Highland Master (11 page)

“Nay, we cannae. ’Tis still Sir John’s word against mine.”

“And the word of every mon who went to get ye back from Sir John, a mon forcing ye to marry him.”

“What Sir John did was nay more than what every mon of any power and influence in this area believes ought to be done.”

“He kidnapped ye.”

Triona turned to face Brett, ready to continue the argument they had started on the way back from where Sir John had taken her and continued over the evening meal. He wanted her to send word to her liege laird, and she would not do it. It would be the surest way to starkly remind her liege laird that she had yet to take his advice to find a husband, but Brett was not heeding her fears about the trouble that could bring down on her head. Then she suddenly realized that they were in her bedchamber, that Brett had followed her right into her room. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave, only to watch him shut the door, lean against it, and cross his arms over his chest.

The argument she had been so determined to continue fled her mind, and all she could think of was that she had just come far too close to having to accept into her body another man who would give her no more than soreness and seed. Yet now, right in her bedchamber, was a man whose kisses promised her a great deal more. She had spent six long years with a man who had used her as no more than a breeder, and almost two years working her fingers to the bone to keep her people fed and safe. Now she fought to stay out of the grip of a man who wished to force her into marriage so that he could claim her lands. Ella had been the only true bright spot in her life. Maybe it was past time she did something just to please herself.

Brett tensed and studied Triona. There was a glint in her eyes that he was certain was caused by a growing desire. He knew men could have their lusts stirred by a battle or a heated argument, but he had not considered the possibility that women could as well. He was not sure he ought to trust in his own judgment on the matter.

“Are we done arguing?” he asked as he watched her eyes change to a deep, rich blue, a color he had seen each time he kissed her.

“Aye, I believe we are. I think I would like to do something else right now.”

“What?”

“I would like ye to kiss me.”

He had her in his arms so quickly she gasped. For one brief moment she wondered if she was about to make a very big mistake. Then he kissed her and she no longer cared. She wanted this, needed it. For once in her life she was going to be bold and daring, was going to reach out and take what she wanted without a thought to the consequences.

There was something different in her kiss, Brett realized, a fierce lack of hesitation that had his heart pounding. “Triona, I believe we are past the stealing of a few kisses and naught else.”

“Och, aye, I do hope so,” she murmured, and kissed him.

Brett decided to see that as acceptance. He lifted her up in his arms just enough to get her feet off the floor, and started toward the bed, still kissing her. The sound of her shoes hitting the floor explained the odd little wriggle she made in his arms. It was, in his mind, yet another invitation.

He gently laid her down on the bed. Watching carefully for any hint that she was about to change her mind, he shed his clothes. The way her eyes widened as he did so was rather flattering, especially when he saw no sign of unease. Climbing onto the bed beside her, he kissed her again and began to unlace her gown. He tightly grasped hold of all his control so that he could go slowly, for even though Triona was no virgin, he was certain she had not gained any true experience or confidence in the art of lovemaking from her husband.

Triona closed her eyes and fell into his kiss, letting every stroke of his tongue in her mouth and faint nip of his teeth on her lips stir up the fire in her veins. The image of Brett naked was now seared into her mind. He was lean and taut with muscle. A small patch of black curls was centered on his broad chest, his long legs were well shaped and muscular, and he had only a few scars. He was all that was beautiful in a man. It both inflamed and intimidated her.

The touch of his hand against her skin made her tremble with pleasure until she realized she was naked. She had never been naked with a man before, as her husband had left her night shift on her, simply pushing it out of the way. Then she suddenly thought of her birthing scars, but an attempt to cover them with her hands was swiftly thwarted by Brett when he grabbed her hands and lightly pinned them to the bed. Then he kissed each mark bracketing her womb. She stared at him, both shocked and moved, as he lifted his head and smiled at her.

“Ye shouldnae think ye need to hide these marks,” he said, releasing one of her hands to trace each mark with the tip of his finger. “They are the scars of a woman giving life to a child, scars as hard-won and honorable as any a noble warrior wears.”

