Taming the Highlander

“Easy now,” he whispered to her as he put his hand on her leg and began to push her shift up inch by inch. He shifted onto his side so that he could lean up on his one hand while he rubbed her thigh with the other. When she did not soften beneath his touch, he changed his approach. She had liked the attention he’d paid to her breasts as much as he had. He would begin there.

Connor leaned over and touched his mouth to the tip of her breast, nuzzling it through the thin shift. He took her fullness in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the damped tip again and again until it formed a perfect bud against his mouth. Then he suckled it until he felt the tension in her begin to seep away.

“Aye, lass. Just think on the pleasure you feel and let me lead you in this,” he urged as he moved against her hip with the hardness between his own legs. Although at first she gazed at him with a haunted expression in her eyes, then she closed them and nodded.

Her body slowly responded to his touch now and soon he gauged her ready for more. Connor knew he was certainly ready and at the edge of his own control. This time when he eased her shift up and moved between her legs, she seemed to welcome his presence there. He slid his hands beneath her knees and lifted her legs up, bringing himself to the opening of her body that was now hot and wet and ready.

It was at the moment he entered her that the absurd thought struck him—this was the first time he’d made love to a woman that mattered in his life since he’d made love to Kenna more than three years before. Pushing past his new wife’s maidenhead, he could hear the voice inside of him begging for Kenna’s forgiveness for this act. His heart and soul screamed out that he was somehow being unfaithful to the vows they’d exchanged even as he moved to claim his wife’s body.

And he needed Kenna’s forgiveness for so many things and now it was too late. Too late for all of them.

Clenching his teeth as he filled Jocelyn’s body with his, he watched as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek into her hair. Not daring to slow for a moment or risk humiliating himself by not being able to complete this duty, Connor pushed into her as far as he could and then slowly removed himself. Even knowing she was not enjoying this, he could not stop now. Finally after a few minutes, he felt his seed empty inside of her.

Out of breath from his exertions, he leaned over her for another minute or two until he could withdraw from her body. He wiped himself of the spent seed and her blood with the edge of the tunic he still wore and climbed from between her legs and off the bed. Gathering his plaid, he threw it over his shoulder leaving enough to cover the front and back of him, not taking the time needed to get it completely in place. He was only going to his chambers from here and no one would be in the corridor against his orders.

She lay unmoving in the large bed, her legs still spread apart until he touched her thigh while tugging the shift down over her. Her lips were clenched tightly together and her face was nearly as pale as the shift she still wore. All hints of the previous attractive blush were gone. The unexplainable and impossible urge to gather her close and soothe the hurt he had caused her was building within him, so he strode to the door of the room in three steps. Three very hurried steps.

He tried to speak but found his throat clogged with some emotion he chose not to try to identify. Clearing it, he spoke without looking back at her and with one hand on the latch.

“I will send Ailsa to you.”

“Nay,” she cried out, as she sat up, shaking her head at him. “Please send no one.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He nodded, accepting her words without asking any questions. Once in the hallway, he closed the door tightly and leaned his head against it.

Not certain what he was waiting for, Connor turned and left, deciding that he had much of the same strong wine awaiting him in his chambers that sat on the table within. He’d no sooner reached his chambers when the storm hit—bright flashes of lightning followed by loud crashes of thunder and torrents of rain poured from the skies over Lairig Dubh.

Somehow it felt right. He slammed the door behind him and found the jug where he’d ordered it left for him.

The door closed and she fell back on the bed, overwhelmed and exhausted by what had just happened between them. The hurried leave-taking and the grimace on his face told her of her failure without the need for words of recrimination.

Had she spoken Ewan’s name aloud? She thought not, but she’d repeated it over and over in her thoughts and in her heart to block out the identity of the man who truly claimed her body as his. When he ordered her to think on the pleasure, his voice and his face became Ewan in her thoughts. She imagined Ewan’s lips against hers and on her skin, suckling at her breasts, and his hands on her body, making her ache and throb as never before.

