The Witch and The Warrior (38 page)

The nobility beating within her tiny breast was staggering.

He shed his wet garments and stretched himself over her, covering her with his warmth and strength. He wanted to possess her, to hold her tight against him and lose himself inside her, to chain her to him with his body and mind and soul, so that she would never leave him, never know the touch of another man, and most of all so that she would never barter with her precious life as she had tonight. She was his, and she had to understand that, not with words, but with the heavy press of his thighs against hers, with the rough stroke of his tongue upon her taut nipple, the sun-bronzed splay of his hand grasping her creamy hip, and the harsh moan that escaped his throat as he buried himself deep within her velvet wet heat. A startled gasp escaped her lips, and he felt the bite of her nails as she clutched the muscles in his back, pulling him even closer against her small, silky body. He ravaged her mouth as he drove himself into her, tasting her deeply, thoroughly, feeling her cries of pleasure vibrate against his lips and teeth. Again and again he plunged into her as he drank in her beauty and strength and courage, feeling more a part of her with each aching penetration, stretching and filling her with his desperate need, until finally he did not know where he ended and she began. His mind began to spin as he lost himself to her, touching and kissing and gripping and thrusting, acutely aware of her slippery hot tightness as she held him safe inside her, the rapid flutter of her heart as it beat against his chest, the tangle of her slender legs as she twined them around his thighs, and the painful ache as he moved in and out of her, desperately trying to bind her to him, and feeling instead like he was being chained forever to her. He could not breathe, could not think, could not stop, could not do anything except lunge into her again and again, faster, harder, his body straining for release from this sublime torture. And suddenly he was soaring through the night, and he cried out her name in despair. He never wanted it to end, but his body could bear no more and so he rammed himself as far into her as he could, filling her with every fragment of his flesh and his soul before collapsing helplessly against her.

Gwendolyn lay utterly still, feeling the pounding of MacDunn's heart against her breast and the warm caress of his breath upon her neck. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him, feeling briefly, impossibly safe, as if the muscular shield of his beautiful body and the inexorable power of his will could protect her from anything. Outside, the storm was still howling with awesome fury, making another attack on the castle impossible tonight. This was a fragile, stolen moment, she realized, tightening her hold on MacDunn, that would never come again.

It will be mine,
Robert had vowed. Robert would not rest until he had forced Gwendolyn to give the stone to him. Which she would never do. It mattered little that he would certainly kill her once he held that powerful talisman in the crush of his palm. What was of consequence was the fact that he would use the stone to obtain the power he so lusted for, enabling him to vanquish all those who would rise against him. As long as she remained in this castle, Alex and his people were in grave danger. Robert had made it clear he thought nothing of destroying their homes and brutally slaying them. Although the MacDunns had demonstrated enormous courage in their stand against the MacSweens, she had felt their anguish as they watched their beloved homes being torched as surely as if it had been her own. She did not doubt Alex would fight to the absolute limits of his ability to protect her. In his desperate bid to save the life of his son, Alex had unwittingly brought death and suffering to his people.

And she was the cause of it.

She swallowed the despair welling in her throat, and vainly tried to summon the cold detachment that had always served her so well in the past. But somehow in this shadowed moment it eluded her, and she was left feeling deeply shaken and afraid.

There was no question that she must leave immediately. The moment this violent storm stopped, Robert would bring his savage forces back. Until then, the MacDunns were prisoners in their own castle. Only by luring Robert away could she restore the peace the MacDunns had known before she came here, and thereby protect the people who had come to mean so much to her. Once Robert discovered she was gone, he would waste no time dallying here. His desire for the stone would force him to set out after her immediately.

And when he found her, she would kill him.

She blinked back the tears blurring her eyes, vaguely wondering why the thought didn't bring her the dark comfort it once had. But all she could think of was young David staring at her in wonder as he listened to her tell one of her stories, and Clarinda smiling sweetly as she pressed Gwendolyn's hand against her swollen, pulsing belly, and dour old Lachlan vehemently promising her that he would make a potion that would have the MacSweens spewing their bowels out their eye sockets. All this she must leave behind. Hardest of all, she must leave MacDunn, who had awakened emotions within her that she had never imagined existed. He was lying heavily against her, his body still joined to hers, the roughness of his cheek grazing the soft curve of her neck. She inhaled a shallow, ragged breath, unable to suppress the anguish tearing through her heart.