There was such sincerity in his voice that she could think of nothing to say. She murmured her pleasure when he kissed her again, a pleasure born of the way he ravished her mouth, the way the heat of his skin touching hers fired her blood, and the way his calloused hands sweetly caressed her body. It was not until he slid one of those beautifully skilled hands between her thighs that any hesitation occurred in her rapidly soaring passion.

He was touching her
there
, she thought wildly. Her husband had never caressed her there, barely touched her there at all, even when he was preparing to join their bodies. Since Brett was not indulging in any fumbling attempt to join with her like Boyd had, she had to assume that he liked touching her there. The way her body was reacting to his stroking fingers alarmed her even as it pleased her so much that she could not make herself pull away from the shocking intimacy of his caress. Before she could make any sense out of her emotions and confused thoughts, Brett turned his attention to her breasts, fondling and kissing them, even suckling her, and every thought in her head was burned away by the fire raging in her blood.

When he finally began to ease inside of her, her head cleared of desire’s fog just enough to remind her what she was supposed to do. She went still, as still as she possibly could, despite the aching need to touch him, to rub her body against his and to kiss him. When he also stopped, thrusting no deeper within her, she frowned and fought the fierce need to grab him by the hips and make him move.

“Do ye ken, if your eyes were nay squeezed so tightly shut, nor your hands clenched so tightly at your sides, and your body nay weeping in welcome, I would think that ye had just swooned,” he said.

“My body is weeping?” Triona gasped when she realized she was wet down there. “Och, nay. Ye . . . I . . .”

He kissed her. “That is how it should be, love. Och, poor wee Triona, your husband was a cold bastard, wasnae he.”

She knew she ought to defend Boyd, but she could not. Then Brett grabbed hold of her legs, spread them wide, and eased inside of her. Triona heard herself begin to pant, the heat and fullness of his possession robbing her of breath.

“Put your legs around me, love,” he said. “Aye, wrap your whole sweet self round me if ye wish.”

Triona did. She clung to him, quickly catching the rhythm of his movements, welcoming his every thrust with her whole body. The rub of skin against skin, the feverish little kisses they exchanged, all delighted her. The only shadow over it all was the growing tightness low in her belly, an increasingly frantic demand her body began to make that she did not understand. It should have been distracting her from the desire she felt, or even dimming it, but instead it was making her more frantic in her need.

“Let go,” Brett whispered, and nipped at her earlobe. “Just let go and come with me. Give it to me.”

Brett knew the moment Triona stopped fighting her release. He held on to his own control just long enough to watch how her lithe body arched into his as she cried out his name. Then the way her body squeezed him inside and out, even the way she drummed her heels against the back of his thighs, pulled him along with her.

Only faintly aware of Brett calling her name, Triona clung tightly to him as her body convulsed with the release of all the tension that had been building. That hot, blinding pleasure tore through her whole body, from head to toe, leaving her gasping from the force of it and tingling from the strength of the desire heating her blood. The feel of him thrusting deep and spilling his seed only heightened those feelings. By the time she began to calm her breathing, Brett had separated their bodies but was still sprawled on top of her, watching her.

Brett idly stroked her breasts as he watched her, waiting to see if she would suddenly reveal regret over what they had shared. He hoped not, for he wanted more, a lot more. His body still thrummed with the residue of the passion he had shared with her. Although he knew memory could play tricks on anyone, he could not say for certain that it had been as good with Brenda. For a moment he waited for that admission to cool his blood and raise the specter of his guilt, but nothing happened.

“Oh,” she whispered, desperately searching her mind for something to say that did not sound ridiculous. “That wasnae quite what I suspected it would be.”

Brett laughed. “Nay quite what I expected, either. Nay,’twas far, far more,” he murmured, and brushed a kiss over her forehead, all the while looking around the bedchamber but seeing no sign of Brenda’s ghost, despite the fact that he had, for the very first time, compared what he had shared with her with what he had just shared with another woman. “I believe your husband was an idiot. He ne’er bothered to give ye pleasure, did he?”

“Weel, nay, but he sought only to make a son.”

“As I just said, he was an idiot, for he nay only robbed ye of pleasure, but himself also.”

“It didnae hurt,” she whispered, a little embarrassed to speak of what they had just done, even though they were naked and in a bed. “With you, it didnae hurt.”

