Eight

She needed to ask Marcus to take her home.

Katherine put it off for several more days, coming up with excuses of not wanting to spoil the camaraderie of the trip. People watched them as they passed, the news of four clans riding together making its way ahead of them.

Yes, that was it. She didn’t want to sour everyone’s disposition.

You don’t want to shame Rolfe…

That was also true. Which just made her sigh because she cared for him.

Love, you mean…

Her inner voice was being perverse.

And annoying.

Yet true…

Fine, yes, yes, and yes again. It wasn’t really fair to shame Rolfe by deserting him when he was only expecting what every man wanted from a wife.

“Marcus and Symon will be splitting off tomorrow.”

Rolfe had followed her for a change, placing himself between her and the fire. He offered her a plate with part of a roasted rabbit on it.

“Ye’re to be commended, Kat,” he said after she’d taken it. “I do nae think I’ve ever heard of a woman keeping pace with Highlanders. Yet ye have nae asked for a single break along the road.”

“You know full well that I am trained.” She offered her comment in a soft tone, realizing the time was at hand to broach the topic of leaving him. Her appetite died as she looked at him and searched for words that were not too sharp.

“I do,” he answered before he leaned down and stopped her from setting the plate aside.

She realized he hadn’t touched her in days. She felt it keenly, as if they completed each other in some strange, magical way.

He felt it too. She watched passion flicker in his eyes. “Just as ye know that no one makes ye feel like I do.”

He released her, letting her experience the parting of their flesh. It was acute, sending a little ripple of lament through her.

“I’ve had words with Marcus,” Rolfe informed her softly, but that didn’t keep her from catching the warning in his tone. “Ye will be coming home with me, Kat.”

“No.” She stood up, the plate tumbling out of her lap. “I will not.”

Rolfe stayed exactly where he was. That meant she was only a step from him once she straightened. He took instant advantage of it, hooking his arm around her body and binding her against him.

“Yes.” He captured her nape with his other hand and held her still as his breath hit her lips. “Ye will, Wife.”

She both hated and loved the sound of the word wife. He meant it as more than a legal term. Oh yes, there was a flare of possession in his eyes, right before he pressed his mouth down onto hers.

It had been too long since he’d touched her.

That realization burst on her as he kissed her hard. It was a mark of possession, a declaration of intention, and a warning to her that he wasn’t planning on being defied.

She tried to push him away in response. Oh, it wasn’t that she really thought about it. No, this was impulse, the need to prove her strength to him just as much as he needed to claim her.

His kiss was hard, yet not brutal. She twisted and he followed her, pressing her lips apart as sweet sensation went surging through her, awakening a hundred points on her body that longed for his touch. Yearnings rose up from inside her, demanding satisfaction now that she knew he could wring pleasure from her flesh. Her doubts about their compatibility dissolved as he held her still and kissed her until she ripped her mouth from his to draw in ragged breaths.

She was pressed to him from knees to chest, so aware of his hardness, wanting it inside her.

It frightened her.

She recoiled from him, struggling against him. He let out a snort before releasing her, only to have to grab her by the upper arm when she stepped on the hem of the dress and would have landed on her backside if he hadn’t caught her.

She shook off his hold the moment she had her balance. “I cannot be the wife you desire.”

“And yet desire is drawing us to each other,” he countered.

“We can find it with others, too.” She didn’t care for how hollow that made her feel, as if she were shredding her own heart.

“Ye are mine, Katherine,” he warned her. “Ye wed me of yer own will, and I will nae allow ye to take that back. Ye gave me yer promise, yer solemn vow.”

“Because I thought you accepted me as I was.” She felt as though she was floundering in a pool of water, just trying to stay afloat.

“Ye knew very well me reasons for taking ye back to McTavish land,” he said. “Ye take risks that are selfish, woman, and I will teach ye that lesson. Never will ye place yerself between me and danger.”

“So you would have had me stand idle while Morton held you?”

He nodded firmly.

“You are arrogant beyond compare,” she hissed. “I recall the vows we took as well. Among them was ‘I plight thee my troth.’”

Rolfe made a low sound of warning under his breath. He was fighting to keep his hands off her. She recognized the flash in his eyes and the way his nostrils flared.

“We’ll be talking more…once we make it to a chamber with a solid door.”

“And why is that?” She really should have left well enough alone, but Rolfe always had unleashed a daring inside her.

Now it was flaring up, gaining strength as her heart started to pound and she caught the scent of his skin. Passion was heating her; the chill of the night was perfect coupled with the heat warming her. Their clothing was suddenly so unnecessary.

And she truly wanted to rip his open.

She wasn’t alone in the grip of that need. It flashed through his eyes a moment before he was leaning over. He put his shoulder right against her belly and pushed toward her, taking her off her feet with a little whoosh of air.

He carried her as though she weighed nothing, taking her farther into the forest until the sounds from the camp were faint.

“Now, we are going to come to an agreement.” He let her down, but didn’t allow her to step away from him.

“You think a tumble is all that is needed to sway my mind about the rest of my life?”

He cupped the sides of her face. “I think it’s a fine place to start.”

Her body agreed with him, feeling as if it were glowing when he sealed her mouth beneath his again. It was a hungry kiss this time, drawing her to him with just how much he craved her. She couldn’t seem to deny it, not when he needed her.

Her thoughts became muddled as his tongue swept across her lower lip. She let out a little sound more breathless and feminine than she’d thought she might ever produce. He answered it with a male sound of approval.

“I like that,” he whispered against her ear, his fingers threaded through her hair as he kissed the side of her neck. “Knowing that I make ye cry out with passion. I enjoy it, lass…”

He turned her around, putting his chest to her back. “I intended to wait…until we were home…to save yer blushing to know every man behind us knows what we’ve gone off to do.”

