Highland Jewel (Highland Heroes #1)

Chapter 21

The flames of a five-prong pewter candelabra flickered in the momentary draft of the opened door then straightened its slim lights to illuminate the shadowed hall.

"Welcome, brother," greeted Roderic, who stood and stretched. His tawny hair was tousled and on his handsome face was an expression Leith had learned to dread.

God save him from the amusement of identical twins.

"What is it?" Leith asked, his tone suspicious.

He'd left the hall early on the pretense of hunting but instead had spent the day chasing his own scrambled thoughts and trying to make sense of the wee nun's confusing behavior. First she was cool then she was hot—then she was crying, when he knew all along that she wanted him.

His own weakness irritated him and he scowled darkly. "What has she done now?"

Roderic laughed outright, entirely unimpressed by his brother's grim mood as he waved toward the far corner of the hall. "See for yerself."

Leith's dark gaze swept to the dimly lit spot indicated by Roderic’s wave.

"For the sake of Jesu!" he exclaimed moodily before striding off toward the dim corner. "What is this?" he asked, not trusting himself to judge the situation correctly.

Roderic stopped beside him, gripping the handle to a mug of ale in each hand. "It’s a dog, me liege, a lad, and ... yer lady."

A muscle jumped in Leith's cheek. He allowed himself to speak the most impressive obscenity he could muster, but it did little to improve his mood.

Fiona Rose Gunther MacAulay Forbes lay upon the crumpled reeds like a felled fairy, her fiery hair billowing in every direction, her rose-petal lips parted with each gentle breath and her glorious body clothed in those awful rags in which he had first seen her.

"I know it's me lady," Leith said, "but what the devil is she doing here?"

Roderic lifted his brows and canted his head as he gazed down at her. "I dunna wish to assume too much, me laird," he ventured finally, "but it looks to me like she's ... sleeping."

"Damn it to hell, lad," Leith growled. "I should have drowned ye like a runt pup when ye were first birthed.”

Roderic laughed again, but softly now, for the lass had stirred and he had no wish to wake her. "Nay, brother. Let the lady sleep," he managed finally, though he did not quite subdue his grin. Leith was a great laird, a fierce fighter, and a fine man, but he had no sense of humor, a fact that had always caused the twins great enjoyment. "She has had a long and wearisome day."

“Tell me."

"Have a drink," urged Roderic as he lifted a cup toward his brother, “Ye may need it."

Leith accepted the proffered mug, took a small, obligatory sip, and waited.

“The lad's name is Roman," Roderic said flatly and paused.

Leith's scowl deepened. "Roman?" he asked, then leaned closer to peer into the gaunt, filthy face. "Lachlan's lad?"

"Aye," answered Roderic grimly. "Dermid has been ... caring for him since his mother's passing."

"Caring for?" Leith snorted, noting the bruises on the boy's thin, bare legs. "Like hell."

"Aptly put," acknowledged Roderic. “The lad was grazing Dermid's sheep in Gorm Glen. It seems he fell asleep. The dog was attacked by a wolf." Roderic paused, taking another sip.

" 'Twould appear even young Roman had heard of the lady's great healing powers and carried the cur here for help."

"Nay."

One grubby hand lay on the hound's bandaged shoulder, while the other was tangled in the dog's tawny fur.

"Nay." Leith repeated, shaking his head. "’Tis three miles to Gorm Glen."

"Aye," agreed Roderic

"He could na have borne the cur all that distance."

Roderic shrugged. "He was given the dog by his father."

Leith swore again, his guilt an awful burden to bear. Before his eyes lay another child he had neglected to place in proper care.

"The lad's legs were shaking like the branches of a willow when he arrived," said Roderic. "But of course Dermid was chasing him with a switch. I suspect that would make any lad hasten."

"Chasing him?"

"Intending to beat him for leaving the sheep."

"Ye didna allow it,” Leith said finally, his tone such a low rumble of anger that it was barely audible.

" 'Twas Fiona." Roderic nodded toward the sleeping girl. "She didna allow it."

