felt his temper straining, but his father held up his hand. The hall was suddenly so quiet, they heard the thump of the hound’s tail as he wagged it next to Shamus’s feet.
“As I said, I am ever grateful to have been born in the Highlands,” Shamus said. “Decency is something we do nae just talk about. Helen will be respected for the service she did me son Marcus, yer War Chief.”
There was a grudging round of nods from those listening.
“The Earl of Morton is the regent of Scotland, and we are Scots,” Shamus continued. “It was his wish that Katherine Carew become a member of me family. As a loyal Scot, I will accept his will. She is Marcus’s sister and, thereby, me daughter.”
Shamus spoke clearly and slowly. Men reached up and tugged on the corners of their caps in response as the women lowered themselves. Duana lowered herself very quickly before she turned and retreated.
“Now, some music!” Shamus proclaimed. “This court is finished. Marcus, good night to ye and yer bride. Off to bed with ye both now.”
* * *
Everyone was staring at her. Helen felt as if daggers were being thrown at her back.
Someone began to play at the rear of the hall. Whoever it was, they were joined in short order as people started to talk. It was a hushed, frantic sort of conversation at first, clearly about what had just transpired.
“Helen.” Marcus waited only a moment for his father’s word to be heeded before he stood and called out to her. It stilled the budding conversations as those behind them took in his actions.
“Shall we retire?”
Marcus was still on the high ground and he’d used a voice every MacPherson knew. It was controlled and tight and carried to the back of the hall. He stood there with his hand out, palm facing up. It was Helen’s place to be meek, the position of the wife to follow her husband. He risked a great deal standing there and making an invitation to her.
The truth burst on her as she realized it was a gift, and she had earned it. He was making sure his men knew he trusted her. She placed her hand in his and heard the whispers behind them. She didn’t turn to look because she was too captivated by the way Marcus’s eyes were lit.
* * *
Katherine Carew watched Marcus and Helen leave. There was music now and laughter as conversation flowed. Duana had withdrawn, and many of her maids with her. That left Katherine keeping company with the men.
Not that she minded. She was accustomed to not being accepted. Her mother had been a mistress, scorned by the legitimate wife of the house. Katherine wasn’t naive enough to question why that was.
Coin.
Her father was a rich man, and his wife liked keeping that coin in their coffers. So she’d made sure Katherine knew she was owed nothing, not even protection, which was how she’d landed in Scotland.
Still, it was a great adventure.
So much better than reading tales in musty old books. She caught several of the maids glaring at her and sent them a look straight back. Let them scorn her; she was used to such. For certain, she would get a great deal more sleep now that she did not have to work in the kitchens. She looked around and found several boys her age grappling with each other. They looked up when she came closer.
“What do ye want?” one questioned.
“To learn how to do that,” Katherine answered. “That part when you broke his hold on you—how do you do it?”
The boy looked confused. “Ye’re a lass.”
“I’m very clever, though,” Katherine said. “Unless…hmmm… Perhaps you are not a good enough teacher.”
“I can teach anyone how to do it, even a lass,” the boy informed her with budding pride.
Katherine lowered herself and smiled at him. “I am ready to be instructed.”
Truly, she was. It looked so much more fun than dancing or making her stitches perfect on linen strips so she might someday impress a would-be suitor with her skills. Learning how to keep from being abducted—now there was a skill she wished she’d learned before being taken from England.
Then again, Scotland seemed a much better place. No one in England would call her sister or teach her how to wrestle. Yes, she was growing to like Scotland very much indeed.
In fact, there was no reason ever to go back to England.
* * *
“I will have words with Duana.” Marcus spoke the moment the chamber door was closed.
“There truly is no need.”
He put his sword down and sent Helen a harsh look.
“I dismissed her opinion of me long ago,” she explained before Marcus was able to argue. “The only reason I challenged her was because—”
“It was the bloody right thing to do,” Marcus finished for her.
“And so I did it. It is finished.” She moved over to where her comb was and started to pull the braid out of her hair. Marcus was watching her again, and she looked toward him.
“Yer comb is here,” he noted.
“Yes. Duana had put Katherine in one of the novice cells, so I gave her my chamber and came here.”
She felt uncertain as she explained because she hadn’t thought about it much. He started to smile but stopped.
“I’m still angry ye went to me father,” Marcus informed her tersely. “Ye gave me yer word, Helen, and ye went to the only person with whom I could no’ argue.”
Helen held her chin steady. She’d known full well what she was doing and wouldn’t shirk from the reprimand. Marcus muttered in Gaelic, frustration edging his words.
“And ye are no’ sorry, is that it?” he asked.