Only the piercing, burning pain had ruined the imaginary scene in her mind and the grim expression in her husband’s eyes as he plunged into her confirmed the truth—she belonged to him now and he was not pleased.

The place between her legs both ached and stung now and Jocelyn looked around the room to see what she could use to clean herself. Her robe lay on the floor where he’d dropped it so she picked it up as she made her way to the table near the hearth. As she took another step, wetness gushed down her legs. Without anything to use, she tore off the bottom of her shift and used it to wipe her legs of the blood and seed.

Realizing her shift was beyond saving, Jocelyn pulled it off over her head and dunked it into the jug of cold water on the table. Squeezing out most of the water, she washed herself as best she could, shivering as she did. Once clean, she rolled a piece of the shift up, soaked it in the water and then pressed it between her legs…there. Although a shocking feeling, it soothed the area and she repeated it a few times until the burning disappeared.

Finally, she slipped into the robe, wrapped it tightly around her and tied the belt to keep it in place. Jocelyn approached the bed and knew she could simply not climb back onto it. She would have to face it—and him—soon enough, but for now she wanted to avoid both, so she tugged the top blanket off and threw it aside. Then she pulled off three more blankets and two sheets and made her own pallet in front of the hearth. It would be warm enough for her and she would face the rest in the morning.

It was only later, when the storm raged outside and the sound of the winds and rain and thunder grew louder that she let out the emotions she’d been holding within her. The terror of being given to this man, the heartbreak of leaving her family and her one true love behind, and the hopelessness of her future all poured out of her even as the clouds poured their storming rains on the castle and keep.

Rolled in a cocoon of bed linens and exhausted by the physical and emotional price she’d paid for her brother’s safe release, Jocelyn drifted off to a sleep unbothered by the reality of her life now. And her dreams were filled with the face and the touch of the man she loved.

The darkness and warmth suited her, Jocelyn decided when she heard someone moving around her chambers. Tempted to lift the layers and layers of bed linens she’d wrapped around herself in the deepest, coldest part of the night, she remained still and kept her eyes shut tightly. She knew from the previous attempts to rise that her head would throb and the room would swirl uncontrollably and she would be forced to vomit again.

No, the dark and warmth and keeping her body still suited her just fine. But, the voice softly calling her name became more insistent.

“Lady? Lady Jocelyn? Are ye well?”

It was the old woman who’d assisted her in so many ways, but still, the aches and pain and unease in her belly tempted her to ignore the woman’s call.

“Lady? Should I seek out the laird?”

“Nay!” she called out, pushing the coverings aside. Spying Ailsa leaning her old, crooked frame over to nearly the floor to speak to her, Jocelyn shook her head and then paid the price she feared. She was fortunate that Ailsa was perceptive enough to recognize what was about to happen and grabbed the pot quickly.

It was some minutes before her stomach eased and she could lay back. Ailsa soothed her with soft words and a cool cloth to her brow.

“Lie back, lady. It will pass.”

“’Twas the wine,” she whispered, trying to explain to the servant.

“Spoiled?” The maid picked up the jug from next to her on the floor and sniffed at it suspiciously. Her decision was said with a shake of her head. “Smells fine to me, lady.” The woman turned the jug bottom up and not even a drop trickled out. “Mayhap the amount was the problem and not the quality?”

Jocelyn did not respond—there was no need. With the cloth back in place, the noise of the awakening keep seemed to recede. Ailsa coughed lightly, gaining her reluctant attention. There would be no way to stay here, cocooned away from everything, and everyone, that she wanted to avoid for the rest of her life.

“Lady, I called for a bath and it will arrive shortly. Mayhap I could help ye to the chair to wait for it?”

“I would rather stay where I am, Ailsa.”

The knock at the door told her that would not happen. Sliding the cloth from her face, she met the woman’s gaze for the first time. Old though the woman may be, Jocelyn had recognized Ailsa’s steel will at their initial encounter. Now, too worn out by the night before to resist, she accepted the hand held out to her and climbed to her knees and then to her feet. Her head complained with each move and her stomach felt as though it might rebel as well. Closing her eyes once more, she allowed the maid to guide her a few steps to the chair and sat down there.

