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Elspeth slid her hand around Cyrus's neck into his hair and pulled him closer, reveling in the sensuous feel of his lips on hers. Saints! She should not do this. He was not hers to kiss. She knew this with her mind, but her heart, body, and soul said otherwise. She could not believe the excitement that quickened her entire being when he touched her. 'Twas as if he lit her spirit on fire. No other man had made her crave being kissed and consumed with his passion. No other man inspired complete trust and safety.
Cyrus claimed she bewitched him, but the opposite was also true. Surely, he was a warlock instead of a warlord.
With his hand along her jaw, tilting her face upward, he stroked his tongue along her lower lip. A bizarre yearning burned inside her. It made her heart beat a turbulent rhythm. She had thought herself experienced, but she was not. Never had the two other men she'd had relations with made her feel such mad and wanton urges. 'Twas why she considered her reaction to him unusual. She hadn't known such desires existed for women.
"Damnation. You taste like heaven," he said gruffly.
"'Tis the carrots," she murmured, then knew not why she'd said such an inane thing.
He chuckled, but quickly deepened the kiss, teasing her tongue with his. He was the one who tasted delicious... like fine wine and powerful male. Her fingers wound into his long hair as his mouth rendered her senseless.
Groaning, he lay back and dragged her onto him, startling her, for she had never lain on top of a man before. "What is...?"
"Shh." He pulled her down to his mouth and kissed her again. On the outside of her skirts, his hands slid up her thighs. "I know not what this madness is, but I don't want to resist it," he murmured. "Do you?"
"Nay."
Through the belted plaid, his shaft rubbed against her. She pressed herself more firmly to him, savoring his hardness. He moaned, then kissed her chin and down her throat, pulling her upward. Through her clothing, he brushed his whiskered cheek and his mouth over her breast.
The stab of desire was so intense, she drew in a sharp breath, then spread her legs and straddled him. Lifting his hips, he growled in appreciation.
Overcome by her own needs, she tugged at his plaid, while he dragged her skirts upward. The rush of heat only grew more intense.
He drew her mouth back to his. "Elspeth?" This time, his deep voice didn't demand; it requested.
"Aye."
He slipped his hand beneath her petticoats and skimmed along her upper thigh, then between. His hilt-roughened fingers stroked her ever so gently. The surge of desire and delight was so powerful she gasped.
"I can wait no longer to be inside you."
The heated yearning in his words seared her from the inside out.
"What say you?" he asked.
"Aye. Now." She dug beneath his plaid, which was halfway up his muscular thighs, and found what she was looking for. Such a magnificent man. The skin of his shaft was fevered and his flesh hard as granite.
With a guttural moan, he gently took her lower lip between his teeth. How could he have so much patience? She was hungry for him. But she liked that he wasn't moving faster than she was.
"Show me what you want, lass." His voice rumbled, deep in his throat.
Though she thought it should be obvious what she wanted, she loved the way he called her lass. It seemed to be an endearment.
She squeezed his shaft. "I want you."
He rasped a curse, then pulled her skirts up to her waist. "How about this—you take what you want?"
She halted. "What... do you mean...?"
"'Tis up to you." He spoke through clenched teeth. "Go on, then."
She could not believe he wanted her to take the lead. "Why?"
His addictive midnight gaze held hers. "Have you ever wanted to do this before?"
"Aye, in the tower... with you."
He drew in a hissing breath. "Before that?"
She frowned. "Nay."
He searched her eyes. "Have you ever had a choice in the matter?"
She shook her head. "Not truly."
"Well, now you do."
Tears filled her eyes and she kissed him sweetly on the lips to thank him. He was so incredibly thoughtful. The kisses quickly turned scorching.
Already straddling him, she slid along the side of his shaft.
Placing his hands at her hips, he caressed her, then stroked her abdomen and the top of her mound. Liquid warmth filled her. Taking his shaft into her hand again, she guided him exactly where she craved for him to be.
"Aye." His gravelly voice aroused her even more.
She lowered herself, allowing him to slide within her an inch or two.
"More, lass," he breathed against her mouth. "Deeper."
She was unsure whether he was asking or demanding. Either way, 'twas also what she craved.
Once again growing accustomed to his size, she pushed downward and relished the way he filled her completely. His hot hands beneath her hips, he lifted and lowered her. Slowly and easily. He ground his teeth. "'Tis more like torture."
