Thirteen

“I feel a spell coming on. You will soon be vomiting frogs, and your cock will fall off if you doona let me up.” Amber tried to sound wicked but her chest and shoulder hurt like a sinner in hell, and she couldn’t inhale enough air to put the requisite menace into her voice.

Lachlan just smiled at her, his arms on either side of her body on the bed, his torso leaning over hers. “Such sweet talk.”

She tried to pinch him, but he laced their fingers together and put their clasped hands on the pillow over her head. She had no more strength than a bairn.

“Where is Mary?” she asked.

“She went home to help her mother. Against my wishes, you told her she could leave last night. Doona you remember?”

Vaguely, now that he mentioned it. “Lachlan, I want up.”

“As soon as you drink the pain draught she left for you. Amber, you were moaning in your sleep last night. The wound obviously hurts you.”

“Maybe I was dreaming of tupping some courtly Frenchman.”

“Have you e’er met a Frenchman?”

“Nay, just in my dreams.”

“I have, and you wouldnae want to tup them—in your dreams or elsewhere.”

He lovingly brushed her hair back from her face and put a cold compress on her forehead. She scowled. She’d been putting up with this for three days, and she’d had enough. “I doona need a man taking care of me!”

“I’m not a man. My cock just fell off, remember?”

She laughed, she couldn’t help herself, then scowled again, but it was a halfhearted effort. “Lachlan MacKay, let me up. I want to have a bath—a real one—not just Mary helping me with a cloth.”

His eyes lit with interest. “I can help you with a real one.”

She met his gaze, losing herself for a moment in the sea of deep blue. The color had become so familiar to her these past few weeks, like she’d known him all her life.

Images from the last time he caught her coming out of the tub played in her mind, and her body warmed and tingled in all her secret places. Her dreams—day and night—haunted her. She’d been thinking of his hands, his mouth on her for so long now.

Yet just three nights ago, she’d decided against being intimate with him. Now she couldn’t remember why. Oh, aye, she didn’t want to pine for him when he left. Well, she was likely to pine for him anyway.

So maybe she should just allow herself this one pleasure. She’d almost died three days ago, and Murray was still out there. Would she want to die not knowing what it was like to be stroked by Lachlan?

He would be sure to restrain himself because of her injury. Would there ever be a better chance?

“All right,” she said quickly. “But no tupping.”

His eyes widened, and a flush crept up his cheeks, putting her back in control. Aye, she liked that.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled groan. Finally, he said, “God’s blood, you mean it, doona you?”

“Aye.”

He blew out a breath and dragged his hand over his face. “You’re injured. I canna, canna…”

“Touch me? Lick me? Watch me?”

His gaze jumped to hers. “All of those things. ’Tis not right. I canna take advantage of you in such a state.”

She stared at him, then slowly caressed her palm down the middle of her chest and underneath her shift. Excitement and desire pulsed through her like a living thing at what she was doing…starting. He watched her hand disappear, his breath rasping between his teeth, then she lifted her breast free of the linen—the puckered, pink tip and rounded flesh an offering.

The air left Lachlan’s lungs on a loud “whoosh.” “The other one,” he croaked as he gripped the sheets beside her. “I want to see them together.”

She’d just reached under her shift to bring out her other breast, for the first time being proud of their shape and size—wanting him to see them, to be aroused by them—by her—when a banging sounded, and Ian yelled through the door, “Amber, let me in!”

Lachlan met her eyes and shook his head. “He can wait.”

She gasped when he cupped her breast, reached under her shift, and brought out the other one too. They fit perfectly in his big palms, his fingers and thumbs gently kneading and squeezing her flesh. “Lord have mercy,” he murmured before he lowered his head and drew a nipple into his mouth—and groaned.

The vibration made her whimper, and she arched upward, offering more of herself to him. The heat scalded her, the softness of his tongue undid her, and she released her breath on a small “Oh.”

Wrapping her arms around his head, she held on tight. He was her anchor in a storm of emotions and feelings that erupted in her body—desire and need, but trust and communion too.

His tongue laved her skin and sent pulses straight to her core, readied the sensitive flesh. She couldn’t help splaying her knees, raising her hips, wishing his hands would travel to the very center of her womanhood.

