Cottage in the Mist Page 26

  "I have the damn ring. The one that changes everything. The one meant to unite the Macgillivray and Comyns. The one meant to unite us." She waved the ring at him, her voice echoing off the cliffs across the river. "Mo chridhe gu bràth—my heart forever. That's what it says. All those years ago Tyra had it made for Graeme. And my mother gave it to my father. And now I've got it—and I met you. I don't know what else I can say…"

  "That I'm a great stubborn oaf." He framed her face with his hands, his gaze colliding with hers.

  "Well, that goes without saying," she snapped.

  "Then since we're agreed, why don't you close your beautiful mouth so that I can kiss you?"

  Said mouth gaped open like a fish as she stared up at him, his fingers warm against her skin, his breath stirring the tendrils of her hair around her face. Her heart stuttered, and her stomach clenched as he lowered his head, his lips covering hers.

  All rational thought was swept away by the intensity of his touch. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and with a sigh, she opened for him, feeling as if finally, finally she'd come home. He tasted of whisky and smelled of smoke and peat, the heady combination sending sparks of heat dancing across her skin.

  No matter how foreign, no matter how far from her world, this was where she belonged. Here. With Bram. His arms tightened around her as the kiss deepened, the two of them locked in a timeless dance of giving and taking—melding together until it became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

  His hands ran down the length of her arms, his fingers feathering against her skin until they settled on the curve of her hips. He pulled her closer still, and she could feel the hard length of him as he pressed against her. With a soft sigh, she relished the proof that she wasn't alone in her desire. Her hands skimmed across the breadth of his chest, and then dropped lower to his taut stomach and then lower still to trace the hard line of his burgeoning heat. He shuddered at her caress, groaning against her lips.

  "Ach, lass, I canna breathe when you touch me like that."

  "Then let me touch you skin to skin," she whispered, her body trembling now with need. "Please, Bram. Love me, now."

  He groaned again, and with a flick of his hand removed his plaid, laying it down upon the ground at their feet. Then he pulled her until they knelt face to face upon the soft woolen blanket, his crystalline blue gaze meeting hers. "Are you sure this is what you want? I'm afraid I've naught to offer you but the man you see before you."

  "What I see is more than I ever could have wished for."

  He reached for her hands, their fingers lacing together by their sides. "And you meant what you said? That you'll always choose me?"

  She nodded, emotion clogging her throat. "Always."

  "And there will ne'er be anyone for me but you. This I swear."

  "Bram?" She swallowed, tears filling her eyes. "Are you… are we…" A vague memory of the notion of handfasting flitted through her brain.

  "Aye." He nodded, uncertainty chasing across his face. "If you're willing. I know 'tis no' the perfect time. But I canna—"

  She reached up and covered his lips again with her fingers. "Yes. Yes, Bram, I will marry you. Here. Now. I promise you my life and my loyalty. I am yours, for all time, if that is what you wish."

  "I've never wanted anything more."

  She nodded, pulling the fine silver chain from around her neck and releasing the clasp to free the ring. "I've no idea how this is done, but it seems this is a good place to start." She waited, her heart in her throat, her gaze still locked with his.

  He covered her hand with his, the silver ring warm between their palms. It seemed to Lily that the world had shrunk to include only the two of them and the soft sound of the river flowing by.

  "From this day on it shall be only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning. I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next," Bram said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  "I too give you my body and my heart. Forever and a day. I love you."

  "And I you, mo ghràidh."

  The words seemed to wrap around them like a warm cocoon, protecting them from all that threatened their happiness. Or maybe it was their love. Lily wasn't sure of anything more than the fact that this was where she was meant to be. In this time. With this man.

  With shaking fingers, she slid the ring onto Bram's finger, the silver gleaming in the moonlight. "It's done then."

  "Aye, you belong to me."

  She smiled then. "And you belong to me."

  "But I have no ring for you."

  "It doesn't matter. I don't need a reminder. Not when you're right here in front of me."

