Текст книги "A Kiss For a Highlander"
Автор книги: Jane Godman
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Chapter Fifteen
While the men engaged in increasingly difficult feats of strength, such as tossing large logs known as cabers and pulling carts laden with stones up the hillside, the women tended to the children and gossiped among themselves. Martha was conscious of most of their eyes upon her. She knew what they were thinking. She couldn’t blame them. Their thoughts, after all, echoed her own. What was there about this slight, timid Englishwoman that could drive their proud leader into such a frenzy that he had forgotten his place and betrayed his passion for her in front of the assembled clan folk? A secret smile touched her lips. Whatever it was, it had left her tail end stinging and both of them with dark shadows under their eyes after a wild, sleepless night.
“I’d no look like that, if I were you.” Iona took the seat next to her. “Not unless you want one of these fine, wee lasses who has a yen to be the next lady of Lachlan to scratch your eyes out for you.”
Fraser’s sister had arrived at the castle that morning, her arrival heralding a small whirlwind of excitement among the servants, who clearly adored the former daughter of the house of Lachlan.
“Which of them will it be?” Martha couldn’t resist asking the question. There were so many pretty girls present, and she had observed Fraser behaving with equal courtesy to each of them. She just wanted to be sure the one he chose was worthy of him. That was her only interest in the matter.
Iona snorted. “Din’nae talk daft to me, lass.”
Martha knew it had been presumptuous of her to ask. These were the hard lessons she must learn. She had never expected to be any man’s mistress, reduced to fading into the background when he took a wife. It was doubly hard because they were all of them, despite the gaiety of the gathering and the games, living in the shadow of war. The prince was becoming increasingly restless, and Cumberland, it was said, was prepared to face him at any time. The looming confrontation overshadowed everything else, and none of them could predict what the future would bring.
“We must away down to the loch side for the final test,” Iona said, linking Martha’s arm on one side and Rosie’s on the other.
They accompanied the procession of women and children out across the drawbridge to where the men were gathered. Once outside, they were joined by an older, dour-faced man, whose expression would have soured the milk before it even left the cow.
“This is my husband…Sir Donald,” Iona said. Martha managed to hide her shock that such a vibrant, young woman was tied, not only to a man old enough to be her father, but one who looked, moreover, as though enjoyment was an alien concept to him. A glance at Rosie’s face told her that her young cousin shared her surprise.
The men were gathered at the loch side, and all attention was on a group of younger men who were bare-chested and barefooted, clad only in the long hose known to highlanders as trews. Fraser was among them, and he turned his head, grinning in Martha’s direction and miming that he was cold.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“These are the winners of the strength tests. Now they must run to the other side of the loch before swimming back,” Iona said. “The winner will be declared lord of the games.”
“But they’ll freeze.” Martha looked out across the loch. There was something sinister about waters so quiet and dark. She remembered Fraser’s comment that this loch was said to be bottomless. The thought of him being drawn into those endless depths made her shiver.
“Young Angus seems determined to win.” Iona nodded in the direction of a tall, young man. “’Tis woeful afeared he is that yon lassie’ll favour him no more if Fraser chooses to look her way.” The lassie in question was called Brenna, and she was the blonde girl whose hand Fraser had sought for the first dance of the previous evening. Martha observed the longing looks Angus cast at Brenna, and the dark glares that followed when she bestowed a glowing smile on Fraser. Martha’s own heart grew a fraction heavier.
“I’m cold,” she murmured, intent on escaping the situation. As she turned away, her head was bent and she wasn’t looking where she was going. She was soon brought to a halt by a large, immovable object. Since this object consisted mostly of muscle and smelled deliciously familiar, she knew immediately what—or rather who—it was. Fraser caught her by her upper arms and steadied her.
“Where are you off to, crabbit one? Not sneaking away again, I hope?”
“No, I was going inside to fetch my cloak.” She wished he wouldn’t smile at her quite that way. A fluttering heartbeat did nothing for her attempts to maintain her composure under the gaze of the curious highlanders.
“You look tired…almost as if ye did’nae sleep too well last night,” he said, the smile deepening into something that held a trace of wickedness. And a little something more.
“You should know,” she fired back swiftly. Biting her lip, she glanced around to see if anyone had heard. Fortunately, there was no-one close enough.
“Oh, I do. It was good, was it not?”
Instantly, the words and the accompanying look sent a dart of pure lust shimmying to her very core. “Stop it.”
