The Highlander's Sin (24 page)

“Och, lass…” he ground out. “Ye torment me with your touch.”

“I hope in a good way?” She smiled up at him.

His lids were half lowered with pleasure, and a slow, wicked grin curled his lips. “Aye, verra good.”

Duncan gripped her skirts at her thigh and tugged until the fabric was hiked up around her hips.

“Shall I torment ye?” he asked, stroking a finger between her thighs, over the dewy folds of her sex.

Sharp, pleasurable sensation riveted her. Heather moaned, canted her hips forward, urging him on. Tugging at her gown, he freed a hardened nipple to the summer air and his waiting, velvet tongue. Duncan swept the tip back and forth before drawing it into his mouth to suckle. Tingles fired throughout her body, centering in all the right places. She arched her back, succumbing to the magic he induced.

“Ye’re ready,” he said, bringing
his mouth to hers. He sucked on her lower lip. “More than ready.”

He lifted her enough so she could wrap her legs around him. As she descended onto his lap, he guided his shaft through the slickened folds of her sex and thrust up, entering her roughly, deliciously.

Both of them cried out at his invasion. Duncan stilled them both, letting her adjust as he gazed into her eyes.

“I love ye, lass. I think since the moment I saw ye on your knees begging forgiveness for being who ye are. I’ll never ask ye to change, nor make ye plead for mercy. I love ye just the way ye are.”

Sweet music to her ears. Heather smiled, shifting her hips forward, both of them lost for a moment in that delicious sensation. “I love ye, too. Probably from the moment ye made me climb onto your back and face my fears. No one has ever understood me the way ye do, nor accepted me.”

“Ye’re my wife.”

“Aye, for the rest of my days.” She pressed her lips to his, staring at his dark eyes for moments, before her eyes closed with pleasure.

Uncertain of how to move, Heather let instinct and Duncan’s hands on her hips guide her, rocking her back and forth, up and down. Their mouths stayed locked, swallowing each other’s cries between tender nips and decadent sucks. His pace was steady at first but grew to quickened thrusts. She could barely breathe. Sensation whipped through her like the storm they’d ridden out in the cave, pounding her with ecstasy, and just when she thought she’d had enough, another gust of pure pleasure would knock her down.

She gripped tight to his shoulders, her head thrown back in a moan of decadence as each thrust brought her closer to the edge of release. Duncan drove in harder, his fingers gripped tighter to her hips. And then she was there, crying out her pleasure for all the forest to hear, and not caring a fig for anything but the pleasure they created together.

“Oh, Duncan!”

He sealed her mouth with a kiss, drinking in her moan. He tasted her, sweeping his tongue inside to meld with hers. Duncan thrust harder, vigorous in his effort, bringing her completion full circle, until her body wound tight again and suddenly sprang free once more. Then he left her suddenly, and with a heavy, masculine groan, he spilled his seed into his hand. Even in such a moment of delirium, he’d recalled her desire to put off conceiving children.

“Thank ye,” she murmured.

He touched his forehead to hers, their gazes locking, breath heavy, hearts pounding in unison. “I should be the one to give my gratitude.”

Heather smiled
, touched her fingers to his lips and shuddered. “We please each other.”

“More than ye know.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“S
houldn’t we hurry?” Heather asked.

Duncan held tight to her hand, feeling immeasurable comfort in her small grip and knowing
she walked beside him. He’d led her a short distance farther into the woods away from the road, where a thin, winding creek cut through the trees.

He tugged a piece of cloth from one of his satchels the innkeeper had been kind enough to find and attach to the saddle of the nag. Bending toward the creek,
he washed his hands and dipped the cloth in the water, soaking it.

“Aye, we should hurry, but first I want to wash ye.” He caressed Heather’s ankle with his free hand and glanced up at her, feeling overwhelming emotion tighten his chest. “Lift your gown, my lady.”

Her face colored prettily, but she did as he asked, slowly dragging the fabric up over her lithe legs. A vision he could stare at all day.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “I wish we could stay here the rest of the day, and possibly tomorrow.”

“That would be the death of us.”

He nodded, knowing the seriousness of their peril. “We’ll
ride hard to Pluscarden. I will not let harm come to ye, Heather.” Duncan slid the cloth over her calf, up her inner thigh, and settled on the juncture covered in dewy curls. “But, first, I want to clean ye.”

“All right,” she sighed.

“If we were safely ensconced in a chamber of our own,”—he trailed the wet cloth down her opposite thigh and then dipped it back in the water,—“I would have bathed ye in a tub of scented water.”