As though she knew the effort it had taken her to manage even those few steps, the maid arranged the robe she wore over her lap and stepped away without saying a word. Jocelyn let her head tilt back and rest on the back of the chair. Ailsa’s gasp forced her to look.

The torn and bloodied chemise she’d left in the corner on the floor was now in Ailsa’s hands and a look of horror and piety filled her eyes. Jocelyn’s stomach twisted.

“Lady…” Ailsa began softly and then she paused, lifting the apron from her skirt and wrapping the bloodied garment and setting it aside. “Have ye need of our healer?”

Jocelyn could not find the words to answer. Other than the effects of too much wine, which had successfully blocked out the other parts of her that had hurt, she thought she simply needed more sleep and that promised bath. She shook her head.

The old woman looked around the chamber and tsked. It had the appearance of being the site of a battle. The bed torn apart. The linens spread on the floor. The jug on the floor. Her own disheveled condition could not help but add to whatever the woman was thinking.

At her gesture, Ailsa nodded and began cleaning and straightening the chamber, apparently ignoring the others who waited outside the room. Another knock and Ailsa crossed to the door, opened it, whispered some instructions and closed the door again, returning to what she’d been doing.

As Jocelyn watched, the bed was stripped and, with the efficiency of many years’ practice, made once more in a matter of minutes. There was a hesitation when she’d lifted the blanket stained with her blood, but Ailsa simply put it aside with the other bundle and finished the task. When the room had been brought back to some condition that pleased the maid, she stood back and nodded.

“Rest there, lady, until I return.”

“I am fine, Ailsa. Truly,” she said, although her tone did not even convince her of the truth of it.

“They will not enter until I give them leave to, so close yer eyes and rest. I will bring something to soothe yer belly from the wine. Then ye will feel stronger and ready for the bath.”

With barely a sound, she exited and Jocelyn was left alone in a room with no sign now of what had occurred the night before. Only the pain in her heart which would not be repaired as easily.

Chapter Five

Connor stared out the small window in his chamber and tried to gather his thoughts. He did not often drink the amount of wine he’d consumed after returning to his room last even. After the second jug of wine, he’d ordered the MacCallum boy released. After the third, he’d locked himself in his room and tried to block out what he’d done that sent him running from his new wife. The fourth jug seemed to finally work and he’d passed out in his chair.

The haze of the wine now helped him to block out Duncan’s droning on about some small matter about stolen cattle that needed to be found. He’d been ignoring him for several minutes when the door to his room opened with a crash and a small, old madwoman accosted him.

Although she could barely reach that high, Ailsa swatted him hard on the side of his head and then again a second time when he did not get out of her way fast enough.

“Ailsa! What has gotten into you?”

When she came at him again, looking not a bit regretful of her actions, he grabbed her hands and held her fast. Although Duncan gave a generous smirk, he offered no other help.

“How could ye? I nursed ye at my own breasts and know that no one ever mistreated ye.” She tugged one of her hands loose and swung at his head again.

“Tell me what has brought on this fit of madness. In spite of your past care of me, I will not permit this to continue.”

The woman backed away and took several deep breaths. Her furor kept her focus on him, so she had still not noticed Duncan standing in the shadows of the room.

“I ken yer feelings on marrying again. We all ken. But she is yer wife now and she was a maiden at that.”

He could feel his anger building from deep inside. He had no desire or intention of talking about the situation or occurrences between him and his wife with anyone, not even his old nurse. Before he could put her in her place, she whispered harshly.

“I just left yer ladywife’s chambers where I found her huddled on the floor in front of a cold hearth. She’d passed the night there heaving and wrapped in whatever she could pull from the bed.”

“What?” he roared. “That canna be true. She was in that bed when I left her.”