  A shadow passed across his face, and she knew he was thinking about the looming confrontation with his uncle. But this wasn't the time. This moment belonged only to the two of them.

  She stroked his cheek, the warmth of his skin sending heat spiraling through her. "And when you're not with me, I'll have you here." She touched her chest. "In my heart. See? Your father's pin guards the way." The little silver cat winked up at them.

  Their gazes held for another moment, as the power of their pledge flowed through them both, and then Bram leaned forward to kiss her, his touch gentle and reverent. For a moment, Lily savored the feel of his lips against hers, and then with a shiver of anticipation she opened her mouth and with a groan, she felt his control shatter.

  His hands cradled her face as his mouth slanted over hers, their tongues dancing together—thrusting and parrying, advancing and retreating. And she wondered if she could ever possibly get enough of him.

  As if he read her thoughts, his mouth lifted in a slow crooked grin and he bent his head, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft line of her throat, pausing to kiss the angry mark Frazier's blade had left.

  "I'll no' let anyone else hurt you, Lily," he growled softly, nipping at her earlobe. "You belong to me now. You're mine."

  And then his fingers found her breast through the thin material of her borrowed shirt, first caressing and then teasing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the resulting sensation sending heat pooling between her legs. With an economy of motion, he removed her plaid and her shirt, cupping both breasts with his hands.

  She tilted back her head, eyes closing as she offered herself to him. His mouth closed over one breast, the wet warmth sending her arching upward to press her body even closer. He sucked harder, pulling her deeper into his mouth, his fingers teasing the other nipple. She ground her pelvis against his, needing more. Wanting more.

  His hand circled lower, and then lower still, slipping into the waistband of her leggings, beneath the elastic of her panties. Slowly, so slowly, his fingers stroked through the curls between her legs, circling just above the place she longed for him to touch. Moaning, she arched upward trying to force his play, but instead she felt his smile as he lifted his head.

  "Patience, mo ghràidh."

  He kissed her on the lips—hard, and then helped her remove the rest of her clothes. Then with trembling hands, she pulled the long linen shirt over his head.

  "You're hurt." She reached out to run her finger across the skin adjacent to the angry slash on his chest.

  "'Tis no' but a scratch, I swear to you."

  "Well, I'll not let anyone hurt you again either."

  His smile was crooked and slow, stealing her breath away. He helped her remove the rest of his clothes, and naked, they lay down against the soft wool of his plaid, the stars twinkling through the trees above them.

  Bracing himself on his elbows, he lowered his big body to cover hers, the hair on his chest brushing seductively against her breasts. His mouth found hers, his tongue taking control as he circled her wrists and lifted them above her head. He kissed her eyes, her nose and the corners of her lips. Then he sucked her earlobe into his mouth, his hot breath torturing her with the promise of what was to come.

  He kissed his way down the valley between her breasts and a
cross the taut plane of her stomach. And then he freed her hands, pushing her legs apart, her thighs braced on his shoulders. She shuddered again with need as his fingers held her open and his tongue dipped unerringly into her core, stroking, sucking, laving. She bucked against him, feeling the sweet tension begin to rise. Her hands braced against his shoulders as he took her higher and then higher still, his tongue driving her toward the precipice.

  And then just as she reached the pinnacle, he withdrew, and she bit off her protest as he slid up her body, his mouth finding hers as the head of his erection pressed against her opening. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she lifted as he thrust deeply, filling her with his heat. For a moment they held still, the fragrant night air surrounding them, the soft sounds of the river providing a private symphony.

  Then he began to move. Slowly at first then with more urgency and power. She found his rhythm and rose to meet each thrust, their bodies moving in tandem, pleasure intensifying until it was just this side of pain. Together they moved. Higher and harder. Faster and deeper. And Lily felt her world began to break apart, the power of her climax sending her crashing over the edge.

  Flying on pure sensation, she cried out his name and felt her body contracting around his as he thrust into her, his breathing guttural as he too found his release. Her heart pounded against his, her body singing in pure delight—as if she were an instrument that had been well-played. His mouth found hers, his kiss deep and thorough.