“And it ne’er should hurt, for a mon should make verra certain the lass welcomes him, that her body welcomes him.”

“The weeping?” He nodded and smiled. “Weel, I thank ye most kindly for showing me how it should be done.”

“Nay, dinnae thank me yet, for I am nay done showing ye, lass.” For the first time in too long he was not haunted by his dead lover’s spirit when he bedded down with a woman, a woman he truly liked and respected as well, and Brett intended to take full advantage of that.

“Nay?”

“Nay. I am thinking we willnae get much sleep this night,” he said, and kissed her before setting out to show her that his words had not been just words, but a promise.

Opening one eye, Triona found a grinning Nessa standing next to her bed. She did not know what the woman found so amusing but was too tired to ask. Nessa patted Triona’s cheek, chuckled, and then hurriedly put out heated water for washing and some clean clothes. It was not until a still-chuckling Nessa left, quietly shutting the door behind her, that Triona began to guess what had so amused her maid.

She looked down and saw a strong male arm draped around her waist. Then the memories of all that had happened last night washed over her, heating her blood. Triona groaned and pulled the sheet over her head as embarrassment overtook that lingering desire. Nessa had caught her in bed with Brett. Everyone at Banuilt would soon know about it. No wonder the woman had been chuckling so merrily. Nessa had never before had such news to spread, and Triona had no doubt that the woman would be spreading it far and wide and to anyone she met.

Fear over what she would soon face upon confronting her people crept into her heart and mind. She fought it, if only because she knew she needed to appear confident when she walked out of her bedchamber, needed to reveal not one tiny hint of guilt or shame. Searching her heart, she found that she actually felt none, and that troubled her a little, for she had bedded down with a man who was not her husband. That was a sin, and if the village priest had not died from the fever and never been replaced, reducing them to occasionally borrowing a priest from another village, she should be headed straight to him to make her confession and do a penance.

A little smile curled her lips when she realized she would not have felt any real inclination to do that, either. The old priest might have tried to shame her into doing so, but he would have been wasting his breath. After facing Father Mollison, a man so willing to force her into marriage just to keep himself safe and unharmed, she doubted she would be running to him, either. No matter how hard she tried, she could not bestir even the smallest spark of shame in her heart.

Triona did not believe that it was just the fullness of the passion she and Brett had shared that left her so untroubled. She was lying there, shamelessly happy, because what she had shared with Brett felt right to her, in both her heart and in her mind. It felt right because she had foolishly fallen in love with the man. That realization robbed her of all her good humor.

This was not going to end well, she mused as she watched his strong, long-fingered hand slide up her body and cover her breast. She was not plain, but she was no beauty. Sir Brett Murray was one of the finest-looking men she had ever seen, and the way the women of Banuilt looked at him told her that they thought so, too. She was a wren and he was a kingfisher. He was her lover, had never even hinted that he wanted to be any more than that, and he would leave once Banuilt’s troubles ended. It hurt to think on that, but she knew she would be a fool to ever forget it.

Warm lips touched the back of her neck and she shivered with pleasure. “We have been discovered,” she murmured, tilting her head a little so that he could warm the side of her neck with his kisses.

“I heard Nessa cackling to herself.” Brett shifted and tugged her onto her back. “Are ye upset?”

She decided it was somehow wrong for a man to look so good in the morning. His dark green eyes were still a little clouded with sleep, but it only made them look more seductive. His thick black hair was tousled, and he had a hearty crop of beard stubble. Even the crease mark from the bed linen, which ran over his left cheek, did not dim his beauty. Triona was sure she looked as if she had been dragged through a hedgerow backwards, yet the way he looked at her made her feel beautiful.

“Aye, Nessa was here and, aye, I was upset. For just a moment.” Unable to resist, she lightly stroked his strong chest, idly toying with the small patch of hair in the middle.

“Only for a moment?”

“Aye, only a moment. Then I thought of a few things. I am laird here. I am a widow, a mother, and five and twenty. For almost eight years I have been doing all I could to make life here good for these people, and ne’er veered from the path of virtue. So, nay, I decided I willnae act as if I have committed some great sin.” She grinned. “Of course, it helps immensely that we have nay priest here to remind me that I have done exactly that.”