Now she stepped closer and poked him sharply in his chest with her finger. “She drank whatever was left of yer fine wine and slept on the floor, I tell ye. And this,” she shoved a bundle into his hands and shook her head at him with something in her gaze that resembled disgust, “This is what ye left her in.”

The sodden fabric fell open and he found himself holding a woman’s shift that had been torn and was red with what looked to be dried blood. His thoughts might be muddled by too much wine, but it took only a moment to realize what Ailsa had handed him.

Connor clenched his jaws together. Could it be hers? She had not seemed overly distressed when he left. Indeed, she’d been more upset by what he’d been doing than when he’d finished and moved off the bed. And her refusal when he’d offered to send Ailsa to her showed someone who was well.

“She was well when I left her.”

“Weel, she isna now.”

They stood toe-to-toe until Duncan made some noise that broke into their private conversation. Ailsa noticed Connor’s second-in-command standing near the door and stepped back from the confrontation.

Still unwilling to discuss what he did and did not do, unwilling to even think about it, he crossed his arms over his chest, signaling an end to any more talk.

“Ailsa, see to your duties and I will see to mine.”

“Aye, laird. As ye wish,” Ailsa said, her voice filled with anger.

“I did not harm her, Ailsa.”

The old woman muttered something which Duncan heard for his face bore the look of someone trying not to laugh. The only words he had heard involved not caring for her either.

“I think that someone of your years may not be the right maid for my new wife. Seek out and train one of the girls from the village to serve in your stead.”

If she feared the threat, there was no sign of it. If anything changed, her expression hardened and the anger in her eyes flared anew. Ailsa crossed her arms over her own formidable chest and met his glare with a more insolent one. He’d used the threat on many, many occa sions but had never rid himself of the woman yet.

Mayhap ’twas time?

“Connor?” Duncan’s voice interrupted the two-sided argument.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself, cousin. You have no place in this discussion.”

“Then I bid you good day,” Duncan replied. With a hard smile and narrowed eyes, a nod to both of them and a few steps, he was gone from the chamber as was any hope that Connor had of keeping the full wrath of Ailsa at bay. He would not let this escalate into something that had him examining his motives or his intentions about this new wife. Not even for Ailsa. He raised his hand in front of her and shook his head.

“Ailsa, go and see to the lady’s needs. I will speak to her later.”

“And when she asks of her brother?”

Damn! How did the woman discover so much so quickly?

“Say nothing. I will speak to her of it later.”

It could have been something he’d said or the tone of his voice, but Ailsa paused, sticking out her chin and meeting his gaze for a moment. Mayhap she’d sensed he had truly reached the limits of what he would accept from her in personal commentary or intrusion? Whatever had worked, he was glad of it. The servant nodded and backed away. When she’d reached the door and was pulling it closed as she left, the words escaped him.

“I did not harm her, Ailsa.”

“As ye say, laird,” she replied without slowing or looking back.

Pushing aside all thoughts of the woman at the center of discussion, Connor decided he’d been inside enough this day. He needed to get back to his duties as much as Ailsa did, so he strode down his tower chamber, through the hall of the keep until he left the tall, stone building. Following the path to the stables, he ordered a small troop of men readied to accompany him to the site of the most recent complaints of incursions onto his lands. A few hours later and miles away, only his clan and his lands and their defenses claimed his attentions.

Jocelyn’s respect for the old woman grew quickly as each of her offered remedies worked its magic on her—first on her head and stomach, both of which threatened upheaval at any moment, and then on the rest of her body. The hot concoction that Ailsa brought her soothed the swirlings in her belly and eased the pain in her head. A long, very hot bath eased the aches and coldness that seemed to have seeped into her bones during the night. Then, dressed in warm stockings, a clean chemise, a new gown and length of woolen plaid, Jocelyn felt as though everything that came before had been just a nightmare.