Leith's brows shot up.

"Aye. Tis true," Roderic said, his own gaze steady on the lass. " 'Twould seem she had plans to serve Dermid's head for supper if he touched the lad again, and was na scairt to tell him as much."

"Nay!" exclaimed Leith, but his nostrils flared and his chest hurt with pride. "And what did Dermid say?"

"He lifted his hand to strike her."

"Nay!" This time the denial was a growl. "I'll reserve his eyeballs for mine own dessert."

"Dunna fear, brother. I prevented the wee lass from killing him so that ye may have the honor yerself."

Leith nodded. "Ye have me thanks." His gaze shifted from Rose's peaceful face to the hound. One of its forelegs was braced with flat wooden slats and bound with strips of cloth. Much of the tawny fur had been clipped away, revealing tidy rows of horsehair stitches, and near the base of the hound's neck was a fearsome wound that had been only partly sewn. Under the flesh and sutures ran a narrow piece of linen that stretched from one open end of the wound to the other.

"Holy Jesu!" said Leith, eyeing Rose's handiwork.

Roderic shrugged, easily admitting his perplexity. "The lass has her own way of doing things. Twould seem she thinks the poison will drain if she leaves the linen in."

Leith shook his head. He'd thought he'd had a hard day. But she'd been left to deal with a crazed Scotsman, a grieving lad, and his brother's tiring sense of humor. He should have stayed with her.

"She sleeps like the dead," he said, revealing none of his tender feelings.

"She sleeps like an angel," Roderic corrected.

Leith sighed, pulling his eyes from the lass. "Ye too, Rod?" he asked wearily, but Roderic only laughed with self-deprecating ease.

“Ye didna think ye could bring a fairy goddess to Glen Creag and expect us na to notice, did ye, brother?" he asked, then slapped Leith's arm in casual camaraderie. “The lass has had herself a long day. Let her sleep, me liege."

"Down here for every randy soldier to view at will?" Leith asked soberly. "Na," he answered himself, and stepping forward, lifted Rose carefully from the reeds.

She was as light as thistledown in his arms. He breathed in her scent and bore her up the steps two at a time. She did not open her eyes till he set her on his own mattress.

"Roman?" She pulled herself upright, looking disoriented. "I must see to him. So much lost already."

“The lad is fine."

She shook her head with a scowl. "I must..."

"Lie down, lass," he urged gently. "I will bring him up."

Trotting down the stairs, Leith cursed himself for a thousand fools. He should have more pride than to let his supposed lady of the hall mess with stinking hounds. But then his chest again filled with pride at the thought of her and he bent, lifting young Roman into his arms.

"Please!" The lad's eyes opened wide in terror as he leaned sharply away from his laird. "I couldna leave her," he whimpered. "Dunna let her die. I'll do better. Work harder."

"Sweet Jesu." Leith gritted his teeth and wished to hell Dermid was there to receive the brunt of his anger. "Nay, lad, dunna fret," he said, trying to soften his tone. "For ye are safe here with the Lady Fiona."

Roman relaxed marginally though his emerald eyes did not narrow and he yet leaned away from Leith's chest. "And..." he began, swallowing hard. "Dora?"

"She yet lives, lad," said Leith, unable to meet the boy's frightened stare. "Roderic," he called gruffly, knowing he would be the laughingstock of the Highlands if others knew his softness. "Bring the dog to me bed."

Rose awoke with a start.

Where was Leith?

What time was it?

Had the old bastard Dermid returned?

God's whiskers! She must find Leith. Explain the situation. Plead for his understanding. She scrambled from the bed and her eyes widened.

Roman! And the dog Dora? On Leith's bed? But how?

Memories drenched in fatigue and uncertainty rose mistily to her still-fuzzy brain. Leith had returned and carried her upstairs. He had held her in his arms. She could still feel the warmth and strength of him, and even now yearned for...