Brett grinned back at her. She looked beautifully mischievous. It was not a part of her she revealed often, and he liked it. He realized he wanted to be the one to give her the freedom and ease to reveal that side of her nature much more often.

That could be a problem, he thought. He was not sure he could stay with her. The fact that Brenda’s ghost had not appeared last night to chill the heated passion he was sharing with Triona was as close to miraculous as he suspected he would ever see. It told him he could be Triona’s lover, but his heart refused to offer more than that. Brenda’s ghost might not have appeared, but her specter obviously still had a tight grasp on him. Brett preferred to call his reluctance to allow himself to care deeply for any woman again merely a wise man’s caution, not fear.

Deciding his thoughts were growing too deep for the morning hour, especially a morning when he woke in the bed of a woman he desired, he kissed her. That her kiss aroused him as strongly as it had before, despite how thoroughly he had satisfied his lust last night, pleased him even as it disturbed him. It could be part of the reason he had not been haunted last night.

“’Tis morning, Brett,” Triona protested halfheartedly as he kissed his way down her body until he began to lavish attention on her breasts. “We shouldnae do this now.” His kiss had already stirred her desire for him strongly enough that she hoped he had a good argument as to why they should indulge their passion again, no matter what time of the day it was.

Brett was pleased with the challenge of proving her wrong. His desire for her was running hot, but his own thoughts were scattered. Now he could set those thoughts on one very clear path, showing a faintly blushing Triona that they could and would make love in the morning. Soon her gasps of pleasure, the movement of her soft skin against his, and the way the heat of her desire wrapped itself around him, drove every thought from his head.

 

 

Triona was still panting when her mind finally cleared of passion’s haze. She could feel the faintly damp heat of Brett’s breath against her neck and knew he was also recovering, his breathing slowing back to normal. The fact that she, little Triona McKee, could make such a man weak enough to collapse in her arms, unable to do more than struggle to breathe for several minutes, was enough to make her heart swell with pride.

With the fading of her desire, however, came the realization that she had a very large man sprawled on top of her. They were also both a little sweaty. Then her stomach rumbled in an embarrassingly loud reminder that she had not yet broken her fast. She blushed when he laughed, pushed himself up on his forearms, and grinned at her.

“Aye, ’tis time to eat.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss and then got up and began to tug on his clothes. “I will try to nay march boldly from your bedchamber like some conquering hero,” he assured her and then left, still lacing up his shirt.

Triona stared at the door for a moment before sitting up. “Conquering hero?” she muttered as she got up and went to wash off with the now tepid water Nessie had brought to her earlier.

By the time she reached the great hall to break her fast, only Arianna remained. Triona frowned as she sat down and chose food from the sadly depleted platters and bowls. The men were often gone, leaving early to hunt for Sir John and returning late and empty-handed. Yet in the last few days, the long absences had only gotten worse, and she even wondered if Sir John was really what they were now hunting for. She also sensed that there was something they were not telling her.

“Ye are looking a bit irritated for a woman who spent such a wonderful night,” drawled Arianna.

Triona cursed. “Nessa.”

“Aye, she was most talkative.”

It was impossible not to blush, but Triona knew it was not shame that heated her cheeks, for she still felt none, only embarrassment over someone knowing something so deeply personal about her. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you, Cousin.”

Arianna waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “I am nay disappointed. Ye are a widow and nay some young virgin. Ye have earned the right to do as ye please.” She bit her lip and then sighed. “I but hope ye—weel, that ye are nay thinking ye have just found a husband. Nay that he might ne’er decide to be just that for you, but—”

“I ken it,” Triona said, interrupting her cousin’s stumbling words. “That is nay what I seek, and I willnae allow myself to hope for it. I but wanted, just once, to choose for myself who climbed into my bed.”

“Och, aye, I can understand that. I had some choice with my first husband, in that my family truly desired the match and I was fooled by Claud’s charms. Yet I didnae really choose, did I? I acquiesced. I chose Brian and, to be honest, I also chose him, in heart and mind, as a lover before there was talk of his being a husband. Nay only that, but then I had to make him see sense, or he would have sent me away because of some fool’s idea of nay being good enough for me. His pride, too, in a way.”

