To Love a Highlander (28 page)

He didn’t mention the stone root’s best-known use. Nor was it necessary, because Munro had slipped off his stool
to lean over the stone root, his eyes a-gleam, his excitement clear.

“A stone root, you say?” He touched the length of polished black stone, awe in his voice. “I have heard of such wonders, but ne’er seen the like. Indeed, I doubted their existence.” He straightened and looked at Sorley. “They are said to cure many ailments, even straighten the back of a soul bent by too much hardship and care. One need only place the stone root in a kettle of boiling water, then drink a cup when the stone broth has been steeped in the dark of a moonless night.

“I will surely recall other uses after pondering on it a while.” He scratched his beard, his gaze again on the stone root. “I thank you for showing it to me.”

“You may keep it, lord.” Sorley felt generous.

The older man beamed at him, his happiness touching Sorley in a way he wasn’t accustomed to feeling.

“I shall treasure it, I will.” Munro’s hands actually shook with reverence as he carefully rewrapped the stone root.

“Aye, well.” Sorley nodded, stepping away from the table. “I’ll no’ keep you from your work any longer. I ken you’ll be heading out to the Red Lion Inn later this day, then leaving these parts soon thereafter.”

“So you are a spy, what?” Munro gave him another sharp, assessing glance, but this time the look was leavened with good humor.

“I am myself, lord, nothing more.” Sorley strode to the door, not liking how his throat thickened, how the old chieftain’s kindness tightened his chest. He paused on the threshold and looked back over his shoulder. “Remember my words about Sinclair. And”—he made a slight bow—“perhaps someday I will call at Knocking myself, take you with me to Nought and its famed Dreagan’s Claw promontory where there are many such stone roots. For the now, I wish you well, lord.” Sorley stepped from the
scriptorium, closing the door before Munro MacLaren could respond to him.

Not that it mattered.

He’d seen the eagerness on the chieftain’s face. More than that, he’d caught the admiration in Munro’s watery blue eyes. His own misting unaccountably, he blinked hard and set his jaw, striding past the two guardsmen with only a gruff farewell. He’d been sure MacLaren would heed his warning about Sir John, but he hadn’t expected to win the man’s regard.

Above all, he hadn’t thought doing so would affect him so powerfully.

A whirl of new and not necessarily welcome emotions swirling inside him, he made his way down the sun-bright corridor, grateful when he reached the dimness of the stair tower.

The night would bring an even greater test to his heart when he met with Mirabelle in the hall.

He was no longer certain he could do as he’d said.

He wanted more than a few kisses, neck nuzzles, ear nips, and nipple tweaks.

He wanted all of her.

And he strongly suspected he’d claim her, too. His restraint was gone, his good sense and every reason he shouldn’t love her flown out the window.

The consequences be damned.

Much later, deep in the gloaming hours, Mirabelle made her way into Stirling Castle’s great hall and took her accustomed seat at one of the honored tables on the dais. She hadn’t seen Sorley since the night before, in her bedchamber. Nor did he appear to be anywhere near now. Sitting as straight as she could, nerves allowing, she lifted a hand to touch the stag-headed MacKenzie cloak brooch she’d pinned so hopefully to her gown’s shoulder.

Now, more than ever, the pin held tremendous importance for her.

Wondering if her secret knowledge showed, she looked about, searching the crowd. The hall blazed with the light of roaring fires and countless torches. Chaos reigned throughout the vast, smoke-hazed space, the gaiety and noise at a fever pitch. A feast was in full swing, the long tables filled and the aisles between crowded with celebrants. In one corner, a harpist played and sang, her voice sad as she mourned ill-fated lovers and praised the lonely beauty of empty, heather-swept glens. Not far from her a piper strutted proudly, his jaunty tune at odds with the woman’s heart-wrenching song.

In the center of the hall, in a cleared space, a troupe of jugglers performed, tossing burning staves high into the air and catching them again, much to the delight of the cheering onlookers.

