Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 (22 page)

There were many small islands connected to Mull that could be reached when the tide was low, and near dusk she and Malcolm removed their boots and walked the beach to one of them. Sorcha took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent of salt water, heather, and damp rock. The sand felt good on her toes and the sea breeze ruffled Malcolm’s black hair and his plaid as they walked.

He took her hand. “Come,” he said. He led her further southward along the beach and up a steep headland, helping her over the larger rocks. His touch was gentle but firm. They sat on a wide, flat ledge above a sea loch. “I used to come here as a child,” he said.

              “I can see why. ‘Tis an amazing place.”

              “Sorcha, are ye happy here?”

              She hesitated, not expecting the question, and his amber eyes were on her face, searching. “We only just arrived. It is all so new to me. But yea, Malcolm, I am…content.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. “Then I am nae doing my job. I dunna want ye to be
content
. I want ye to be happy, Sorcha.”

              She laughed. “Ye canna command a person to be happy, Malcolm.” She frowned.

              “What is it?” he asked.

“Ye ha’e so readily forgiven me for my lies, when I tried to prevent the marriage? I wonder if ye will e’er fully trust me.”

              “I understand why ye did it. And truth be told, I didna wish to marry either.”

              She looked away from his face. “Is it because ye wished to marry Maira? She is vera beautiful. She told me the gown she wore last night was to be her wedding dress when she married ye, Malcolm.”

              His hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Maira was my lover but I was fifteen at the time and naive. She was my first. I wasna, however, her first. I was apparently one of many. I once considered myself in love with her, but vera briefly. We ne’er intended to marry, as I was betrothed to ye when I was eight summers. Maira is vain and cruel, and the lass loves to create drama and spin lies. Getting married to Seamus apparently has nae made any difference in her behavior. She still takes lovers.”

              “Malcolm, do ye ha’ve…other lovers?”

              “Nay. I ha’e had them in the past.”

              She sighed. “I was forced upon ye, Malcolm. Ye married me merely because a king decreed it.”

              “That is true but now I am glad of it.” He kissed her softly. As always the touch of his eyes and his lips made her heart race. He removed his plaid and laid it on the ground. “Wife, I want to love ye here, beneath a dark Highland sky, where we are alone with nothing but the cliffs and the booming sea.”

              Their clothing was quickly discarded. The rocks beneath the plaid were still warm from the sun. His mouth found her rose-colored nipple and the hot warmth of his lips made her body jerk. She felt his touch to her core. Malcolm was dangerous, he was powerful, but the thought did not terrify her—it excited her. The thought that she was also powerful, that she could match his passions, added to her excitement. She nipped his shoulder. “Malcolm, she breathed, “Show me what ye like. Show me how to touch ye.”

              His breathing ragged, he lifted his dark head from her breast, his eyes like hot topaz. Wordlessly he rolled onto his back and guided her hand to his manhood, swollen with need. Her eyes and her hand on the most intimate part of him made him swell even harder. He guided her hand and his eyes narrowed. His face became a mask of pleasure as she stroked him from root to crest. After a while he said, “Sorcha, put yer mouth on me.”

              There was a question in her deep green eyes, and a curiosity. A ribbon of heat unfurled between her legs as she lowered her mouth and tasted him, the tip of his root smooth and silky and hot with need. He moaned and closed his eyes.

              Wanting to taste all of him, she lathed him with her tongue and then put her lips around him, instinctively moving with him. Her slightest touch wrought a raw response in him, and he seemed alive to her every caress.

              Now his intense amber eyes watched her like a hawk, and when she pulled away for a moment, biting her lower lip, he sat up and gently pushed her down so she was on her back. “I dunna want to finish before ye ha’e yer pleasure.”

His hands slid along her arms until they reached her wrists. He grabbed them with warm, hard fingers and dragged them over her head. Mindlessly he drove into her, his neck and shoulders a cord of muscle, taut with his straining. His mouth was back at her breast, his teeth almost scoring her, as she clung to him. He pressed her thigh outward, trapping it beneath his knee, opening her even wider. She writhed and arched into him. “Deeper, Malcolm, deeper,” she breathed. They found release together, his groans mingling with hers, their bodies shaking with the strength of their coupling.

