Nine

Darach tried not to sigh impatiently as a lass named Heather told him a convoluted story about two MacKenzie lads and a pig named Zeus. If Lachlan had been there, he would have raised an eyebrow and said something indecent—to Darach’s ears, at least. To the lass, it would have sounded perfectly respectable.

“So, who do you think I should choose?” she finally asked.

That’s what the story had been about? Picking a lad to fancy? Why hadn’t she just said so in the beginning? He knew both lads and would easily choose… Hmmm, who would he choose? Each boy was a bit of a scoundrel. He’d disciplined them both on occasion. And where had the pig fit in?

“Neither,” he said, thinking the bizarre meeting was over.

But the lass pouted. “You canna say neither, Laird MacKenzie. You must choose.”

Darach’s eyes widened, amazed the lass had contradicted him. The same lass who three days ago could barely look him in the face. He couldn’t stop the grin that creased his cheeks.

“’Tis verra poor manners to tell your laird what he can and canna do, Heather. Neither lad is grown enough to be a good choice. Either wait a year, or pick another lad.”

She returned his smile shyly. “Aye, you’re right. My mother said the same thing. ’Tis just that me sister, Rose, is seeing Tavis MacKenzie and she ne’er stops talking about him. ’Tis most aggravating. I would like to have me own stories to tell.”

“You will, lass. You’re a bonny girl. Doona fret.”

He turned to leave, but she placed her hand on his arm and patted it awkwardly like she would a dog. “Maybe someone older, then?”

“Aye, that’s a good choice.”

“How much older?”

For the love of God, how much more of this could he take? She was the third woman to stop him this morning. Anice MacKenzie, the clan weaver, had brought him a beautiful new plaid. He’d been very touched, but the woman had spent a considerable amount of time regaling him with stories of her twelve grandchildren. Then Robina MacKenzie had waved at him from across the bailey and brought him a package of sweets. It was the fourth such package he’d received in two days.

And yesterday in the village, women had surrounded him, inquiring about his health and asking him in for a cup of mead. His meeting to discuss the repairs needed after the winter storms had to be rescheduled. Not to mention with all the mead in his belly, he’d scarcely been able to sit his horse on the ride back to the castle.

“Laird?” Heather prompted.

He glanced at her, trying not to let his exasperation show. “I doona know, lass. Maybe another woman could advise you best. I must see to my duties now.”

She blushed but still smiled. “Certainly, Laird. I thank you for your time…and for your sacrifice, of course.”

He hesitated. “Sacrifice?”

“Aye. As our laird. You take such good care of us. ’Tis much appreciated.”

His chest tightened, cutting off his breath. For a moment, he could not speak. None other than Caitlin had ever said those words to him. ’Twas not necessary, for it was his duty, but the sentiment affected him greatly.

Heather did not notice. Instead, her eyes lit up and she giggled. “If you see my sister, ask her to tell you the story about the priest, the cow, and the Englishwoman. I laughed so hard I hurt my belly. After that, Rose would moo every time she saw me. Do you think it’s possible to die from laughing?”

Darach had to clear his throat before speaking. “I doona think so, lass. And if you did die laughing, I’m sure the angels would take you straight to Heaven.”

He smiled and headed for his solar, wanting to avoid any more encounters. Something was going on, and he was sure Caitlin was behind it. Who else would cause him such trouble?

His solar faced south and caught the morning sunlight through the two arched windows. It was his favorite room in the keep. A fire blazed in the hearth, creating a comfortable haven, and a wool rug covered the floor—an extravagance, for sure. On the wall behind his desk hung a tapestry depicting a Highland battle that had graced the wall in his room at the MacLeod keep when he was a lad. A farewell gift from his foster father, Gregor—he could not imagine the room without it.

Darach’s steward had placed a report on his desk that needed attention. It sat atop a pile of other reports and unfinished business. He’d meant to go through them yesterday, but the time had slipped away—into the myriad discussions he’d had with the women, no doubt.

He had to admit their solicitude had pleased him at first. Although it had been so many years since they’d held his gaze, he’d been a little unnerved. Now he was just annoyed. Did he really need to know that wee Robbie MacKenzie had lost his supper all over Odara MacKenzie’s skirts? Or that Tearlach MacKenzie had drunk so much he’d mistaken Coira MacKenzie for his wife and kissed her? Well, that one had been amusing, especially when Coira’s husband had caught them and tossed Tearlach into the sludge pile behind the mill.

But the rest…

He sighed and sorted through the work on his desk. He would barely get through half of it before he had to go to Odar MacKenzie’s cottage for dinner. The blacksmith’s wife had sent him an invitation with her youngest son. Darach did not want to offend the family by refusing.