No. She would not think about it. Roman needed her. Old Dermid, damn him to hell, would return for the boy, but first she must convince Leith to protect the lad. She must, no matter how angry he was at her for interfering. Her hands were sweating, she realized, and chastising herself for her own horrid weakness, she hurried from the room.

She heard Leith's voice even before she reached the top of the stairs.

“I said nay!" he roared, nearly shaking the hall with his answer before dropping his voice to a deep-throated growl. "Ye will na take the lad today, nor ever. Ye have given up all rights of blood, and I have claimed the lad for mine own."

"Ye canna..." sputtered a voice from below, but the sentence was never finished.

"I can do as I please!" snarled Leith. "And just now it would please me to see yer head on a pike!" He paused for a moment. "I suggest ye leave me hall before I see me pleasure fulfilled."

There was the sound of footsteps stumbling backward, and then a scrambling noise as Dermid spun about and fled the hall.

Rose saw him pass Harlow, who was on his way in, and was vaguely aware of the snarled curses the old man heaped upon the laird's head. Stopping midway down the stairs. Rose bit her lip, losing herself in thought before she turned and hurried back up to Roman and his hound.

It had been a long day spent mostly tending to Dora and Roman. At last, Rose lay alone, stretched beneath a plaid in her modest nightrail, waiting.

Time passed slowly, her thoughts drifted, but finally she heard steps in the hallway. He was coming, she thought frantically, and though she had carefully planned her words, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Leith came quietly into the chamber then closed the door behind him, shutting out the dim light from the hall. In a moment he was across the floor and seated on the bed beside her. He removed his horsehide boots and sat for a moment, seeming deep in thought.

Behind his broad back, Rose opened her eyes and bit her lip. This was the moment she had prepared for, and yet she felt uncertain.

"My laird," she said softly.

He turned, looking formidable as he faced her.

"Fiona," he murmured. "I expected ye to be far asleep."

She drew a steadying bream and propped herself up on one elbow, though she could not quite meet his eyes.

"I wished to... thank you while we had some time alone," she said.

"Thank me?"

"Aye. For your kindness to Roman."

Leith drew a deep breath, letting his gaze skim her full lips. "Roman is me kinsman," he said quietly. " 'Tis I who should thank ye."

Her gaze rose to his face, which hid his feelings well. “I know what it is to be without parents," she reminded him softly. "He is lucky to have a laird who is so caring."

"Nay," Leith said soberly. "I should have seen to his welfare long before. I fear I have done the lad a grave disservice with me lack of attention to his needs."

"Do not worry for Roman," Rose said softly. "He will be a great man someday."

"And how do ye ken that, sweet lass?"

She drew a deep breath, fully acknowledging her gift for the first time. "I see it in my head. He will grow to be a strong, compassionate man. And who is to say, mayhap the years of hardship have made it possible for him to fulfill his destiny."

"Glad I am to hear that ye have accepted the sight," Leith said quietly. "But the fact remains that I have failed the lad."

"Nay, my laird," she said, finally daring to place a hand on his, where it rested on the bed beside his powerful thigh. "Ye expect too much of yourself. You are only one man."

He was silent for a moment. "Nay," he corrected, “I am laird."

She smiled just a little, amused. "But are ye not still a man?"

"Aye," he answered. "I am indeed a man."

"Aye," she agreed, nodding, her chest feeling tightly bound as she touched him. "Aye, a man," she whispered. "And a good one."

Sweet Jesu. Leith stared into her violet eyes. He loved her. His chest ached with that hopeless knowledge. But in a moment he straightened his thoughts. His feeling for her did not matter. It was she who must love him . She must. For the sake of his clan, he thought. But past the edge of conscious thought a voice whispered that he lied. She must love him for the sake of his heart.

"Lass," he said, lost in the depths of her eyes, "I would ask ye a question this night."

"Yes." Rose said the word quickly, looking frightened.

"What?" He canted his head at her, holding his breath.

"The answer," she whispered, seeming to read his mind. "It's yes."