“A fact ye should thank me for.” Helen finally broke her silence. “Do ye know what Duana said to me? Told me I was nothing, and ye’d put me aside without a thought once spring comes.”
“I’ve never said anything of the sort,” Marcus growled. “For Christ’s sake, woman, I rode all the way to court after ye.”
Her eyes widened and his narrowed as he realized what he’d said.
“Aye,” Marcus said in a tired voice. “I did go after ye.”
The idea warmed her heart.
Marcus suddenly tilted his head to one side, his gaze sharpening. “Yet ye stood up to Duana, even broke her rod. Why now, Helen?”
Helen shifted, but she realized she was taking the coward’s way out and he’d only discover the facts of the matter anyway. “Ye should know when to leave well enough alone.”
He slowly grinned, and there was nothing pleasant about it. The expression was pure intent. “What did ye say to Duana?”
“I told her I was yer wife.”
Marcus considered her for a long moment. “I see. That would be when she told ye I would abandon ye come spring, and then ye went to me father.”
“Every person in the kitchens agreed with her,” Helen defended herself. “And it is no’ a matter of me caring so much for what they think of me. Yer clan expects ye to marry a bride who brings the MacPhersons something.”
He was smiling now, and it was one of victory. But what drew her attention to him even more was the way his eyes were sparkling. He was pleased, and she liked the look of it a great deal.
“Ye’re trying to protect me,” he said. “Keep me from doing something that will no’ sit well with the clan.”
Helen lifted one shoulder in a half shrug as she removed the partlet she’d worn to keep her neck warm during the court. “Is that so wrong?”
He shrugged out of his sword belt and placed it on the table. “It is very right, even if I do nae care for how ye’ve gone about it.”
“As if I have many ways at me disposal.”
Marcus chuckled as he began to unbutton his doublet. “I enjoy knowing ye want to shelter me, lass.”
He let the doublet slide down his arms and tossed it over a chair. Her heart was accelerating now. Excitement teased her in all the spots that seemed to come alive when he was close enough to touch. Her lips tingled, begging for his kiss, while her breasts felt smashed inside her bodice, freedom the only solution.
“I’d do the same for a litter of puppies in the stable,” she offered as a means of shielding her weak response to him.
“In that case…” His kilt hit the floor and he walked over to the bed, rolling onto it and stretching out on its surface. He’d stopped on his stomach, his head near the foot well. “If I roll over and offer ye me belly, will ye scratch it?”
Her cheeks caught fire, but so did the rest of her. That little nub at the top of her sex was throbbing incessantly now, demanding she take action. Of course, that only brought to mind just how much she enjoyed it when Marcus dealt with her hungers.
“So, ready to be at me mercy again?” Her voice had turned husky, but that seemed to suit the moment. She was going to share more than the bed with him. There was no doubt in her mind of it, but she was not nervous.
No, excited was more the appropriate word. She turned and set her comb down. The front of her bodice was held together with lacings. She pulled the knot up from where it was tucked into her cleavage and untied it.
“Allow me, lass…” Marcus was suddenly there. He cupped her shoulders and stroked down to where the swells of her breasts rose above the neckline of her bodice. “I’ve dreamed of cupping these.” He lingered for a moment on her breasts before dipping his finger into the lacing on her bodice. He pulled each crossing free, the front of her dress sagging until it was entirely open.
It felt wonderful to have her breasts free. Somehow, being near him made her feel trapped in her clothing, desperate for freedom. Her sleeves were laced to her bodice, and the whole thing slid down her arms easily.
She tugged at the ties on her waistband while Marcus made good on his desire and cupped her breasts. Her fingers fumbled on the knots as she lost track of what she was doing in favor of leaning back against him so he could better fondle her.
Why had she never noticed how sensitive her breasts were? In his hands, the skin was more sensitive than she’d ever imagined possible, her nipples drawing into tight little points that he leaned over to taste after turning her around.
“Mmm…” Helen wasn’t sure she could form words at the moment and didn’t particularly care. Not when there was so much bliss to enjoy. Marcus licked one little point and then gave its twin the same attention.
“Sweet.” He pulled his head up and ripped at the laces on her waistband. He reached right in and opened her hip roll too, so the whole jumble just slid down her legs. She stepped out of the puddle of her skirts and he scooped her off her feet.
“Not yet,” Helen said when he tried to follow her down onto the bed. She heard him groan as she rolled away from him and came up on her knees in the middle of the bed. “There was a time when I dreamed of me wedding night…”
He’d paused on the edge of the bed, a magnificent creature covered in creamy skin carved with hard muscles. The only soft spot on him was the restraint he employed to remain where he was.
“And what exactly did ye dream of, Helen?”