The din rose and fell, made more deafening by the barks of the castle dogs. The beasts dashed everywhere, streaking beneath the tables, bounding through the aisles, ever hoping for fallen scraps and then fighting over the prize when a choice bone was found.

Her own treasure…

Mirabelle pressed her fingers more tightly to her stag-head brooch, her breath catching when she finally spotted Sorley in the throng. She stared, her heart swelling, awe sweeping her like a blaze.

She knew at once that something had changed.

If he had been bold and dashing before, now…

He was magnificent.

Still a good distance from her, he differed from all other men as if every candle, torch, and fire in the hall burned only to light his glory. He stood tall and broad-shouldered as always, his dark hair gleaming and the sword at his side—called Dragon-Breath, she knew—shining as if its steel had
captured the light of the stars. Gold and silver rings banded his powerful upper arms and his sword-belt was slung low about his hips where it was clasped by a beautifully worked silver wolf’s head. He wore the MacKenzie tartan with a bold, roguish flair, the blue and green weave vibrant beneath the torches. He didn’t look anything like a bastard.

He looked as if he ruled the hall.

Apparently he also commanded her heart, because it was hammering so fiercely against her ribs, she was sure everyone present must hear its thunder.

Then his gaze locked onto hers and he started toward her, his stride purposeful and proud.

Mirabelle sat rigid, her blood rushing, her stare fixed on him as he neared the dais, not even needing to elbow his way through the crowd, because men and women alike leapt aside, clearing his path to her.

All around them, the hall was in an uproar, but she scarce noticed, seeing only Sorley.

She couldn’t breathe.

Then he was right beside her, claiming the seat a noble relinquished with haste, nearly tripping over the long drape of the table linen as he jumped up and scrambled away, freeing the bench for Sorley.

He edged nearer at once, slinging his arm around her shoulders, his gaze intense, seeing no other. “Fair lady, your beauty shines brighter than any light in this hall.” He lifted her hand, turning it to press a kiss to her palm and then nip the soft skin of her wrist before releasing her. “Nae, I err. You put the very sun to shame.”

Mirabelle swallowed, moistened her lips. “You speak flattering words, sir.” She forgot the carefully rehearsed lines she meant to say to him. Somehow his approach wasn’t what she’d expected. “All know you favor the ladies and—”

He touched his fingers to her lips and shook his head. “There are no other women, lass. I see only you. Here in
this hall and here”—he pressed a hand to his heart, his gaze burning into hers—“where it matters most. I speak but the truth, sweetness. Indeed”—he leaned in, nuzzled her neck, and lightly bit her earlobe—“I have ne’er in my life been more honest. No’ with anyone, no’ in all my days.”

Mirabelle was stunned into silence.

She couldn’t form words, for her fool throat was turning awfully hot and thick. And her wretched eyes were beginning to burn, a terrible stinging heat pricking madly at the backs of her lids.

This was not the deal they’d made.

Not how she’d expected him to ravish and scandalize her.

Though folk
were
staring, their heads craning and whispers made behind quickly raised hands. But no one seemed shocked or appalled. The men appeared amused and even encouraging, while the women just looked envious.

And—Mirabelle shivered—from the hall’s darkest corner, Sir John Sinclair glared at them, fury glittering in his dark, hate-filled eyes.

“Ignore him.” Sorley hushed the words against her ear, his lips doing sinfully wicked things to the sensitive flesh along the side of her neck. “I have taken measures to protect you from him. The rest will wait until we’ve enjoyed this evening together.”

“I wasn’t aware you saw it that way.” Mirabelle regretted the words as soon as they left her tongue, but Sir John’s stare unsettled her. Sorley’s convincingly real attentiveness scattered her wits. “I thought you were eager to have done with our performance.”

“You think I’m acting?” He pulled back, looked at her levelly.

Mirabelle forced a smile, more sure than ever that the wind had turned. She knew instinctively that it wouldn’t ever swing round and blow the other way again. What she said next would seal her fate.