She shuddered. It wasn’t shock. No, it was anticipation. Blunt. Hard. And it hit her like a solid blow. Her passage had never felt so empty, so much in need of being filled. Rolfe was tugging on the lace that held her bodice closed, freeing her breasts. Her chemise was a thin barrier, yet one that irritated her because she wanted to be bare.

Like some pagan rite.

He found the thin tie that held the neckline closed and gave it a tug. The knot popped, allowing him to reach in and cup her breast.

“But seeing the moonlight on these… Well, now I do nae much care if ye spend all of tomorrow with rosy cheeks.” He was whispering in her ear as he teased her breast, cupping it, stroking it, and teasing the nipple until it rose into a hard point beneath his touch.

“Perhaps I should confess that I will enjoy knowing yer blushing confirms to every man here that ye belong to me.”

“I do not.” She stepped forward but only heard him chuckle behind her.

Rolfe made good use of the moment, unbuckling his kilt and flinging it across the ground while she turned to face him for her argument.

“Ye do.” He scooped her off her feet and lowered her onto the wool. It was still warm from his body, and he was hotter still as he came down with her, reaching back into her open bodice to lift her breast into the open. “And I am going to enjoy proving it to ye.”

She ended up flat on her back. Rolfe controlled her expertly, coming down beside her, one of his thighs trapping her legs as he leaned over her and captured her nipple between his lips.

“Oh…”

She meant to say something, but Rolfe sucked on her nipple and the thought refused to form into anything solid. Instead, she was arching back, astonished by how good it felt to have his lips wrapped around her flesh. Never once had she realized how sensitive it might be.

She needed to be closer to him. Reaching for his shoulders, she pulled him toward her. He seemed just as impatient to be in contact with her flesh. There was the cooling touch of the night air against her legs as he tugged her skirt up and she knew the joy of feeling him stroking her upper thigh.

Gooseflesh rippled across her skin in response as he stroked her again, this time moving closer to her mons.

“What have ye done?”

He’d lifted his head as he teased the recently bared folds of her sex. It was still as smooth as a newborn’s.

“French maids,” she rasped out. “Morton sent a couple of them to…ah…help me prepare for my wedding night.”

“Ye were already wed to me.”

He’d meant it as a warning, but he was still teasing her cleft, clearly distracted by the lack of curls to guard it. Rolfe was twisting and shifting until he was hovering over her sex and pressing her thighs wide.

“You turn me into a wanton…” The words crossed her lips in a husky tone that earned her an arrogant look from Rolfe. He was teasing her slit with his thumb, his eyes narrowing as he caught the first drops of welcome from her passage.

“And I will gladly feed yer cravings, lass, for it is the only way to satisfy me own.”

His words held as much impact as the first touch of his mouth against her sex. She writhed, unable to remain still. The pleasure was white-hot, feeling like it was twisting up into her belly as he licked her slit from top to bottom, along both sides, and then he spread her folds, baring her clitoris so that he could treat it to the same attention.

She cried out, her eyes shutting as he sucked on that point. There was no way to control anything. No, at that moment, there was only reaction, impulsive response to the need he was building beneath his tongue. He had slid his hands under her skirt to hold her hips, sending a strange feeling of intensity through her, as though she enjoyed knowing he was holding her in place for his pleasure.

He kept her on the edge, easing off when she thought she was going to peak. Over and over again, until she was certain her sanity was about to burst instead.

“Rolfe…”

He lifted his head, satisfaction on his face as he looked up her spread body. “Do ye want me?”

“Yes.”

He rose, pushing back onto his haunches. He reached down and gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. The moonlight cast him in silver and shadow as his member stuck up, hard and promising.

“Ye want yer husband?”

She realized he was going to extract his punishment from her. He’d left the hunger blazing inside her as retribution for rejecting him. But he needed her as much as she did him. She curled up, surprising him as she kept going until she had her thighs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his shoulders.

His member was between them. Trapped against her wet folds. She squeezed her thighs tightly and gently rocked her hips so she was stroking his length with her slit.

“Christ…” he ground out, locking his hands around her hips.

“Do you want me to be your wife?” she whispered back to him. It was an agony of sorts, moving against his member. It felt delicious and yet increased her craving to have him inside her. She gripped his hair, pulling his head away from where it was buried against her shoulder so their eyes might meet. “As I am?”

“Katherine…”

His tone was strained as he fought the same battle against the tide of need for each other. It pulled them into its grip, refusing to allow either of them to maintain their personal identities. They both resisted, needing each other, craving it, and still too stubborn to submit.

He lifted her, his member straightening so he could plunge her down onto it. Their cries mixed together as they became one. It wasn’t gentle; they strained against each other, riding hard, forcing each other up to a crest that, when it peaked, ripped them both in two. Pleasure cracked through her like a whip, and she felt it tear a cry from his lips as his seed began to flood her. At the last moment, he clamped her down onto him, so he was as deep as he might go, and pumped his offering inside her.

He was shaking when he eased her off his lap where she crumpled, completely spent. He curled around her, the night cooling her as she struggled to breathe. Somehow, the sight of the moon and the stars fit the moment.

They were wild.

And she had no defense left against admitting how much she needed him.

Wanton…

Yes…

And more.

She was craven. Feeling as though her very soul cried out for his touch.

Whatever she was, there wasn’t any strength left in her to debate the rightness of her feelings. Sleep tugged her away, and she felt his breath on her head as he smoothed the hair from her face.

* * *

“Do nae ask, Katherine.”

