Sixteen
Bridgette trembled as Lachlan stood before her in the lush grass in the patch of thick trees away from the castle. Her shaking was not from fear but anticipation. She had dreamed of this many times, and it was hard to believe it was happening. In this moment, all was perfect and she refused to allow anything to ruin it.
His heated gaze caught hers. “Ye’re certain of this?”
She nodded as she sat on his plaid, which he had laid out. He still did not look convinced, so she rose up on her knees and ran her palms over the rock-hard length of his well-muscled thighs. He stood with his legs slightly spread, and feeling his power under her fingertips made her belly flutter.
“I’m verra certain.” And before he could share any more concerns on her behalf, she tried to think of everything he might say and answer it. “It dunnae fash me that we are in the grass.” She patted it. “It’s verra soft, especially on yer plaid.”
His lips curled up in amusement. “Ye ken, ye truly do think more like a man than a lass.”
“I ken. Do ye mind that?”
“I love that,” he assured her as he removed his remaining garments.
She’d seen him bare chested before, but it never failed to hit her like a blow when she glimpsed the raw beauty of his body. His broad chest looked like chiseled rock that led to a stomach of corded muscle. She allowed her gaze to roam lower, and her pulse raced at the sight of his manhood. She had expected him to be big, considering his overall size, but he was very big.
Fear sprang up in her belly. She knew he’d be gentle and take care, but what if it hurt and she disappointed him?
A lock of her hair hung like a veil over the right side of her face, and he tucked it behind her ear. He stared into her eyes as he settled beside her on his plaid, then deftly removed all her clothes. She’d never been shy about her body, but she’d never lain naked before a man. Her arms drew up automatically to cover her breasts, but he stopped her and settled her hands at her sides. He gently laid her back and brushed her hair away from her face, and then he rose onto his haunches and stared at her.
“What are ye doing?” she finally asked, when he had not spoken for a long moment.
“I am drinking ye in, m’eudail. Ye are the most beautiful thing God has ever created, and I wish to memorize every curve, swell, dip, and shadow.” He swept a finger over the bridge of her nose, followed by each cheek, while giving her a distinctly lustful look that caused her belly to tighten. “I forgot yer wee lovely brown spots.” He proceeded to brush delicate kisses all over her face, making her shiver.
She tingled everywhere from the contact of his lips and the heat of his body hovering over hers. Unable to resist touching him back, she ran her hands up his arms, pausing briefly over the knotted muscles straining against his skin as he supported his weight. He lowered himself farther, not putting his weight on her but allowing his chest to rub ever so slightly against hers. Her nipples immediately hardened, and her breasts swelled with an aching need from the brush of his body against hers.
His gaze caught hers once more but then lowered slowly to her breasts, then lower still before sweeping back up to her face. The smoldering flames in his eyes excited her, but the love burning there unlocked her body and soul. An arrogant smile suddenly curved his lips as if he knew he had her completely at his mercy. He lowered his head to her breast, and she expected more feathery kisses. Instead, he swirled his tongue around her aching bud, the silky slide of his tongue ripping a scream of surprise and pleasure from her.
Heat pooled between her legs, and a pulsing began there. Little by little he built up the heat within her every time he ran his tongue over her bud until she did not think she could take any more. She raked her hands up his body, not stopping until she slid her fingers over his neck and into his hair. She pushed his mouth more firmly over her breast in a silent entreaty. A low chuckle came from him, but he answered her plea without hesitation. His mouth pulled on her swollen bud, sending currents of desire through her.
His hand, which had been cupping her breast, moved in a searing path down her abdomen to her thigh. She parted her legs, eager for his touch, and when it came, the pleasure was like nothing she had ever known. She writhed beneath him, grasping at his broad back while trying to force something she was not quite certain of from him.
His fingers moved deftly over her sex, massaging and circling until she knew she would go senseless. “Lachlan, please. Please,” she begged.
“Soon, m’eudail,” he promised, his voice rough and low. His fingers began to move faster until everything inside her tightened. She dug her nails into his back.
