Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga (13 page)

“You could maybe write to them.”

“If I could write, or if any of them could read, I surely would, no’ that it would do any good,” she snapped. “But it won’t. Your people are still alive. You can make amends. The brother
I
had is lost forever. I canno’ ask him to forgive me, and Lord knows my father won’t. He probably shouldn’t, either.” Her voice wavered, and the silvery light of moon glittered in eyes heavy with the weight of unshed tears.

His chest tightened and he reached for her hand, but she shook him off. “What happened, Fiona?”

Drawing a hand across her face, she said, “I wanted to run away with Ross. Da sent Kenneth to fetch me, and Ross killed him.” She sniffed once, and gave him a truncated shake of her head. Her lips pursed, her jaw clenched, and her fingers twisted and curled in the fabric of her skirt. But it wasn’t her angry words that tightened his chest, it was the despair and disappointment in her expression. “I think I’d like to go back now.”

He didn’t understand her world, but she surely seemed to understand his. He’d spent the last several years mourning all he had lost, without appreciating the advantages he’d been given and everything he still had. Approaching her, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I am so sorry, Fiona.”

“Of course you are,” she returned bitterly, shaking him off.

He cupped her face in his hands and she surprised him by allowing it. “Listen, Fiona, I meant no insult.”

The mirthless smile she gave him twisted in his gut. “‘Tis fine,” she said. “Just take me back now.”

“Fiona . . .”

Disappointment settled in her eyes, and he hated that he had put it there. “We’re no’ the same, Mr. Mackay. I think it’s time you took me back to the hotel.”

Just like that, she thought to dismiss him. “You don’t think so?” he asked. “Because I think we’re not so different, you and I.”

“You have roots and a clan. I have no one, and mayhap I prefer it that way. ‘Tis easier than losing them later on.” Naked pain flashed across her features before her expression settled into an inscrutable mask. “Tell me, what do a gypsy woman and a treasured son and brother have in common? I’ll rob you blind and put a hex on you just as soon as look at you. I am what I am, Mr. Mackay, and there’s no changing me. If there’s nothing more, you should take me back to the hotel.”

“Fiona . . .” He saw the protest rising to her lips before that single word even left his mouth.

So he did the only thing he could think of to silence her. He leaned in and kissed her.

Her lips were soft, and she tasted faintly like honey and spring flowers. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she melted into him, allowing him to plunder the heat of her mouth, gliding deep.

She was bright and wild and irresistible. He should turn from her now, before things became complicated, because a part of him was sure that if he turned his back for even a second, she’d make good on her threat and rob him blind.

He didn’t, because she had already stolen the only thing he had worth having.

Loosening the pins from her hair and tossing them into the dirt, he released her curls from the tight knot at the nape of her neck. Threaded his fingers into her hair, like he’d wanted to the night he’d met her in the dancehall.

She placed her hands on his chest and stepped back. “Cameron.”

His heart sang at the sound of his name on her lips. He opened his eyes and regarded her for a moment. Her face was flushed, her lips slick and swollen from his kisses, her eyes lidded with passion, and the mere sight was enough to unman him. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, her skin as soft as rose petals beneath his fingers.

“Don’t go.” His heart clenched when a tear escaped from beneath her thick, dark lashes. “Stay with me.” He tilted her head back and kissed her again.

Fiona’s heart broke and was made whole all in the same instant. He should have let her go. She should have made him.

There were a lot of things she should have done that she wouldn’t do.

He didn’t understand her. He was a good man who came from a decent family, and who had people to go back to. The future ahead of him was bright and full of prosperity and promise—she’d seen it. She was nothing but gypsy who’d abandoned her band when she was little more than a child. A woman responsible for the death of her brother, who hoped for neither salvation nor forgiveness.

There was nothing for her, here or anywhere else. But when he touched her, none of that mattered, their differences melting away.

Her wandering heart wanted a home.

So she let him kiss her. She allowed the passion swimming between them. She gave herself permission to take what he offered and to forget the fact the one thing he truly wanted was not beating in her chest but resting in her pocket.

He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. Gesturing in the direction of his shack, he repeated, “Stay with me?”

Before her lay an open door and a choice. She glanced back in the direction of Midnight, the path she ought to take—the one she
would
take if she had any sense. If she took those few steps into his shack, she’d likely leave her heart there. If she went back now, she could avoid the heartache.