Marcus spoke before she got the chance. He turned to face her, looking older than she recalled.

“I know what ye seek, and I must tell ye no.”

She shook her head in shock. “You deny me a place? Now?”

Marcus drew in a stiff breath. “I trained ye, lass.”

She nodded. “Something I am grateful for, and it has surely served its purpose.”

“That might be debated and justly so, for if I had no’ allowed ye into the training yard, ye’d no’ have fallen into Tyree Gordon’s hands to begin with.”

She wanted to argue, but this was Marcus. Between master and student, there was no room for dishonesty. “That is true. Yet there is no turning back time.”

“No,” he agreed. “Ye are a woman now, one who is wed by her own choice.”

“I did not know his father forbade the match.”

Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s a difficulty, to be sure.”

“I should think so.”

“Still…” He took a moment to weigh his words before speaking.

Her shoulders tightened because she knew the expression on his face. It was the same one that she’d witnessed before he pronounced judgment. This was the MacPherson war chief, about to make a decision.

There would be no arguing with it once it was cast.

“I do nae accept cowards in me yard.”

She stiffened.

“So, ye will no’ run away from yer new father-in-law. William McTavish is an arrogant goat, one I expect ye to face with yer back straight. Ye have naught to be ashamed of.”

“He will not change his thinking about English blood.”

She knew better than to argue, and yet she couldn’t seem to hold the words in. It felt like the ground was crumbling around where she stood, getting closer and closer to her feet. If Marcus denied her a hand to cling to, she’d fall into an unknown abyss.

“Ye are no’ running away from William.” Marcus sent her a stern look. “I was guilty once of thinking women are more suited to being taken away from their homes. Helen taught me the error of me ways. It is a difficult thing, leaving yer home to wed, yet I expect ye to do so with courage.”

“Rolfe does not accept me as I am.” She opened her hands. “I wish it were otherwise, but I do not know how to be anything else.”

Marcus smiled at her, but it was the way a father would look at a child being sent to do a duty expected of her.

“It’s me fault ye are more fearful of this day than need be,” he said. “For that, I am sorry.”

“Yet you will leave me with a man who wishes to crush my spirit?”

Marcus inhaled sharply. “Helen charged me with the same thing more than once.”

That brought Katherine up short. “You and Helen are so very happy.”

“Aye.” Marcus nodded. “We had to learn how to be, Katherine. To many, it might seem Helen settled in, but I will tell ye bluntly, it took both of us to make our union what it is. Think on that, lass, for ye can be certain I’d no’ leave ye here if I had not already said as much and more to yer husband.”

A little tingle of warmth filled her. Marcus was more of a father to her than any other.

“I am not the one who is digging his heels in,” she groused, feeling the point well and truly lost.

Marcus slowly smiled, flashing his teeth at her. “Well, now, Helen had to get through to me, through me stubborn pride, and it was no’ a simple matter. There were times she needed things to help her bring me around to sensible thinking.”

“Such as what things?”

Marcus chuckled, the sound dark and ominous. “Such as pitchers.”

He looked past her, and she turned to see Rolfe coming toward them. The expression on his face drew her attention. At first, it seemed to be anger, but at second glance, she realized he was determined. Deeply so. He’d heard the last part and raised an eyebrow.

“Pitchers?” he asked. “What do ye need a pitcher for, Kat?”

Marcus snorted, nearly choking on his amusement. He slapped Rolfe on the shoulder. “Pray she does nae ever answer that, lad. It leaves a hell of a ringing in a man’s ears when he gets walloped with one because he is behaving like a fool.”

* * *

Laird William McTavish was happy to see his son return. So much so that he made his way onto the steps as the McTavishes flooded out of the hall to greet the returning men. His joy faded when he caught sight of Katherine.

She tried not to let it bother her, sliding from the back of her mare and keeping her chin level.

The McTavish laird was not the only one glaring at her. Rolfe reached up and tugged on his bonnet before he turned and gestured her forward.

I do nae accept cowards in me yard.

Marcus’s words rose from her memory but she would have moved forward anyway, because there was no way she would be ashamed of who she was.

“Best we go inside, Father.”

William McTavish frowned, clearly not caring for his son’s words. His captains sent Katherine looks that made it clear they thought her the cause of trouble. What surprised them was the way Adwin came up beside her, taking a stance a half pace back and off to her right.

Laird McTavish stared for a long moment at Adwin and the retainers who had joined him. Those on the steps quieted, sensing the tension in the air.

“Aye,” William replied. He turned and began to make his way back into the hall. His wooden leg made a pounding noise on the stone floor as he went.

He suddenly stopped and turned to look at Rolfe. “I should introduce ye to Anne Grahan.” There was a movement off to the side as a woman stood up. “Yer bride.”

The girl came forward and lowered herself. She didn’t look up, not even when she straightened.

“It’s time ye were wed, and I have taken care of the contracts while ye were away.” He waved away Anne, who went happily.

“Father.”

William was settling himself in his seat at the high table. “Ye may express yer gratitude.”

“I am already wed,” Rolfe spoke clearly. “To Katherine.”

She expected outrage, but instead William McTavish merely cast her a rather uninterested look before returning his attention to Rolfe. “I agreed to no such match.”

“It is done,” Rolfe insisted. The hall was so quiet that she heard the wind whistling in the open windows.

“I am yer laird.” William’s tone became harder. “And I say I have contracted ye to Anne Grahan.”

“The vows were consummated and witnessed,” Rolfe told his father. “By Duncan Lindsey.”

William leaned forward, his pallor increasing. “I sent ye down to give this English chit to Morton.”