He lifted his head, his lips red and glistening, his eyes hooded, almost feral. “I have ne’er tasted anything as good as you.” He moved to her other nipple, his tongue sucking and stroking the bud, his thumb strumming the wet one he’d left behind. She was filled with a mindless urgency to rub against him, to be engulfed by him, and her body undulated beneath his hands, unable to keep still.

Her legs lifted with the need to wrap around his body, and he grunted with satisfaction.

She couldn’t think, just bathed in sensation, her skin hot, her heart feeling too tight in her chest. “God in heaven, that feels so good, Lachlan. Doona stop.” Blood pounded so hard in her ears she couldn’t hear anything and had no idea if he answered her or not—or if Ian was still banging on the door.

Lachlan dragged his hand down her body and under the covers. She squeaked, the anticipation of being touched down there by someone other than herself—by Lachlan—more than she could bear. Surely she would release on the first stroke.

He smoothed his palm down the outside of her hip, his fingers trembling against her skin, before he grasped her shift’s hem and pulled it up. She was panting now and lifted her hips to help him bunch it at her waist. Cool air hit her heated flesh, and she groaned, knowing she was exposed to him and liking it.

He answered her groan with his own and said thickly, “So beautiful, lass. You are a gift.”

She opened heavy lids and saw him staring down at her most private area but not in a predatory way, almost reverently.

She wanted him to look on her like this—feeling hot and wet and swollen—wanted him to slide his tongue through the folds.

She wanted him to gorge on her.

He sighed and returned to nuzzle at her breasts, like a man unsated. His fingers slid into the curls at the apex of her thighs, tugging on the strands so she squealed again, feeling desperate and greedy, wanting all of him right now.

Then he split his fingers and pressed downward on the outside lips before hesitating at the bottom, his fingers barely there, letting the anticipation build to excruciating heights.

“Touch me,” she finally begged, mindless with need.

He huffed out a laugh on her breast then stroked up her slick middle with heavy, sure fingers.

“Oh, dear God,” she moaned. Her flesh was so engorged she felt like she might burst any second. Like a ripened berry.

More pounding on the door. “Amber!”

“Nay, doona stop,” she cried, her nails biting into his shoulders to hold him there. Wanting his weight, his touch. Wanting all of him.

“Ne’er again. I will take what you offer.”

His thumb found her nub beneath the folds, and when he circled it, she let out a strangled squeal of pleasure, the sensations causing streaks of white light to explode behind her eyelids.

Her hips jutted up to meet his strokes, the pressure building until he pressed one finger gently inside her, and she caught her breath, feeling like it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t him.

“Stay with me, Amber,” he said, lifting his head from the valley between her breasts. “Trust me,” then he bit down on the under slope below her nipple—and she shuddered.

He pumped his hand, pressing upward on the inside wall of her channel as his thumb stroked the outside, hitting and circling that wee nub. She stopped thinking, her mind blanking to everything but his fingers on her flesh, his mouth on her skin, and she moaned—long and low.

He lifted his head, watched her as she neared the edge. She turned her chin, ready to scream around her fist, but he cupped her nape and held her in place so he could capture her mouth. Devour her.

And finally, she felt a part of him.

Waves of release crested inside her, and she screamed against his tongue, her hips bucking, her body shuddering. And still he didn’t let up.

When the frenzy finally passed and she’d slumped back onto the bed, she opened her eyes slowly. They were so close, they shared breath. His blue gaze was a little wild as he watched her intently, possessively, making her feel like she was everything he’d ever wanted, ever needed.

And she liked it.

She tried to speak but couldn’t. Couldn’t do anything but lie there and stare up at him.

The pain of her shoulder slowly seeped back in and she looked down to see a wee bit of blood soaking through the bandages.

He followed her gaze, and his body stiffened. “God in heaven! You’re bleeding.”

“’Tis naught. Doona worry.”

“Of course I’ll worry. How could I have lost control like that?”

“The same way I did. Verily, Lachlan, ’tis so much better being stroked by someone else.”

His eyes darted up to hers, concerned. “Someone else? This isna the first time…?”

She snorted as she lowered her legs, which were pulled up to her hips. She tried straightening her shift using one hand, then just pulled up the quilt instead. “I meant someone other than me.”

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, his mouth warm, and another shudder ran though her. “Is that what you meant by watching?”