"Aye." Her knees too weak from the overwhelming experience, she could not raise herself.
"I cannot withstand it." He rolled her over onto her back. Gradually, he withdrew, then eased back in. The next thrust was faster, more forceful. And the next even more blissful.
"Oh! I cannot believe..." She gasped. How could anything feel so wonderful?
He tugged her bodice down and suckled at her nipple. Holding him close, she arched toward him, offering all he wanted. She lifted her hips, meeting the powerful driving force of him.
He groaned as if the pleasure were an intense ache... just as it was for her.
A sensation like a gale-force wind spun inside her, stealing her breath, sending showers of sparks over her entire body. It centered within her core, where he dove to the very depths of her being. Sensations burst within her, shattering her thoughts. She knew she screamed but could not stop herself. His mouth covered hers, muffling her cries.
With a rough moan, he plunged to her depths. Tugging her tightly to his chest, he shuddered against her.
After a blissful and suspended moment, Cyrus rolled aside and pulled Elspeth into his arms. Her breathing sounded as hard as his. Saints! He had never felt anything so powerful and perfect. When she hugged him close, he experienced a deep sense of belonging.
How was it possible to feel so much joy and contentment while lying on the dirt floor of a cellar and being hunted down by miscreants? It made no sense, and yet his overwhelming happiness would not subside. In truth, he hadn't been happy in many years. Ambition and conquest had driven him forward relentlessly, but he had received no pleasure from it. Of a certainty, he was proud of his accomplishments and liked to give selflessly to his family and clan. But he had denied himself.
Elspeth's soft breaths puffed against the upper part of his chest as she drifted toward sleep. He would save her life or die trying—he had reached that conclusion. 'Twas no less than a vow and a commitment.
After he eliminated her problem, what would he do then? Up to this point, he had forced himself to disregard the future. The thought of it riled him too much. After their first fiery encounter in the tower, he was hooked, and for the first time in many years, he couldn't trust his own judgment. He'd intentionally delayed thinking about Lady Lily. At this point, he could wait no longer. Everything in him raged against marrying Lily. 'Twould not be fair to her or to himself. She was ideal wife material... but not for him.
Damnation. He had wanted her to be the right lady, but a perfect match could not be coerced into being.
He didn't know why he'd formed an attachment to the wrong woman, but there was naught to be done about it. He hated the loss of control of his own emotions. Yet, at the same time, the way he felt about Elspeth was the most addictive, intoxicating thing on earth. He wanted to kick himself for falling under the spell of a female once again. It had been at least a decade since this had happened. Regardless of how amazing this feeling was, he'd hoped to never feel it again, for it stole his good sense. It wrapped tightly around him, confining, demanding, bending him to its will.
The feeling made him selfish. He was ready and willing to cast all his goals and dreams aside. All his hopes and ambitions to leave his clan far richer and more prestigious would be crushed.
Regardless, he now knew he could not live the rest of his days without Elspeth, either in his life or close by.
She had already stated she didn't want to marry again, nor did she want to be a mistress. Besides, he had decided long ago that once he married, he would remain faithful, therefore having a mistress was out of the question. He must have a legitimate heir at all costs.
The only alternative was to ask her to be his wife.
He could not believe how easy it was to consider giving up everything he had wanted for a decade, simply to feel this astounding emotion every day. To hold her in his arms like this each night after indulging in a most intense and mindless passion.
What his sister had wished for him had actually happened. Without even trying, a woman had broken down his walls and stolen his heart.
But... what if Elspeth didn't wish to marry him? What if she could have no more children? She wasn't old by any means, but she was a few years older than most brides.
He enjoyed listening to her talk about her son. 'Twas obvious she was a caring and wonderful mother. He could easily imagine her holding their future bairn, his heir, in her arms. 'Twould be a most loving and beautiful sight. His heart pounded hard, for this was his new goal, his new dream. But first, he had to crush their enemies.
To do that, he had to eat. His stomach was already growling again. The carrot had done him little good. He might have to fight a long battle tomorrow. Of course, he didn't want Elspeth to go hungry either.
He arose, leaving her sleeping, took the candle and crept up the steps toward the tavern. At the top, he paused to listen. It had been an hour or longer since he'd heard anyone walking around up here. And all he heard now was silence. He tried the door latch and found it opened easily. Peering into the common room, he saw only darkness.