A knock sounded at the door. Please God, not here too.

“Come in.”

Oslow walked through the door, and Darach released the breath he’d been holding.

“Am I disturbing you, Laird?”

“Nay, I was just worried lest you were another well-intending woman. ’Tis one more reason not to have a wife. How does a man get any work done with the constant chatter?”

“Well now, not all women are the same. Especially the sweet ones like Caitlin. She wouldnae be a bother.”

Darach snorted. “She’s the worst of the lot. She blathered the entire trip here, and she’s done something to make the women come after me.”

“Come after you?” Oslow asked, trying not to smile.

“You know what I mean. They willna leave me alone. Tonight I go to Odar MacKenzie’s for supper. Can you imagine?”

“A travesty, that. Maybe you would like me to lock him up?”

Darach’s mouth twitched before he sighed. Aye, he could see the humor in it. It would most likely be an enjoyable evening. The blacksmith had four rowdy sons who told a good story, and the food was sure to be plentiful. “Maybe I’ll take Lachlan with me. He is much at ease with people.”

Oslow took a seat across from Darach and they discussed the latest news from their spy in the Fraser keep. He’d told them the Frasers were not officially allied with Caitlin’s clan, but in the past year, the Fraser laird had gone there to visit three times. On the last trip, he’d taken a number of chests with him. It was rumored he’d be bringing home a great prize.

Darach scowled. Caitlin had been that prize.

Well, neither her uncle nor Fraser could control her now. She was safe with the MacKenzies, no matter how much trouble she caused—at least until she chose to go on her fool’s journey to France.

“You willna be angry with her, will you?” Oslow asked.

“I would ne’er blame her for the acts of corrupt men.” He couldn’t believe Oslow had asked him that.

“Nay, I meant for telling the women you were lonely and needed to be nurtured.”

For a second, Darach’s jaw dropped. Then it snapped together so hard, he thought he might have broken some teeth. “She said what?”

Oslow’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “Oh, well, those weren’t her exact words. I most likely confused them with something else. Edina did blather on, and I was only half listening. As you said, women do chatter.”

Darach rose from his chair and clenched the edges of the desk, turning his knuckles white. She’d told the women he needed to be nurtured? That he was lonely? For the love of Christ, he was their laird, not a bairn to be coddled.

Oslow rose too. “She said many other things as well. That you were a great laird and an honorable man, and the MacKenzies were lucky to have you. She felt we didn’t appreciate you enough.”

He would be the judge of that. Darach released the desk and marched around it. “Where is she?”

“Gone.”

The word hit him like a punch in the gut and he came to an abrupt halt. “What do you mean, gone? She’s left already?”

“Not to France. Just to the loch with Cloud. She’s been riding him most days. I have men guarding her every step.”

Relief rushed through Darach. His knees weakened, and he leaned back against the desk to cover it up. It was one thing for him to send Caitlin away with Lachlan, another for her to just disappear across the ocean.

She would be the death of him, yet…unless he got his hands on her first.

* * *

A loud banging startled Caitlin into wakefulness. She’d been alone, drowsing by the small hearth in the great hall, dreaming of Darach. She’d waited up to tell him that Fergus had finally agreed to move into the keep, with the kittens of course, and not to worry when he couldn’t find the lad in the kitchen.

Peering around the back of the chair to see who’d entered the empty hall, she saw Hati and Skoll bounding toward her. She hugged each dog and closed her eyes as they licked her face. When she opened them, Darach towered over her, scowling.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Didn’t you have a good time?”

“Nay, ’twas verra pleasant. Odar’s wife, Fia, is a good cook, and the lads told some amusing tales. Every one of them matched by Lachlan, who regaled them with embarrassing stories of our childhood. Now, not only do they think their laird is a pathetic, lonely man in need of nurturing, but also a right hooligan. It couldnae have been better.”

Caitlin pushed the dogs away. They slunk into a corner and lay down, watching their master. She wanted to join them. He eyed her with an intensity that made her heart race. He was angry, aye, but also… Well, she didn’t know what else.

She rose from the chair. “Where’s Lachlan?”

“He took a detour on the way back to the keep. He’ll be gone most of the evening.”

“Where’d he go?”

Darach exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. “Visiting.”

“At this time of night?”

“’Tis what men do when they have willing women to…visit.”

She gasped. “You mean he’s tupping.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Christ Almighty, Caitlin, women doona say that word!” He pointed his finger at her. “And doona lecture me on my language.”

“What word would you prefer me to use? Swiving?”