She stilled, a whole new scene between them playing out in her mind. “Maybe. It hadn’t occurred to me.”

The banging sounded again at her door, quieter this time, and when Ian yelled for her, it was quieter too. “Amber, if you’re in there, open up now.”

Suddenly a wave of worry washed over her. She didn’t want to flaunt her wantonness like this for Ian to see. And what if he was in trouble? “Go out the back door and meet him at the front, pretend like you’ve just come back,” she said. “I’ll pretend like I’m sleeping and didn’t hear him.”

“He tried the back door too.”

“I’ll say the door sticks sometimes. He’ll believe it.”

“Aye,” he rose from the bed, and her gaze fell to the front of his plaid, where it jutted out lewdly.

“And you’ll have to do something about that,” she said.

He shifted his sporran so it sat directly on top. “’Tis all I can do—unless you’ll take me in hand?”

An awkwardness rose, and she shook her head jerkily. “I doona, I doona…”

“You doona what, Amber?”

How could she say that as much as she wanted him to stroke her body, the idea of stroking that part of him in such a way made her very uncomfortable, which made no sense, as she enjoyed a man’s shape, especially Lachlan’s, and medically speaking, she’d seen and touched several cocks. But…the actual act of tupping had been fraught with danger for her for so long.

“I’m sorry. I canna. At least, not now. And I doona commit to anything, Lachlan.”

He stared down at her, a hard glint in his eye. But he wasn’t angry, so most likely ’twas the glint of determination. “I’ll accept that…for now.”

He turned, and a wave of panic washed over her. “Please, doona tell anyone. Even your foster brothers and Gregor when they arrive.”

’Twas obviously the wrong thing to say. He glowered at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I would ne’er speak about you in such a way. What’s between us is only between us. Unless you tell Isla, of course.”

A guilty blush stole up her cheeks, and he planted his hands on his hips. “What did you say to her?”

“Naught. Just that I…wanted to. She willna believe we’ve engaged so carnally, though.”

“And why not? I’ve been at your cottage for three days. Alone with you all last night and today.”

“I’ll just tell her you would ne’er touch me in such a way when I was injured. She’ll believe it. The entire clan wouldnae doubt your honor.”

Now he looked guilty. She wanted to laugh, but she knew he took his honor seriously and would be offended. At least his plaid was no longer so distracting.

He cursed and walked out the back door.

* * *

Lachlan quietly closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, trying to get his careening emotions under control. The sight, sounds, taste, and smell of Amber finding her release in his arms filled every inch of him. ’Twas a moment he’d ne’er forget. A moment he’d cherish forever.

Even if she gave him naught else, he had that.

But she would give him more, and often. She was a confusing mix of boldness and fear. He’d have to tempt her to him, convince her to give to him rather than take from her in any way. He would have Amber beneath him, on top of him, and any other position she wanted before the end of summer.

He pushed away from the door with a sigh and walked around the side of the cottage, stopping by the rain barrel to rinse his hands and face. He still had men hidden in the trees and shrubbery watching the cottage, and while he didn’t think Murray would attack here again, especially not so soon, he wouldn’t take chances on Amber’s life again.

A shudder ran through him as the image of her pinned to the door, two more arrows in the wood around her head, burst into his mind. The sight would never leave him, waking him every night drenched in sweat, his heart racing.

When he rounded the corner, he came to an abrupt halt. ’Twas not just Ian standing at Amber’s front door, looking worried, Niall was there too, as well as ten other clan members, men and women. And many more were in the field streaming this way—several young men running to catch up.

What was going on? Had Niall cooked this up? Surely it wasn’t an angry mob come to drag Amber from her sickbed for being alone with him? Or worse yet, for being a witch—the other nightmare he’d had.

“Laird MacKay!” Ian yelled, running toward him.

The group at the door looked at him, and he strode forward to get between Amber and the rest of the clan.

“I’ve been knocking for Amber, but she ne’er answered,” Ian said when he caught up to Lachlan.

“She’s sleeping,” he said, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “Or she was. Mary left a pain draught for her. Did you try the back door? It was open.”

“I did, and it was locked.”

“Nay, I just checked it. The door sticks sometimes.” He reached the group and pinned Niall with his stare. “What’s going on?”