  Then, with a sigh of contentment that echoed her own, he rolled off of her, pulling her into his arms, her head cradled on his chest. They lay together quietly, hearts beating in tandem. He stroked her hair and tugged her plaid across them both to keep them warm. She felt cherished. Loved.

  And as she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to Lily that if she were to die now, in this moment, she would die happy. Truly, blissfully, honestly happy.

  CHAPTER 29

  BRAM WOKE TO THE SOUNDS of the river. Stars still studded the black velvet sky. The air was cold, but it was warm in the cocoon they'd made of their plaids. Lily's leg was draped across his thighs, her hair tickling him as it curled beneath his chin. She was beautiful in sleep. Almost as beautiful as she was in the throes of passion. He felt his body respond to the images in his brain. And he indulged in a satisfied smile as he pulled her closer, the soft whoosh of her breath warm against his skin.

  She murmured something in her sleep, and then stretched, her breasts pressing into his chest. "Did I fall asleep?" she asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

  "Aye. As did I." He felt her smile.

  "Well, if you're going to wear a girl out like that, it's to be expected, I suppose."

  She rose up on one elbow, pushing her rioting hair out of her face, green eyes glittering with laughter and something more. Something that made him swallow with anticipation, desire stirring to life again. He wondered if he'd ever get enough of her. And just as quickly let the notion go. They belonged to each other now. And nothing would separate them.

  He blew out a harsh breath. Would that it were that simple. But there was so much uncertainty. For a moment, he felt a wash of guilt. He shouldn't have brought her into this. Shouldn't have asked her to give him her life. Not when so much was at stake. Not when tomorrow might mean his death.

  "What is it?" She was still watching him, but frowning now. "You're not regretting this, are you? You're not regretting us?"

  "Nay, lass, never." He reached over to kiss her, trying to ignore his fears. Tonight belonged to them. And he'd not let his uncle take this too.

  "Good." She settled next to him, her fingers softly tracing patterns through the hair on his chest. "Because I have no regrets either. But that doesn't mean that I'm not worried about what tomorrow will bring."

  "Dinna think on it now," he said, wishing it were that easy.

  "I can't help myself. I came back to stop you from fighting Alec. To keep you alive. But now I fear I've just thrown you from the frying pan into the fire."

  "An interesting turn of phrase," he said, twining a lock of hair around his finger. "But you canna fash yourself o'er something you canna control."

  "I might not have control. But you do. You don't have to challenge your uncle."

  "I dinna have to, no, but to honor my father, I must. Surely you can see that?"

  She sighed. "I suppose I do. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. I guess you and Iain have a plan?"

  "Aye. We're to ride on Dunbrae on the morrow."

  "I see." Her voice had gone quiet, barely more than a whisper. "And what about me?"

  "You'll stay here with Alec. And with Robby."

  "And Frazier?" She was back on her elbow, looking down on him. He tried but couldn't read her expression in the shadows.

  "He'll stay here too. I canna risk his coming with us. Alec has agreed to keep watch o'er him. And you."

  "And if I don't want to be watched over?"

  "Lily, you canna come with me. 'Tis no place for a lady."

  "Maybe I'm not a lady. After all, I wasn't afraid to take a knife to Frazier earlier today." She sounded so fierce, he smiled.

  "Ach, but you were magnificent indeed. But you also were in grave peril. And I canna risk being distracted with worry o'er you. As much as I'd prefer to have you with me, I need you to stay."

  Her gaze was mutinous. "I'll not let you ride off into God knows what without me. I'm your wife. My place is with you. I can stay back. Out of the fray. That way I won't be a bother. But I'll not stay behind. If you insist on it, I'll only follow."

  It was his turn to sigh. He'd married a strong-willed woman. And while he'd have it no other way, it meant that she was telling the truth. She wouldn't stay behind. Not unless he tied her to a bloody tree. And although the idea held some appeal, he was not stupid enough to believe she'd easily forgive something like that.