Painful expectation gripped Leith. It was accompanied by a joy so great it seemed to rip his heart, but he dared not misinterpret her words. "Ye shall be me bride?" he asked carefully and Rose swallowed.

“I will lie with you as your bride," she corrected. “I will agree to the document signed by Ian MacAulay. Then I will put this matter into our Lord's hands."

Leith felt breathless and tense. "And at the year's end?"

"If I conceive a child, I will consider it a sign from God that I should stay. And if I do not—"

"Nay." He lifted one finger, pressing it firmly to her parted lips. "Dunna say it, lass." He smiled, sure his heart would burst with the force of his hope. "For there will be a child."

"How do you know?"

Her voice was breathy, her eyes wide, and when his lips touched hers, he thought surely they would both burst into flame.

"Because it is meant to be, lass. Tis all meant to be," he murmured, and ever so gently touched her throat with his fingertips.

Her eyes fell closed and she trembled.

"Do I frighten ye, lassie?" he whispered, and she shook her head.

"You do not." She opened her eyes to look deep into his. "But the wait worries me a great deal."

"The wait?" he asked, skimming his fingers down the graceful curve of her throat.

"Waiting." She shivered. “For ecstasy."

"Ah," he breathed, and leaning across her, he smiled into her eyes. "Then ye shall wait na longer, lass, for I am yers."

"All of you?" she murmured huskily.

"Every thought." Taking her hand gently in his, Leith pulled it to his brow, where the dark hair was swept back. "Every beat of me heart." He drew her hand lower, letting it slide sensuously down his throat to rest under his voluminous saffron shirt. "Every touch." His kiss was butterfly-soft against her ear. "Every inch," he rasped, and bore her fingers gently down to where his manhood surged hard and eager against his flat abdomen.

She felt it through the soft wool of his plaid and her body grew hot and impatient. "You're an evil influence, my laird," she breathed, but her husky tone made the accusation a lie.

"Aye, that I am."

"And ... hard."

"Aye," he agreed, letting his fingers find the edge of her nightrail and the soft, firm flesh of her thigh.

"And very ... very large." Her hand enclosed his stiff rod.

He chuckled against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Aye, lass. That I am."

"And horribly conceited."

"Tis true." He sighed, and leaning forward, kissed the delicate hollow of her throat. His kisses trailed sideways, widening the laced gap at the top of her gown, so that her shoulder was soon bared for his caresses.

"You know I am not a patient person," Rose whispered.

The gap widened further still, so that soon, with the help of one hand, he was able to press the entire garment downward.

He pulled back slightly, eyeing her lovely breasts with undisguised hunger. "A wise woman once told me that patience is sadly overrated."

"How very true." She nodded, holding her breath. "I'm giving you to the count of five to remove your clothes," she whispered.

"And then?"

"I will not be responsible for my actions."

"Holy Jesu!"

"Save your prayers," she advised. "One. Two."

His clothes were gone before the count of four. In a moment she was pressed against his body, hard and strong above her.

His kisses were like midnight magic. His touch was like heaven. And when he entered her, she felt as if she would die from pleasure.

"Ye will be glad of yer decision to stay, lass," he murmured, establishing a slow, erotic rhythm against her.

"I already am."

"And it shall get better still."

"It can't."

"Ah, lass," he whispered raggedly, "never question the skill and endurance of a Scotsman."

"Why?" she rasped, closing her eyes to the crescendo of sensation.

"Because then I will be compelled to prove me mettle."

"God forbid," she groaned.

"Dunna groan," he pleaded.

"I..." She was breathing hard and fast, matching him stroke for stroke. "... can't help it," she moaned, tilting her head back slightly.

"Dunna do that either," he begged, trying to wait, to prolong the ecstasy.

"Leith!" she cried raggedly. "I need you... now!"

With a shudder he brought them both to the summit of pleasure, then tumbled with her over the far side.

Finally she curled against him, warm and soft and sleepy.

Leith sighed, kissing her forehead.

"Next time," he promised wearily. "Next time I will prove me mettle."