Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) (20 page)

Liam waited until MacKerry entered the keep before he exhaled. Would he be able to trust the younger man? With a grimace, he continued to stride toward his chambers so he could think unhindered by the fear of being discovered once again. Liam didn’t hold to being suspicious, but ’twas a tricky time within the clan and he didn’t ken who was truly friend or foe.

Och, with all that had happened of late, his memories faded in and out and his goals waved before him like a whipping flag.
Bollocks
. He needed to focus. Remain focused.

Or all would be lost to him.

Chapter 18

Hope paced the battlements trying to sort through the ideas and worries crowding her mind. ’Twas puzzling to say the least and she didn’t understand how so much deception managed to make its way into the clan’s dealings. Blast if Nora never returned and when she’d sent a serving girl to look for her the lass came back stating she couldn’t find the woman. No doubt she feared Hope would make her talk, share the secret she guarded by hiding about the keep. Was it about her father, mother, or both? Or the lad?

Why had the lad died? She’d traced all clues, none to her satisfaction. One fact still festered. The lad wore a MacAlister tartan, but he wasn’t a MacAlister. They’d been free of war and skirmishes for quite a while. But threats lingered with Clan Mungo itching to conquer MacAlister territory.

She leaned against the stone wall and cast a glance out to the sound. The bay was quiet this evening. Yet, she knew the tempestuous water could begin churning at any instant, but, at this moment, the slow lapping of the waves proved to be placating.

Quite unlike the day her father died. Those ghastly memories forever etched into her mind with a clarity age wouldn’t blur. She always thought of that day as a pivotal point of bleakness in her life. Every moment before filled with fun and innocence. Every moment after filled with apprehension, duty, and the stifling fear of failure.

Hope tipped her head back, allowing the wind to ruffle her hair, infuse the battlements with the scent of salt water and loam.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Ah, he’d found her.

A tremor of excitement as well as nerves riveted through her no matter how she tried to appear disinterested.

“Hope,” came the voice that felt like silk against her skin. How did he manage to make her nearly forget she was laird and make her feel like a woman?

“Aye,” she answered despite the reservations still plaguing her. “Do you have need of me?”

Aidan came before her, blocking the view of the water. “It seems as if I do.” He leaned in, braced his hands on each side of her as if locking her in from a quick escape. His gaze, damn him, absorbed all wit from her tongue. Aidan’s eyes probed as the gray swirled to a charcoal and desire banked within their depths.

His lips curled into a half-grin and he inhaled a swift breath before he nuzzled along her jaw and down her neck. When he reached the hollow of her neck, she could resist no longer.

On a whim of their own, her arms eased around his broad back and pulled him closer. The wall and Aidan MacKerry proved a formidable prison. Both hard, unrelenting. Yet Aidan was hot, sizzling and the planes of his body didn’t cut into her, they fit, cradled, and tantalized.

Each trace of his lips set her mind into a tizzy of incomprehensible thoughts and desires. How
did
he manage? Ohhh, by Saint Valentine, she thought as his hand skimmed along her breasts, gently caressing and plucking at her nipples. How . . .?

He captured her mouth, sucked on her tongue, and twirled his throughout the hot, moist cavity. She tilted her hips toward him, aching with a need that was as foreign as stitching embroidery in the solar.

She cried out when he pressed his manhood against her, grinding his hips in a rhythm that enticed her. Heat, liquid heat, dripped from her as he moved his hands over her body, caressing, touching . . . Oh, God, he lifted up her tartan and slipped his hand beneath. Nay, he couldn’t, but he did.

Aidan slipped his fingers into her curls, damp with desire and then, then his fingers entered her, his hand moving in a way that had her arching toward him wantonly.

“That’s it, my sweet,” he whispered against her lips, his breath hot and ragged. “Does this pleasure you?”

She nodded, unable to speak. The flash of lust, desire, and need infused within her as pleasure mounted to a nearly unbearable peak. Rolling over her, surging through her veins and the inner most part of her womanhood. Hope cried out as she exploded and flashes of light burst before her eyes. She panted, trying to catch her breath, then she sagged, depleted of energy.

Aidan caught her. “Easy, my sweet.” He cradled her against him, slipped an arm beneath her legs, and carried her toward her bedchamber.