So she lifted her chin, meeting his bold gaze. “If you aren’t, then admit who you now know you are. My father told me of your visit to him this morning. We are close, despite his preoccupation with herbs and healing.” She took a breath, steeling her backbone. “Your father is Archibald MacNab, chieftain of Duncreag, and your late lady mother, God rest her soul, was a Kintail woman, belonging to the great Duncan MacKenzie’s clan. He was known as the Black Stag of Kintail, hence your affection for this brooch.”

She touched the pin, taking strength from its cool bronze, fastened so close to her heart.

“All that you know?” He lifted a brow, smiled at her.

He didn’t look a whit surprised or uncomfortable.

“So you admit it?” She didn’t blink, though his smile was causing the sweetest warmth to swirl low inside her, deep in her belly, low by her thighs.

“I’ll tell you anything you wish to know, lady.” He lifted his hands in surrender, turning them palm out.

“I’d hear the truth.” Mirabelle felt a flush coloring her cheeks.

Folk were still staring at them, some even chuckling now, a few nudging elbows and leaning in, angling their ears to catch every word.

“Honest words might frighten you, my lady.” Something in his tone warned that was so.

“I am a Highland lass, don’t forget.” Mirabelle sat up straighter, her heart racing again. “We do not scare easily. Indeed, some say not at all.”

Sorley’s smile deepened and he swept his arm around her again, this time pulling her onto his lap. “Then brace yourself, lassie, because the names of my parents are no’ the most important truths here. That honor stands between the two of us only.” Something flared in his eyes, an uncompromising intensity that made her pulse leap. “It has to do with our plan and why we’re sitting here just now.”

“We had an agreement.” Mirabelle shifted on his lap, keenly aware of a certain hot ridge of hardness nudging the bottom of her thighs, burning her even through the layers of her skirts.

“Aye, we did.” He took her face between his hands then, kissing her long and deep. When he pulled back, breaking the kiss, his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, and he was breathing hard. “I still have a plan, sweetness. And I hope I’ll gain your agreement.”

Mirabelle just looked at him, sure she hadn’t heard rightly.

But she must’ve, because all along the table, and even elsewhere on the dais, people were grinning, looking on with rapt interest.

Mirabelle ignored them, but she did frown. “Our plan doesn’t seem to have the effect I’d desired.”

To her surprise, Sorley grabbed her to him again and kissed her even more hungrily than before. It was a wild and heated open-mouthed kiss, full of breath, tongue, and desire. He thrust his fingers into her hair as he ravished her lips, holding her firmly to him, giving her no choice but to return the kiss with equal fervor.

She did so gladly, feeling bereft when he finally tore his mouth from hers. She hadn’t wanted their kiss to end, and the delicious tingles rippling through her left no doubt that she wanted more.

Sure he could tell, she met his gaze, thrilled and excited, but also worried that her heart and not her good sense was guiding her.

“That was indeed better.” It was all she could think to say. “A most convincing display, certainly.”

“Indeed.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “Though my purpose has changed, or have you no’ heard anything I’ve said this e’en?”

Mirabelle blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“Then I shall make it clearer.” He cupped her face, slanting his mouth over hers again, his tongue thrusting sure and possessively.

She melted beneath the onslaught, gripping his shoulders to keep from sliding off his lap. Then he pulled back, breaking the kiss as swiftly as he’d seized her. But he kept hold of her face, looked deep into her eyes. Clearly stirred, his chest rose and fell, heavily. His gaze wasn’t just piercing, but blazing with something that made everything else around them fade to nothingness, as if they were alone in the hall, perhaps in all the world.

“This isnae a planned seduction, Mirabelle,” he spoke her name as if it held gold. The rough softness of his tone weakened her knees.

The look on his face…

Her eyes started burning again just seeing the adoration there, and the other, more fierce expression that she didn’t dare hope to decipher.

“No deliberate attempt to scandalize you.” He leaned close to say that, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “A man doesnae bring shame to the woman he loves.”

“Oh!” Mirabelle jolted, the heat in her eyes spilling free, rolling down her face. She dashed at her eyes, swiped a hand across her cheek. “What are you saying?”