“Katherine was me prize,” Rolfe informed his father. “So mine to keep.”

William shook his head. “Nae if yer laird disagrees.” He shifted his attention to her. “Perhaps the rumors of ye being a witch are true. It seems ye have somehow turned me son against me.”

There was more than one gasp. Katherine felt her insides knotting. Just the mention of the word witch drew her back to the moment when she had watched the stake being raised and readied for her.

But it was Anne’s horrified face that Katherine ended up staring at. The girl was terrified of William now.

“Hate me for being English.” Katherine spoke up.

“Oh, I assure ye I do,” Laird McTavish answered her loudly. “And ye will no’ speak to me unless spoken to.”

It would have been wiser to keep her mouth shut, but the look on Anne’s face wouldn’t let her. Katherine refused to be so fearful of life. If that meant she died as a witch for it, so be it.

“I find it very difficult to believe that a spineless woman gave you a son as fierce as Rolfe.”

William opened his mouth the moment she started to speak, clearly intending to cut her off, but her words distracted him.

“Me wife was a strong woman. Strength begets strength,” he declared, to the approval of his clan members.

“And yet,” Katherine pointed at Anne, who was watching them with red-rimmed eyes as she wept in fear, “you have brought him a woman who cringes over another woman being insulted.”

Attention turned toward Anne, who stiffened and held her breath.

“Get out of me sight, witch!” William insisted.

“She is me wife,” Rolfe stated firmly.

“I want her out of me sight,” William declared. “This is a discussion for men. All of ye, be gone!”

It was Ceit who came forward and grasped Katherine’s wrist. The Head of House offered her a kindly warning look before she tugged on the wrist.

Leaving the room was the last thing Katherine wanted to do, but Rolfe stood there, firmly facing his father, and she knew it was the only way the matter could be resolved.

But do you want it resolved?

Katherine admitted that she was torn. Marcus had been her mentor for a long time, and she trusted him. His advice had always been sage, and it had filled her with hope the day before. That confidence was struggling to stand steady in the face of William McTavish’s hate.

Strangely enough, Anne’s stricken form was what restored Katherine’s balance. Ceit made it clear that she was of the same mind the moment they made it into the kitchens.

“Thank Christ we’ll no’ be having that spineless creature as mistress,” the Head of House said. The activity in the kitchens slowed in response. Ceit propped her hands on her ample hips and stared at her staff. “Aye, ye all heard me right. And I’ll call ye lazy if any of ye try to convince me ye’d prefer that little simpering miss. The only reason would be because ye know ye can spend half yer day napping because she does nae have the spine to reprimand ye.”

There was a round of laughter before work resumed. Ceit smiled at Katherine. “Welcome, mistress.”

They heard William shouting in the hall and Rolfe answering him almost as loudly.

“A welcome that will be spoken of for years to come,” Katherine replied, to the delight of the Head of House.

Ceit offered her a merry smile, while her eyes sparkled with mischief. “It will, at that.”

There was comfort in Ceit’s welcome. Katherine didn’t want to admit just how desperately she needed a friendly face.

Or how much she feared William McTavish would have his way.

Hers would be far from the first marriage annulled in spite of a soiled sheet being flown. William would hardly spare any compassion for her loss of virtue over it. Marcus might raise an objection, but Marcus was not laird of the MacPhersons. Shamus MacPherson was a master at preserving peace at all costs.

She wouldn’t expect Shamus to threaten to go to war over her reputation being shredded. It would be considered her due for riding out and away from the protection of the clan.

No, the best she might hope for was a place with the MacPhersons. It was a fine place, too, one many would be content with.

Frustration claimed her at last as she recalled that Rolfe was displeased with her, too. It was likely he was seeing the error of his ways now, realizing she was simply more trouble than she was worth.

* * *

“’Tis a fine way ye repay me,” William growled. “Wedding an English girl—and no’ just that, but she has nae a single piece of silver to her name.”

“She is me choice, Father.”

William snorted. “Yer choice? Well, I say change yer bloody mind. Ye’ve had her now, so set yer thinking to wedding for the right reasons.”

“It is done.”

“And I say it is nae.” William slapped the tabletop. “No Englishwoman is ever going to be lady of this keep.”

There was a round of agreement from some of the retainers.

William was nodding in agreement with them when there was a sound of flesh meeting flesh. A man went sprawling, and another one had risen to come to his friend’s aid. William looked past his son to where Adwin was making it clear he’d take on more men if they dared speak up.

“What in the devil has gotten into ye, Adwin?”

The captain turned and tugged on his cap. “The lass did more than her share to make sure yer son came back from the dungeon Morton put him in.” The captain turned to look at the other retainers. “So I will no’ be hearing any cursing of her name.”

William opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly struggling to absorb what Adwin had said. He wasn’t alone, either. All of the men who had ridden in with Rolfe stood there, lending themselves to the stand Adwin was taking.

William pointed at Adwin. “Ye will no’ be telling me what to say.”

“Since you are me laird”—Adwin reached up and tugged on his bonnet—“I will no’.” He turned and glanced behind him. “But the rest of ye will know the lass has earned me respect.”

Men who had risen to join the fight suddenly sat down, unsure of what was happening.

“I am dissolving this union,” William stated.

“No, Father,” Rolfe replied respectfully. “I owe ye many duties, but I have given me word, in the presence of God. If ye insist, I will leave with me wife.”

William was silent for a long moment. “Clearly, ye need time to think the matter through. Properly. I will see ye at supper.”

Rolfe tugged on the corner of his bonnet as his father stood and retired to his private study. Adwin came up beside him.

“That went rather as I expected it might,” the captain muttered.

