Her Highland Hero

  “Because they didna want you to aid us, nor for us to learn Lord Pembroke lived.” Marcus rubbed Isobel’s blanket-covered arm, trying to warm her.

  “I cannot believe he is alive,” Isobel murmured against Marcus’s chest, her breath warm.

  “Dinna fall asleep, lass,” Marcus warned, wrapping her more tightly in his arms.

  “I cannot get warm.”

  Finbar quickly scrounged for another blanket and covered her with it.

  “Thank you. Bring the men here who tried to steal Isobel away,” Marcus said.

  “Aye, Marcus.” Finbar hurried out to fetch them.

  “Is my father very worried about me?” Isobel asked, her voice shaking with the cold.

  “Aye,” Wynfield said. “I was to make all haste to locate you and ensure you were safely with Laird McEwan.”

  “I am safe.” She sighed deeply against Marcus’s chest.

  “Safer when we reach my castle.” Marcus hated that she had to remain out here in the cold until more of his men arrived to escort them home.

  Finbar returned with the men and two of Wynfield’s knights who continued to guard them.

  Laren’s men quickly dropped to their knees, wet, bedraggled, shivering, and anxious as they awaited Marcus’s judgment.

  “Did any of these men knock you out when they brought you to the shore of the loch?” Marcus asked Isobel.

  “Nay. I think I succumbed to the cold.”

  “Then I will release the four of you men to return to your clan. Know this, Lady Isobel is the daughter of Lord William Pembroke and Lady Ciarda. The bairn Lady Ciarda had carried before, didna live. MacLauchlan has no claim to the lass. Lord Pembroke has agreed to my marriage to Isobel. If we see any of MacLauchlan’s men on our lands again, it willna go well for them. Do you understand?”

  “Lord Pembroke lives?” one of the men asked, his eyes wide.

  “Aye. He, and no other mon, is Lady Isobel’s father.”

  “Aye, my laird.” All four men nodded, eager to leave with their hides intact.

  “You willna have your weapons or horses. You have given them up as spoils of war.”

  “Our sgian dubhs?” the one man asked.

  “Aye. But naught more.”

  “Aye, thank ye, laird.”

  “Go then and give your laird my message.”

  “Aye.” The men quickly got to their feet and hurried past the knights.

  “See that they dinna find swords or horses upon their departure,” Marcus said to Pembroke’s knights.

  They looked to Lord Wynfield, and he nodded. “Do as his lordship bids.”

  “Aye.” They both bowed their heads a little to Wynfield, then hurried after Laren’s men.

  Isobel soaked up the heat from Marcus’s body, trying to get warm, hating that she was wearing only a blanket wrapped around her and the others on top of her, yet she was still not wearing any clothes in front of the men who were coming and going and she felt…naked.

  They’d brought the wounded men in and Finbar was taking care of them. She wished she could help him and them, but she felt frozen to the bone, her wet hair making her colder.

  She still couldn’t believe the turn of events once again. She was glad she was Lord Pembroke’s true daughter as she could not see herself as any other man’s child. She was sorry her mother had lost her first child, but glad MacLauchlan had no claim to her.

  And she was gladder still that her father lived. Then she wondered if Marcus would have felt differently about her all those years if he’d known she wasn’t all Highland lass. “Do you mind that I am Lord Pembroke’s real daughter?”

  Marcus smiled down at her with such tenderness, it brought tears to her eyes. She knew before he even spoke what his answer would be as he stroked her hair. “Ah, lass. You are my joy and always have been. ‘Tis you that I am wedding, no’ your da.”

  Relieved, she settled against him again. “I want my father to be here for the wedding.”

  Marcus looked at Wynfield. “Is he well enough to travel?”

  “In a few more days, mayhap.”

  “Will he come?” Marcus asked.

  “You will have to ask him yourself,” Wynfield said.

  “Nay. You cannot return to Torrent castle, Marcus. What if my father changes his mind about you and imprisons you in the dungeon instead?” Isobel dearly loved her father, but she still didn’t trust him where marrying Marcus was concerned.

  “He can ask him in a missive.” Wynfield sounded tired, in pain, and exasperated.

  The sound of horses coming from the north made Marcus set Isobel gently aside, and then he quickly rose to his feet, seizing his sword at once.

  Rob shouted, “I have returned with reinforcements.”

  “‘Tis good. Lord Wynfield has paid us a visit. We have wounded.”