He stroked her hand and stepped closer to her. Not demanding, as her husband and Seamus would have done. Asking. As if what she wanted mattered to him.

The horse nickered and tossed his head. The action caught her attention and held it as she marveled at the majestic beast. The animal possessed a certain wildness that stood in stark contrast to the gentleness she sensed in Cameron, yet it was that gentleness that tamed him without breaking his spirit.

She must have hesitated for a moment too long because Cameron gave her a quick kiss, and said, “It’s all right. I’ll take you home.”

Home. As if she even knew what that was. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, her hands shaking so badly she had to fist them to keep them steady. As he moved past her, she said, “Cameron.” He turned to her, and she would have been blind to miss the hope in his eyes. He waited for her to speak, silent, and she said, “I think I’d like to stay a little longer.”

She accepted the hand he extended to her and went with him inside.

The door closed behind her. Fear and desire mingled beneath Fiona’s breast and her heart stuttered as the unfamiliar sensation coursed through her and settled in her limbs. Despite all she’d done and all she would continue to do, she’d always been fearless. It was the one thing about her Seamus respected.

Maybe she’d not had so much to lose before.

Instead of coming for her immediately, as her husband would have done, Cameron simply released her hand, lit the lamp, and placed it on a table next to his bed. The shack was little more than four walls, a sink, and a stove. A table and chair sat on one end of the room and a neatly made bed on the other. Cameron seemed to swallow all the space, filling every corner, until she was overwhelmed by his presence.

He turned to her, took off his coat, and his lips curled into a warm, sweet smile. Standing in his vest and his plain, white shirt, he looked even broader and more muscular, the vest stretched tight over his midsection. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on him, no hint of a paunch, and the mere sight of him temporarily stole her breath from her lungs.

“Would you like something to eat? Maybe something to drink?”

Startled, she brought her eyes to his face. She hadn’t expected an offer of food and drink. She’d expected a quick tumble before she returned to the city. She was about to refuse him when her stomach rumbled, and she said, “That would be nice.”

He grabbed a loaf of bread from a cupboard above the sink. “I don’t have much. Some bread, some dried meat, and a little cheese.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Fiona was surprised her words weren’t a lie.

He handed her a plate and set the kettle on the stove to heat. “I’m sorry I don’t have many places to sit. I don’t often have company.” He lifted a shoulder. “Or ever. It’s always just been me.”

He gestured for her to sit in the chair. She accepted, and he took a seat on his bed.

She took a bite. “So, you don’t bring your women here?”

He shrugged, but his gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “No. You would be the first.” He moved over to the stove, poured some water from a pitcher. “Would you like some coffee?”

She grinned at both his offer and his abrupt shift in topic. “Sure.”

He busied himself with the kettle and was silent as he did so. A old, worn tartan lay across the table, neatly folded, and Fiona fingered the faded green and blue fabric. The cloth was so old she was surprised it didn't fall apart beneath her hands.

“This is lovely.”

Cameron glanced over his shoulder. “My brother's wife sent it a few weeks ago. It's the family tartan.”

“How old is it?”

“I don't know. Old. My great-grandfather brought it over here when he was kicked off his land during the Clearances. At least a hundred years old, by my reckoning. Probably older than that.”

Fiona's heart twisted. It was another thing they had and common, she and Cameron Mackay. Her family had been evicted from their land during the Clearances, though the good Lord knew her family hadn't made anything of themselves like Cameron's family had. Instead, for generations, they'd wandered the hills of Scotland and, later, America, entertaining and thieving to make their way.

That
was Fiona's legacy, a history so similar to his, but with a path quite divergent.

His eyes caught hers, and he grinned. He would never know that the smiles made her heart soar while at the same time festering in her gut, as she acknowledged the ugly truth standing between them.

They could never be anything more than this night.

She’d stolen his legacy, his link to his family. Even if she hadn’t, she was still a gypsy. She might toy with the idea of leaving the band in whatever city came next, but didn’t hold out hope she’d be able to do it. Twice already, Seamus had found the money she’d secreted away and taken it. Though she might not like the life she led, she knew nothing else. She had no other skills, save thieving and fortune-telling. Her father had always praised his daughter’s wandering heart, saying she was a true Tinker, never content to stay in one place for long.