“Aye,” Rolfe agreed, not caring for how easily his father had named Katherine a witch. For himself, he didn’t care at all, but he’d be a fool to dismiss how many did take such things to heart.

“What are ye thinking, lad?” Adwin knew him well—too well—because the captain recognized the look in Rolfe’s eyes.

“I’m thinking MacPherson land might be the only safe place for Katherine if me own father is going to go so far as to name her a witch.”

“Anything else we can weather,” Adwin responded.

“But no’ witchery,” Rolfe admitted.

And that tore him nearly in two, because he knew he’d do what he had to in order to protect her.

* * *

“Ye are going to lose this argument.”

Niul waited for his brother to finish snorting before he came farther into the room. William’s study was draped in tapestries, most of them having come with brides who quickly learned that their finery was now the property of the laird.

Just as they were.

“Rolfe is me son,” William stated. “The only one who lived long enough to become a man.”

“It is a fact that he is a man grown, which means ye can nae tell him who to wed,” Niul continued.

William scoffed and took a long drink from his mug. “I am laird. The day has not yet arrived when I will no’ be telling him what to do.”

“Think on how well that worked when ye sent him to see Morton.”

There was a long silence. If they had been in the open hall, William would have argued. It was a matter of saving face. Now, in the privacy of his study, he took a moment to stop his posturing and contemplated what Niul was saying.

“Rolfe will have her,” Niul said. “Forbid him, and ye will lose yer son.”

“Well, then,” William said, “I will just have to make sure the wench is the one who leaves.”

Niul wanted to argue but knew he’d only be encouraging William. The man made the word stubborn seem too weak for just how unbendable he was about having his way. Niul hoped Katherine was every bit the hellion she was fabled to be.

Because supper was going to be a true test of her mettle.

* * *

“Ye’ll sit beside me,” Laird McTavish told Katherine.

She cast Rolfe an uncertain look, but couldn’t really decide on a valid argument against it. Not unless she simply wanted to be perverse. She might not be willing to bend to William’s will, but dropping the subject… Well, that wasn’t too much to do.

So she nodded, earning a pleased look from Rolfe.

Her husband.

She hadn’t really thought about him in those terms before. The idea was a strange one, and it intoxicated her, making her slightly giddy. Ceit was happily making sure the head table was set with enough places. Anne had taken up a position between William and Niul.

To his credit, Niul didn’t seem vexed by being moved down in position. He grinned and raised his glass toward Katherine as she sat down.

The bread was brought to the tables. William took a round as everyone bowed their heads. He spoke a prayer before ripping a portion off and handing it to Rolfe, and then next to Anne.

Katherine felt her appetite dying. His actions were a public declaration of her standing, or lack thereof, in the eyes of the McTavish laird. He dropped the bread onto the plate without offering any to her. Rolfe tore his and gave half to her, earning a narrowing of his father’s eyes.

And so it begins…

She’d be a fool to think that all Rolfe had to do was tell his father they were wed and William McTavish would welcome her with open arms. No, there were going to be more objections from the man.

Supper began as maids carried in platters of food. Conversation started up, but it was hushed as everyone waited to see what might happen at the head table, while trying not to look as though they were anticipating the entertainment of another fight between the laird and his son.

“I have something to say,” William declared as he hit the tabletop with his fist. Those sitting in the hall quieted, giving their laird their attention.

“Me son was right about Katherine Carew.”

There was a ripple of surprise from those watching. Rolfe appeared taken unaware as he glanced back and forth between her and his father.

William looked at Rolfe with a smile on his lips. “She is yer prize and ye have the right, as any Highlander does, to keep what ye steal. I was wrong to try to claim her from ye.”

A hush had fallen over the hall, one Katherine felt down to her toes. There was a look in William’s eyes that promise Rolfe a reckoning.

“And I was wrong to call ye a witch.” Laird McTavish looked straight at her. “I hope ye’ll forgive me. Ye’re English, true, but that is no’ the same as being a cocksucker of Satan.”

There was more than one gasp in response. Katherine had never been more grateful for her time in the training yard because it allowed her to not react to the blunt words. She’d heard such before and only offered William a mild expression.

“Now.” William looked over at Anne, as he patted the girl’s hand. “A prize is meant to be enjoyed, and I must admit, I would certainly enjoy fucking the fabled MacPherson hellion.”

There was a round of coarse snickers from some of the men even as Ceit started to gesture some of her younger maids toward the doors.

“So keep her, me son, and enjoy her,” William stated firmly. “Anne will be yer wife, and her dowry will fatten our coffers, while her father will pledge his friendship toward us. The hellion will be yer slut, to do all the things a wife has no business knowing men crave.”

William slapped his hand down on the table. “Done. Mistress is a fine position for a hellion. No doubt the MacPhersons never made her a match because they couldn’t find a man willing to risk bedding her. Ye should be grateful.”

William ended his speech by looking straight at her. “And I am a bit jealous of me son. Perhaps when he tires of ye, I will let ye suckle me cock.”

Katherine pushed her chair back. William flashed her a pleased look, but she denied him any outpouring of words. She looked at Rolfe and lowered herself, making it clear whom she deemed worthy of respect before she left the hall.

Conversation started immediately, voices debating their laird’s correctness.

She didn’t care a bit for their opinions.

Only for the fact that Rolfe had said nothing.

That hurt her deeper than anything ever had.

* * *

Rolfe came into their chamber earlier than she expected.

Much earlier. Only an hour later, he was there.

Katherine eyed him uncertainly. Her husband offered her a grin before he pulled a hand around in front of him. He set a pitcher on the table between them.

“Is that meant as some sort of apology for sitting there silently?”