He rolled onto his back and her fingers caressed his chest. Sated, they lay entwined as the sea breeze caressed their sweat-soaked skin. “I had a vision last night,” he said.

Sorcha propped herself on an elbow and looked down at his darkly handsome face. “Ye havena had a vision for many years, ha’e ye?”

              “I havena. But this one was vera clear. I saw it was MacKinnons stealing our cattle. I dreamt they put out to sea and we followed them, surprising them in the night and killing a large party of their men. We will go tonight. We ha’e been raided too many times, the most recent raid just days before we arrived. The thieves need to pay. MacKinnon is my mother’s former clan. They deserve to die for what they tried to do to her all those years ago. Thieves and murderers.”

Sorcha stroked his face. “Must ye leave tonight?”

              He laughed and rolled on top of her, spreading her legs with his knee. “Will ye miss me, lass?”

Sorcha would miss him but she wasn’t sure if it was because she would be alone here, a stranger among the Maclean clan, or because she’d let her feelings for the Highlander develop into something more than affection. Maybe it was both.

She closed her eyes as his lean fingers slid between her legs and caressed her swollen folds. “I’ll give ye more memories to savor until I return. I want ye thinking of me, lass, and aching for this.”

              His eyes glowed intensely as he looked down at her. “Oh, aye, ye want me as much as I want ye,” he whispered in her ear. “Dunna deny it, for yer slick and hot with need.”

She trembled and arched against his hand. “The things ye make me feel, Malcolm…I want ye now. I dunna deny it. I want ye deep inside me….”

He speared her with a single thrust and she cried out in pleasure. He took her hard, sea birds screeching high above them, waves lapping the rocks far below. His mouth fit hers perfectly and his hands moved on her silky skin as if they were made to do it. He knew it. She met him thrust for thrust and he lifted his head to let her see the male triumph in his eyes.

              It was there, on that ledge of sea rock, Sorcha realized she’d fallen in love with her dark-haired, Highlander husband. The man she’d sworn to despise. She’d never felt more vulnerable.

34

The party of Maclean men left quietly after the evening meal and Sorcha felt miserable. She didn’t know what to do with herself and she worried for Malcolm’s safety, despite his prowess with sword and bow and arrow.

              To pass the time, Isobel led Sorcha through a short paneled passage to a room full of barrels. “This is where the stores are kept in case of siege,” Isobel said. She showed her to another room where weapons were kept. “Best to be prepared. I will keep my house and my house will keep me. ’Tis something the women around here say often.” She smiled. “I hear yer quite skilled with the bow and arrow. Malcolm told me how ye challenged him to a contest and split his arrow down the middle.”

“I began lessons when I was only four summers. And it gave me some peace to spend hours practicing e’ery day I could after I lost my father and two of my older brothers at Arkinholm.”

Isobel clasped her hand. “’Tis ne’er easy. Sorcha, I do hope ye will be happy here.”

              Isobel led her along the wall walk high above the ground and Sorcha could see the castle below, the inner wall, the courtyard and outer wall, the loch, the impressive fleet of Maclean galleys, the great, roaring sea dotted by islands, and the looming bens.

When they’d gone back inside, Isobel pointed out the arrow loops built into the castle walls, which made it easier for archers to fire on their enemies. “Yer skill will be vera valuable if we’re e’er under siege,” she said.

              Last but not least was the gatehouse. Sorcha studied the holes in the ceiling where boiling water could be poured through to burn their enemies’ heads. “Sometimes we use boiled oatmeal, too, which sticks to the attacking soldiers,” Isobel said. “People say Cook’s boiled oatmeal is deadly anyway,” she added, which made Sorcha laugh.

Back in the great hall, Sorcha picked up a wooden toy sword and dueled with several wee lads, laughing at their sheer joy and boundless energy. They protested mightily when their mothers finally dragged them off to bed.