“Only what should be obvious, you precious minx.” Sorley grinned, using the side of his calloused thumb to wipe away her tears, “I didnae come here tonight to cause a stir. I’m here to claim you.”

S
orley and Mirabelle approached her guest chamber just as muted laughter, and other highly suspicious noises, drifted into the corridor from the lavish confines of the nearby Rose Room. The sounds hinted that they weren’t the only ones to have left the hall’s feasting at its most lively, raucous hour. He glanced at Mirabelle beside him, aware that waiting any longer would’ve been impossible.

Hadn’t he spent a lifetime yearning for her?

“Sweet lass, hear me well before we enter this room.” He put all the love he felt for her into the endearment as he set his hand on her door latch. He didn’t open it. “No one below will doubt that you are mine. Leastways, everyone in the hall now kens that I want you.” He let his gaze flick to his MacKenzie stag’s-head brooch, pinned so proudly to her gown. “Men have seen that my intentions are honorable and earnest. Even so, I will leave you here, to your night’s rest, if you wish.”

“You know what I want.” She looked up at him, her lustrous hair spilling around her shoulders, gleaming in the light of a wall sconce. Her cheeks were flushed, Sorley
hoped with pleasure and excitement. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires, lovelier than ever and filled with an emotion that humbled him, or would have if he weren’t so damned proud to see it there.

“I’ll not change my mind.” Her voice was strong, clear. “Not this night, not ever.” She touched his face, his beard. “This is about more than my asking you to ruin me for Sir John, it always has been.”

“So I have hoped.” Sorley still didn’t open the door.

“I believe you know my feelings.” She held his gaze, her courage as beguiling as her beauty. “I did not hide them in the hall, nor ever.”

Sorley lifted a brow, almost reminding her that once, long ago, she had indeed done so.

Or so he’d come to believe.

Not that it mattered.

Past deeds might make someone who they were, even marking them, but what truly counted was the path stretching ahead, the tomorrows to come, and he meant to spend every one of his with the woman he loved.

“If I cross this threshold, there’ll be no going back. No restraint.” He gave her a final chance. “I will ravish you in there, as I have e’er dreamt of doing. Thoroughly, completely, and until we are both so replete, so sated, that we cannae move. Then we shall begin again.”

“And I shall see my most fervent desire fulfilled.” She placed her hand atop his on the latch, pressing down so they opened the door, together.

A fire burned low on the grate, casting the room in a rosy glow. Someone had lit a brazier in the corner, its small flame and warmth having drawn her kitten, who slept curled before it, the sight of the kitten’s ease making Sorley more glad than ever that he’d fetched the wee creature. Mirabelle was watching the mite, the look on her face enough to send him out to rescue every poor cat in the land.

Indeed, he might—if she asked it of him.

He set a hand on her waist, turning her back to him, intending to kiss her, then remove her clothes, bit by bit, until everything she wore slid down her lush body and pooled on the floor around her feet.

As if she knew, she glanced at his hand, and then met his gaze, her beautiful eyes shimmering with happiness. With great care, almost reverence, she unclasped his brooch and moved away to place it on the table. The way she handled it, as if the pin was crafted not of somewhat-battered, age-worn bronze, but costliest jewels, did terrible things to a place deep inside his soul.

Indeed, if he’d ever known love could beset a man so roundly, he might never have crossed that crowded hall at her uncle’s feast all those years ago. For truth, emotion rode him so hard, he could feel his eyes misting, so powerful were his feelings for her.

“Lass…” His voice was rough, his chest tight. “Come here, I would hold you, kiss you.”

“More, I hope,” she spoke boldly. “We have waited overlong, I think.” She glanced at his brooch again, a smile playing about her lips. “I’d have you know that you won my heart years ago, at my uncle’s celebration. It never mattered to me that you couldn’t name your parents. I left you because my father’s guard was a brutal man. A clan champion who, back then, would’ve loved nothing more than taking you out into the courtyard and—”

“I ken that, sweet.” He did, the surety of it having come to him in recent days. He did know women, and Mirabelle’s heart aye shone in her eyes. “Though I vow I would’ve put a few bruises on him, even then.”