She offered him a brazen look. “I was nude.” The bed shook as he came up onto it. Her breath caught as he knelt in front of her, his body close enough for her to feel the heat from his skin teasing hers.
“Is that a fact?” he inquired softly.
“As bare as a fae creature on May Day,” she confirmed. “I never confessed that, though.”
“A rather wise idea.” He reached out and opened the tie that held the neckline of her chemise closed. “But where did ye hear about wedding nights?”
There was a touch of jealousy in his tone, and she liked it full well. “May Day festival, of course.” She reached out and trailed her fingers along the open patch of skin his unbuttoned shirt offered her. Once again she shivered, the contact between their skin stunning her.
He watched her as she struggled to collect her composure. “Where do ye suppose I heard about Frenching?”
His eyes narrowed as her words hit him. He hadn’t expected her to say anything so brazen, and she liked seeing the impact.
“Enjoy shocking me, do ye?”
She offered him a shrug that sent the edges of her chemise over the curves of her shoulders. She clasped her arms around herself to keep the fabric in place. “Shouldn’t I?” She meant it to be a brazen comment, but instead her voice was high and thin, betraying how nervous she truly was.
“I suppose ye think ye’ve been dancing to my tune so long that it’s my time to be yer fool.”
She laughed. A single sound of amusement that helped her cling to the last morsels of her composure. “As if ye could ever be anyone’s fool.”
“That does no’ mean I am a beast.” He reached up and grasped his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders in a hard motion that made the fabric snap. He tossed it aside but waited for her response.
“No,” she whispered. “Ye are no’ a beast. At least no’ at the moment.”
Which was a gift. She recognized it and felt it warming her heart. He certainly didn’t have to cater to her delicate feelings. Yet he was, watching her as the fire began to die down, lowering the light in the chamber. The darkness suited her well, and she opened her arms so the chemise slithered down her body and pooled around her hips.
“Ye are stunning, lass.” His voice was thick with desire. She recognized it from the times she’d heard the whispered liaisons of couples hiding in the darkened corners of the kitchens while the rest of the clan enjoyed the evening revels.
It was different, though, far more personal and intimate. She realized he was still waiting, so she lifted her hand and offered it to him. Ridiculous? Perhaps, since her breasts were bare and only a single layer of linen guarded her sex.
Satisfaction lit his eyes, his expression showing his growing anticipation. He took her hand and raised it up to his mouth for a soft kiss. She shivered, the contact fanning the flames that seemed to be licking at her insides.
A moment later, she was clasped against him. He’d slid a hard arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She gasped, and he captured that little breathless sound with his lips as he kissed her. There was strength in his kiss, the sort that made her belly twist. Not that she understood why she craved him or had any inclination to ponder it.
No, thinking was becoming impossible. Impulses were rising up from somewhere inside her, like vapors through the floorboards. Soon, there was nothing to see but what had risen up to encompass them.
She reached for him, smoothing her hands along his chest and purring with delight at the way he felt. So hard, and she seemed to be soft in comparison. Her breasts pressed in against his chest as he teased her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, running it along skin that suddenly felt delicate and alive with sensation. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, making her passage ache for the same.
Blunt and brazen but so very true.
She wanted to be beneath him, and Marcus didn’t disappoint her. The bed ropes groaned as he rolled her onto the surface of the bed. He cupped her breasts, cradling them in his large hands.
“Damn me, but I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.”
He was looking at her breasts in his hands, his eyes bright with male satisfaction. There was a note of possessiveness in his voice that should have made her angry. Instead, she enjoyed it.
In some deep part of herself, she had hidden all her cravings for things she had been schooled to think of as forbidden and sinful. Like cradling him between her open thighs.
So very forbidden, unless he was her husband, and even then, enjoying it was frowned upon.
Well, she did enjoy it. Right then, he felt perfect, and she closed her legs around him, holding him.
But it wasn’t perfect, not just yet. Marcus raised his attention to her face, locking gazes with her as his cock lay across the open folds of her sex. She was wet and needy, her passage aching. He knew it; she could see the understanding in his eyes. Only it was more. It was a moment in which they shared the same cravings for each other.
He reached down, shifting off to the side so he could rub her throbbing little bud once more. The thing was almost unbearably sensitive.
“Get on with it,” she ordered in a husky voice she barely recognized.
Marcus didn’t bend to her will. He teased her little pearl, keeping her in place when she tried to wiggle out from under him.
“No’ just yet. I’ll hurt ye.”
“It can nae be all that bad,” she rasped out. “I’m no’ weak.”
His fingers stilled as his jaw tightened. She watched the need dance in his eyes as his nostrils flared. “No, ye are not.”
It was a compliment, and given in his rough voice, it struck her as more honest than many a flowery phrase. “So, get…on…with it.”