Using the candle to light his way, he slipped into the kitchen and found leftover bread and bannocks, as well as barely warm stew. He hollowed out two round loaves of bread and filled them with generous helpings of the stew. The brambleberry scones tempted him, and he found he could not pass them up. After putting the food into an empty basket with wooden spoons, he quietly returned to the cellar.
Elspeth startled awake at some small sound he made and sat up. "You scared me."
"I found food upstairs," he whispered, unloading the basket. "Let's eat. We'll need our strength on the morrow. I'll bring some coins back for the owner, to repay him."
"Oh, I thank you." She tried a wee spoonful of the stew. "This is delicious. I didn't realize how hungry I was."
While he ate, he simply enjoyed watching her devour the food. He prayed he could defeat all Dalacroy's men the next day and keep her safe.
***
EARLY THE NEXT MORN, Henry watched in anticipation as Talbot sat down at the table in the solar and unrolled the deeds.
"I appreciate that you were able to come so quickly."
"Always happy to be of service to you, my laird." The gaunt solicitor raised his bushy gray brows, likely imagining the hefty commission he would make on his work here. Henry had promised twice his normal fee.
'Twould be worth it, for Henry might well have everything he wanted before gloaming. Standing by the solicitor's elbow, he could hardly wait to hear the good news. Once the deeds were authenticated, all he had to do was find the whore and make her sign.
Talbot placed spectacles on his long thin nose and peered down at the first document, the deed for Darby Hall, a property Henry was especially keen to get his hands on. Prior to his father's daft decision to gift it to the wench, the property had been in his family for centuries and should return there.
Talbot traced a long, bony finger beneath the sentences. "Uh-huh," he grunted from time to time.
Several minutes passed and Henry could do naught but pace. He drew in a deep breath and released it, wishing the man would get on with it.
His patience waning, Henry peered over his shoulder again, then strode to the other side of the room.
Finally, Talbot reached the bottom of the deed. "Humph!"
"What is it?" Henry rushed to the table, knowing that sound foretold bad news. He'd used the man's services off and on for years and had learned the relative meaning of each of his grunts. "Tell me."
"One moment, if you please, my laird." Talbot moved back up a few lines and slowly traced his finger beneath the words again.
Henry muttered curses under his breath and shoved a rough hand through his hair, tempted to rip it out by the roots.
Talbot cleared his throat. "My laird, I fear you will not like what I'm about to say. 'Haps you should be sitting when you hear it."
Hardly able to draw breath, he seethed, "Just tell me."
"This deed is worthless."
Outrage blasted through Henry. "What! How is that possible?"
"These last few lines." Talbot pointed. "Someone thinks they are very clever."
"What does it say?" Henry snatched the deed from the table and approached the window for more light. He squinted, hardly able to decipher a word or two of the horrendous handwriting. "Damn it all! What does it say? Read it to me." He shoved the deed back in front of the solicitor.
"In essence, it says the bearer of this deed owns but one square foot of the courtyard of Darby Hall."
Molten rage flooded Henry's veins. "That bitch!" The words exploded from his mouth.
Talbot jumped and eyed him warily.
"Are you certain?" Henry ground his teeth, trying to restrain his fury at being tricked.
"Aye, my laird. 'Tis my duty to be completely honest with you. This is not a true deed for Darby Hall and will not stand in court."
Henry crumpled the parchment. He would throttle that conniving jezebel. "What about the next one? The one for the dress shop and tenement building?"
Talbot skipped the beginning and moved right to the ending lines. "Uh-huh," he said sharply. "'Tis much the same trick."
Rage chewing its way through him, Henry cursed and smashed a fist upon the table.
Talbot lifted a brow, peering at him through his spectacles.
"Go on then. Look at the rest." Certain now that all of them were worth naught more than kindling, Henry tossed the remaining deeds in front of the solicitor and paced across the room. He wanted to call Lady Grey every whorish name he could think of. She and her lover had well and truly duped him. But not for long. He would kill them both for this, even if he never got his hands on the properties.
Talbot calmly examined the remaining deeds, shaking his head and grunting over them. "Someone is very canny, I have to say."
"She will regret her canniness, I vow." Henry could not wait to get his hands around her skinny neck.
Now, where the devil were the true deeds? They had to be at Darby Hall. Or they could be at any of the properties—Greymont or the businesses.