“Lachlan!”
His fingers suddenly left her and her body roared a protest, but just as quickly as his touch disappeared, he came to her once more with his mouth. The pleasure she had felt moments before dulled in comparison to the painful bliss caused by his hot mouth suckling her aching swollen sex. His tongue explored and teased until the need pounded through her and then exploded.
Lachlan rose swiftly to his knees, gripped her hips, and drove into her. The pinch of pain made her hesitate for a moment before another wave of pleasure rolled over her as her body adjusted to accommodate him. He filled her completely as he slid slowly in and out of her, and her body clamped tightly around his, making her head spin, the very world around her spin.
Together, their bound bodies found a rhythm, and they rode it—hot, slick flesh against hot, slick flesh—until all she could do was cling to him and moan. The searing need that had been building forever raced through her like a fire that he extinguished with a final push and a guttural cry. Her body shook with the release, even as Lachlan’s grip increased and he let out a groan with his own need met. He shuddered and lifted her hips higher, sending him deeper into her than she imagined possible. When he moved closer to her, his rough chest brushed against her sensitive nipples once more. Still as one, he rolled her over him until she lay flat against his chest and he lay on his back.
Their hearts pounded together as they silently held each other’s gazes. The heat of his body coursed down the length of hers to warm her, and soon, she could not keep her eyes open any longer. She laid her head against his chest, and his hand reached up to stroke her hair as he whispered his love to her. She felt full in every way possible, and her last thought before sleep claimed her was a prayer that their happiness would last and that their caution would change the seer’s prediction.
Lachlan watched Bridgette sleep until the sun had nearly fled the sky. He was loath to wake her and return to the castle, but he knew they must do so, whether they wanted to or not. He had a duty to his family and his clan—most especially to Graham—and now he had a duty to Bridgette, as well. He considered her his most sacred responsibility. He loved her as if she were already his wife. She had given him the gift of her heart, body, and soul. He would protect her no matter how great the sacrifice—even if it meant Graham would never forgive him.
Lachlan scrubbed a hand across his face as he swept his other one through Bridgette’s silky hair. He prayed things could be mended with Graham, but he wasn’t sure how to make his brother see that Lachlan had never set out to hurt him, that he would give his life for Graham’s if need be, but he could not give him Bridgette. Even if he could have, she’d never have allowed it. Her bravery in understanding and accepting this, though she had felt at one point honor bound to marry Graham, made Lachlan smile. Bridgette was a wise and passionate woman, which would make her an opinionated wife, something he would welcome. A timid wife never would have suited him.
Bridgette would be a fierce warrior in her own right, as his mother had been. Sudden fear squeezed his heart. He had admired Bridgette’s desire to be treated as equal to the men, even encouraged her brother to accept it, but now that she was going to be his wife, he didn’t so much care for the idea of her fighting on the front line. He had been inside her delicate body, held her warm, soft, lush womanly self, and though she had the honor and courage to match any man, she had a woman’s fragility that made her vulnerable.
He sucked air in between his teeth with a hiss. He knew that if he tried to deny her the right to fight side by side with him, she would rebel and possibly grow to resent him. He’d have to be very clever about keeping her safe. He stared at her for one more long breath. His chest tightened mercilessly at the sight of her snug in his plaid.
His instincts to protect Graham and Bridgette were at war with each other. He wanted to marry her now to give her the safety of his name, but he also would do all he could to ease his brother’s pain.
“Bridgette,” he whispered in her ear. She did not move but slept on with a smile. “Bridgette,” he murmured again, kissing her cheek. She moaned softy when his lips touched her, and he was immediately hard.
As much as he’d dearly love to take her again, they had to leave. The king would be departing tomorrow morning, and Lachlan needed to speak with him, Iain, and Alex. And he needed to try to speak to Graham. Though he was certain the effort would be pointless, he still had to try. Yet, with all of that pressing down upon his mind, he could not resist a little mischief. He pulled his plaid down to expose one of her perfectly round breasts. Her rosy nipple hardened instantly with the cool air, and his desire grew hotter. He bent his head to her breast and ran his tongue in a slow circle meant simply to tease her, but he found his own blood humming with need. God’s bones! He started to pull away when her hand clamped the back of his head and her eyes flew open to display a wicked gleam that made him growl.