His lips curled into a wolfish grin. “Vixen.” He rolled back onto her fully.
His weight pleased her, sending a flash of enjoyment through her. His wider frame kept her spread, the folds of her sex opening wide.
“My vixen.” The head of his cock nestled into the open center of her body.
She realized exactly why she was wet. It was so his member could slide into her. The slickness that seemed to seep from her whenever he touched her was a welcome from her core.
“Oh Christ,” he grunted as he seemed to sink in farther than he intended.
She didn’t give him the chance to withdraw, but lifted her hips so he continued forward, impaling her on his staff.
Pain ripped through her. It was like a bolt of lightning, unannounced, that blinded her for a moment while the thunder came behind it.
“Ye should have stayed still,” he admonished her.
Helen opened her eyes, not really sure when she’d closed them. The look on his face was savage, held back only by sheer will. “I am a vixen. Do nae ever expect me to lie still beneath ye.”
He chuckled, the sound more warning than anything else. “Ye are that, lass, and ye are mine.”
He’d pulled out of her and pressed back in as he spoke, his voice becoming strained when he was once more sheathed to the hilt. She let her eyes slip shut once more so she could focus on the intensity of having him inside her.
It was a whole new level of pleasure that she was eager to experience. Her heart was accelerating, her breathing increasing to keep pace. His was as well, and she reached for him, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she lifted her hips to welcome every downward plunge of his cock.
The pleasure was growing, increasing with their motions. She felt as though something was going to burst inside her, and just possibly, her heart might do so as well.
It didn’t matter. The only thing that held any meaning was moving with him. Feeling him drive deep into her, filling her, and satisfying the need that was ripping up her insides. There was nothing but him and her cravings, which he fulfilled. When it all broke, she arched up, digging her fingernails into his skin and crying out. Pleasure burned through her in a single white-hot flare that taught her the true meaning of the word rapture.
She heard him reach that same zenith, felt him drive into her with hard determination that finished off her own moment of ecstasy. A deep connection seemed to complete everything as he spilled his seed inside her, holding her beneath him as she clasped him to her with her thighs.
Intimate.
She hadn’t really understood that word before. She did now, and she happily let the moment wash over her, pushing her into unconsciousness. If she never woke up, she’d die content.
* * *
“It’s going to start snowing. Hard.”
Robert Gunn heard his man and nodded. His response didn’t please his man any. “That’s what we’re waiting for,” he explained. “The MacPhersons will no’ invite us inside their castle if it is no’ a matter of life and death, and none of us appear to be unsuited to our surroundings.”
There was a chuckle from his men. Robert hunkered down and pulled out a flask of whisky. He sipped at it while his men huddled out of the wind. For himself, he rather enjoyed the bite of the frost. It was a damned fine thing to feel the wind on his neck, even if it was laced with ice.
* * *
For all her doubts about returning to the world of the living, Helen opened her eyes and found herself staring at the canopy above the bed. It was a luxury, there to keep the bedding clean and help the occupants stay warm with the aid of the curtains that hung at the large corner posts.
Marcus lifted his hand, the glow from the fire shining off his flask as he offered it to her. Helen giggled.
He came into view, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down into her face, one of his eyebrows raised in question. Helen rolled up to sitting and took the flask. She drew off a long sip of the whisky, feeling it burn a path across her tongue and down her throat, before she opened her eyes and smiled at him while snickering some more.
“Who would have known that all I had to do was offer ye me flask to get ye to stop spitting at me.” He took it back and scooted up to lean against the pillows stacked next to the headboard. He started to lift the flask to his lips, but paused. “No, that’s no’ it. Tell me what amuses ye, woman.”
He was as keen as always. She reached for the flask, but he held it up and raised that eyebrow once more.
“I was just thinking,” she offered as she felt the chill of the night air for the first time. Her chemise was hanging over the foot rail where it had been tossed. She plucked it up and put it on.
“Just thinking…what, Helen?”
He looked disappointed as the linen fabric covered her.
“That tomorrow, when yer gilly finds yer flask needs refilling, the man will be sure that we emptied it before going to…bed.”
Marcus slowly smiled and chuckled as he extended his arm so she could reach the flask. “I can nae be having that.”
Helen lowered the flask and offered him a flutter of her eyelashes. “Of course no’.” She burst into giggles again.
Marcus took the flask away as she rolled back and laughed at the canopy. The bed rocked, and the ropes supporting the mattress groaned. She discovered why a moment later when Marcus landed on top of her.
She sucked in her breath as he pinned her down, holding enough of his body weight on his elbows to keep her from being crushed.