Alex raised himself up on his elbows and frowned. Gwendolyn turned her face away from him, trying to avoid his gaze. He laid his fingers against the elegantly sculpted line of her jaw and tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him. Her gray eyes were filled with a terrible hopelessness, and a tear trickled across the paleness of her cheek and dropped into the wet black river of her hair. He considered himself a hardened warrior, who had seen far more than his share of despondency during his life, both in Flora's eyes, and in his own. Nevertheless, the sight of Gwendolyn's torment slashed deep into him, carving fresh wounds over those that would never heal.

“Do not be afraid, Gwendolyn,” he murmured, caressing her shimmering cheek with the back of his fingers. “I will keep you safe.”

She swallowed miserably and shook her head. “No,” she whispered, her voice a thread of sound against the wind and the rain, “you cannot.”

“I can,” he insisted harshly, “and I will. You are
mine.
” He captured her lips with bruising force, silencing any further argument.

She felt him harden inside her as he ravaged the deepest recesses of her mouth. He began to thrust in and out of her, filling her and emptying her, his powerful form flexing with slow deliberation as he tried to make her his. Gwendolyn wrapped her arms and legs around him and desperately kissed him back, nearly choking on the hot tears that were now streaming down her face.
I love you,
she said silently, her heart breaking from the agonizing confession.
I love you I love you I love you.

She moaned as she moved with him, knowing that she would never hold him deep within the blazing heat of her body again.
I love you,
she wept, threading her hands into the golden length of his hair. He pushed himself into her with gentle roughness, kissing her tenderly now, trying to possess her body and spirit, his hands roaming across her in a constant, sweeping caress. And then his fingers were stroking the slick soft heat of her as he thrust in and out, and she felt herself begin to tighten and stretch and reach, and her tears stopped as she became aware of nothing but the sheer wonder of him touching her and filling her and kissing her.
I love you,
she told him silently, not daring to speak the words aloud for fear he would reject them. A low growl curled up from deep within his chest, the masculine sound answering her own soft gasps.
I love you more than life itself.

She cried out suddenly, feeling herself shatter into a thousand silvery fragments, and Alex buried himself deeply inside her and let out a harsh groan. Ripples of ecstasy cascaded over her as his muscled weight pressed her deeper into the softness of the mattress, and she knew an instant of pure, glorious joy.

As swiftly as it came it was gone, replaced with a trembling sense of loss. Alex rolled off her and gathered her in his arms, holding her against him as he gently swept back a damp lock of her hair.

“You will stay with me,” he commanded, his voice low. “And I will keep you safe, Gwendolyn.” He trailed his fingers along the slender length of her arm, then grasped her hand and laid it firmly over his heart. “I swear it.”

Gwendolyn stared a long, solemn moment into the piercing blue of his gaze. And then she laid her cheek against the warm marble of his chest and closed her eyes, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill from her again as she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her palm. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

She loved him.

And tomorrow she would leave him forever.

C
HAPTER
12

Gwendolyn opened her eyes to find David staring at her, his little freckled face puckered with bemusement.

“Aren't you cold?” he asked curiously.

She looked down and saw that she was just barely covered by the soft plaid draped over her. She gasped and hastily yanked the blanket up to her neck, then glanced over to see if MacDunn was still lying beside her. Mercifully, he wasn't. Summoning every shred of her tattered dignity, she regarded David as if there was nothing unusual about her being found stark naked in his father's bed. “Is everything all right?”

“The whole clan is talking about you,” he reported.

Gwendolyn's eyes widened in horror. Obviously everyone knew she had spent the night with MacDunn. Mortified to the core, she lowered her lids and meekly asked, “Are you terribly upset?”

He shook his head.

“You're not?” she asked, confused.

“Your standing up to Robert is the bravest thing I've ever heard of—like something the mighty Torvald would do!”

His words penetrated her embarrassment. “Is
that
what the clan is talking about?”

“What else would they be talking about?”

“Nothing,” she hastily responded. She sat up a little, still clutching the blanket. “What, exactly, is the clan saying?”