  "All right then, you can come with us, but you'll not engage in combat and you'll stay out of sight until I come for you. Agreed?"

  She paused, considering his offer. Then with a frown, she nodded in acceptance. "It's a compromise, I suppose. Do you think your uncle is expecting you?"

  "He's no' a fool and he has to know that his other attempts have failed. That said, he doesn't know that I've made peace with Alec."

  "And have you?" She was still frowning. "Made peace with him, I mean?"

  "Of a sort. I canna get rid of a lifetime of believing him an enemy as easily as that. But I no longer believe he was involved in the attack on my father. Or the attacks on me. Frazier damned himself and my uncle when he slipped and mentioned Malcolm's name."

  "But why would your uncle want to take Dunbrae from your father? I mean, they were brothers."

  "Because it rightly should have gone to him."

  "I don't understand."

  "My grandfather wasna a kind man." He pulled her back down to his chest again, his arm circling her and holding her close. "He took great pleasure in playing people off against each other. Most particularly his sons. My father was the second son. Born from a second marriage. As was his younger sister, Ealasaid. Malcolm's mother, Bradana, was my grandfather's first wife."

  "Ealasaid is Ranald's mother, right?" Lily queried.

  "Aye, that she is," Bram smiled and then sobered. "Anyway, by all accounts the marriage between Bradana and my grandfather wasna a happy one. It was an arranged marriage, and there was no love lost between the two of them."

  "But that wasn't the case with your father's mother?" Again she had cut to the heart of the matter. He stroked her hair, his mind thinking back to the stories his father had told.

  "According to my father it was a passionate match. And one that happened well before Bradana died, I'm afraid. My grandmother, Deirdre, was a beautiful woman."

  "She was his lover?"

  "Aye, 'twould seem so."

  "And your father?"

  "Born safely on the right side of the blanket, but you can ken how well his father's infidelity sat with Malcolm. He be
lieved himself to be the heir after all."

  "I'm sorry, you've lost me again. As the oldest wouldn't that be an absolute?"

  "In England surely, but no' in the Highlands. A laird names his own successor and, while it is common for it to be a son, nothing says it must be the eldest." He smiled down at the woman who was now his wife. "Or for that matter, even a son."

  "A woman can inheirit?" Her eyes widened at the thought.

  "Aye, if 'tis believed to be best for the clan."

  "Imagine that." She nestled closer with a smile, then tipped her face to meet his gaze. "So Malcolm believed he was your grandfather's heir."

  "That he did. And being close to his mother, he resented my grandmother from the beginning. And once his mother was dead and Deirdre became the new wife, his anger grew. It festered and found a worthy source once my father was born."

  "What about Ealasaid?" She was chewing on her bottom lip as she contemplated his story. "Did Malcolm hate her too?"

  "Nay. I dinna believe he saw her as a threat. And I think for a while she acted as a shield of sorts. Protecting my father from Malcolm's ire. But then, when Deirdre died, my grandfather sent her away. To the Macqueens, which is where she ultimately met Ranald's father."

  "But that meant there was no longer anyone to stand between the two boys. How terrible for them both."

  "True enough. And mayhap it would have passed as Malcolm grew to manhood, except as I said, my grandfather liked to play the boys against each other. And for better or worse, my father often came out on top. So Malcolm's ill feelings grew. And my grandfather's games only fanned the flames."

  "Which in turn fed Malcolm's anger and jealousy." She snuggled closer, her warmth keeping Bram's emotions safely at bay.

  He sighed, then nodded. "Then fate stepped in to make it worse. When my father came of age he fell in love with my mother. Aileen Mackintosh was a beauty and a wealthy woman in her own right. And there were many men who sought her hand. But she never had eyes for anyone but my father."

  "And I'm guessing Malcolm was one of the other men."

  "That he was. And when my mother agreed to marry my father, he was incensed. Demanded that his father grant him Aileen's hand. He was older than my father, after all. But my grandfather refused. So Malcolm appealed to his uncle."