She really hadn’t wanted to ask the question. Her pride seemed to think she should leave it all up to him to explain, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“It is,” he answered. “I know I should have said something.”

“Indeed.” Her English accent was back again.

Rolfe held up a finger. “But I needed to see what he was getting at. Me father enjoys planning things. It’s always best to let him bluster a bit before charging into the trap he’s laid for ye. Besides, I was looking at Anne and wanted to see what she was going to make of it all.”

Katherine ended up thinking about what he’d said for a long moment. Rolfe cracked a grin, which annoyed her, and she sent him a glare.

“She likely thought you found it all to your liking.” She shook her head at how it must seem.

Rolfe merely shrugged.

“Well, in this case, me father miscalculated how strong ye are, lass.”

“Is that a fact?”

Rolfe nodded. “As for Anne, she was begging Adwin for an escort home before me father finished his supper. Claimed she would not marry into a family with such an unchristian nature.”

Relief touched her like a welcome breeze on a July afternoon. “I suppose talking about sucking Satan’s cock might be considered unchristian.”

“Coupled with me sitting there saying nothing against the idea of keeping ye both.”

“That was unkind of you.” Katherine twisted her knuckle against his breastbone in reprimand. He flinched, but didn’t back up.

“Why do ye think I brought the pitcher with me?”

“It would serve you right if I did hit you with that.” She meant every word, and yet her tone betrayed how touched she was by the offer. “And Helen hit Marcus in the great hall, so this is hardly an even exchange.” She gestured around the chamber.

“Aye,” he countered. “However, I am no’ trying to force ye to wed one of me men.”

“Only expecting me to stay where I am not wanted.”

“Ye are wanted here, Kat.” His tone went hard. “By me. Ye are hardly the first bride to encounter a cantankerous father-in-law.”

He’d moved toward her. She felt her belly flutter in response and let out a little sigh. “How can it be so very…perfect when you are near, and yet so horrible when you are not?”

“Ye are no’ the only bride who faces such.”

He came close enough that she felt his presence looming over her, sheltering her. His scent teased her senses as he stroked the side of her cheek. Pleasure rippled across her skin, raising a smile on her lips.

“Feuds have been settled for years in the Highlands by weddings,” Rolfe explained.

“That does not make it easier.”

He stroked her cheek again. “Nae.” He slid his hand into her hair and cupped her nape. It made her very aware of his strength, of the fact that he could crush her throat if he cared to. The fact that he held her like an egg made her feel cherished.

So unexpectedly tender.

He leaned down and kissed her, and she stretched up onto her toes to press herself against him. Desire began to pulse through her. Inside the chamber, she could give it free rein. It took him longer to disrobe, since all she had on was her dressing robe.

“Ye are so beautiful…” His voice was full of awe. He stood back for a moment, sweeping his eyes over her from head to toe. Words paled next to the way his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. It was the sort of compliment no words could truly express. It was there in his expression, and Katherine felt her insides tightening in response.

She liked the way he looked, too. All hard, with his member rising as need built between them. It was strange the way her senses became keener when he was near. Now, she could feel her heart accelerating and hear the way his breathing began to rasp between his teeth.

That was another compliment that might be savage, but it suited her well.

“Touch me,” he said. “Come to me because ye want to be here.”

She’d never heard him sound so needy before. It hit her in the heart as she struggled to accept that beneath his hardened exterior was a person with doubts, just like her.

“We are more alike than ye think, lass,” he explained. “For all that I appreciate ye seeing me as a man who is capable, the truth is I wonder if I will ever please me father, me clan, or anyone else in this life. And I wonder why I can nae seem to do so.”

She ended up smiling at him, moving toward him and feeling as if she was approaching the only safe haven in a storm. He cupped her shoulders, smoothing his hands down her arms. She reached down and handled his member, teasing it with soft strokes of her fingers. For a moment, they stood there, petting each other and fanning the flames of desire.

“We should make a habit of retiring early.”

He grinned at her through gritted teeth. “Aye…” he groaned.

A sense of victory went through her, for drawing that tone from him. So many times, she had writhed beneath his touch; now she wanted to prove that she was every bit as much his match.

So she slid to her knees.

“Kat.”

He didn’t get another word out before she’d opened her mouth and licked the top of his member.

He jerked, but he’d caught a handful of her hair and kept her in place as she licked him again and again before opening her mouth to seal her lips around the head of his cock.

“Christ almighty…”

He was hissing as he strained and arched, pushing his member farther into her mouth. She took it, using her tongue to stroke it as he did when he lapped her slit. It seemed to reduce him to the same state of mindless pleasure, so she continued sucking, licking, and using her hands to stroke him. His breathing became rougher, his member hardening even more. She tasted the first drop of his seed and licked it away from the slit on the top of his cock.

“Nae…” He pulled her away, tightening his grip when she tried to resume. “Ye’ll unman me.”

“You do so to me often,” she argued.

Rolfe bent down and scooped her off her knees. That quickly, control shifted between them once more. He cradled her, proving how much stronger he was, but the look in his eyes when he came down on top of her—she’d put that glitter there.

“But I’ll no’ leave ye unsatisfied, lass.”

He sank into her body. She arched and purred with pleasure, reaching up to lock her hands on his shoulders. He pulled free and thrust into her with a slow, unhurried motion that left her eager for more friction.

“Nae, never unsatisfied…” he muttered in a tight voice.

She realized he was fighting back the urge to pound her hard, taking the time to build the urgency until she was bucking beneath him, every bit as eager for a hard ride as he was.

Pleasure shook them both, like trees in a summer thunderstorm. They had no choice except to dance under the power of the wind as they shuddered and collapsed in a breathless heap.