“That sounds heavenly. Would I have bathed ye, too?”

He grinned up at her, every wicked thought probably showing on his face. “Och, aye, lass. Again and again.”

“Then we’d best arrange
to have a chamber and a warm bath soon.” Eagerness brimmed her words, and a smile tugged at her lips.

“I’ll see that we do.” And, damn, if he wasn’t going to keep her up all night as soon as they closed the door.

“Will we be going to your home? Away from the abbey?”

Duncan stilled. His home. He’d not been there in nearly twenty years. Not since the day his family had packed for their journey to
Dingwall. “My home,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Aye, Duncan. Ye’ve yet to tell me anything about it.”

He stared at her feet, dainty things encased in brown leather boots.

“Nay, I haven’t.”
A cold rock settled in his gut.

“If we are to marry, dinna ye think ye might share it with me?”

“A conversation best left for another time.” He wrung out the cloth. “For now, we must make haste to the abbey.”

Heather frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. Stubborn lass. “I’ll not leave where I stand until ye tell me. I’ve already agreed to marry ye. I love ye, Duncan. Nothing ye can say will make me change my mind, nor will it make me despise ye.”

Duncan stayed knelt on the ground, his gaze fixed on hers. “That is not what I fear.”

Heather bent down, her knees touching his, and took his hand in her grasp. Duncan fixed his gaze on
their enfolded hands.

“What do ye fear?” she asked.

“I fear my clan will not forgive me.” The words spilled out without his permission. He swallowed hard, hearing the sounds of his family screaming as they were cut down by Heather’s own blood. “I fear they will not accept me. They think me dead these past twenty years.”

“What horror have ye done?” She pressed gentle fingers to his chin and forced him to gaze at her.

He was never so immobilized, so weak with fear, than when he thought about that day.

Swallowing hard, he opened his mouth to speak
, but no words came out. No matter what she’d said, Heather would look at him differently now. Of that he was certain. That inevitability made it hard for him to form words. He couldn’t live with himself, if she were not to love him.

“Their death.
’Tis my greatest sin.”

She sucked in a breath. “Ye killed…people from your clan
?”

He nodded, shook his head. “Not directly.”

“What does that mean?” Her voice was soft, begging for explanation.

“Their deaths are on my hands.”

She shook her head. “But ye said my uncle—”

He waved away her words. “Aye, ’twas his sword, but I allowed them to have access to my family. All of them. I left the gate open, and the enemy snuck inside.”

The stricken, horror-filled expression on Heather’s face was too much for Duncan to bear. He thrust her hands away and jumped to his feet.

“Dinna ye see? I dinna deserve ye or your love. I deserve no more than what I am. A mercenary. A man of death and a man offering redemption for everyone but himself.”

Heather, too, leapt to her feet, the look on her face enough to make him take a step back, though he kept his feet firmly rooted to the ground.

“Ye’re an idiot!”

“Dear me,” he pressed his hand to his chest, “let us cut straight to the bone with insults.”

“Nay, ye listen. Ye were but a boy. ’Twas an accident leaving the gate open. Not intentional. The guards should have been on the
lookout. Should have warned of men approaching, breaching the walls. Was not my uncle meeting there with your clan willingly? Your laird and he discussing a truce? How could one boy be at fault for the evils of men?”

The words she spoke were true, they made sense, but even still, Duncan could not heed them. He shook his head.

“There was no time. They snuck in through the door.”

“Or perhaps your laird’s men were not true to him. Could it be that they led the men to that gate? Or maybe another gate? ’Haps the men even climbed over the wall as your laird’s guards turned a blind eye?”

“They would not betray my father!”

Heather gaped, taking a step back. “Your…father?”

Duncan glared at her. “Aye.” He bowed. “Laird MacKay at your service.”

“Laird MacKay,” she whispered, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Ye…ye’re a laird?”

“By birthright only.” Damn it. He’d not meant to tell her like this, not with such anger. Surely she would turn tail and run.

“Your people… They think ye’re dead?” she whispered.

How long until she upended her belly? “Missing. Presumed dead.”

“Who stands in your place?” With each question, her voice grew stronger. What was the lass about?

Duncan shrugged. “An uncle.”

“Ye must take your place. ’Tis your right. Your duty.”
The demanding Heather had returned.

Duncan studied her for a long time. She didn’t understand the situation, couldn’t, if she thought it so simple.
“They will not accept me, knowing I was the true reason behind the death of their beloved laird.”

“But they will. Ye must explain it to them.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I will not.”