              Isobel and Sorcha sat by the hearth and sipped spiced wine. “All these years of men slipping off to battle and it ne’er gets any easier,” Isobel said. “I ken what yer feeling, lass. I miss Leith just as much now as I did when he first left for battle after we were married.”

Sorcha nodded, unable to speak, surprised at the tears that nearly sprang to her eyes, tears caused by an ache for Malcolm to be near.

              “’Tis incredible a vision led Leith to me and our son’s vision led him to a king and a betrothal to ye.” Isobel told Sorcha more about her clan and the night they turned on her, dragging her through the blinding snow and tying her to a stake. “Leith and four other warriors emerged from the white, swirling mists and ‘twas Leith’s arrow that killed Bothen dead, the man who held the torch, ready to fire the kindling at my feet.

“Leith was fierce looking and I was frightened. But I was so happy to meet him I looked into his eyes and told him, “I am well pleased to meet ye, my lord, even if ye are the devil himself.’

“I tried to tell Bothen I’d had a vision. That I saw him dead if he tried to burn me at the stake, an arrow in his back, but he didna listen. Glynnis, my own sister and one of Bothen’s lovers, picked up the torch and thought to finish the job. But Leith’s arrow pointed at her heart stopped her.”

Now tears did spring to Sorcha’s eyes. “Ye were vera brave, e’en when all turned against ye, e’en yer own sister.”

“Sometimes we find stores of strength within ourselves we ne’er kent we had.” Isobel went on to talk about Malcolm’s youth, when he was a dark-haired, inquisitive lad with disturbing dreams and visions. She talked of their visit to King James the Second when Malcolm was only eight summers, and the dangers of displeasing the king with a single word or a single look.

The fire was warm and Sorcha, grateful for Isobel’s company, grew drowsy. “Do ye still ha’e visions?”

“Nae so much anymore.” She finished her wine and set the goblet down. “Tell me about yer family, Sorcha.”

Sorcha shared memories of her mother and father, her brothers, and life after the battle of Arkinholm. She even found herself talking about how she originally tried to trick Malcolm into thinking she was not the Lady Douglas, of Nessa’s horrid and dramatic display of manners, of her hopes he would turn away and beseech the king to nullify the marriage decree. She talked of Nessa’s madness, of Lulach, of the Black Burn of Sorrow and Devil’s Waterfall, the monks’ treasure, and Gillis and Caterina.

Isobel listened for hours and Sorcha realized all evening she had been trying to help her keep her mind off of Malcolm’s absence. When Sorcha retired, she was exhausted but she could not sleep. She missed Malcolm’s big, warm body next to her in the bed. It was not until early dawn that she eventually closed her eyes to the sound of keening wind outside her window.

In the morning after she broke her fast, Andreana approached her. Andreana was blonde like her mother, with the same soft skin and oval face, but her eyes were amber like her father’s. And like Malcolm’s. “Walk with me in the gardens?” she asked.

Sorcha nodded. She hadn’t seen much of Andreana, who had been spending most of her time resting or in the nursery with her newborn son Alec. As their boots crunched on the sand-dusted paths outside, Andreana sighed. “I havena had much sleep. Wee Alec is nae a sleeper.”

“Such a beautiful lad,” Sorcha said. “Nathair is so proud. Ye must be too.”

“Oh aye, I am fortunate. Such a beautiful, blessed lad. I ne’er kent my heart could hold so much love.”

They walked in silence for a while, enjoying the morning air. “Sorcha, yer worried about the men?”

“Aye.”

“I wouldna worry so much about the MacKinnons. Now if they were off fighting Campbells, that would be a different story, for I’ve heard Malcolm say many a time he wouldna willing choose to fight a Campbell. They own much of the western parts and ne’er seem to be on the losing side. Though of course e’eryone kens one Maclean is worth four Campbells.”

Andreana put her arm around Sorcha. “Try nae to worry. Nathair and Malcolm are nae ordinary men. They are vera skilled in battle and stealth.” She withdrew her arm when they reached the wall that overlooked the sea. “Malcolm told me of yer ruse, how ye pretended to be a maid, how ye didna want to marry him.”

