Fourteen

“Amber! Amber!”

Amber darted into the pitch-black storage room and leaned up against the closed door, trying to soften her breathing. She heard Niall and Finola shuffle past outside, still calling her name, and after a minute she heaved a sigh of relief. The cool air was most welcome after the hot sun outside, and the quiet a blessing after all the wedding nonsense her clan were reveling in.

The door pushed open behind her, and she stumbled forward with a shriek. Strong hands she recognized immediately caught her before she fell. Lachlan drew her back against his chest as he shut the door again.

“Traitor,” she whispered, but it ended on a moan as his hands found her breasts and squeezed. The hard length of him pressed into her bottom, and even that felt good and exciting, despite her refusal to go anywhere near his cock.

He’d been trapping her like this for days—as soon as she got out of bed the day after her “betrothal.” Of course, she’d been hiding in closets for just as many days to escape Niall and Finola, who simply refused to acknowledge she wasn’t talking to them. For one, because they wanted to talk about the wedding dress, the feast, and the ceremony. For two, because they both—Niall in particular—had forced her into this farce with Lachlan. Which is what it had to be, because there was no way that Lachlan MacKay was marrying her.

Except he said he was.

“Traitor,” she said again and let out a strangled groan as he palmed between her legs through her dress. The other hand had slipped inside her arisaid to cup her breast, and he kissed and licked the side of her neck.

Her breath came in sharp gasps, and she widened her stance on instinct, wanting him to keep going despite calling him names.

“Good lass,” he whispered, then tugged her earlobe into his mouth and sucked.

She just resisted bucking her hips against his hand. That gave her some much-needed strength, and she stumbled away from him.

She turned to him in the dark, unable to see a thing. And while her breath rasped heavily through her teeth, she could hear naught of him.

“Lachlan, where are you?”

“Here,” he said from behind her just before he kissed her in that soft, sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck, sending shivers through her body.

She spun toward him, reaching out her hands, but he was gone again. Next, he trailed his fingers from the nape of her neck down her spine—played her like a harp, and her sigh was the wind through the strings.

When she turned to him, he caught her head in those big hands of his and kissed her.

Just a brush of lips at first, so soft, gentle, then that hot, moist sweep of his tongue across her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to catch it, and he pressed his lips to hers.

She was enveloped by him in the darkness, her loss of sight enhancing her other senses. He tasted sweet like wild strawberries and smelled of the outdoors—leather, pine, wood smoke, and horses. His heart pounded so hard she could hear it, as well as the wee growls and moans in his throat. She dragged her fingertips across his chest to curl and tug on the coarse, springy hair that grew there.

He pulled her closer, and her arms circled his neck. Those big hands of his slid down her back, clamping to her bottom, and the resulting surge of fire had her rubbing against him like a cat in heat—wet, wanting. If she hadn’t been so needy, she would have given herself a firm talking to.

The pressure of his hands brought back all those memories of the first time they’d met, his palm pushing her arse down as she crawled, bound and gagged, across the field with him. He’d been rougher then, and he hadn’t kneaded her flesh like he did now. Or sucked on her earlobe until she panted in his ear. Still, she found it exciting to think about.

God’s blood, what was the matter with her? He’d dragged her from her horse and across a field! She’d had bruises on her knees and twigs in her hair!

“I doona know what you think you’re doing, but I willna marry you,” she said breathlessly.

“I didn’t ask you to marry me. You asked me—and I accepted. ’Tis a betrothal, a legal contract, and you canna take it back.”

“’Tis no such thing.”

“’Twas a formal agreement in front of witnesses. You even added conditions that had to be met.”

He bit the tip of Amber’s chin and nibbled leisurely down her throat, lavishing extra attention to the hollow at the base of her throat and making her knees buckle.

She still had a wee bandage on her face and a large one on her chest beside her collarbone, but she’d untied her sling yesterday and was tentatively increasing her range of motion. Raising her arm around Lachlan’s neck pulled a bit on the torn muscle, but it didn’t hurt.