Never one to suffer from self-pity or bad humors, Jocelyn faced the rest of the day knowing that the worst was behind her. She’d lived through the arduous journey to this place. She’d lived through meeting and wedding and being bedded by the infamous Beast. It had not been a pleasant experience on the whole of it, though parts of it were. His touch made her feel things that she’d only heard hinted at by other women, things only sampled lightly with Ewan.

If he kept his word, and she had no doubts that he would, her brother would be free to return to their clan along with the aid and protection promised by the clan MacLerie. Jocelyn intended to ask about the arrangements as soon as she could find the laird. Athdar’s treatment at the hands of the MacLeries was uneven at best and she only hoped that his temper did not get him into more trouble than he already was. He would learn to control it, she was certain, as he grew closer toward manhood.

Soon though, according to the provisions of the marriage contract, Athdar would arrive home with the resources and men to rebuild their keep and village and feed the entire clan through this next winter. No more a target for the hungrier clans around them, her marriage insured her family’s survival. For now, at least as long as her heart ached over Ewan’s loss, she could content herself with the knowledge that no one in her family would die due to a lack of food or shelter this year.

The sun had fought its way through the thick clouds that lingered after the storms of the night, and now it beckoned to her. Jocelyn found her cloak and made her way down to the hall. Determined first to see to her brother and confirm the arrangements for his release. Then, mayhap with his company for she was certain he would welcome the chance to be out of the dungeon cell, she would explore the keep and castle. She made her way to the stairs that would take her deep underneath the keep.

Pushing on the strong wooden door, Jocelyn hit its surface when it did not give under her pressure. Stepping back, she turned the knob and still it did not open. Stretching up to peer in the small opening, she tried to remember the name of the man guarding it last night.

Two nights ago, she corrected herself.

So much had happened in the last few days, she| looked around to make sure she was trying to open the correct door.

It had not been locked when the laird had brought her to see her brother, but it was now. Finally remembering, she called inside to the guard.

“Duff? Duff, are you there?”

No one answered. Jocelyn lifted the latch again and pushed. It was locked and by the sound, or lack, of it, no one stood guard below.

“Duff?” she called out louder. “Is anyone there?”

“Does Ailsa know you are creeping around outside your chambers?”

She let out a scream as someone whispered in her ear—from just behind her. Turning quickly, she discovered the laird’s cousin Duncan apparently up to more of his mischief. Her bottom twinged as she remembered how his last scare had caused them both to arrive mud-covered from their journey.

The pace on their journey here had turned into a test of wills with her slowing to avoid and him hastening to arrive at the designated time. When Duncan slapped her horse to spur it and her on, she purposely slid from it, grabbing him to cushion her landing, never dreaming the wretch would drag her down, too.

“Duncan,” she said, not moving from her place in front of the door.

“Lady,” he replied, bowing and smiling that irritating smile he had. The one that said he had all the answers but chose not to share them with her. Why had the laird chosen him to come to her home and escort her here? “So, does Ailsa ken of your escape from your chambers?”

“Am I a prisoner then? As my brother is,” she looked at the door now and then back at him. The expression he wore in that instant spoke of spoiled eels…or too much wine.

“You are a wife, lady. No prisoner. Ailsa mentioned your state of…that is, that you were not feeling well this morn.” He would not meet her gaze now and she was glad of it. She did not need to know that others knew of her personal matters. Especially not this one who would use it to cause her discomfort.

“I am well now. And am seeking out my brother,” she said turning back to the door and knocking on it. “But Duff does not seem to be at his post.” She paused, hesitating to ask anything of him that would put her in his debt. “Can you take me to him?”

His face took on a more miserable pallor and she thought him the ill one, until he shook his head. “You must speak to the laird about your brother.” He stepped back and gestured her away from the door. “Come, I will see you back to your chambers.”

“I have no wish to return to my chambers. I want to see my brother and arrange for his freedom. You know the agreement—you negotiated on behalf of the MacLerie.” Jocelyn pulled the woolen shawl up higher around her shoulders. “If you say I must speak to the laird before I can see Athdar, then fetch the laird here.”