              Sorcha was reminded that Malcolm was close to his sister and cared deeply for her. Of course he would keep her in his confidences. “It was foolish of me. I am vera independent and I was frightened by the thought of marriage to a man I didna ken. I had heard stories about Malcolm. That he drank the blood of his enemies from their hollowed out skulls.”

Andreana laughed, the sound infectious. “Malcolm’s a fierce warrior, aye, but he prefers drinking whisky to human blood.” Andreana inhaled deeply. “It feels so good to get fresh air.”

              “And yet I sense ye didna seek my company for a simple walk and fresh air,” Sorcha said.

              “Aye, I did wish to tell ye something. Whether ye ken it or nae, my brother feels deep affection for ye.”

Sorcha was struck again by the intensity in Andreana’s eyes, the same intensity she often saw in Malcolm’s eyes.

“Do ye feel anything for him?” Andreana asked. “Or do ye regret the marriage and resent him?”

              “I did want to despise him,” Sorcha said. “But I found it impossible. I ha’e grown to…I ha’e deep affection for Malcolm as well.”

              Andreana smiled, the sun making her blonde hair shine. “Good. For he doesna give his heart away easily. And if ye hurt him, if ye deceive him, I shall ne’er forgive ye. And I’d like us to be friends, Sorcha.”

              “I would like that, too.”

The men returned late the next afternoon, victorious. Malcolm immediately sought her out, joining her at the dais. He climbed atop the great table, legs apart, every inch the warrior, and addressed the hall. “A message has been sent to the MacKinnons. Justice has been served. We followed them across the water and they didna ken we were e’en there. The men who stole our cattle, burnt our homes, and raped our women are dead. Eight of them. Men who will ne’er raid our shores again. And we lost none.” The cheers rose loud and lusty.

This pattern was repeated over the next several weeks, for in addition to the MacKinnons, the Macleans had to deal with the Campbells, the MacDonalds, and the Camerons. Each time Malcolm left, Sorcha felt she would never get used to this life, especially when they went off to fight the Campbells. But each time, she learned more about the Maclean castle defenses and more about herself.

              Malcolm’s dreams became more frequent, his sleep more disturbed. One morning as he sat by the hearth in the great hall with Isobel and Sorcha, he talked quietly of how he’d dreamt of King James the Third the night before. Tired shadows etched the skin beneath his eyes. He’d had a premonition that he would be called to the royal court to advise the king of his future, just as he had done when he was a boy and James the Second had brought him to Edinburgh with the other astrologers and fortune seekers.

              “In my dream, I saw the King’s death,” he said. “Twenty summers hence. I saw James thrown from his horse during a battle and taken to a nearby cottage. He asked a woman to call for a priest but when the priest came, he stabbed James to death.”

              Isobel gripped his hand as he told them more of what he’d seen. “Tell no one of this vision,” she whispered. “For what good could it do?”

              Malcolm nodded.

When they retired to their bedchamber, Sorcha pulled him into her embrace. “I’ve missed ye, Malcolm,” she breathed. “I’ve missed ye something fierce. I need a Scottish warrior in my bed.”

              He kissed her, his lips soft and then devouring, all consuming, and Sorcha helped Malcolm to forget about his disturbing dream for a while.

              A week passed. Malcolm and the men had a respite from chasing raiders and he spent as much time with Sorcha as he could. Sorcha slept late one morning and entered the great hall to find something had changed. There was a notable tension. Isobel seemed uncharacteristically distracted. As she was eating her oats, she said, “Malcolm has been called to Edinburgh, to the royal court. The king has invited Malcolm to divine his future, just as Malcolm did for the king’s father.”

“Where is Malcolm?”

“He talks privately now with Leith and Nathair.” Isobel’s green eyes were fierce. “A number of the clan will go to the royal court. There will be festivities. Dancing. Banquets. Ye’ll accompany Malcolm. Leith and I will go as well. We only ha’e a week to prepare.”