“Stop what? Stop wanting you? I’ve tried that, Martha. I tried it with every fibre of my being when we were first at the old dower house together. It does’nae work.” A shout went up from the loch side, calling the men to the start line. Fraser sighed. “Hurry back. I want ye here when I win this race.”
“I’ve no desire to watch you kill yourself.”
“Ah, crabbit one, never did I think to hear you express such concern for the welfare of a hated Scotsman.” Fraser put his hand to his bare chest and covered his heart in a half-mocking gesture.
“It’s not that…I just don’t want to have to nurse you. I suspect you would prove to be a troublesome patient.” His laughter followed her as she ran lightly into the Tower House.
When Martha returned to join the spectators, the race was underway. The light was already fading into that uniquely Scottish midafternoon twilight, and the runners were too far distant for her to be able to distinguish Fraser in the group. Jack, who had not fared well in the strength contest due to the lingering effects of his injury, joined them.
“I’ve never known Fraser to lose at this,” he said, scanning the shoreline with narrowed eyes. “Not since the first time we did it, when we were both only fourteen.”
Martha refrained from pointing out several reasons why winning the race might not be an easy task for Fraser this time. Firstly, he was no longer fourteen. Indeed, he was almost twice that age. Secondly, although he had not been as badly injured as Jack, it was not so very long ago that he had sustained a severe blow to the head. The memory made her wince. Finally, only she knew—and was certainly not about to reveal to anyone else—that, in addition to getting very little sleep, Fraser had also been engaged in some very strenuous activity the night before. All in all, his chances of victory appeared slim.
She was surprised, therefore, when the first swimmers came into view and an excited shout went up. “The laird is in the lead!” There was a rush toward the banks of the loch, with several people, including Auld Rab, coming perilously close to tumbling in.
“It’s going to be close,” Jack said, as another swimmer drew level with Fraser.
“It’s young Angus,” Rab called. “Who’d have thought a wee stripling laddie could challenge the laird?”
Martha cast a glance at Brenna, who stood with her hands clasped at her breast and her eyes shining. The girl could not lose no matter what the outcome of this contest. Although she was the favourite to secure the heart of the laird, it would do her cause no harm for Fraser to see another handsome suitor fighting for her attention. It might even prompt him into an early declaration. And, if by some chance, Fraser did not ask her to be his bride…well, Angus was a fair catch in himself.
Around them the shouts were reaching a crescendo as, neck and neck, the two swimmers thrashed their way to the finish. It seemed to Martha that the two men touched the bank at precisely the same second.
“The laird wins,” Rab declared without hesitation.
This blatantly partisan announcement produced cheers from Fraser’s supporters and catcalls from those who felt that Angus deserved the title. Fraser, who had dragged himself from the icy waters, crawled on his hands and feet up the bank and collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving. After lying for a few minutes with his arm flung over his eyes, he rose and went back to the water’s edge, where Angus was struggling to lever himself out. Leaning down, Fraser stretched out a hand to the younger man, hauling him out of the water and up the bank. Other swimmers were finishing now and collapsing onto the grass around them.
“’Twas a good race, lad,” Fraser said, holding out his hand.
Angus gazed up into Fraser’s smiling face with an expression of loathing. He ignored Fraser’s hand. “Aye, ’twas a good race for cheats, my laird.” His voice was shaky with shock and anger.
Jack stepped forward. “Steady, lad. Think before you speak.”
Angus dashed a trembling hand over his lips. “I’ll not be silenced. Not when we all know what he is.” He drew a deep breath. “Aye, our fine laird! Nought but a lecher and a cheat. A man who wants a young bride to warm his bed and gi’ him lusty sons but who can think of nothing but his whey-faced English whore—”
He had hit the ground before he could finish his sentence. One moment the young Scot was spitting out jealous venom, the next he was flat on his back on the grass with Fraser’s bare foot planted firmly in the centre of his chest. Even across the distance of several feet that separated them, Martha could see the cold fury in the hazel depths of Fraser’s eyes.
“Let us get one thing straight here, laddie.” Fraser leaned over Angus, but his words were clearly intended to reach all those present. “I understand your hurt, and because I understand it, I am prepared to let your comments about me pass. But there is a lady here about whom, if you must speak of her at all, you will only ever utter words of respect. Do I make myself very clear?”
Angus made a strangled sound of assent, and Fraser nodded, moving his foot and allowing him to rise. Rab hurried forward, holding out a folded tartan cloth.
“The winner’s sash, my laird.”
“The lad won the race fair and square. The title is his.” Fraser stalked away into the castle.
