A Clan United
The fire warmed Sorcha’s toes, but Alec’s solid, warm bulk warmed her soul.
She was safe by his side. Safe in Heather House.
She took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the dried lavender bunches hanging from the rafters over their pallet.
With a smile, she burrowed into his shoulder.
He grunted a little in his sleep, automatically slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer against his hard chest.
“I’ll be back when I may, lass,” Christine whispered from the door. “Most likely on the morrow.”
Sorcha opened her lashes to see the wise-woman standing with her hand on the latch and a basket of chamomile and other dried herbs looped over her arm.
“’Tis the tanner’s wife,” she explained in soft tones.
“Her bairn’s coming. Rest ye well, love.
” With a smile, she slipped through the door, shutting it behind her with a soft click.
Rest. Sorcha stretched languorously. In the past few weeks, she’d all but healed, and the painful memories receded more each day. Lifting her head, she studied the man asleep at her side, admiring the straight line of his nose and the shadowed-stubble of his jaw in the dim morning light.
His jade green eyes opened halfway and, reaching up, he tugged her back into his arms, pulling her head down against his broad chest. “Dinna think on it, gràdh geal mo chrìdh,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe in my arms. I’ll never let ye go again.”
The words made her smile. He’d said them so often in the past weeks, and as often as she needed to hear them. Wriggling from his grasp, she propped herself up on an elbow and continued to stare down at him.
Curious, he lifted his lashes a little more. “And whither have your thoughts fled, my love?” he asked with a lazy yawn.
A devious smile pulled at her lips. “Ye once said that ye’d court me,” she teased, running her fingers over the hard plane of his chest.
His lashes flew open, and he appeared awake all at once.
“Aye,” he rumbled, a spark of his old playfulness returning to his eyes.
“But I may have changed my mind on that matter.” He slid his hand around her waist, and slowly let it glide over the soft swell of her hip to rest on the curve of her buttocks.
Her heart began to race. “Oh?”
In a flash, he twisted her underneath him and slid his lean body on top of hers. “I consider our courting done,” he murmured in her ear, pausing to suck the tip of her earlobe before adding, “I’m wedding ye, here and now—that is, if ye’ll have an outlaw for a husband.”
The memories of just why he’d become an outlaw surfaced full force, and she shivered.
His expression altered. “No more sorrow, lass,” he promised, his voice strong and sure.
“No more sorrow,” she repeated as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Gently, he caressed her wet cheek with the back of his hand, and she simply lay there, relaxing under his soothing touch. After a time, the spark returned in his eye, and he lowered his head, returning to the task of nibbling her ear.
She shivered again—but this time for a different reason and a gasp of pleasure escaped her lips.
“Aye,” he chuckled into her ear. “Mayhap you’re ready now.”
The way he rolled her earlobe with his tongue and nipped her neck made it difficult to concentrate. After what seemed like ages, she struggled in her passion to ask, “Mayhap ready for …?”
He didn’t let her finish the question. With a groan, he took advantage of her open lips, softly at first, but with a growing insistence, tracing his tongue along hers and teasing a deeper response until she returned the kiss with equal passion.
Her mind began to spin as she melted against him and he ravaged her mouth with a bold hunger, plundering the softness of her lips with broad strokes of his tongue.
A shudder travelled the length of her spine, and she caught his hair in her hands.
Pulling his lips from hers, he looked down at her intently, through dark, lowered lashes.
Dimly, she recalled she’d wanted to ask a question, but before she could remember more, he swept her off into a new tide of sensation.
Brushing a stray lock of her hair back, he dropped a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck and then slowly, ran his powerful hands over the softness of her breasts, outlining the swelling flesh to skim over her stomach and down, gently squeezing her thighs.
A languid heat followed the trail of his touch, setting her blood on fire.
With a smile curving his lips, he cupped his hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth up to his, delivering a kiss, slow and sweet as he took her fingers in his and guided her hands over his lean, hard body, inviting her to touch him.