He flashed his best smile, striding toward her, not wanting to speak of that distant night. “He matters no more, my heart. Naught else is of importance, but that we—”

“Well…” She came to him and slid her arms around
his waist, leaning into him. “It is a grand thing that you’ve learned who your mother was, and that you’ll meet your father when you ride north with Grim. I hope you’ll take me with you.” She lifted up on her toes and kissed him, lightly, expectantly. “That would be wonderful.”

“You are wonderful, lass.” He stepped back then, knowing she wouldn’t like what he was about to say. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he spoke plainly. “I dinnae think you’d enjoy journeying with me. You wouldnae be pleased by what happens when I meet the man who sired me. I’ve waited long for the day, and there is much that must be said to him. My words willnae be kind.” He stroked the curve of her cheek, using his knuckles to soften her frown. “There is no place in my world for a man who caused such grief, especially to my mother.”

Mirabelle’s chin came up. “He will be older now, and surely regrets the past. He’ll want—”

“I want you.” Pushing Archibald MacNab from his mind, Sorley’s need for her raged. His blood heated, his restraint gone.

She surely sensed the change in him with a woman’s sensual instinct, for she placed a hand to her breast as she watched him. The return of her smile, a tremulous, excited one, stirred him more than if she’d reached out and seized his aching hardness.

“You know I yearn for the same, for you, Sorley, only you.” Her words sealed their future.

He’d never let her go. Not for her father, the King, or even a greater power.

“May I?” He flicked a glance at her gown, sharply aware that he’d never in his life asked a woman’s permission to unclothe her.

Nor had he ever felt a need to prolong the pleasure, removing garments slowly, for the pure joy of savoring each new inch of bared skin.

He wanted to do more than savor Mirabelle.

He intended to worship her.

“You may do anything,” she spoke softly, her acquiescence setting him like granite.

“Sweet lass, you dinnae ken what you do to me.” He began untying her bodice laces, his need flaring even more when her breath caught and a tremor rippled through her. His fingers brushed the top swells of her breasts, their soft, smooth warmth making him mad for her. “I may no’ last until I’ve undressed you.”

“Then I should warn you that we’ll be done here anon, for you shan’t need long to do so.” She smiled as he loosened the ties and her gown began to slide down, freeing her breasts, her hips. “I am naked beneath.”

“By all the gods!” Sorley’s entire body tightened, his pulse roaring, as the gown fell to her feet and she kicked it aside to stand fully unclothed and proud before him, her back straight, and the rest of her…

“You will be my end, lass.” He could hardly speak, scarce heard his own words for the blood pounding at his ears. Other parts of him throbbed in a worse way, but he used all his strength to ignore the fire raging at his loins, the rampant desire that made the hard length of him strain against its confinement.

He gripped her chin, lifting her face to his, looking deep into her eyes. “Never have I desired another woman more than you, Mirabelle. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, those many years ago. My need for you hasnae diminished in all that time. If anything, it’s worsened, consuming me so that I hoped for nothing else than to someday claim you, to make you mine at last.”

He thrust a hand into her hair, lifting it back from her face, twining the thick, glossy strands through his fingers. “I just ne’er thought the day would come, ne’er would’ve believed such a blessing.”

“No, that is you, Sorley.” She held his gaze, the truth ringing in her words making his heart thunder.

Sure no gift under the heavens could be greater, he scooped up her gown and draped it over a chair. When he turned back to her, she hadn’t moved, made no attempt to conceal her nakedness.

How glorious she was!

He let his gaze glide over her, appreciatively. He looked his fill, loving the smooth sleekness of her skin, almost rosy in the firelight. She stood perfectly still, proud and beautiful. Her wild flame-bright curls were delightfully tousled, temptingly framing her lovely face and shoulders, a skein of wonder tumbling to her hips. Other curls, of a deeper bronze, beckoned at the top of her shapely thighs. She was graced with the most exquisite breasts he’d ever seen. Full, round, and creamy, their lushness made his jaw clench and his manhood burn even hotter.