“Is there no one who can speak for ye?”

“The only man who could have spoken for me saved my life on his last draw of breath. The monks at Pluscarden, they know who I am, what I’ve become. I could never expect them to vouch for me.”

“Ye must try.”

He ground his teeth in annoyance. “Why? Why should I take my seat as laird? Because ye want to be a princess and live in a castle?”

Heather took a step away from him, her lips set in a grim, sad line. “Nay, Duncan. Because it is your duty.”

“Duty? It was my duty to protect my family then, and I failed. They will not believe I can do it again.”

“Ye’re a coward. Ye dinna believe ye can do it yourself. Ye’re the only one holding ye back.”

Her words struck a deep chord. He was scared. He’d admitted that much to her already. Looking his people in the eye and facing his past… He’d never planned to do it. He’d sought only to avenge his family and live out his life alone. But Heather had changed all of that.

“Why do ye have to be such a meddler?” he grumbled. “I will nay do it. End of discussion. We need to leave afore we are found.”

She said nothing, only gave a curt nod.

“Ye can ride the nag.” He lifted her onto the horse. “Stay close to me.”

Again, she gave him the curt nod. Damn, but he wanted to know what she was thinking. Then again, he dreaded knowing her thoughts.

“We’ll marry as soon as we reach the abbey. Then we’ll face your brothers side by side,” he said.

“I dinna need ye to protect me from my brothers,” she said.

“Nay,” he chuckled. “But I may need ye to hold me back when they try to take ye away.”

“They will not take me away.” She stared straight ahead as she spoke so matter-of-factly.

“They will try.”
He gripped the reins tight, the leather biting into his palm.

Heather locked her solemn gaze on his.
“I will not let them.”

He returned her gaze.
“Neither will I.”

Duncan mounted Blade and spurred him forward. They followed the creek, crossing over a quarter mile down then riding up a hill through the forest. He had no plans to go back to the main road. Riding through the trees was the best course of action for their safety. They were pursued on all sides, he had to assume, by two very different enemies, one of whom he’d have to embrace.

“How much longer to the abbey?” Heather asked a few hours later.

They rode overtop a ridge and, in the valley some distance away, he spotted the
motte and castle ruins where they’d camped together the first night. How he’d admired her then. The way she’d stood up to him, attempted to run, and hopped on the wooden stool as a deadly rat had threatened their lives. He’d loved her even then, listening to her rant at him and call him names. The moment they’d first opened their mouths and exchanged words had been profound. She was someone who kept up with him, understood him. No two minds could have been more alike and yet so different.

“Not much longer. An hour or two.” When he and the monks had hiked on foot, their journey had taken nearly an entire day. On horseback, the time it took would be cut severely. “We’ll make it safely,” he promised.

She nodded, still not making much conversation with him. He’d been cruel to accuse her of wanting him to take his place as laird only because she wanted to live in a castle. How many times had she told him she wished for adventure, to live in a war camp with Wallace and his men? Though he’d accused her of being spoiled, there were so many ways in which she wasn’t.

Her family had loved her, indulged her, kept her spirit alive, and aye, while it wasn’t the norm, he was glad they’d spoiled her in that way. She wouldn’t have been the woman he loved if they’d not.

Who knew that upon following orders, he’d find the woman meant for him? Duncan stilled his horse and gripped on to Heather’s reins, slowing her mount to a stop. He tugged her closer until their thighs touched and he could wrap his arm around her waist. He nuzzled against her neck, curled a loose tendril of her hair around his finger.

“I dinna know what I’d do without ye, lass. If ye want me to take my seat, I will.”

Heather slid her arms around his waist and squeezed. “I dinna want ye to do anything ye dinna want.” She sighed. “If there is anything I’ve learned from my brothers, ’tis that a man is not whole, not true, until he claims all that is his. I’ll never truly have all of ye, and ye’ll never truly give all of yourself. There will always be a hole inside ye, a need, a question, a guilt. Leave your fears to chase behind ye, rather than facing them, fighting them, conquering them, and ye’re but a prisoner. Set yourself free.” She glanced up, large, heather-colored eyes fixing on his. “I’ll be here no matter what. I’ll wait for ye to battle it out on your own, or I’ll come right along with ye, stand beside ye. But only ye can make that choice. Your clan will forgive ye. Ye just have to forgive yourself.”

Her profound words struck a deep chord within him. Duncan leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth. “For a woman, ye’re surprisingly wise.”

She laughed and slapped at his arms. “And for a man, ye’re fairly predictable in your bigotry.”