He cursed her for everything he could think of. The three men he'd sent after her and MacKenzie last night had not returned yet. He held out hope they would run the barbarian through and drag the wench in.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," he snapped.
A manservant opened the door and bowed. "M'laird, I'm to let you know the Chief of Clan Comyn is at the gates."
"Clan Comyn?" he muttered. He had never met the man before. Was he friend or foe?
"Also Magistrate MacTarril."
"Ah! Why didn't you say so?" 'Twas the Highland clan MacTarril had recruited to help him. He hurried out the door and down the steps. MacTarril had come through for him just in time. With the Highlanders added to his depleted fighting force, he would surely defeat MacKenzie.
Henry rushed out into the bailey, seeing several men waiting outside the gates. Aye, 'twas indeed a vicious looking band of Highlanders, all wearing belted plaids and carrying swords and targes. They glowered from behind MacTarril and a stocky man with long brown hair, a bitter, downturned mouth, and a long beard. He appeared even more merciless than MacKenzie.
Henry approached the portcullis. "MacTarril, I'm glad to see you. Are these the men you spoke so highly of?"
"Aye, m'laird. Have you ever seen such braw fighting men?"
"Nay, indeed." Grinning, Henry turned to the guard in the gatehouse. "Raise the portcullis!"
Once it had been hoisted to its open position, MacTarril and his companion entered. "Ben, I would like you to meet Laird Henry Crawford, the Earl of Dalacroy. This is Ben Comyn, Chief of the Toramuir branch of the Comyn Clan," MacTarril said. "And my foster brother. We've been close since we were lads."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Laird Dalacroy." Ben's voice rasped over the words.
Henry shook his beefy hand. "A hearty welcome to you and your men."
"He wishes to help you bring Cyrus MacKenzie down." MacTarril grinned.
"Indeed?" Glad to know his assumptions were correct, Henry felt invigorated. They would triumph. "I'm most glad to hear that. How much is your fee?"
"No fee." Comyn's face remained stern. "But we would be most honored to form an alliance with you."
Henry frowned, confused. An alliance made sense, but why would the man not want pay? He did not appear wealthy. In fact, his plaid and shirt were well-worn and dingy.
"That treacherous MacKenzie whoreson near destroyed my clan when we were lads," Comyn said. "He's no better than an adder among the rocks."
Raising his brows, Henry wondered how on earth a lad had managed to do this. "What happened?"
"When he fostered with us, he claimed that I killed another lad. 'Twas a lie that caused all sorts of hardships for my parents and my clan. We became poverty-stricken outcasts for many years. He ruined our lives."
Henry nodded. "I see. One of my men compared him to the grim reaper. He killed or disabled most of my two dozen men and depleted my forces."
"I brought thirty fighting men from my clan. I would like naught more than to crush MacKenzie beneath my heel." Ben scowled. "I've sent for more reinforcements, as well."
That sounded too good to be true. "Who?"
"The MacLeods of Lewis. Although only a score of them still live, they would love to see Cyrus MacKenzie hanging from the nearest tree. He lay siege to their island last year and took it for himself."
"And the king rewarded him with an earldom." Henry already knew the outcome.
"Aye, and the MacLeod of Lewis chief yearns for vengeance."
"I captured his brother, Fraser," Henry said. "Should have killed him when I had him. Then, there would've been one less MacKenzie."
"We'll deal with him and the rest of the brothers."
"Tell your men when we find MacKenzie and Lady Grey, leave her unharmed. I need her alive until I have the official deeds signed and sealed. Once all the properties she currently holds are mine, I don't care what happens to her."
Comyn smirked. "And MacKenzie?"
"Kill him. The quicker the better."
"I cannot wait."
"What say you to splitting your soldiers into search parties of a half-dozen each?" Henry suggested.
"Aye, but most have never laid eyes on the whoreson."
"I'll send one of my men with each party of yours. That way, they can identify MacKenzie and Lady Grey."
"I'll tell them to bring the bastard in." Comyn gave a crooked and bitter grin. "I want to see the look in his eyes just before I slaughter him."
Henry nodded, unconcerned about who would kill the barbarian... as long as someone did, and soon. "In the meantime, I'll take a few of my men to Darby Hall and search every inch of the place until I find the authentic deeds."
"If you cannot find them, nor get the harlot to tell you where they are," MacTarril said, "you could take her son hostage."