He seated himself beside her, forcing her to move over a bit. “Owen says that of all the witches he has ever known, you are by far the most magnificent,” he said excitedly. “Then Lachlan demanded to know exactly how many witches he had known, and Owen could only think of you and one other, and Lachlan said that hardly accounted for much of a comparison. Then Reginald said he's only sorry that he didn't have the chance to hack off Robert's monstrous head and present it to you, all bloody and leaking his brains on a pike, so that you might keep it as a memento of your bravery. And Lachlan snorted and said that was a disgusting notion, and that instead he would spend all day creating a special wine to be drunk tonight in your honor!”

Gwendolyn stared at him in bewilderment.

“Did you really climb onto the parapet and tell Robert to shoot you with a burning arrow?” David asked eagerly.

She nodded.

“Cameron said you looked like a black angel standing on the merlon, and that when Robert set the cottages afire, you raised your arms and conjured up a storm to put out the flames!”

Of course they would think that, Gwendolyn reflected. After all, the MacDunns were convinced that she controlled the weather.

“Ned says as long as the storm continues like this, the MacSweens won't be able to attack again. But you won't let it rain like this forever, will you? I'm feeling quite well today, and thought that maybe I could try riding again soon.”

“It won't rain forever,” Gwendolyn assured him, although the storm did not seem to have eased since last night. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I got hungry while I was waiting for you to come with my breakfast, so I went down to the kitchen and asked Marjorie to give me some bread and oatmeal. I didn't have any milk, eggs, or cheese, or even any of the smoked herring that she was serving to the others.”

“How do you feel?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.”

He certainly looked fine, Gwendolyn reflected. His blue eyes were clear and sparkling, and although his skin was still pale from a lack of sunlight, his lightly freckled cheeks held a hint of color. His face was freshly scrubbed, and he had taken the time to comb his bright red hair, so that it spilled in a relatively tidy mass of curls over his saffron shirt. Gwendolyn remembered the first time she had seen him, lying in that foul chamber with his chalky skin stretched across his sunken face like the thinnest of fabric, and his limp hair saturated with sweat and filth. She had felt certain he was on the edge of death and that there was nothing she could possibly do to save him. There was no trace of that dying child in the glowing young lad who sat beside her now, restlessly banging his feet against the frame of the bed. He was dressed in the plaid he had worn to the great hall last night, which he had arranged to the best of his unskilled ability, so that it hung like a shapeless rag over his narrow hips, with the excess fabric falling in a long swath down his back. MacDunn would have to give him a lesson in putting on his plaid, she decided, taking pleasure in seeing David look so well.

God had tested her in many ways, but He had given her one incredible gift. He had enabled her to help David live. For that she would be eternally grateful.

“My father said that conjuring up that storm made you tired,” David said sympathetically. “Is that why you're still in bed?”

She nodded. “Where is your father?”

“He has gone outside with some of the men, to survey the damage to the outer wall and return the rocks that were dropped off the battlements. He has ordered all the tables and benches in the great hall to be moved to the sides so the men can train in there while it rains.”

Which means he knew Robert would return soon, reflected Gwendolyn.
I will keep you safe.
She did not doubt that MacDunn actually believed he was capable of such a feat. But he did not understand the depth of Robert's ruthless determination to get her back. Robert would stop at nothing to force her to give him the stone. And by standing before him last night and offering him her life, Gwendolyn had made a grave, irreversible blunder. She had armed Robert with the knowledge that she was ready to die for the sake of the MacDunns. All he needed to do was attack the vulnerable cottages on the hill or take just one MacDunn hostage, be it Cameron, or Ned, or even grumpy old Lachlan, and Gwendolyn would have no choice but to surrender to him. And then Robert would slaughter the MacDunns anyway, before using the power of the stone for his own vile purposes.

She must lure him away from here and kill him first.

“David, please find Clarinda and tell her I must speak with her at once.”

“Are you going to tell us the story about what happened last night?” asked David, his eyes bright with anticipation. “I'm sure you would tell it better than Owen or Cameron.”

“Not today. Now hurry.”

David obediently rushed out the door, awkwardly hiking up his sagging plaid as he went.