“I’d prefer you to say naught at all—about anything! Especially when it comes to me and how I choose to lead this clan!”

He stepped forward and the heat from his body engulfed her. They’d been much closer many times in the past, but tonight something lurked beneath his controlled visage—something that longed to devour her.

And God help her, she wanted to be devoured.

Retreating, she bumped into the chair. ’Twas a good thing it was there, for her knees suddenly gave out, and she dropped to the seat. He leaned down, hands locking on to the armrests.

Her breath caught—she was not just nervous, but excited too. A prickly heat rose along her chest and her breasts ached—they were too confined, too hot.

She wanted him to move away but also come closer. Her hands traveled up his arms to push him back, but they gripped the material of his lèine instead.

“You should be in bed, Caitlin. With the door barred.”

She licked her bottom lip. His eyes narrowed on the movement, and the muscles beneath her hands tensed.

“I was waiting for you.” It came out a whisper, but it throbbed with something else, something…carnal.

He heard it too, and his nostrils flared as if he could scent her. Grasping her waist, he lifted her against him, pelvis to pelvis, chest to chest, and slid a hand beneath her backside, so she was supported. Her feet dangled above the floor, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

A burning heat filled her. Her hips rocked against him instinctively. He was so big, so hard. Everywhere.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her buttocks and held her tight. “If I’m so lonely, maybe you should comfort me. Even the strongest man needs comfort.” He sounded ragged, but she sensed the anger, the pain beneath his words.

“I want to comfort you, Darach. Always. I ne’er want you to be alone or unhappy.”

His arms wrapped tight around her, one still anchoring her hips to his, the other angled across her back. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and shuddered. She held him with all her might.

She didn’t know how long they stayed that way—it could have been minutes or hours—but suddenly he lifted his head, burrowed his hand in her hair, and against her lips said, “Then doona leave,” before he dropped his mouth to hers.

He was not gentle. His lips did not tease or finesse. Rather he simply demanded entrance and she gave it.

She would have given him anything.

He plundered her mouth, and her fingers curled into his scalp, pressing him closer. She rubbed her tongue against his. A liquid heat spread in her belly, dipping low between her legs and out to the tips of her breasts.

She squirmed, but not to get away. Instead, she rubbed against the angles and planes of his torso. The hard muscles of his chest flattened her aching breasts. The ridge at his pelvis chafed the vee of her thighs.

Groaning, he shifted his hand from her hair to the back of her leg to pull it up and around his hip. She moved her other leg into the same position. The movement tangled her skirts, and he helped her ’til her ankles locked at the small of his back. Still his mouth ravaged hers. She moved with him now, her tongue following his as he advanced and retreated in her mouth, her hips finding a rhythm as he rocked his pelvis against hers.

Something built inside her, an urgency. For what, she wasn’t sure. She just had to get closer, squeeze tighter, agitation rising alongside wonder. He turned and sat with her on the chair, his hand tucking her legs down either side of him, so they dangled through the armrests to the floor.

A small space opened between them and she cried out. An answering rumble echoed in his chest. His sporran was in the way, so he pushed it to the side and pulled her up hard against him. She shuddered.

“Caitlin. Look at me.”

His voice was so raspy she could barely understand him. Didn’t want to understand him. Her sluggish mind protested being drawn back from sheer bliss.

He grasped her upper arms and pushed her away, so she angled back over his legs. “Look at me.”

Her lids were heavy. When she managed to open them, he groaned. One hand supported her shoulders. The other lifted to trail down her face.

“Ne’er in my life have I seen anyone as lovely as you.”

He leaned forward and captured her lips again. Light kisses that nibbled, licked, and sucked. His tongue teased; his teeth gently scraped. The pressure built once more, and she rocked against him, moaning.

“Doona stop,” he said.

She was beyond stopping. Beyond anything but the burgeoning ache between her legs that urged her onward. When his hand stroked down her throat and palmed her breast, she cried out, then clasped her hand over his and squeezed.

Something was happening to her. Her head dropped back and he kissed her throat as he kneaded her breast, his fingers flicking over her nipples.

He loosened her linen chemise and had just slipped his hand inside her dress when she heard it. A pleading whine by her right ear. It didn’t make sense until she heard Darach say, “Hati, lie down.” But his voice was weak, and the dog didn’t listen.

Darach cleared his throat. This time he spoke with authority. “Lie down.”

She turned her head to the side and saw Hati reluctantly lower himself to the floor, eyeing them anxiously. Paws padded across the rushes, and Skoll flopped down beside his brother. He barked once, then laid his head on Hati’s back, also watching.