“I do nae think ye are being very respectful…Wife,” he growled playfully. “I am going to have to take ye in hand.”
Helen reached down and grasped his member. His face tightened, his lips curling back from his teeth as he arched back to give her more access. “If ye have any illusions as to what manner of wife I will be to ye, Marcus, I advise ye to think long and hard on the matter. For when that door is closed, I’ll no’ be meek.”
He rolled onto his back as she followed him, stroking his hardening cock.
“Yer ideas have me captivated.” He let out a moan.
She liked hearing how she affected him. It unleashed a boldness in her that seemed to have no bounds and absolutely no shame. Helen leaned forward and licked the spot on the underside of his cock head that seemed to be as sensitive as her nub. His hands curled into talons, clawing at the sheet while she trailed her tongue through the slit on the top of his member. There was a drop of salty fluid there, and he moaned again, long and deep.
“There are many men who think a wife should lie on her back while he labors over her.”
Marcus opened his eyes and sent her a wicked look. A moment later, the bed rocked as he flipped and turned and pinned her beneath him. He had a knee pressed between her thighs, opening them so he could reach down and tease her with his fingertips.
“Ye might enjoy it,” he rasped as he rubbed her. When she shifted, he caught her wrists and raised them above her head, pressing them to the bed and holding them there as he nuzzled against her neck. It was a dramatic shift that ripped away any illusion she might have of him being docile. He was choosing to be kind to her and court her sweetly.
“Marcus MacPherson,” she muttered softly, “ye are by far the most unlikely man I ever thought would take the time to woo.”
He lifted his head but held her wrists down. The only light came from the fire that had reduced itself to a bed of glowing red coals. The ruby light bathed his features, allowing her to glimpse the unguarded expression on his face. She had the feeling that very few souls alive had seen this side of him.
“Ye think I like the idea of being used any more than ye do?”
“No,” she answered.
He contemplated her for a long moment before he shifted his hands and flattened them against the bed to lever himself up and off her. She felt his withdrawal keenly, reality rushing back in to remind her she did not know him at all.
And trust? The only certainty she had was in his nature to devote himself to his duty. She sat up so her chemise fluttered down to cover her. The silence was nearly deafening, and she realized he was withdrawing from her, bound by her own insistence that her body was her only remaining possession.
So she went to him, not really understanding what she was doing, only that she was so tired of being alone and couldn’t bear to inflict the same on another person. He’d ended up leaning on the stack of pillows, and she crawled right up onto his lap. He clasped her to him, smoothing his hands along her sides and down to cup her hips. It seemed so natural to open her thighs and let his member slide up into her body. There was a twinge of discomfort as he stretched her once more, but it was worth it to be united with him again.
“Jesus…Helen…” He was muttering against her neck, kissing her skin and sending ripples of delight down her body. She rose and fell as he guided her with his hands, teaching her the motion.
The pleasure and need built slowly this time, coming from deeper inside her. The pace was hers to control; her cravings were hers to satisfy. Confidence filled her as she arched back. For some reason, she enjoyed with an insane intensity the grip he had on her hips. It was demanding, and yet she flourished with the knowledge that he was intent on having her.
Right, wrong, none of that mattered. There was only room in her mind for the growing need to feed their appetites. The bed ropes protested, the canopy swaying as she increased her pace and he lifted up off the bed to meet every one of her downward plunges. He was penetrating deeper, all the way to her core. She felt herself nearing that moment of explosion, and when it happened, she would have sworn her passage gripped him, trying to milk his member.
He gasped at her, thrusting up into her body as his seed began to spew inside her. It was hot and triggered a second wave of delight that literally stole her breath. She didn’t much care, collapsing onto the body of her lover, somewhat aware of him turning her so they ended up sprawled on the surface of the bed, their rasping breaths filling the chamber.
* * *
“Good morning!”
Bhaic MacPherson pushed the door open as Marcus snarled and landed on his feet next to the bed. Helen grabbed the bed clothing while Bhaic smirked at his brother.
“Still sleeping, Marcus?” Bhaic asked. “Whatever could keep ye in bed?”
“Ye’re a dead man,” Marcus declared before he set off after his sibling. They cleared the outer chamber and disappeared while Helen was still blinking away the last of slumber’s hold.
“Here now.” Ailis was suddenly there with a chemise in hand. “Best get something on,” her friend said. “Half the clan is set to descend here and extract their share of amusement.”
Helen sat up and then stopped as pain went through her passage.
“Aye.” Ailis came closer and dropped the chemise over Helen’s head. “Takes ye by surprise, does it no’?”
Helen found the sleeves and pushed her hands into them. Senga was there as well, holding out Helen’s hip roll. Helen had barely reached for it when there was another loud entrance into the room.