That is, until her wandering heart had led her astray.

But she refused to think about that now.

Cameron handed her a battered tin cup, and as he did so, his fingers brushed against hers and lingered for too long, his touch a lightning bolt that seared her soul and numbed her mind. The effect was even more potent because it was unintentional.

He cleared his throat and stepped away, and she knew he’d felt it, too. He wasn’t the only one in the room who was electric.

Fiona put the cup on the table, then took his work-roughened hand and placed it on her waist. “Cameron.”

He stepped forward, enveloping her in his embrace. Holding her close, he said roughly, “Fiona.”

He didn’t kiss her. He simply stood there, encircling her with his arms, and gazing at her with devotion in his hazel eyes. Her heart slammed against her ribs as the walls she’d carefully constructed began to crack. She ran her hand up his chest, up his neck, and into the wavy red hair just barely reaching his collar. Beneath her fingers, his heartbeat raged, a galloping pace matching her own.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and she knew he believed it.

You, too
, she thought, biting back the words. No need to ruin their time together with words that would only hurt the both of them. So instead of answering, she went up on her toes and laid a kiss upon his mouth.

Cameron growled low in his throat, heat spiraling between them as he crushed his lips against hers. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and when she opened her mouth to accept him, his tongue carried the hint of mint she had begun to associate with him. Passion uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, a delicious ache that left her gasping and wanting more.

Deft fingers unbuttoned her high-collared blouse, skimming over the tops of her breasts as he pushed the fabric from her shoulders and she pressed into him. Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she removed his vest and with trembling fingers began unbuttoning his shirt. After the first few buttons, she exposed his undershirt and placed a kiss upon the bare flesh she found there.

He cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her forehead. “We have all night, sweet,” he whispered.

All night
. She shivered at the promise in his voice. No quick tumble and a return to her hotel, where she would sleep alone in her cold and empty bed. All night. With him.

“No.” She swallowed against a throat as dry as desert sand. “I can’t stay.”

His expression shifted, anger creasing the corners of the mouth that could kiss her senseless and leave her wanting. But he said nothing. His hazel eyes scanned her face, his hands patient, as if he had all the time in the world. Maybe he actually believed that they did.

She knew better.

Her legs went weak and began to shake. The ferocity of the passion she felt for him overrode her good sense. To have this night was worth more than her broken heart. To feel beautiful, to be loved by a man so undeniably
good
as Cameron Mackay, even if only for a single night, would give her memories to treasure through the long, lonely nights that would follow.

But it wasn’t worth Cameron’s life, if Seamus found them. They had a few hours—she could allow nothing more.

Intent on again insisting that their time be cut short, she lifted her chin. But his strong, callused fingers tripped down the length of her neck and traced her collarbone, a touch so achingly tender, she fought to suppress the moan springing to her lips. Instead, desire clung to the strangled sound that escaped.

His eyes darkened with lust, and he settled his mouth on hers.

The kiss was soft, not demanding or forceful, though passion raged behind it. Her eyes drifted shut. She’d never been kissed like
that
before. Unhurried, undemanding, as if Cameron didn’t need to claim her or mark her as his. Maybe because he already knew he had her. Maybe because he thought they had all the time in the world to make her burn for him.

He gently stroked her tongue with his, pressing into the moist heat of her mouth only to withdraw and begin again. Her nipples puckered at the thought of a night with him, hours spent exploring one another’s bodies, of running her hands along his chest, of kissing until neither one of them could stand.

She put her hands against his chest to create distance between them. He reached for her, but with a shake of her head, she said, “Hold on there, handsome.”

He dropped his hands and fisted them by his sides, but not before she noticed that his hands shook too. She took in the unabashed lust darkening his features. The intensity of the desire she saw in his expression mirrored her own.

Slowly, she reached up and slid his braces from his shoulders. Tugging his shirt from the waistband, she unbuttoned the rest of it, and removed it from his body. Standing there in nothing but his undershirt and his trousers, he looked even more powerful than he did fully clothed, the definition of his muscular chest visible through the thin, worn fabric. She ran her hands along the hard planes of his body and he hissed a breath. He put his hands on her hips and started to bring her closer to him.

“Wait.” She took another step away from him, and again he surprised her by allowing it. Swallowing hard, she inched her skirt and petticoat from her hips and stood before him in nothing but her underclothes.