When her already-pert nipples tightened beneath his gaze, he could withhold himself no more.

“You are more beautiful even than I imagined.” He swept an arm around her, pulling her to him. He touched his free hand to her shoulder, brushed back her hair. “I would ravish you, lass. I must.”

“Then do,” she urged, her eyes darkening as she slid her arms around him, holding fast to his sword-belt as if she’ll fall otherwise.

Sorley needed no further encouragement. “I would kiss every inch of you,” he vowed, cupping her breast, kneading and squeezing her ripe curves, loving how responsively her nipples pebbled beneath his palm. His need blazing, he lowered his head and captured one of them with his lips, drawing deep, circling the puckered tip with his tongue. He licked and suckled, again and again until he could feel her melting against him.

She gasped and swayed, as if her knees buckled. He
tightened his arm about her waist, still suckling her, swirling his tongue around and over her luscious nipple.

“Dear saints.” Mirabelle clung to him, gripping his belt as she stared at his dark head, his shining black hair swinging across his plaid-draped shoulder as he kissed and licked her breasts.

Sensations spiraled inside her, racing everywhere like rivers of tingling, molten fire. The secret place between her thighs pulsed and warmed, feeling heavy and aching, deliciously. Never had she felt such unrestrained bliss, need and desire so intense that she bit down on her lip, so hard she almost tasted blood.

Sorley pulled back, his gaze locking on hers as he smoothed his hand down from her breasts, across her belly, and then right between her legs. He cupped her there, the firm pressure of his palm against her hot and needy female flesh almost too wondrous to bear.

“What are you doing?” She knew, but even daring as she believed herself, she couldn’t put words to how his questing fingers stroked her so intimately, rubbing her oh-so-gently. How could such a light touch make her feel as if she would shatter any moment?

“Such a caress is only the beginning.” He drew one finger along the center of her slick, swollen flesh, his gaze wicked, burning. “The pleasure will spike when I do this…” He let the promise hang in the air, touching the tip of his finger to a tiny, highly sensitive spot, circling with slow deliberation, driving her wild.

She gasped, half frustrated, straining toward something she could feel spinning to a brilliant, dazzling conclusion, while the other half of her hoped the whirl of heady sensation wouldn’t stop.

“Open to me, let me see all of you.” His voice was rough and deep, the purpose of his words sending another floodtide of lush, languid heat streaming across her most womanly place.

“Spread your legs, wider. Let me see more, so lovely are you.” He knelt before her, steadying her by placing his hands on her hips. “That’s my lass…” He coaxed her, his finger still circling, the slow, sensual rubbing good beyond anything she’d ever felt. She started rocking her hips, running her fingers through his hair, pushing herself against his bliss-spending hand. “More, lass, I cannae see enough.”

“I vow you can.” She glanced aside, sure she was about to hurtle over a glittering, looming precipice. Liquid tingles, hot and urgent, pooled at her core, delicious quivers rippling all through her, the pleasure searing. “You are seeing more of me than anyone ever has.”

“Nor shall any other man enjoy such a privilege,” he returned, his stroking fingers more insistent now, skilled and possessive. “Only a bit wider, sweet, for ease…”

Mirabelle dug her hand in his hair and felt her world dipping, spinning away from her.

“Open to me,” he urged again, using the edge of his thumb to circle her now, his other fingers teasing the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“Aye, just so,” he sounded pleased when she did as he bid.

She stood with her legs parted, too swept away by desire to feel shame at the intimacies bared to him, his breath even warming her there.

“Oh!” She looked down again, sure he wouldn’t put his mouth on her.

He was watching her, his roguish smile, the hunger in his eyes, chasing the last shred of her modesty. “Dinnae refuse me this pleasure, lass.” His breath tickled her again, stirring her intimate curls. “You are tastier than any delicacy at the King’s most lavishly spread table. I could feast on you for hours, even days, and still want more. So ravenous am I for you.” Proving it, he leaned forward and dragged his mouth across her belly, nuzzled his face against her damp curls, inhaling as he did. “Your scent sets me afire. So rich, so good…”