“Morning, mistress!”
“Fine day to ye!”
Helen found herself flat against the wall of the bedchamber with Ailis shielding her while Finley and Skene ripped the bedding aside to get at the sheet. They hooted in victory and pulled it off the bed before nearly running across the chamber.
“What are ye doing?” Helen demanded.
Finley stopped near the door. “Well now, mistress, it’s fixing to snow, so we’re going to hang this in the hall.”
Helen felt the blood drain from her face. Finley chuckled at her response before he disappeared down the passageway.
“I am suddenly no’ very hungry.”
* * *
“Ye’re looking for me.”
Helen jumped, but Marcus anticipated her motions. He’d come up behind her and captured her startled body against his as he made a soft sound next to her ear.
“Admit it,” he insisted as he placed a kiss on the side of her neck.
“Just because I am looking out of a window does no’ mean—”
He opened his lips and gently bit the skin on the side of her neck. She shivered, her knees going weak. Her body seemed to have no interest in putting up a good front. No, her flesh was far more inclined to melt into his embrace.
“Ye are looking out to the training yard.” He smoothed his hands along her arms without giving her enough space to disengage from the embrace. “For me.”
She had been, and he’d noticed the details that condemned her, as he so often did. Part of her was excited by the way he noticed things about her. “Perhaps I was making sure I could avoid ye.”
Her voice lacked any sharp edges. Instead, it came across as a teasing challenge that earned her a soft chuckle from Marcus. He’d buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.
“I like the way ye smell, Helen.” He shifted closer, allowing her to feel just how true his words were.
“I do nae use any oils.” She wasn’t sure why she said anything, just that she was suddenly shy and uncertain.
“Ye do nae need any.” He nuzzled against her neck again, but one of his hands ventured lower. “Especially here.”
He’d covered her mons. The fabric of her skirts suddenly felt too thin.
“What are ye about?” she asked. “Ye never leave the training yard this time of day.”
He chuckled again. “And ye know that?” He made a low sound of approval. “We’re better suited to each other than either of us knows.”
“Ye’re the one who lined yer men up in front of me after your father told ye to take me home.” She wasn’t sure why she spoke, hadn’t really realized how much it bothered her. Marcus stiffened behind her. A moment later, he turned her around but stood squarely in her path.
“Ye want to hear me admit I thought ye’d no’ have me?”
Helen was distracted by the swelling around one of his eyes. She reached up to touch him, the topic of their conversation completely lost in her concern.
“Bhaic looks worse.” He captured her hand and pressed a kiss against the open palm. “Do nae ignore me, Helen. I must ride out, and I would no’ have something left unresolved between us.”
“Ride out?” She turned her head and looked out the window again. “There is a storm brewing. A heavy one.” The sky was turning black with the promise of snow.
“Ye would care?”
She looked back at him with her lower lip rolled in as she worried it. But there was something flickering in his eyes that made her nod. Some need she’d never considered him the sort to feel, and yet it was there. Just like the night before, when she’d glimpsed the man inside him that craved approval just as she did.
“Ye should wait.”
He smiled at her request. “I can nae. Me father can see just fine. He’d no’ have asked me to venture out if the matter were no’ an important one.”
She nodded but didn’t really agree. Of course, she didn’t know his reasoning. She realized that she would have to become accustomed to him not sharing details with her. When it came to his position, she was still very much an outsider.
There was a step in the passageway behind them. Marcus turned his head slightly to catch the sound before shifting to the side and taking her with him. They ended up behind a weapons rack, hidden from anyone who might venture too close.
“And I can nae face me duty without a last taste of ye.”
It was an admission he whispered as he pressed her against the wall. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her firmly as she twisted from the overwhelming need gripping her. How and where it had come from, she really didn’t know. Somehow, having him near simply gave rise to a riot of sensations that assaulted her reasoning skills until they fell away and let her cravings reign supreme.
She reached for him in a frantic way, the knowledge that he was leaving making her desperate to touch him. He seemed in agreement, kissing her hard as he yanked her skirts up and lifted her knee so he could touch the center of her body. She locked her leg around his waist, making him pull his head up and consider her with an eyebrow raised.
“I was always in the kitchens when everyone else was at the hall,” she explained. “What do ye think I saw?”
He offered her a cocky grin before she pulled his kilt up and felt his member against her thigh. He teased her slit for a moment, plunging his finger into her cleft to stroke her bud. She jerked, sharp need feeling as if it were splitting her open. But he didn’t feed it just yet. He teased her, not stopping until his fingers were slick with the flow from her body.