Darach sighed heavily, tightening his hand on her breast as if to memorize the feel of it before releasing her. He fastened her chemise and dropped his head to the crook of her neck, breathing deeply.

Awareness slowly crept back to Caitlin. The room came into focus, and she once again heard the crackle of the fire, felt the warmth of the flames on her back. Embarrassed heat rushed up her skin when she remembered what she’d done. She squirmed to get away, but Darach tightened his arms around her.

“Doona move.” He sounded like he was in pain. More than likely she’d hurt him climbing all over his body. Rubbing against him like a…like a… She couldn’t even find the words.

Darach pulled back to look at her, lids lowered as if to shield his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

His brows shot up. “For what?”

“For what I just did. For kissing you and…and…” She couldn’t say it—it was too dreadful. She lowered her voice. “’Twas most ungodly.”

He laughed—a short, hard sound. “God is in all creation, Caitlin. Surely if He didn’t want us making love, He wouldnae have made it so pleasurable.” Darach’s face turned bleak. “And ’twas my fault, not yours. I took advantage of you.”

“You did?”

“Aye.”

She didn’t understand. She was the one who’d trapped him with her legs, climbed on top of him like the monkeys her father had told her about. A confused frown creased her brow. “I didn’t hurt you?”

He dropped his head into the crook of her neck. His breath puffed against her skin as if he laughed, maybe sighed.

When he raised his head, he tilted her face up with his fingers. “You didn’t hurt me. ’Tis what happens when a man makes love to a woman. Until he finds release, ’tis…uncomfortable.”

Her dismay must have shown on her face, for he shook his head and said, “God help me, I’m making it worse.”

He gripped her waist and tried to lift her, but her legs were trapped by her heavy skirts and the arms of the chair.

“Raise your arisaid, then your feet,” he said. “I’ll pull you free.”

When they were untangled, he rose, placed her back in the chair, and moved toward the hearth. After a moment, he turned to her. She noticed his plaid bulged in front where his privates were located. He caught her staring and shifted his leather sporran over himself.

“I knew I hurt you with my indecent rubbing. Is that why it’s swollen?” She couldn’t take her eyes from it.

He rested his forehead against the mantel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lord have mercy, I have ne’er met a lass so innocent. Do you know naught of intimate congress?”

Her mouth snapped shut. She’d seen animals in the act, aye, but always from a distance. When she’d asked her mother about it, she’d been told a man’s parts fit into a woman’s parts like a broomstick into a bucket. She’d said naught of the broomstick breaking.

“So…’tis not broken?”

“Nay.” He looked over his shoulder toward the door and mumbled something under his breath about Edina. She thought he was going to leave, but instead he moved stiffly to the other chair and sat down. Color came and went in his cheeks. “Caitlin, what we did, the way we touched each other and how our bodies reacted, mine as well as yours, is all part of lovemaking. If we’d been married, I’d have…finished the act.”

She scrunched her brow. “You mean, put your broomstick into my bucket?” She didn’t think that had happened, but it would be good to know if she were still a maid.

He half laughed, half coughed at her question and nodded his head. “Aye, that’s what I mean. Who told you that?”

“My mother.” Caitlin had been about fourteen. She’d asked other questions too, but Claire had said she’d tell Caitlin when the time was right. That time had never come.

“What else did she say? Did she tell you that if we’d finished, we could have made a bairn?”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “I know where bairns come from, Darach. I’m not a lass of five.”

“Well, you’re not a lass of nearly twenty, either.”

She gasped at his jab, and he groaned. “I’m sorry. I just meant you’re verra innocent for a woman your age. I ne’er should have touched you. When I think what could have happened…”

She leaned toward him. “Tell me.”

Startled eyes met hers. She watched, fascinated, as his pupils dilated. He sat back as far as he could and cleared his throat. “Go…to…bed.”

“But how will I e’er—”

“Now!”

He’d yelled at her—for no good reason. And just after she’d told Heather and Rose their laird would never raise his voice.

She stood with a disdainful sniff and tossed her hair. “Maybe I’ll ask Lachlan.”

At his outraged look, she marched toward the stairs. At the bottom, she hesitated. She didn’t want to ruin her grand exit, but she knew if she didn’t ask the question, it would bother her all night. And it’s not like she could ask Edina and admit to such shameful conduct.

She turned back to him. “Darach?”

“Aye.” He sounded at his wit’s end.

“You doona think… That is to say…I’m not possessed, am I? By a succubus or something? It’s just…to behave so wantonly.”

The air exploded from his lungs with an exasperated bellow. “For the love of all that’s holy…no!”

She took the stairs two at a time and was almost at the top when he yelled, “And bar your bloody door!”