Rolfe rolled back toward her sometime later, after they had both cooled enough to touch. Now, he folded her against him as he lay behind her, his hand cupping her breast like it was a treasure.

“When you touch me, I forget why this cannot work.”

He rose up and looked down at her. “Does that mean ye are nae going to swing that pitcher at me?”

She snorted and sent a jab at his lower belly. He curled up, faking fear.

“It would serve you right if I did.”

Rolfe left the bed, stopping to put on his shirt before he went across the bedchamber and into the outer one. He looked back at her. “I want to show ye something.”

There was a serious note in his voice. She left the bed, plucking her chemise from the floor as she went. He’d pulled something from a leather case hanging near one of the wardrobes. It was a rolled parchment that crinkled when he opened it. He kept it flat on the table by setting the pitcher on top of it.

Katherine read it through twice before she looked up at him. “My stepmother offered a dowry for me?”

“Marcus as well,” Rolfe confirmed. “Ye are quite the heiress, lass, and interestingly enough, worth more in the Highlands than in England. Yer stepmother made it a condition of this dowry that I take ye north and keep ye here.”

“But…” She walked a bit away from him, unable to stand still. “Why haven’t you told your father? It would quiet him.”

“I know.” Rolfe answered her swiftly and in a tone that made it clear he had no liking for the fact. “Yet if I did so, ye would always doubt I wanted ye for my wife no matter what ye brought me.”

She stood there stunned, feeling as though he had plunged a dagger straight through her heart. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, falling down her cheeks in hot drops.

“Oh Christ.” He looked toward the ceiling but then back at her, jumping forward to wrap her in his arms. “That was meant to please ye. I swear it.”

She wiggled against him, pushing until he released her with a frustrated snort.

“You did.”

Rolfe stared at her, trying to decide if he believed her. “Ye are weeping.”

“With joy.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out in that way men often did when they were completely confounded by a woman’s logic.

Katherine smiled at him. “I didn’t think there was any possible way for you to prove such a thing.”

He nodded firmly. “I’ll tear the parchment up if ye like, Katherine.”

“No,” she responded with a wicked grin. “I cannot wait to see your father’s face when you present it to him.”

Rolfe slowly curled his lips back, offering her a menacing grin that promised William McTavish hell.

“I love you.”

His grin faded in response, his expression becoming serious. He moved toward her, folding her back into his embrace. “As I love ye, lass.”

“I am still not going to become the model of a good wife.”

He stroked the side of her cheek and locked gazes with her. “I suppose that all depends on what a man thinks a perfect wife should be. For meself, I fancy hellions.”

* * *

“And the Earl of Morton will retire from the office of regency.”

Morton glared at the man reading the list of demands from the Earls of Gowrie and Angus. But they had the king. Part of him was relieved to know the young James was locked away from the newly arrived Lennox.

Lennox clearly intended to draw the king into a carnal relationship. Morton curled his lips in disgust at the idea. Men coupling with men—it turned his stomach.

He nodded. “Long live the King!”

Everyone seemed to expect more resistance from him. Morton gladly disappointed them. It was never wise to allow anyone to know too much about himself. He walked past the counselors who had answered to him for almost a decade, and didn’t care for the way they only half lowered themselves now that it was clear he was leaving.

It wasn’t until he was a day’s ride from the city that he drew his horse up and realized something.

The damned castle stank.

He drew in a second breath and let it out slowly. When he reached his estate, he was going to lay out new gardens. Anything to get outside. He’d spent too much time indoors. Scotland would have to be content with his efforts.

Of course, not everyone viewed him as a champion of Scotland. No, many saw him as a monster. They sought vengeance, now that they believed him in a position they might strike at.

Morton grinned. Let them try. For he might not be regent any longer, but he was still a Douglas.

* * *

Gordon land

Diocail pulled his horse up, raising his hand to let his retainers know he was stopping. Ahead of him was the Gordon stronghold. Half of it was dark stone, giving the place a sinister look. His horse seemed to sense it, dancing from side to side. Diocail reached down and patted the stallion’s neck soothingly.

“Wondering if they are going to welcome ye back?”

Diocail flashed a grin at his captain. Muir was a few years older than he was and had a calm demeanor that Diocail liked. The man also had a keen wit that was helpful.

The wind had whipped up, promising cooler days as summer neared its end. The breeze also carried the sound of a bell ringing. It was joined by another and then more.

“It seems they are ringing a fine welcome for ye, Laird.”

Diocail closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he let the sound seep into his soul.

“Let’s go home, lads!”

And he had every intention of making it a home. One that had everything he had never known but heard good men craved.

Home, hearth, and family.

He’d spent most of his life living for the moment when such treasures might be his. Today, he would begin building those dreams and forging them into reality. It would not be easy, especially not for a man who had only heard of a loving family. His mother had taught him of love, but she’d died a long time ago, leaving it a distant memory.

He was going to brighten that recollection and polish it, so he’d know the woman who would help him create a family when he met her. A good woman, strong like Katherine, willing to look at him with love in her eyes.

He’d find her.

Somewhere.

* * *

“I made this tart for you, dearest Father.”

Katherine made sure her accent was very English as she delivered the misshapen pastry to Laird McTavish.

William snorted before pushing it onto the floor. His hounds jumped up and immediately began to lap up the mess.

“Oh dear,” Katherine exclaimed. “Are your hands trembling? Age is such a burden. Shall I fetch you a tonic?”

“I do nae need it. Me hands are as steady as a young lad’s,” William exclaimed. “I can assure ye, me daughter Joan did nae go to her betrothed with the lack of skill that ye have.”