A slow, seductive grin came to her lips. “Dunnae ever tease me, Lachlan MacLeod. If ye put yer lips to my breast, ye best mean to bring me pleasure.”
Any notion of returning to the keep fled his mind as she slid his plaid all the way down her body to display her creamy curves. He raked his gaze over her breasts, her stomach, and then down her long legs before he dragged it back to her face. She arched her eyebrows at him. “Well, Lachlan, do ye mean to bring me pleasure or nae?”
“Are ye nae sore, lass?” he practically panted.
“Och. I’ll nae ever be too sore to have ye in me. Dunnae ever forget that.”
“I’ll be gentle,” he vowed.
“I dunnae want it gentle,” she teased.
A groan of need escaped him, as he slipped his hands under her bottom and hauled her hips upward. “I am but yer servant, Bridgette MacLean,” he growled as he entered her hot, welcoming body.
She grasped him by the shoulders and lifted her body until her lips brushed his ear. “I’ll nae let ye forget ye said that, Lachlan.”
As his desire took him and she met his frenzied rhythm with her own, he knew he’d gladly be whatever she wished if it meant every night could be spent like this.
“I’m sorry I made ye miss supper, lass,” Lachlan said as he and Bridgette entered the castle much later than he had intended.
She grinned at him. “I’m nae.”
The door to the great hall opened just then and Cameron started out, halting when he saw Lachlan and Bridgette. He smiled at them, and Lachlan felt a little of his tension release. He had wondered if his rift with Graham would affect his relationship with Cameron, and he hoped this open display of friendliness meant that it would not.
“Iain just sent me to find ye,” his youngest brother said. “The council is gathered in the great hall, including the king and his party. Iain wants ye in there now. He told me to haul ye here if I had to.” Cameron grinned. “Am I going to need to do so then?”
“Nay,” Lachlan said, smiling.
Cameron turned to Bridgette. “Iain thought I might find the two of ye together, as did I considering what I heard on the field today,” Cameron finished, offering a friendly grin.
At that, Lachlan felt the need to defend himself. “Cameron, I dunnae wish to hurt Graham. I—”
Cameron waved a hand in interruption. “Ye dunnae need to explain yerself to me, Lachlan. Ye have always been a true and honorable brother, and I dunnae now think ye’re nae.”
Lachlan nodded his head, relieved, even as Bridgette spoke. “Did Iain bid ye to find us in front of everyone? In front of Graham?”
“Och, nay. He pulled me aside to tell me.”
Bridgette looked to Lachlan, her eyes imploring him, and he understood. If they intended to proceed with caution, to try to change the seer’s prediction, then it would not do for Graham to constantly have to hear about them. “I’ll talk to Iain,” he assured her.
A baffled expression came to Cameron’s face. “I feel as if I dunnae ken something.”
With a sigh, Lachlan quickly told him about the seer’s prophecy. Cameron frowned. All the brothers had a strong belief in seers, but Cameron had developed a deep wariness when, not long ago, Eolande had told him something about his future that he refused to share with any of them.
“I think caution is verra wise,” he said in a grave tone. “Bridgette, Marion is in the solar with Lady Mortimer, and ye’re to join her by Iain’s command.”
Lachlan saw Bridgette’s jaw tense. He knew she’d much rather join the council meeting, given the way her mind worked, but the less she surmised about any impending trouble, the less likely she would be to get into trouble herself.
He gave her hand a hard squeeze, then released it. “I’ll come find ye when we’re finished.”
She nodded and quickly left.
Cameron put a hand out to still Lachlan when he turned toward the great hall. Lachlan raised his eyebrows in question.
“There is an odd tension in the room,” Cameron said, matter-of-fact. “Especially between the steward and the king.”
Lachlan nodded. “How much do ye ken?”