Nothing hurt—not when she was lost in this sensual haze of temptation.

“Amber?” His voice had roughened, and his fingers dug into her flesh.

It took her a moment to drag herself back from oblivion. “Aye?”

“Do you want me to kiss you—down there?”

She caught her breath as everything inside her stilled. Then a flood of heat scorched between her thighs, and she squeezed them together in an attempt to relieve the ache. “You canna. ’Tis not… ’Tis not… We doona have a bed.”

“Trust me, sweetling. Lean against the door, and I’ll kneel before you. We’ll put your legs o’er my shoulders, and I’ll support your bottom with my hands.”

What he suggested was so…so…wanton…so delicious—and now she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. Is this what it would be like to be married to him?

“Lachlan,” she wailed.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

“This…you…we…”

“Spit it out, Amber.”

“We have to stop!”

“Nay, we doona. Well, up to a certain point we have to, but tasting you down there, in the dark, is definitely allowed. I will be your husband when I look on you fully, but ’tis dark in here and—”

“You canna marry me!”

“Why?”

She sputtered, unable to make her brain work when he was still touching and squeezing her backside. “You doona want to marry. You were verra clear on that.”

“I changed my mind. I listened to what you said about being with someone for forty years, and I decided you were right. You make me laugh, I would put my life before yours, and I understand what you’re saying even if you say elsewise. Like right now.” He walked forward three steps with her, and her back hit the smooth, cool wood of the door. “You willna say it, but you want my mouth on you.”

She groaned, and her stomach contracted as he kneeled before her. ’Twas a good thing she leaned on the door or she would have fallen down.

“Besides, I couldnae have you choosing someone else now, could I?”

He’d just grasped her hem, sending her heart rate to the moon and forcing the air from her lungs, when the door pushed open from behind her for the second time.

She flew forward with a screech, bumping into Lachlan, who’d sprung up just in time to catch her. But her weight sent him staggering backward, still holding her, until he tripped over a box on the floor and sprawled on a stack of bagged oats about waist high.

The light from outside streamed into the room and partially blinded her. She looked over her shoulder and squinted her eyes.

Callum stood in the doorway with Finola and Niall behind him, peering into the room. “Well, that was amusing,” he said.

“Your timing couldnae be better,” Lachlan griped, his hold on her still tight despite Finola’s disapproving clucks.

Callum grinned. “I’m always willing to help, Brother.”

Lachlan hurled an apple at his head—so fast Amber didn’t even see him pick it up. Callum caught it just as fast, and the next one too, with his other hand.

“Thanks,” he said with a laugh, stuffing one apple in his pocket and taking a bite out of the other. When he finished chewing and swallowing, he said, “Word arrived from Gregor and the lads earlier. They’ll be arriving tomorrow, along with the priest. Just in time from the looks of it. You can stop doing…whate’er…you’ve been doing in the closet and treat your wife to a proper night between soft quilts and silk sheets.”

“I’m no one’s wife,” she said indignantly, struggling to get out of Lachlan’s hold.

“Aye, you will be after that display.” Niall waved at the disarray of her arisaid, the ties undone where Lachlan’s hands had slipped inside to play with her breasts.

Heat scorched her cheeks, and she hastily straightened her clothes. “’Tis none of your concern, old man. Laird MacKay understands I doona wish to marry him.”

“Aye, you will. ’Tis contracted, remember?” Lachlan said as he pushed past her. “If you didn’t want to marry me, you shouldnae have asked.”

He left the room, Callum winking at her before turning to follow Lachlan. Amber picked up a third apple and threw it at his back, but he reached a hand behind his head with a laugh and caught that one too.

Niall and Finola crowded in, trapping her against the bag of oats.

“Amber, dear,” Finola said, “do you want quail or pheasant for the fowl served at the feast? And Magda has some violet ribbon to go in your hair that will look beautiful with your eyes, but Rhona says the violet will clash with the blues and greens of the dress she’s making. I thought she could add some ribbon to the dress so it matches the one in your hair, but she is most adamant you willna like any adornments.”