“Yes, I am English, after all.”

Katherine shot him a pleased smile before she left the great hall. Adwin was nearly purple with holding in his mirth. Most of the retainers had taken to making sure they were in the hall when supper was served, because Katherine would never fail to try to please her father by marriage.

“Ye’re devious, woman.” Niul spoke from where he’d been watching her from the doorway of the kitchen. “If me brother comes over that table and locks his hands around yer neck…”

“We will make quite the spectacle sprawled upon the floor,” Katherine finished.

Niul raised his mug to her. “I thought ye could nae run a house.”

Katherine shrugged. “I am learning.”

“Did ye make that tart?”

She winked at him. “I did. So I shall apologize to the hounds later.”

He grinned at her, but his attention lowered to her belly. She wasn’t very far along, but the news that she’d conceived spread fast. Even William had looked pleased by the announcement that she was breeding.

If a toad could appear in any way pleasant, that was.

“Why have you never wed?”

It really wasn’t her concern, and yet she’d decided that she liked Niul. At that moment, he offered her the most serious expression she had ever seen on his face, and it dawned on her that his smile was a shield.

“Ye may have noticed how me brother feels about being in control,” Niul said. “I am bastard born, and William plans to keep the legitimate line of this family for himself.”

She heard the lament in his voice and found herself drawn to him. “His grip has been loosened.”

Niul contemplated her for a long moment.

“I do believe my husband would welcome the news of your wedding.”

“Ye’ve convinced a woman to take ye to husband?” Rolfe asked as he came through the doorway behind her.

Niul stiffened. Rolfe didn’t miss it. For a long moment, they looked at each other.

“I would toast to yer happiness, Uncle.”

It took a moment before Niul’s lips parted in a grin. “And I will gladly pledge me sword to ye and yer father for all of me days.”

There were smiles all around the kitchen, even as the staff tried to appear as though they were not listening. Rolfe caught Katherine around her waist, settling his hands over her belly.

“There is nothing to feel yet,” she advised him softly. Her husband was obsessed with her condition, petting her belly and speaking to their unborn babe every night before he slept.

“I disagree, Kat,” her husband whispered against her ear. “I feel the love ye bring to this hall.”

“Your father seems to be moved by it.”

Rolfe snorted against her ear. “Aye. Do I want to know why his hounds are vomiting in front of the hearth?”

“I am improving,” she offered. “Last month they wouldn’t eat it at all. The maid had to scoop it up.”

“I see.” Her husband was choking on his amusement. “Planning to wear him down?”

“Precisely.”

Rolfe laughed out loud before kissing the side of her neck and releasing her. He winked before disappearing around the doorframe, his kilt pleats swaying as he went. The breeze was brisk now, fall fully upon them. All around her, the last of the harvest was waiting to be sorted and stored for winter. The kitchen was full of activity, and even with her limited skills, there was plenty of work for her to do. Ceit seemed to possess a great deal of patience when it came to tutoring her.

Katherine went to pluck an apron off a hook and tie it around her waist to return to work.

She thought she felt something flutter inside her. It was soft and yet persistent. She stood for a long moment, trying to make sense of it, and then it came again.

Tap-tap-tap.

Soft and yet undeniably there. Like a little jab on the inside of her womb.

“Are ye feeling the babe?” Ceit asked excitedly. The Head of House wiped her hands on her apron and hurried over to lay her hand against Katherine’s belly.

“I think…perhaps I did.” And her voice was filled with the wonder of it. She’d known she was with child, had known the moment she began being sick every morning within moments of opening her eyes. Yet now, it was suddenly so much more real as she felt the little poking motion once again, laughing with joy.

“If ye feel it already, it’s a strong babe for certain,” Ceit exclaimed with her eyes sparkling. “Like his mother.”

Katherine realized that at last, her need for strength had somehow merged with her gender. It was true she could not turn a loaf of bread very well or seem to get the proportions correct on a tart, but as the months passed, she swelled round and large, and when her labor came, pushing her babe into the world was just another challenge she was ready to face. Fear was not something she allowed to spoil the experience.

Her son came into the world howling, his body pink and all of his limbs waving in fury at being forced from her womb. Katherine laughed through the pain, happily cradling her son as he gulped air for the first time. The pain was more a welcome for her child than a misery to be endured. Every contraction brought her closer to meeting her child, so she smiled when they began and gritted her teeth as they intensified. She sweated and groaned when at last she felt the baby leaving her womb, bearing down as the midwife ordered her to.

And then, there was only the excitement of meeting her son. They wiped him clean, soothing him as he opened his eyes and looked for her. There was a small army of women in the chamber who swaddled the baby and cleaned away the evidence of birth, wiping her down with damp cloths before they gave her a clean smock to wear.

She was sitting on the edge of their bed when Rolfe was let into the chamber at last.

He rushed toward her, his face lit with excitement.

William was right on his heels. The old goat even appeared to be grinning.

“No’ a single scream,” her father-in-law commended her. “Ye are fearless, lass, and as strong as a Valkyrie.”

“What do ye expect from a hellion?” Rolfe asked his father in a hushed tone. He was cradling his son, looking awkward as he tried to make certain he wasn’t hurting the infant. Ceit corrected his arms, a happy smile on her lips.

“A grandson,” William answered. “And so ye have delivered one to the McTavish.”

Happiness shimmered in his eyes. Rolfe allowed him to hold the baby.

It seemed she’d found her place after all, for it certainly took a hellion to bring together the McTavish laird and his son.

Order Mary Wine’s next book
in the Highland Weddings series

Highland Flame

On sale September 2017