A lump of emotion rose to her throat as she watched him go. Until she met David, her experience with children had been limited exclusively to the young MacSweens who used to taunt her and throw things at her, or run away whenever she appeared. She had thought children were either stupid or cruel, and most often both. But David had changed that perception. During their time together she had discovered that children were quick to abandon the fear and intolerance they learned from adults, and to judge people for themselves, as David had with her. MacDunn's son was a sweet and gentle lad, and caring for him had made her understand what it is to love a child more than oneself.

She would not permit any harm to come to him.

She had promised Clarinda that she would stay and help her deliver her child, but that was impossible now. She must leave today, so she could spare the clan any further attacks. Although the knowledge that she was breaking her pledge to her dearest friend weighed heavily upon her, she felt certain Clarinda would understand. Marjorie would be able to help her with the birth, and perhaps Letitia would stay with her as well. Both these women were far more experienced in matters of childbearing than Gwendolyn was, since they had actually given birth.

“And must one have been cut open by a sword in order to know how to deal with the wound?” demanded Morag cryptically from the doorway. “I've brought you some fresh garments to wear,” she continued, not waiting for a reply as she moved gracefully past the sodden pile of black and cream fabric lying on the floor. “It would hardly do to have you traipsing about the corridor wearing nothing but that plaid, although you do look quite fetching in it.” She laid upon the disheveled bed a clean chemise and the amethyst-colored gown she had given to Gwendolyn.

“Thank you,” said Gwendolyn, trying to conceal her mortification at being found naked in the laird's chamber.

“Not at all.” Morag smiled as she eased herself into the chair by the hearth. “I may be old, but I still remember what it is to be young and filled with longing.”

“I am not filled with longing,” Gwendolyn told her, pulling the chemise over her head.

“Of course you are, my dear. You have so much longing in you, you cannot trust yourself to give in to it, for fear that if you open that door you will drown in the flood of need that spills forth. You perceive need as weakness, and that frightens you, because you have always had to be strong and reserved—never giving in to your emotions, be they anger, or love, or even the simple desire for friendship. And sadly, you were correct. Had you listened to your heart and acted without restraint, the MacSweens would have found a reason to tie you to that stake long ago.”

Gwendolyn continued to dress herself, saying nothing.

“Alex, on the other hand, was once so full of fun and fire, we used to wonder how the rascal would ever learn to behave himself when he was laird,” she said, her mouth curving in a soft smile. “Whether with women or hunting or battle, he followed his own pleasures, giving no thought to the consequences. The clan was relieved when Flora finally captured his heart. She brought out the more responsible side of Alex, while still fanning the flames of his passion.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, when she died, Flora took part of Alex with her. He fell into a madness from which we feared he would never emerge—and he never really did. When he finally was lucid again, the passionate young man we had known was gone, replaced by someone who seemed incapable of any emotion but anger.”

Gwendolyn closed her eyes, her heart aching as she recalled the magnificent passion that had raged between them last night.

“You don't want to leave,” Morag observed.

Gwendolyn opened her eyes and regarded her steadily. Although she didn't believe Morag could see the future, it was clear the woman was uniquely perceptive. “I must.”

Morag considered this a moment. “At least you feel you must, and that, I suppose, is all that matters.”

“Robert will not rest until he has me,” Gwendolyn explained. “And when he returns, he will be far more brutal. If I stay, I will fulfill Elspeth's prophecy of bringing death and destruction to the MacDunns.”

“Nonsense!” Morag waved her hand dismissively. “You have listened to the foul accusations of others for so long, you are starting to give them power over you.” Her expression grew contemplative. “You must look at yourself, Gwendolyn, but do not use your eyes. Only then will you be able to see clearly.”

“I cannot stay, Morag,” Gwendolyn said, her voice laden with regret.

Morag regarded her a long moment. And then she nodded. “Very well. But there is one matter you must attend to before you go. A promise to a friend in need cannot be broken.”

“If you mean my promise to help Clarinda birth her child, I cannot possibly keep it,” Gwendolyn told her apologetically. “I must leave before the storm breaks, so that Robert cannot—”

“Gwendolyn, come quickly!” pleaded Isabella, bursting into the room. “Clarinda's birthing pains have started, and that horrible Elspeth is at her bedside insisting that she will deliver the child!”

Gwendolyn grabbed her skirts and raced out the door.

         

“Go away!”
screamed Clarinda as she writhed in pain.
“I don't want you near me!”