The gathering and the games were over, the clans’ folk returned to their own homes. No promises of marriage had been exchanged, and several young ladies departed with stormy expressions. Young Brenna’s face, as she bade Fraser farewell, was positively sulky. He breathed a sigh of relief as he returned to the Tower House. He wanted a few days of peace and normality in which to gather his thoughts. It was also time to prepare in earnest for the fray.
The day after the games ended, however, normality was interrupted when a lone rider approached the castle. Upon being asked his business, he requested a meeting with the laird. Since his accent was English and his bearing was that of a military man, he was regarded with suspicion. Fraser, nevertheless, agreed to see him.
“I come from Fort William,” the visitor said on being shown into the great hall, where Fraser, together with Jack, awaited him.
“Then ye’re either very brave or very foolish,” Fraser said. “Your name?”
“Not important. You may call me Edwin.”
“State your business, Edwin.” He and Jack were seated on one side of a long table, and Fraser gestured for the visitor to take a seat opposite.
“It has come to the attention of certain high-ranking officials that you, Fraser Lachlan, have not been entirely in agreement with the prince over his battle plans. Indeed, it has been suggested that you have publicly challenged him.”
Fraser’s eyes flicked across to Jack’s face and read confirmation there that they were both thinking the same thing. It was what they had long suspected. There was a spy in the Jacobite high command. “Since nothing I do or say can be of any concern to you, or anyone at Fort William, I’ll not confirm or deny the truth of your words. I will merely request again that you state your business here.”
“My business, put bluntly, is this. You are a well-respected chieftain, one whose word carries great weight among the other clansmen. If you were to make it known that you have no wish to fight…”
“Ye’d have me do Cumberland’s dirty work, is that it?” Fraser asked, rising to his feet and looming over the other man.
Edwin shook his head. “I’d have you do the right thing by your own people. This is a fight you can’t win.”
“Ye’d best leave now, friend Edwin,” Fraser said. “We can have no more to say to one another.”
“Very well. But remember this, my laird. Your value is known to the English commanders. The door is open should you wish to talk.” Edwin paused at the door. “Oh, one more thing. Three years ago a captain, name of Hendry, was killed at Fort William.”
Fraser regarded him calmly. “Why do you tell me this?”
“No particular reason. Only that, when Hendry was killed, a reward was offered for any man who could provide information that would bring his murderer to the gallows. My superiors have asked me to let you know that they are prepared to pardon Hendry’s killer in return for your cooperation.” He bowed and left.
“Damned Hanoverian cur,” Jack muttered. He cast a sidelong glance at Fraser. “His words have troubled you, my friend.”
“Aye.” Fraser moved to the table where a glass decanter and two glasses had been set out. He poured two glasses of whisky and brought one over to Jack. Dashing the contents of his own off before he spoke, he measured his words carefully. “He has a point. Can we win this, Lord Jack?”
Jack sipped his own drink thoughtfully. “Oh, to the devil with you, Fraser. I don’t know. Would you cry off?” Fraser didn’t reply. “For the love of God, man, would you?”
“You know me better than to ask would I cry off from a fight. But you also know me better than to think I would lead good men, men who depend on me, into a fight they’ve no chance of seeing the other side of. Not without asking a few questions of my own first. I’m no English lackey, Lord Jack, but nor am I blind to the prince’s faults. There is no money left for this campaign. The English navy are vigilant along the coasts, and supply ships from France are either captured or forced to turn back because they are prevented from landing. The prince’s advisors have suggested that the highlanders should carry out raids on the lowlands to replenish the coffers. But that merely illustrates their woeful lack of understanding of the situation. Our numbers are already sorely depleted. We cannot spare the men to conduct such raids.” Fraser’s tone was rife with frustration as he paced back and forth before the fire in the great hall.
“You are right, as always. I fear as well that the prince is being deliberately provided with misleading intelligence, and our friend Edwin’s words seem to confirm that. I cannot believe that Cumberland’s force is as small as has been reported by the men who call themselves our spies. Cumberland is a wily general, he is not a fool. He will not have come here so ill-prepared. I am afraid there are double agents at work, but our leaders will not acknowledge it.” Jack, although sharing his friend’s annoyance, was content to remain in his seat.
Fraser paused, frowning down into the fire. When he raised his head, there was a new determination in his expression. It was not in his nature to remain idle and allow others to decide his fate. “Then I will provide the prince with new intelligence. ’Tis tired I am of sitting around a table, listening to speculation. I will see Cumberland’s force for myself, my Lord Jack. And I’ll do it this very night.”
“What do you propose?”