In her single year of marriage, she’d never felt as exposed as she did then, standing in front of Cameron in nothing more than her corset, her stockings and her worn chemise. These were not the beautiful underthings of the doves of the brothels or the lace undergarments of a bride, but the common garments of a peasant.

She offered herself to him just as she was, and swallowed hard while she waited for him to accept her or turn her away.

His nostrils flared, his breathing shallow and rough as though he’d just run a great distance. The muscles in the side of his face worked, and this time when he reached for her, there was no give in his touch. Grasping her by the arms, he whirled her around until her back was flush against his chest.

“Cameron,” she whispered.

He buried his face against her neck, running his tongue along the tender flesh just below her ear, and worked the stays of her corset. “You cannot offer me
that
and expect me to wait,” he growled. “It will be over before it begins.”

The vibration of his voice against the sensitive skin of her neck caused her knees to weaken. She pressed back against his body, his thick erection hard against her back, and Fiona had her first moment of real doubt.

There was
more
of him than she had expected. What if she couldn’t . . .

Her fears evaporated like water in the desert when he kissed her neck, then lifted the corset over her head, his fingers brushing over her nipples through her linen chemise. He cupped her breasts in his big hands and kneaded them gently, her nipples puckering, her breasts swollen and aching for him. The sweetness of his touch was overwhelming, and she turned in his arms.

His eyes were lidded with passion. He divested himself of undershirt, and beneath her searching fingers, the sleek, hard muscles bunched. Bending her head, she licked one of his flat nipples, and he groaned low in his throat.

He walked her backward until the bed pressed against her knees and she sat down. Kneeling in front of her, he ran his hands underneath her chemise to slide down her stockings.

He movements were achingly slow, his fingers brushing against the bare flesh on the inside of her knee. Unhurried, his expression serious, he turned his attention to her other leg, and began his careful ministrations again. And from the sensation of his fingers against her delicate skin, Fiona nearly came undone.

His fingers skimmed the senstive skin of her inner thigh and desire tightened her stomach.

“Oh, God, Cameron,” she moaned.

The corners of his mouth tugged up in seductive smile. “You like that?”

Taking her hand, he brought her to him and, in one swift movement, had her chemise up and over her head. An instant later, her drawers hit the floor, and she wasn’t even sure how that had happened. He laid her back against his bed, his hard body coming down over hers, and her thighs parted to accommodate him. She expected him to take her quickly, but he rolled to his side, taking her with him, then hitched one of her legs over his hips. His tongue darted into her mouth and his body rocked against hers, setting a fast-paced rhythm as his body glided against hers.

She wanted him to soothe the ache building in the pit of her stomach. She wanted his body not merely against hers, but inside her. She wanted
all
of him.

“Doona make me wait,” she begged, moving restlessly against him.

He gifted her with a wicked smile, and her blood, already on fire, heated some more. “Patience, lass,” he whispered against her collarbone. “Now that I have you exactly where I want you, I don’t intend to stop.”

Her stomach clenched at his words, her heart skittering at the unmitigated desire coursing through her, threatening to break her. Then he dipped his head and took the peak of one nipple into his mouth, and she lost all control.

She arched against him, threading her fingers into his hair and holding his head in place.

His laugh rumbled against her skin, and she gasped from the sheer pleasure of it. His mouth against her skin, his warm breath, his fingers exploring her body—it all became too much to take. This was what it meant to be truly ready for a man, where she felt like, if he didn’t take her then, she would lose her mind.

She rolled to her back and lifted her hips, and, bracing his weight on his forearms, he eased into her. A startled gasp escaped her as her body adjusted to him. He stilled, his hand coming up to caress her face in a touch so tender she thought she might die.

“You all right?” he whispered.

Wrapping her leg around his waist, she moved beneath him. The movement slid him farther into her body, and he made a pained sound. She moved again, and his eyes closed as he began to tremble.

“I’m trying to go slow,” he said.

“Maybe I don’t want slow.”

His features tightened with lust. He groaned and altered his pace to fast and insistent, and it was glorious. She was no innocent, but she hadn’t understood how good it could be between a man a woman. She had no idea how powerful it would be to clasp him, to hold him as he moved inside her. She hadn’t figured that when he touched the deepest parts of her body, he’d touch her soul as well.