“All the king’s suspicions,” Lachlan replied. “The king, Alex, Graham, and I met before this meeting, and the king told us all.”
“Then I’d say he is testing his nephew. Trying to bait him to see if he stumbles and reveals something.”
“Aye. I believe the same. I simply wanted ye to ken it before we went in. And ye should ken that Graham’s anger has nae abated in the slightest.”
Lachlan stiffened. “I did nae believe it would have yet.”
They entered the great hall as the king was speaking. Lachlan quickly scanned the room and noted the presence of his brothers, Alex, the king’s party, and all the council members except for Atholl. Lachlan touched Cameron’s shoulder. “Where is Atholl?” he whispered.
Cameron shrugged. “I dunnae.”
Lachlan frowned. The older man had seemed out of sorts lately, but before Lachlan could consider it further, the king offered his acknowledgment to him and Lachlan was forced to focus on the king.
The king’s gaze was hard as he spoke. “As I was saying, I will set out for the MacDonald holding at first light with my party, the MacLeod, and twenty of his finest warriors.”
Urgency underlaid the king’s tone and made Lachlan think he must have received word that led him to believe securing the MacDonald laird’s allegiance was even more immediately necessary than he had previously thought.
“Ye still have nae said what the business is and why the haste,” the steward said, his gaze probing the king.
David smiled easily, but it did not reach his eyes, which were cold and hard. “It’s personal business, Robert, and everything is pressing to a king. Ye ought to ken that seeing as ye played at being king while I was imprisoned in England.”
Lachlan felt the tension sweep through the room. The king had offered a challenge of sorts and was daring the steward to grasp it.
Robert’s nostrils flared even as he forced a smile. “I worked tirelessly to bring ye back to us.”
David smiled cynically. “Aye? And it only took ye eleven years and me having to agree to pay a great amount of money yearly to that swine Edward in order to obtain my release.”
The steward started to speak, but David cut him off. “Let us nae quarrel,” he said silkily. “I’ve quarreled enough with those who dunnae wish to accept that I rule Scotland by my command and nae anyone else’s. I dunnae wish to quarrel with my faithful men.”
“Of course, nae, David. I’m yer biddable servant.”
The king chuckled at that, but it was a barbed sound that lacked any merriment. “I believe that is all for now. Let us all to bed.”
Lachlan frowned. Why would he have been called in here for that? As everyone started to rise to leave, David spoke again. “Ah, I’d have a minute with the MacLeods and the MacLean to discuss business of the Isles.”
Lachlan watched the steward’s face as wariness flashed in the man’s eyes. The steward was no fool. He understood that the king suspected him of plotting against him. Robert was first out of the room, and as he left, the king said, “Archibald, ye can stay.”
Archibald Douglas nodded as the other men from the king’s party departed. Once the doors were shut, David moved to the center of the room and hooked his hands behind his back while sweeping his gaze slowly over the room. “Ye all now ken my suspicions about my nephew.”
All the men nodded. “What none of ye ken except Archibald is that I suspect Archibald’s uncle, the Earl of Douglas, is embroiled in this now, as well. And the Campbells, as well as Jamie MacLeod. I dunnae ken who else yet, but my spies tell me that Jamie has raised an army and is likely to join in a rebellion against me and to try to take back Dunvegan Castle.” David’s face grew red, and his hands fisted at his sides. “We must ready for war. Ye all ken that this will divide the clans.”
Lachlan looked at Iain, wondering what his brother thought. Their clan’s peace with the MacDonald clan was precarious at best and had been helped by Iain marrying Marion, who was the MacDonald laird’s niece, but if Gowan would not swear fealty to David once more, that peace would disappear. The MacDonald would be a formidable enemy to have as they tried to cope with the steward, the Campbells, the Earl of Douglas, and whatever other great lords might be involved in the rebellion.
The king looked to Iain. “Make yer farewells tonight. We leave at first light as planned.”