“I’ll take a small party of my best men out to scout around Cumberland’s camp, count his men and bring back any information we can about the true nature of his force. Aye, and if we can do him any damage in the process, then so we will. Are ye with me?” Fraser asked.
“Can you doubt it? Let us prepare at once,” Jack said, rising to his feet.
The castle had bustled into life as the men prepared for the night mission. Martha did her best to blend back into the shadows, trying to cope with these new emotions. The discovery that I love him is so new, she thought sadly. I am still learning to manage the intensity of that feeling, while keeping it hidden. Must I also now add into the mix the fear of losing him?
She was making her way along the corridor to her bedchamber when, to her surprise, Fraser strode toward her. Heedless of who else might be around, he pushed her hard up against the wall, no gentleness in his actions.
“I need ye woeful bad right now, lass.” He groaned the words into her lips.
“Then take me.” Something in their relationship had changed after the night of the clan gathering. He might have been the one administering the chastisement, but they both knew he had admitted—without resorting to words—how much he needed her too.
He laughed, shaking his head regretfully. “We must be away within the half hour. I’ve no time to even get my boots off.”
“Leave them on.” Her eyes challenged him. She knew he liked this side of her. The fact that she could look so prim and proper, yet say something so brazen, drove him instantly into a frenzy. If she was honest, she liked this side of her too. Although she had only just discovered it.
Fraser moved slightly away from her, and her breath caught in disappointment until he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, driving the air from her lungs. When they reached her bedchamber, he kicked the door closed behind him before dropping her onto the bed. Fraser gripped the backs of her calves and pulled her forcefully toward him so that the back of her head slammed into the pillows. She was flat on her back, struggling to regain the ability breathe normally, as he hauled her skirts up to her waist. Parting her legs, he held her thighs open. Martha squeezed her eyes shut in delicious anticipation. He lowered his head and, without hesitation, began to feast on her, his tongue dipping, sliding, sucking and then piercing her until she was thrashing and calling out in ecstasy.
Roughly, Fraser flipped her over. She felt his hands and fingers roam across her buttocks and dip lower into the moisture of her opening. His fingers rubbed her repeatedly, causing hot waves of passion to crash and break over her. All the while, his lips nipped her shoulder and then up the slender length of her neck. She felt him fumble with his kilt to free himself of its folds. He gripped her hips hard and rubbed the head of his cock between her buttocks. Martha jerked insistently against him, and his hard shaft slid into her slippery wetness. Immediately, he began to thrust wildly. It was like having raw steel pumped into her body, fast and furiously, and Martha pushed back in time with his unrelenting rhythm. She clawed at the sheets, crying out. For more, not for mercy.
“More, is it?” Fraser’s voice was hoarse. “Aye, I can gi’ ye that.”
He pinned her in place beneath him, moving, gliding, slowing down so that she wanted to scream at him to stop tormenting her. In an effort to regain control, she squeezed her buttocks together, making it tighter for him as he shoved inch after rock-hard inch in and out of her. At the same time, she concentrated on keeping her thigh muscles clenched to hold herself in position. Their hips moved in time. Her whole world became heat and moisture, and then she felt everything give way as her body broke apart under the sweet torture.
“Don’t stop, Fraser. I don’t want you to ever stop,” she begged, before crying out and arching beneath him one final time, riding the waves of her orgasm as his cock pumped his own hot release deep inside her.
Together they lay silent, panting and spent. Gradually, Fraser eased himself out of her. “Took my pleasure of my lady with my boots on,” he murmured, turning his head so that he could kiss her lips long and sweetly. “You certainly know how to send your man into a stramash with a smile on his face, my crabbit one.”
He was gone before she had fully regained her breath, and it was only much later that she allowed herself a brief, poignant second to reflect. He had come to find her, seeking comfort in her arms, before he left. The words he used sent a little thrill through her. He thought of me. Then, after they were both spent, he had called her “his lady” and himself “her man”. Oh, they were only throwaway phrases he had used in the aftermath of passion, but how sweet it had been to hear them from his lips.
Martha spent that whole night curled up on the window seat in the library, watching the approach to the castle with eyes that ached from straining far into the darkness. Dawn was streaking the sky with silvery fingers when a small cavalcade of horses clattered up to the drawbridge, and her heart clenched in relief as she recognised the tall figure at their head. It was very well to tell herself she was content to remain in the background, to share his bed when he needed her. That didn’t help when all she wanted to do now was dash down the stairs and hurl herself into Fraser’s arms as he dismounted from his horse.