“Now ye’re ready…” he whispered with satisfaction. He’d threaded his other hand into her hair and tightened it so that she was his captive. They locked gazes, his eyes shining with intent. “Never before ye’re hungry for me, Helen. I swear that to ye.”
It was a blunt, savage declaration that made her feel more cherished than she ever had. He pulled her close, the head of his cock slipping between the folds of her sex before he eased himself inside her. His jaw was tight with the effort of holding back the urge to impale her. She felt him straining to maintain a slow pace, and decided it didn’t suit her at all.
“I didn’t want one of yer men”—she dug her fingernails into the skin on his neck—“because they would never have demanded I accept them.”
She drew her nails across his skin, watched the way his lips curled back to expose his gritted teeth. His hands tightened on her hips as his eyes glowed with anticipation.
“I did nae have the right to.” He plunged up inside her. Time froze as they both absorbed being locked together. It was the purest form of intimacy she’d ever experienced. Her body was stretching around his, gripping his member as she trembled in reaction to being taken. “And now, I will never let ye go.”
It was a declaration. One that both delighted and frightened her. The combination was intoxicating, making a mockery of everything she thought she wanted. At that moment, there was only him and the way she craved being his. Marcus didn’t disappoint her. He took her, driving the breath from her body as she strained to make it easier for him to drive himself all the way to her core. There was only the way their bodies met and parted and the growing need to move faster, harder, deeper.
He pushed her head against his shoulder to muffle her cries, clenching his jaw to contain his own. When she reached the zenith, she cried out into the linen of his shirt, feeling as if her bones might break as he clasped her against him in those final moments while he found his release.
He leaned on the wall that she was pressed to, both of them panting. He cupped her jaw, raising her face so that he could look into her eyes. “Mine.”
It was the demand she didn’t want to admit she craved. She curled her fingers into his shirt, unsure if she wanted to push him away or yank him closer. She let out a snort of frustration.
“Ye make me feel insane, Marcus MacPherson.”
Her comment earned her a grin that was every bit as smug and arrogant as she expected from him, and yet it was very personal too. He pulled away from her, allowing her skirts to fall and cover her legs.
She felt the parting keenly, reaching out for him in spite of the fact that she knew he would go, no matter what she said. Helen stopped with her hand inches from his shoulder. “Sorry.”
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “I have to go and fetch me sister.”
“Yer sister?”
Marcus nodded, looking less than pleased with his impending duty. It was a look she recognized well from the day he’d stolen her.
“With Morton intent on making alliances through marriage, me father fears Jocelyn is at risk. I’m to bring her back from where she has been fostered with Laird McLeod so she might be protected.”
Helen covered her lips with her hand, Shamus’s confession rising from her memory. Marcus shared a look with her.
“Ye know me sister has no love for our sire?” he asked quietly.
Helen nodded. “From yer father’s own lips.”
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. He was staring her down, or at least doing his best to make her give up what she knew. Helen drew herself up. “Ye’ll have to ask yer father what he said, no’ expect me to carry his secrets. I am no’ a gossip, Marcus, and I’ve no plans to become one. Father Matthew Peter has quite enough to say to me as it is.”
Marcus slowly grinned before he backed up and went around the weapons rack. He turned in the passageway and shot her a look full of wicked intent. “He’ll likely have something more to say today, since he’s waiting in the yard with me men to bless us before we depart.”
Her cheeks turned crimson as Marcus winked at her before his expression went serious. “Make yerself some chemises, lass. No one will dare tell ye the fabric is no’ yers for the using. And if they do, indulge me and let me know, so I can thrash them.”
“Well, that will not happen,” she informed him, her hands on her hips. “I do nae need ye to take care of me, Marcus.”
He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Yes, ye do, and yes, I will.”
She ended up flushed and breathless as she recalled vividly how it had felt to have him prove himself to her. He pressed his lips into a silent kiss before he turned and left, the longer folds of his kilt swaying behind him.
* * *
“Ye should be ashamed,” Ailis whispered.
Bhaic flashed her a completely unrepentant grin. He reached under the table and gripped her thigh.
“Marcus looks worse than I do.”
“Fighting with yer brother is a sin,” Ailis continued.
“Marcus chasing me below floors as bare as a newborn was sinful.” Bhaic smirked. “However, now that he’s wed, the swine will likely escape Father Matthew Peter’s wrath because he wasn’t tempting the other lasses in the hall.”
“Ye began it.”
Bhaic held up a finger. “I disagree, Wife.”
Ailis ended up conceding the point. She fluttered her eyelashes, enjoying the moment, even if she had lost the argument. It afforded her a chance to look across the hall.
“Who is that?”