As the king quit the room, Iain turned to Graham, Lachlan, and Cameron. “I’m going to collect Marion. I expect the two of ye,” Iain said in a stern tone to Lachlan and Graham, “nae to fight. The clan must come first.”
Lachlan nodded and noted that Graham, though his mouth curled in disgust, also nodded.
Iain nodded next, as if satisfied. “I will speak with all of ye on the morrow.”
“I’ll walk out with ye,” Cameron called, and without glancing back, he quit the hall with Iain and left Lachlan and Graham standing there in uncomfortable silence.
Lachlan wanted to tell Graham how sorry he was, but he knew his brother would not accept the apology.
As he tried to think of what to say, Graham spoke. “Do ye ken what Mother said to me after Lena died?” he demanded, staring at Lachlan with hostile eyes.
Lachlan’s brow furrowed. “Nay, I dunnae ken.”
Graham brought his face close to Lachlan’s. “She told me that Lena would still be alive if she had appointed ye to watch over her.”
The revelation made Lachlan flinch. In her grief, their mother, had said words that had driven a wedge between the two brothers, and Lachlan had never known. He reached for Graham, but he jerked away. “Dunnae touch me.”
“Graham,” Lachlan choked out, his throat aching with pain for all the lost years. “She was grieving and said something she did nae mean.”
“She meant it,” Graham replied flatly. “She had a thousand chances to correct it, and she never did. And she was right. If I’d nae gone to chase that rabbit to prove to her I could hunt as well as ye, Lena would be alive.”
Lachlan damned himself silently to hell for ever teasing his brother, who now looked haunted, angry, and close to destroying himself. Lachlan didn’t think he could despise himself more than he did in that moment. But then he thought of Bridgette, how he’d been too weak to stop what was happening between them and how he would make the same choice again because he loved her that much, and he hated himself more.
“I’m nae worthy to be yer brother,” Lachlan said hoarsely. “It was I that failed ye. I teased ye when Mother said ye were nae a good hunter. I should have taught ye, as was my duty. If I’d done so, ye would nae have felt ye had anything to prove.”
Graham looked through Lachlan as if he didn’t even hear him, and when he spoke, his words seemed to confirm that he had not been listening. “I’ve spent my life trying to be as good as ye. I never am. I thought if I could be as good a warrior, or hunter, or even as silver-tongued with the lasses, then Mother would love me. But I was nae as good at anything. Ye’ve always been the better warrior, hunter, and the lasses always fell at yer feet. Ye did nae care for any of them, yet they tried to be with ye.” He shook his head. “Mother died before I could best ye at anything, but I’ve nae been able to rid myself of the desire to best ye. I needed to prove it to myself, and with Bridgette, I saw the chance.”
Fear for Graham clogged Lachlan’s throat. The prediction the seer had told Bridgette rang in his hears: Jealousy will drive him to his death, whereupon vengeance shall resurrect him.
Desperate to save Graham, Lachlan grabbed his arm and gripped it so Graham would have to listen and could not flee. “Ye dunnae need to be jealous of me. Ye’re worthy in yer own right. Ye always have been.”
Graham stared at Lachlan with dead eyes. “Since ye’re nae my brother any longer,” Graham growled, “I absolve ye of yer vow to watch over me. Though I kinnae rightly say ye were any good at that.” Graham spat on the ground toward Lachlan’s feet, yanked his arm free, and stormed off.
Lachlan stood for a moment, frozen in utter torment, his fear that the seer had been correct deepening. He’d failed his brother twice—once with Lena and once with Bridgette. He’d change the first if he could, but he could not truthfully say he would change the second. Could he live with that guilt? He’d have to because he could not live without Bridgette. Yet he could not claim her as his wife yet, as he wanted to do so without further enraging Graham and that left him with a fear for her that battled his worry for Graham.
Lachlan stalked into the night with thoughts of Bridgette in his head. He wanted to go straight to her, but there was so much anger boiling in him he knew he needed to rid himself of some of it first. The best way he knew to do that was train.
His hand came to his sword as he strode toward the seagate stairs, away from the castle and the demons that were chasing him.