“Naught to concern you, Laird. We just want to have a wee talk with Amber.”

He raised his brow, arms crossing his chest. “A wee talk? You’ve gathered at least thirty people. And of course I’m concerned. I’m her laird.” His gaze swept the growing crowd and out to the field where more people were coming. He could also see Callum riding toward the cottage on his horse.

“Aye, all are MacPhersons who love Amber and want to see the best for her.”

So this wasn’t an angry mob, but one of Niall’s schemes. He could ask the steward, but he doubted he’d get a straight answer. Maybe Callum would know.

“She’s not well, Niall. You know that. She can barely sit up. How do you expect her to come out to greet you?”

“I doona, we’ll go in.”

“All thirty of you in her cottage? When she’s been pierced with an arrow and barely survived? Has barely survived the last five years?”

“Which is why we’ll go in. We should have made sure she was safe long ago.”

Unease trickled up his spine. Had Niall arranged protection for Amber?

The old man banged on her door. “Amber, lass, we need to see you.”

“And how do you think she’ll—”

He heard the bar slide across just before the door opened, and Ian stood there. The wee troublemaker had gone around. Lachlan was about to block the entrance and exert his will as their laird, when Callum caught his attention at the back of the growing crowd. His foster brother sat atop his horse and motioned him over with a jerk of his head.

He hesitated, knowing Callum would not counsel him to get out of the way unless he had good reason. Finally, he stepped aside, giving Niall a stern look. “Doona rile her. She’s tired enough as it is.” He was besieged with guilt at how he’d touched her earlier—an invalid. Aye, if she wasn’t tired before, she would be now for sure.

“You’re not the only one who cares for the lass, Laird MacKay.”

As he made his way toward Callum, he couldn’t help but notice how many young, eager men were in the crowd. Mostly MacPhersons, but a few of his men and Callum’s too.

“What’s going on?” he asked when he reached his foster brother’s side. He looked back to see people crowding into the cottage and the shutters being pushed open from the inside.

“Niall intends to see Amber married—for her own protection.”

He whipped his head around. “What? We have to stop him!”

“Nay, Lachlan, wait.” Callum dismounted from his horse and grabbed his arm. “Trust me, ’tis for the best.”

Anger mixed with panic pounded at his temples, and he jerked his arm from Callum’s hold. “’Tis not for the best, and you would not be so accommodating if it were Maggie in there.”

“I would be if I thought she might choose me.”

Confusion creased his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“You said the other night that she had to claim you. Well, I didn’t think ’twas a good idea earlier, when I heard Niall rousing everyone up about her safety and the need to see her wed—and neither did everyone else. In fact, some are wagering Amber will hand Niall his puny, wrinkled arse, as Tavis put it—but now…well…maybe she will claim you when she has no other choice. Come on.” Callum led Lachlan around the cottage. “We want a good vantage point.”

“For what?” Lachlan couldn’t stop his voice from rising, his hands from fisting. “Is he planning to take a priest in there? Marry her on her sickbed? Tell me now, Callum, or I swear your nose will end up in the back of your head.”

His foster brother stopped to tie his horse. “Niall’s a crafty old bugger. He intends to trot the eligible men out in front of Amber and make her pick a groom. And my guess is that he’s thinking she’ll pick you. ’Tis what you want, aye? Deep down?”

Lachlan’s eyes widened, and that panic he’d felt earlier for Amber turned inward. “Me? But she knows I doona want to marry.”

“Aye. So you’ve said. But that was before you met Amber. Now you have to decide whether ’tis worse to stand out here and let Amber choose someone else, or to step inside, knowing she might choose you.”

* * *

Amber’s mouth dropped open as it looked like half her clan streamed into her cottage. She still lay on her back, and she struggled to push herself upward, but it hurt too much, so she flopped back down with a groan. The excitement and energy she’d felt from Lachlan’s earlier attentions had drained from her body.

Isla rushed to her side. “Here, let me help you.” She lifted Amber, propped pillows behind her, and straightened her shift and quilt so she was covered. Then Isla smoothed back her hair.

“What’s happening?” Amber asked.

Before Isla could answer, Niall came over and said, “Are you sure your herbs are working, Amber? You’re flushed yet wan at the same time. You doona look well.”