Still mute, Hope rested her head against his shoulder as she traced the vee of his shirt. His heart beat wildly against her hand as she flattened it against the brawn of his chest. Aye, he was as affected as her. A satisfied smile tugged at her mouth.

He kissed the top of her head and inhaled. They quietly entered her chamber and with a swift kick, Aidan shut the door.

Aidan laid her upon the bed and in quick motions rid himself of his tartan and shirt.

He was magnificent.

All hard bunches of muscles forming a man of strength and beauty. Broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs. Her gaze eased over him, languishing in his manliness. A dark down covered his chest, legs, and . . . manhood.

“Like what you see?” he asked gruffly.

“Aye,” she said a little breathlessly and without tearing her gaze from the juncture of his thighs.

His muscled flexed beneath her scrutiny and he bent toward her, removed her laird brooch. With infinite care which touched her heart, Aidan placed the brooch upon the chest of drawers.

She admired his backside, hard, muscular. He returned to her side and once again, she was taken aback by the sheer magnitude of him, the greatness and power.

He removed her tartan without a hint of urgency, although she wished he’d hurry.

They weren’t wed, but ’twas merely a formality. Hope wanted Aidan MacKerry like nothing else she’d experienced. She wanted him to lie upon her, feel his brawn, the soft whisper of his dark hair against her skin, and the fullness of his manhood within her.

Just the thought had her aching, pulsing with longing deep in the pit of her womb.

Aidan looked at her, his eyes darkened and his breath hitched in his throat. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he lowered his head and kissed along her torso, his breath tickled the side of her breasts, and then, dear God, he suckled her nipple. Tugging, lapping, all sweetly torturous. A soft whimper of pleasure slipped past her lips.

Hope raised her hips, lavished in the feel of his manhood pressing and pulsing against her. Tremors of anticipation fueled her excitement as heat consumed her body as if it flowed from Aidan and pumped through her blood.

“Easy,” he managed with a chuckle.

But she didn’t want to go easy. She’d tread lightly for too long and now, she just wanted to react, feel, explore. Hope tickled her fingers along Aidan, tracing the tip of his manhood, loving the silky smoothness of his shaft, the quick intake of his breath. She smiled when it flexed in response.

Aidan hissed. “You’ll kill me, lass.”

Hope laughed, heady with power.

He looked at her, tipped her chin up and said, “Are you certain you want this.” His voice was deep, rough, so incredibly intense.

“Aye.”

With her permission, Aidan nestled his tip at the apex of her womanhood, eased in gently, and gasped as she grabbed hold of his hips and forced his entry.

Ah. ’Twasn’t as bad as she expected. A quick, sharp pain. Nora had surely exaggerated the pain of making love.

Aidan stilled. “Are you well?”

She exhaled. “Aye.” Hope squirmed beneath him. Slowly, he began to move and sweet merciful heaven, the sensations she experienced earlier came back. He thrust back and forth, the fullness of him stretching her with each movement.

“’Tis wonderful,” she said before she could stop herself.

Aidan gave a hearty chuckle. “Aye, ’tis.”

He brought his attention upon her, kissing, licking, and nuzzling along her neck and breasts. Wave after wave of pleasure wafted over her in such amazing frequency that she lost herself to him. Gave freely, without pretense of being laird, just being a woman.

As he trailed kisses along the scar on her shoulder, Hope clung to him, kneaded his muscles, pushed upward in order to sheath him within her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Aye, lass. Take your pleasure.”

And she did. With each thrust, she countered in an innate, erotically-choreographed dance. They tangled their limbs as well as their tongues. He flicked his thumb across her nipple, striking an unbelievable cord within her as flashes of light ruptured through her mind.

It seemed no matter how much they touched, they pushed to get closer and closer. The intimacy bonding them lip-to-lip, flesh-to-flesh.

Hope explored Aidan’s scorching skin, her fingers memorizing each dip, hard plane, and granite muscle. He growled and nestled her ear, nipped the soft flesh of her lobe.

Just as she thought she could bear no more, Aidan cupped her bottom, shifted her hips, and plunged.

A cacophony of sensations, bold, striking, blasted through her body as she climaxed over and over again.