And she did. Lightheaded with desire, she explored his lean muscles as he captured her mouth again and again, driving her to the brink of a kind of madness—one of a particularly sensual, potent heat.
A moan tore from his lips then.
With one free hand, he unlaced her shift. “Aye, you’re ready,” he announced hoarsely.
Ready. Ah, yes. ‘Twas the question she’d meant to ask.
This time, she managed a breathless, “Ready?”
“For a Montgomery ravishing, lass,” he growled in her ear. Lifting her shift over her head, his eyes slid over her in a soft, lazy caress, and then he smiled mischievously.
* * *
The morning breeze blew through the glade, carrying with it the smell of late winter snow as Sorcha hauled the water bucket out of the nearly frozen burn.
“Nay, allow me to carry that, lass.” Alec’s deep voice sounded from close behind.
With a smile, Sorcha turned just as his muscled arms slid around her in a comfortable embrace.
The weeks had passed between them in a pleasantly warm, intimate haze during the day interspersed with frenzied passionate loving at night—or whenever they found themselves alone. And they found themselves alone quite often with Christine unusually busy with the townsfolk.
Lacing her fingers behind his neck, Sorcha pulled his head down and whispered in his ear, “Christine left for the monks, just moments ago.”
A grin curled Alec’s lips and he faked a yawn. “Mayhap ‘tis time for bed, aye?”
“But ‘tis morning,” she couldn’t resist teasing. “Did ye not just rise?”
He laughed, pulling her hard against him, but then she felt his stomach tense. She glanced up to see his green eyes widened in astonishment as he looked over her shoulder at the stone bridge.
“Hail at last, cousin!” Taran’s deep voice rang in greeting.
Sorcha turned, surprised to see the dark-haired highlander, resplendent in a Mackenzie plaid, guiding his dark roan charger towards them at a slow, easy pace. Behind him rode a party of men in a dazzling array of colored plaids, representing the hearty folk of the northern and isle clans.
“And what brings ye here?” Alec asked in wonder as Taran reined by their side to dismount.
The two men clasped one another’s forearms in a warm embrace as the highlanders behind them filed over the bridge and into the clearing, their horses stamping and blowing amidst the creaks of leather and the jingle of harnesses.
“We’ve come to escort ye home,” Taran replied. Bowing warmly at Sorcha, he withdrew a rolled parchment from the folds of his plaid and handed it to Alec. “The king bids ye return to your lands, Montgomery. Ye’ve a clan to lead, and they miss ye sorely.”
Sorcha held still.
Arching a slow brow, Alec eyed his cousin in some amusement. “Then the king truly fears the highland clans,” he said with a snort, breaking the wax seal to swiftly scan the scroll’s contents.
“Aye, he canna control us,” Taran replied with obvious pride.
“His majesty is but a headless cock.” Catching sight of the growing consternation on Sorcha’s face, he was quick to add, “His majesty willna touch a hair on your head, lass. He not only acquitted ye of all charges of witchcraft, but signed the writ of your marriage to Alec himself.” He paused to lift his lip in disdain before adding, “Aye, he claims ‘twas his plan all along, to halt the feuding of your clans.”
Alec tossed his head back and gave a hearty laugh.
“The man’s a fool, but easy enough to sway with a strong hand it seems. Let him think what he will, it suits me well enough” he said.
Dropping his arm around Sorcha’s shoulders, he lifted a brow and asked in a soft, low voice.
“What say ye, lass? ‘Tis time I took ye home to Eglinton?”
Home.
She hesitated, looking over her shoulder at Heather House, long and hard. Heather House would always be her true home. She would miss it.
When she faced Alec again, she saw a thread of concern on his handsome face. “Home,” she said with a smile, sliding her hands to lace her fingers behind his neck. “Home is where ye take me, Alec of Lainshaw.”
With a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips, he lowered his mouth to cover hers in a kiss that spoke a thousand words.