“Most astute, Niall. Verily, I doona feel well. Maybe ’tis because I’ve been stalked by a madman who put an arrow through my chest and is still out there, wanting to do it again. Then I had surgery without any pain draught. Now you’re all in here, taking over my home, when I just want to sleep.”

The clan had hushed to listen to her, and many of them nodded gravely. Others grinned widely at her tone. And was that goods she saw exchanging hands? Lachlan and Callum stepped into the back doorway, but when she tried to catch Lachlan’s eye, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked down. His body language was a mess, his chest puffed up belligerently, yet at the same time, he’d dropped his head. She couldn’t read the look on his face.

Callum stood beside him with one brow raised.

“You can sleep as soon as everything is settled,” Niall said.

“After what’s settled?”

“You, of course. Amber, you canna stay here alone anymore. ’Tis too dangerous. And even if you move into the castle, it causes too many disruptions. You must choose.”

“Have you lost your mind, Niall? What am I supposed to be choosing?”

“A husband.”

Deafening silence fell, all eyes trained on her, and Amber stared around in shock. They’d force her to marry? And all these people—young and old, male and female—felt that she was a disruption? These people whom she’d helped for so long, for whom she’d put her life at risk, blamed her for the acts of idiotic men?

She looked at Lachlan, his eyes still downcast, his jaw a hard line with a muscle beating in it. She looked at Callum, who caught her eye and jerked his head toward Lachlan.

What did that mean? He wanted her to choose Lachlan?

“You’ve all gone ’round the bend,” she said. “Your brains are addled.”

Some of the folks nodded in agreement. So not everyone thought as Niall did. But it looked like most of them did.

“Nay,” Niall said. “As your clan and protectors, we feel you need a strong man to keep you safe from intruders. You could be hurt by someone else next time. Your cottage is too isolated, and now everyone knows about your tunnel. If you’re attacked again, you’ll have no escape.”

“And my Robbie willna choose another lass until you’re spoken for, Amber,” Finola said. “’Tis not fair to the mothers or the other lasses.”

Brow lifted and eyes wide in shock, she looked at the faces of the other women in the clan. She’d ne’er before sensed any dissatisfaction in them, especially directed toward her. “Isla,” she asked her friend, “is this true?”

Isla’s shoulders drooped. “I was one of the lucky ones, Amber. My Alban has loved me since we were twelve years old. But ’tis not so for the other lasses. Even though you doona encourage it, the lads all hope you’ll look their way. I know ’twas too dangerous to choose when Murray was our laird, but now you should consider taking that step.”

Isla also caught Amber’s gaze and jerked her head toward Lachlan. She looked over. His eyes were fixed on a point out the window, his nostrils flaring as if he was breathing deeply to steady himself.

Unlike Callum, Isla didn’t know that Lachlan ne’er intended to marry, and she rolled her eyes.

“If it helps, I will have a terrible scar on my face from when Murray tried to kill me. Surely that will dissuade the whole lot of you.” ’Twas a lie, the wound would heal cleanly with little scarring, but she was mad enough to exaggerate right now.

One of the young lads from Callum’s clan stepped forward. She couldn’t even remember his name. “’Tis a badge of honor, lass. The imperfection only serves to highlight your beauty. I love you more than life itself.”

Lachlan made a derisive sound in the back of his throat just as she yelled, “Love isn’t about beauty! It’s about being with someone for forty years and finding they can still make you laugh. Having someone whom you’d die for because their happiness comes before your own, who understands what you’re saying without having to say anything at all. Being in love is about giving everything and not worrying about getting anything back because you’ve already got it.”

Her gaze fell on Lachlan again, and it jolted her to see him staring at her this time—an odd expression on his face. But then he dropped his eyes. Shuffled his feet.

She scowled and peered around the room until she found her tormentor. “You want me to choose? All right. I choose you, Niall.”

“You canna. Only eligible lads are allowed. Everyone one else must step out.” He waved his arms. “If you stand within Amber’s cottage, that means you are willing to take her as wife.”

People shifted around, the hopeful men moving to the front while everyone else hovered at the window and the door. All except Lachlan, who still stood on the doorsill. She noticed Callum had taken a wee step back.