“Hope,” Aidan ground out as release found him. He gave one more shaft-burying thrust before he collapsed, chest heaving and sweat dripping off his body.

Aidan withdrew from her, then lay beside her as he pulled her close. He threaded his fingers through her hair, silent, but she could feel the smile and relaxed muscles.

“Is it always so . . . so—”

He leaned down and gently kissed her. “Nay. Only when . . .” She turned toward him as he hesitated.

A strange expression filled his face as he frowned. He shook his head, then pulled her tighter against him. “Sleep.”

She nodded, exhausted by the emotion and physical activity. Her limbs felt limber and tight at the same time. She stretched a little, then snuggled into the crook of his arm and fell promptly asleep against his shoulder.

What had he done? Aidan eased Hope from atop his arm and slipped out of bed. He hastily donned his clothing and left the chamber. Once outside the room, he leaned against the hard wood of the door and released a breath.

The evening replayed itself in a flash of skin, motion, and beauty. Aye, she was a beauty—elegant, long limbed, and with a bravado he’d admired—more so because she wielded it so deftly in every part of her being.

But if he chose to be honest, and in most circumstances he was, Aidan knew ’twas perfect between them, for them both, because they’d both begun to care.
Bollocks
. How did he allow this to happen?

It incensed him that when he’d tried to remain out of the grasp of a powerful woman, she was able to work her magic and change his mind as if she were a witch. Aye, she’d bewitched him. More so now due to their intimacy. It had been the same with Anne, although as he reflected on the matter, she hadn’t captivated him in the all-consuming manner Hope did. And she’d revealed her evilness quickly and harshly.

His mind kept warning him to go—leave Wild Thistle. Yet, his heart and body told him to remain and be with the one woman who could either take all from him or give him salvation.

Aidan paced down the corridor, ignoring the blatant glances of the women who cleaned the keep. Aye, he’d left the laird’s chamber at an early morning hour, but ’twasn’t as if he’d hung her bloodied sheet outside the window. They could speculate, but prove nothing.

Without breaking his fast, he went to the training area, picked up a sword and beat the blazes out of the straw man. Time passed and he continued to train, spar with more of the training posts, and just spar with himself to rid his mind of what he’d just done.

The sun rose, then shifted up into the sky and still he continued to push his body in an effort to forget.

“Och, ’tis a mess ye’ve made, MacKerry.”

Aidan wiped the sweat from his brow. “What do you want, Duncan?” he said as he searched for another straw practice form.

The large man crossed his arms before his chest. “’Tis a rumor I’m wanting yer opinion on.” Duncan grabbed his arm. “’Tis it true?”

Aidan ripped from Duncan’s grasp and scowled. “You dare vex me?”

Duncan held up his hands. “Nay, I want the truth.”

Aidan paused a moment as he dug the tip of the sword into the ground. “Tell me, what do you hear?”

Hope’s cousin heaved a sigh. “Ye’ve compromised her.”

He couldn’t deny what the man stated, but he also had no mind to admit to the deed either. ’Twas between Hope and him, not the entire clan—no matter what the redheaded Highlander thought.

“She’s my betrothed. I’ll not have you spreading rumors.” Didn’t the man realize ’twas necessary? With Liam manipulating the council, he had to make his move. ’Twas risky, aye, but he’d risked much thus far and he had to continue in order to claim what was his. And, he admitted, their relationship, one which started as a means to an end, had shifted. He cared for her.

Duncan stared at him, his gaze narrowed as he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“Did I make myself clear?”

Duncan grabbed him by his shirt. “Ye didn’t answer me question, ye
amadon
.”

“I’m not of a mind to.” Aidan removed the man’s hands from him. “Be sure to tell anyone who discusses Hope, they’ll answer to me.”

Duncan spat on the ground, then left Aidan. He shook his head when other clansmen approached. They looked to Aidan, disappointed clearly etched upon their faces. Why did it matter so? He was there to claim his birthright. He wouldn’t allow them to heave guilt upon his shoulders. He no longer had the luxury of the emotion.

In fact, Aidan didn’t have the luxury of wasting any more time. He must marry Hope and he kenned if the council learned of the passion they shared the night before, the wedding would be soon.