Niall squinted down at her. “And I think ’tis best if you marry in the bailey, seeing as Father Odhran is still locked in the church. But if you like, I can send some men in there to flush him out. ’Tis beautiful weather to celebrate outside, but we need to start decorating and maybe build a trellis, especially as we know that Gregor MacLeod and the others will be here tomorrow.” He clapped his hands to his head. “Tomorrow!”

He sat down beside her on the stack of oat sacks to catch his breath. “Maybe Laird MacLeod will walk you down the aisle, since your da canna be here. Imagine that, the MacLeod walking you down the aisle. And your bairns will be his foster grandbairns!”

Amber’s throat tightened. Verily, ’twas happening. In the next few days, she would marry Lachlan MacKay, and he would take her to his bedchamber on their wedding night and expect her to cross that final barrier with him…and like it.

And why not? She liked everything else so far. Well, anything that had naught to do with his cock.

She blew out a breath, and her hair fluttered away from her face. She’d ne’er thought she’d ever marry, but especially not Lachlan. He was so adamantly against marriage and bairns, but now both were on the horizon. Her stomach tightened, and she rubbed a hand over her belly to soothe it. She couldn’t think of anything more horrifying than a man pushing his cock inside her, no matter what Isla said.

Aye, she liked to be touched, loved Lachlan’s hands and mouth on her, but the other frightened the devil out of her. She’d spent five years trying to avoid being raped—not that she thought Lachlan would rape her—but if she didn’t want to engage fully, and he did, what would happen? Especially as she was now his wife, and the intimate act sealed their marriage vows in the eyes of man and God.

She groaned and dropped her head in her hands. “I doona think I can go through with it.”

“Of course you can,” Niall said. “I’ve seen you with him, Amber. Your life will ne’er be the same without him.”

“You doona understand.”

Finola wrapped an arm around her. “Are you worried about the wedding night, lass?”

Heat washed up her skin, scorched her, and she knew her fair skin had turned as red as a beet.

Finola patted her back. “Doona worry, Amber. ’Tis the same for every lass. I took a broomstick to bed with me on my wedding night. It stayed there between us for four months. That’s how long it took Gareth to finally climb over it. Not everyone is intimate on their first night. I’m sure our laird will wait. And if not, you have some sharp knives in your satchel.”

Amber snorted in amusement, she couldn’t help herself. She heard Niall titter, and she fell backward onto the sacks of oats and laughed. Finola laughed too, and when Niall saw a broomstick in the corner and handed it to her, they started all over again.

Finally, the amusement abated and Amber sighed. She reached out her hands and folded them around Niall’s and Finola’s forearms.

“You’re a conniving, interfering old badger, Niall MacPherson, but I doona want Gregor MacLeod to walk me down the aisle. I want you to do it. Naught would make me happier. And as always, Finola, your advice is perfect. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I’ll just take my knives to bed—lay them out down the middle to keep Lachlan on his side.”

* * *

“How many does this make now?” Lachlan asked Callum, crouching beside him on the forest floor. An innocuous-looking moss-covered stump was turned on its side to conceal one of Machar Murray’s bolt-holes. Lachlan picked up a broken branch that lay among the shrubs and poked it. ’Twas obvious the dirt around the stump had been dug down to secure it.

“Four. The first tunnel was near Amber’s cottage around where we lost him the night he attacked her, the second closer to the castle, and a third was found yesterday outside the village. One of the men fell into it by accident.”

They’d been heading out to meet Gregor and their foster brothers at the falls when word came that another tunnel had been found, a long one that had obviously been recently used. Food scraps were found inside, along with human shite.

It gave Lachlan hope. His biggest fear had been that Murray had left the area, but knowing he was still here meant they could close the net and hopefully catch him. Warriors from seven different clans were getting into position, and on Lachlan’s order, they’d move inward toward the castle, hoping to flush out the rat. But it would be slow going now they knew about the tunnels—all of the forest floor would have to be checked.