“Chief Gunn,” Bhaic supplied. “One of Laird Gunn’s men. Another man feeling the bite of Morton’s demands. Seems he was no’ given leave from court in time to beat the snow home. Mind ye, I believe he only asked for shelter for the good of his horses. The man is from the northern Highlands. I am no’ sure this is enough snow to stop him.”
Ailis looked at the man in question. He wore a full sheepskin down his back, the wool facing her. Part of it was sewn into a hood that might be raised when the weather turned foul. His men all had similar attire. They were suited to their environment: rough, hardened, and clearing away every morsel of food placed in front of them, because they knew it might be the last they had for some time.
Her baby kicked, drawing her attention to her rounded belly. Bhaic noted her shifting her gaze downward and reached over so she might place his hand over the spot where the babe was moving. His face lit with enjoyment as he felt the motions of his child.
“I adore ye, Ailis Robertson.” He uttered the name he’d been raised to curse.
Ailis reached up and stroked his jawline. “And I love ye, Bhaic MacPherson.”
* * *
“There’s something a man does nae see very often.”
Robert glanced behind him at Ailis and Bhaic and turned back around with a sniff. “I’d lose me appetite if it wasn’t pleasing me so much to eat as much MacPherson food as I can.” He reached over and grabbed a round of bread that he shoved into his shirt. “His grandfather would piss on him if he could see him dancing to his enemy’s tune.”
“Heard it was the Earl of Morton that made them wed.”
Robert shrugged. “And so they did, and her belly is swelling. There’s no need for him to sit there simpering like a French fop. Better to set the Robertson bitch aside since she’s serving her purpose. Ye can be sure I will no’ have a wife sitting on the high ground beside me.”
His men chuckled. “Aye, a woman’s place is beneath a man,” one of them said.
Robert nodded. “A real man makes sure they know it.”
And a true man made his own fortune. Robert emptied his mug and shoved another round of bread into his shirt before closing his doublet. His men took his lead, making ready for the hard road ahead of them.
“Don’t leave at the same time,” he cautioned them before he stood and made his way toward the back of the hall where the maids were. Robert smiled at them, seeking out one who would give him the information he needed.
* * *
“Ye likely think yerself clever.”
Helen looked up as Duana came into the sewing cell. The Head of House was pleased with herself and had clearly snuck away during supper so no one would witness whatever she wanted to say.
“I see ye have wasted no time in taking what ye can,” Duana remarked as she looked at the linen Helen was sewing.
“A measure I earned full well in yer kitchen.” Helen stood up to face her. “Every quartering day, ye made me stand there with an empty palm while ye paid out the wages, knowing full well I worked more hours than any other.”
Duana made a little scoffing sound beneath her breath. “Ye were fed. Since yer father does nae serve this clan, that was yer due.”
It wasn’t an uncommon belief. That was the reason clansmen were so loyal to their laird. The service they gave ensured that their families were fed and had a place. Her family was the Grants and she hadn’t had a husband who was a MacPherson, so every mouthful of bread was something she’d had to earn.
“What do ye want, Duana?” Helen suddenly felt very tired. “Are ye truly no’ finished with yer hatred? Ye’ve had over a year to vent yer spleen on me. No matter how justified ye think yerself, bitterness leads to a poor life.”
“So now ye think to preach to me as well?” Duana demanded. “Ye still have many years to live before ye have the experience I have.”
Helen quelled the urge to quarrel with the woman. “That is true.”
Duana wasn’t expecting agreement. She paused, pursing her lips disapprovingly as she decided on her next course of action.
“It is done, Duana.” Helen spoke as controlled as she could. “I am wed to Marcus. We shall have to find a way to live in harmony. Or at least in quiet.”
The Head of House shook her head. “Are ye sure it’s done?”
Helen looked at the woman in confusion. Duana looked behind her before she spoke again. “If ye want to leave, I can arrange an escort for ye.”
Helen stared at her in shock, which pleased the Head of House. “It’s all arranged. There is a pair of lads down at the stable who will take ye away.”
How she would have adored hearing those words once. Was it truly only a few months past?
“Is nae that what ye craved? Escape?” the Head of House continued.
“It was,” Helen agreed. “What a bitch ye are to offer me such a thing now. Ye kept me as yer slave and only now offer me freedom because ye will no’ see me set above ye.”
All effort to be congenial was abandoned as Helen faced off with the woman who had tormented her mercilessly.
“Mind yer tongue,” Duana warned her.
“I will no’,” Helen hissed back.
Duana’s eyes bulged, her lips moving silently like a fresh-caught fish, and then suddenly she dropped to the floor, leaving Helen facing a huge man.
He stood there, pleased with his actions, a bloody sword in his grasp. “I assure ye Helen, ye’ll learn to hold yer tongue with me, or I will cut it out of yer mouth.”