Eighteen men, not including Lachlan, stood before her. Eighteen men she didn’t love, some she barely knew. The youngest was just seventeen years old. She’d saved his life four years ago, when he’d fallen into the river and nearly drowned. He was still a young, sweet lad, not a man she would take to her bed. None of them were.

Her eyes fell again on Lachlan, still undecided on the doorsill, still fascinated with something out the window.

“You canna do this,” she said to Niall, tears of betrayal pricking her eyes. After everything she’d done for these people.

“Aye, I can.”

“And if I doona choose?”

“We shall put it to a vote.”

“You’ll choose for me?”

“Nay. We’ll ask you to leave the clan. We canna be responsible for you any longer Amber. ’Tis too painful.”

A tear fell even though she heard a murmur of dissent in the crowd. She dashed it away angrily. “I shall ne’er forgive you, Niall.”

“I am an old man. I shall die satisfied knowing you are safe and married.”

“But not happy?”

“The two needn’t be exclusive, Amber.”

Several clan members nodded, men and women who’d been friends with her grandmother and her father. They felt this way too?

“My father would rip you to shreds for doing this. And my grandmother, she would make you rue the day you thought up this plan.”

“I think she’d understand,” Niall said.

“She’d ne’er understand. You treat me like cattle. Why doona you bring a halter for my neck and lead me to pasture? Or better yet, lead me to whate’er stud you’ve chosen for me.”

She looked at Lachlan, who watched her now. “Are you in or out?”

He stepped farther into the room and cleared his throat. “This has gone far enough. Amber you doona have to—”

“Nay, the clan wants me to choose. I’ll choose, but I’ll set a few rules first. If the groom dies, I doona have to marry again. No matter how soon after the wedding, even if it’s just hours or minutes after, maybe even during the first wedding toast.”

She let that sink in and saw a few eyes dart furtively to her cupboard full of herbs, many of which, given at the wrong dose, would kill someone instantly. Two mothers rushed forward and nabbed their sons, dragging them out of the cottage.

“And I willna sleep with my new husband until after he makes me laugh. And I canna be laughing at him, it must be a happy laugh because he’s said something amusing. I willna have dreary bairns.”

One of her clansmen she’d known most of her life and was almost twice her age slumped his shoulders. He was a decent man but as dull as mud. He quietly shuffled out.

She was now down to fifteen idiots plus Lachlan, who’d moved to the very front and stood with his hands on his hips, frowning at her. Which was funny, seeing as he had even less desire to marry than she did.

Which gave her an idea.

“My last rule is this. If I choose and my prospective bridegroom says ‘no,’ I doona have to choose again. Ever.”

Lachlan’s brow raised, and she knew that he understood her plan. A flush rushed up his skin, and he dropped his gaze again.

“Agreed,” Niall practically shouted beside her. She looked at him, and her smug smile turned a wee uncertain. A sparkle had entered his eyes even though he tried to look stoic. “Who is it then, Amber?”

Quiet descended.

She cast her eyes over the men, thinking to draw the moment out, to build it up, but suddenly her heart beat wildly and her throat tightened. Uncertainty caused a squeezing in her chest, and she just wanted to pull the blanket over her head and hide.

“Amber.” Lachlan’s voice soothed her, and she turned to find him watching her again, his stance wide and steady, his shoulders back and chin level.

So, he would help her after all. “I choose you,” she said, and for some reason she found herself blinking back tears.

An excited babble of voices mixed with groans and cheers erupted. But it was like she and Lachlan were in their own little world. Neither one looked away from the other or moved a muscle. Callum walked up behind him and clamped a hand on his shoulder, his smile the biggest Amber had seen on his face since he’d arrived.

“Congratulations, Brother,” he said, then he moved to Amber and kissed her cheek. “And to you, Sister. ’Tis a happy day to see two such fine people betrothed. I couldnae be happier for you both.”

Betrothed?

“Wait!” she called out. Lachlan still hadn’t moved; his eyes still held her own.

“What is it, lass?” Niall asked, looking like he wanted to do a jig.

“Laird MacKay hasn’t answered yet. He may say nay.”

Everyone stopped talking, and this time all eyes turned to Lachlan. Tension built as he did naught for a second, then his lips quirked, and he walked to the side of her bed, sat down, and took her hand.

“I say, ‘aye.’”