When Darach arrived with the dogs, they would track Murray, but he was smart, and several of his holes were near water. It would take the dogs time to pick up his trail again if he used the rivers frequently.

God forbid Murray slipped though the net and got to Amber. He would kill her this time, for sure. A surge of rage and fear crashed through Lachlan at the thought, and he shoved the stick into the stump, cracking it open.

Callum placed his hand on Lachlan’s arm just as an arrow flew from their left and landed at their feet. Lachlan recognized the fletching on the arrow immediately and looked up to see Gregor and Lachlan’s foster brother Darach MacKenzie, laird of Clan MacKenzie, on their horses about eighty paces away.

“Doona move,” Gregor yelled at them, dismounting. His foster father, a big, redheaded Scot with grey streaks in his hair and beard, pointed upward, but Lachlan couldn’t see anything unusual from his vantage point.

Darach, as tall as Gregor and looking almost as fierce, with a scar running though one eyebrow, also dismounted. His chestnut-colored hair was tied back with a leather strip.

“’Tis something wrong with the tree,” Gregor said, still yelling.

“Aye. Looks like it’s been tampered with,” Darach added.

“God’s blood,” he muttered, imagining a tree hurtling down and taking off his head. “If I die now before I’ve tupped Amber, I’m going to come back from heaven and drag Murray down to hell myself.”

“What makes you think you’re going to heaven?” Callum asked.

“Because an angel asked me to marry her.”

Callum snorted. “Amber’s many wonderful things, but I doona think angel is one of them.”

“Aye, she is. A warrior angel.”

Gregor approached with Darach, who looked about as relaxed and content as Lachlan had ever seen him. Caitlin’s doing, no doubt. Both men were peering up and discussing something as they turned in a circle and assessed the other trees. Darach pointed upward, and Gregor nodded.

“Do you think they’ve actually seen something? Or are they pretending to make us look like idiots?” Callum asked.

“They’re not pretending. You already are an idiot.”

“Says the laird who canna stay out of closets in his own keep.”

Lachlan couldn’t help smiling—idiotically. He remembered how close he’d come to tasting Amber before Callum had interrupted them yesterday, and he scowled. “Your timing leaves much to be desired.”

Callum grinned, but a serious light had entered his eyes. “Doona diminish her place in the clan by tupping her in a closet, Lachlan. She’ll be your wife soon. Do her the honor of waiting.”

Lachlan wanted to minimize Callum’s words with a joke, but he had a sick feeling his foster brother was right. He nodded. Once.

After clearing his throat, he yelled out to Gregor, “What’s going on? What do you see?”

“A brilliant and deadly mind at work. Which will be Murray’s undoing. He’ll have to stay close to see his plan bear fruit. I’d say he was here watching until just a few minutes ago.”

Lachlan whipped his head around. “Where?”

“Near the river, most likely. We’ll search in that direction for another hiding place.”

“We should go right now!”

“Nay, Lachlan, doona move. He’s gone, and he’s too smart and prepared for us to catch him that way. The best we can do now is put pressure on him and wait for his next move.”

“That’s not good enough. He’ll kill Amber this time.”

Both Darach and Gregor looked over, their eyes piercing him with their intensity. They must have heard something in his voice.

“Who. Is. Amber?” Gregor asked.

Lachlan smiled, sure it was the same idiotic smile he’d given Callum earlier. “She’s the MacPherson healer and the most aggravating woman I’ve e’er met. I’m going to marry her.” Then he drew his arrow, said “duck,” to Callum, and shot into a tied knot he recognized high up in the trees. He and Callum fell to the forest floor and crawled away just as a branch swept over their heads and a hail of thorns rained down.

Gregor approached and picked one up, grimacing as he smelled the tip. “Poison. ’Tis good to see you both alive.”