“And how fares the trouble between the two of ye?”

“’Tis settled. I am still puzzled o’er how he could forget a wife, but he has explained himself and I finally calmed enough to try to see it all through his eyes.” She grinned. “Through the eyes of a MacFingal male. Instead, I actually feel bad for poor Mavis. She died young and left so little mark. But Brian and I are fully reconciled now, and we will be staying here until the troubles plaguing ye are done.”

“That is verra kind of ye.”

“’Tis nay just because ye are kin, either. What is happening here is wrong. Verra wrong. If that liege laird of yours would just come and look at Banuilt, come and talk with ye and your people, he would see that ye need no mon if ye choose to have none. And, as Brian says, the fact that it is the verra ones who swore to be your allies, hurting ye and your people, makes it all the more wrong.”

“I ken it could help if my liege laird came here just once, but I would prefer he just forget about me. He is of the ilk that believes no woman can fare weel without a mon at her side.” Triona began to cut up an apple. “So Brian is off hunting with the others?”

“He is, but I am wondering if it is really Sir John they search for at the moment.”

“I was just wondering the same thing.” Triona tensed and looked at Arianna. “Do ye think they may have found some hint of what has happened to my garrison?”

“Mayhap. If they have, we best pray it is good news.”

Triona sighed and nodded.

As the day wore on and she suffered no trouble or unkindness from her people, only the occasional laughter-filled teasing from some of the women, she realized she would not lose their respect for having a lover, and relaxed. The only thing that continued to trouble her was that Brett might not be telling her exactly what he and the others were now looking for. When he returned that evening, she briefly considered confronting him and demanding to know what was going on, but discarded the idea as they tumbled into bed. She would do her best to just leave him to the search, certain he would tell her anything she had to know if necessary, and also keep praying that it all turned out well.

 

 

“Are ye certain about this, Harcourt?” asked Brett as he stared through the trees at the ruin of a peel tower where a few rough-looking men stood guard. “How could Sir John keep near thirty men in there?” This was the third place they had come to in as many days, this one chosen by Harcourt and Callum, and even though he had the greatest confidence in their abilities, he feared they were about to be disappointed again.

“Note the bars and the heavy doors. They are new. I spoke with the mon who put them there. The only openings are ones to put food in and to take waste out. There are also chains, shackles, and rings set in the wall to hold a mon with rope or chains. He said he guessed it must be a prison the laird wanted, something far from his own keep so that he didnae have to worry about kinsmen trying to free someone.”

“Jesu,” Brian whispered. “Near two years held in there? If ye are right, how many could still be alive?”

“I couldnae get close enough to have a look,” said Callum. “Nay sure I would have seen much if I had, as there is no way to look inside of the place, every opening covered in bars and heavy iron-banded doors. Couldnae get any idea from the people in the village of how many prisoners might be held there, either. They take food there from time to time, but it didnae sound like much. I also watched the guards help themselves to a lot that came to this place, picking o’er what was in the carts and setting it aside. A few people in the village are suddenly living verra weel.”

“The guards are from the village?”

“Aye. I was told they are rough men, too, nay weel liked or trusted.”

“Hired swords,” said Brett. “So, since we cannae be certain the Banuilt men are being held in there, I am nay sure what to do next. My doubt is stirred mostly by how close this is to Gormfeurach. Sir John has to ken that, if we found the men here, it would implicate him.”

“I feel certain it is the Banuilt men in there,” said Harcourt. “I had the old mon who cares for the stable at Banuilt describe some of the horses that the men rode when they left to go to France. I have seen horses matching his descriptions in the village, at the homes of the men guarding this place. Nay all of the horses—some I suspect may be found at Gormfeurach—but a few.”

“I think that proof enough to go down there and demand a look,” said Brian.

Brett studied the place, counting only six guards. There were twelve in their own group, so the odds were definitely in their favor. It would also mean that they could subdue the guards without bloodshed, which would be wise if it turned out that the prisoners being held were not the garrison of Banuilt.