  “The wagon is coming for the wounded.” Rob dismounted and stalked into the enclosure. He looked at Isobel wrapped in the blankets on the floor. “Is Lady Isobel—”

  “I am fine,” she said, annoyed. “Only cold and my clothes are soaking wet.”

  Rob looked at Marcus for an explanation as if she were daft!

  “She took a swim.”

  “Not by choice,” she said.

  Rob smiled at her. Then he looked Lord Wynfield over. “We will get you in the wagon, my lord, as soon as it arrives.”

  “I prefer riding,” Lord Wynfield grumbled.

  No one worth their salt wanted to ride in the wagons meant for hauling goods, the elderly, or the injured. But the baron would have to sacrifice his pride as Marcus knew he would suffer less, particularly if he passed out from his injury while trying to ride his horse.

  “When we return, I need you to send five men to Rondover Castle with word about John attempting to murder his uncle, Lord Pembroke,” Marcus said to Rob.

  “The bloody fool.”

  “Aye. Let us get the men organized and be on our way,” Marcus said.

  “I cannot wear just a blanket,” Isobel objected.

  “Your clothes are soaked, lass. You will ride with me.”

  “Och, Marcus.”

  He smiled and mounted his horse. Finbar handed Isobel up to him as Wynfield, despite his protests, was loaded into a wagon with the other injured men who could no longer ride.

  “Be gentle with Lord Wynfield,” Marcus said. “He will be our honored guest.”

  When everyone was ready to ride, Marcus took off as Angus and his kin joined him for the rest of the journey to Lochaven.

  “I cannot believe you are taking me to your home like this—naked as the day I was born.”

  Marcus smiled at her, and his look was more heated than sweet as if he was thinking about her being naked underneath the blanket and she suddenly felt very hot.

  “You are perfectly covered or I would have come up with some other plan.”

  She could just imagine the first impression she would make when she arrived at Marcus’s castle as his wife, her hair wet and in tangles, and all she was wearing was a blanket.

  “They will love you as I do,” Marcus said, and she thought she was as transparent to him as she was with Mary.

  She must have fallen asleep then, because before she knew it, she was at the castle, looking at an expansive blue-green loch nearby, surrounded by trees, the castle with four round stone towers at each corner of the curtain wall stretching up to the cloudy sky, the portcullis raised and gates open in welcome.

  Cheers went up from the wall walk as several men gathered up above to see them arrive.

  Marcus raised his arm in greeting. More hails followed. And she smiled at him. She loved that he was so well thought of by his people, but she wanted to melt into the saddle and disappear. Never had she been wrapped in a blanket, bare naked, for all to see.

  When they reached the inner bailey, Rob hurried to take her from Marcus and that made her body heat all over again. She prayed the blanket would not unwrap and reveal any part of her, other than her bare feet, which w
as scandalous enough.

  After Marcus dismounted, he reclaimed her from Rob and stalked toward the keep, while men and women alike were eager to greet him. They seemed somewhat reserved about Isobel, probably trying to figure out who she was until Marcus said, “I bring home my bonny bride, Lady Isobel, my wife.”

  He smiled down at her, looking so pleased, his kin applauded and shouted well-wishes.

  “We will celebrate,” he said. “We have honored guests.” He mentioned Lord Wynfield, Lord Pembroke’s knights, Angus, Niall, Gunnolf, and Marcus’s cousins. “We need a hot bath—”

  “Already arranged, my laird,” Siusan said, her plump cheeks full of color, her smile contagious. “We had a runner watching for you. Young Taldon. He did well, did he no’?”

  Angus saw the tow-headed lad standing on a barrel, trying to see Marcus over all his kin gathered around.

  “Taldon, you have done well.”

  He beamed.

  “And a feast for you.” Cook’s brown eyes shifted to take a look again at Isobel, her brows raised a little.

  “We will find garments for the lass,” Siusan said.

  “Aye good,” Marcus said.

  Siusan did a little curtsey, then hurried into the keep.

  “Aye, our healer has made arrangements to aid the injured men. Is the lady injured as well?” Cook asked, her brow furrowing.

  “She is fine,” Marcus said, “but her gowns were drenched and she is still cold. Thank you,” he said to the collected men and women. “I will have a word with everyone in…a bit.” Then he carried Isobel through the castle and soon was climbing a set of winding stairs.

  “Truth be told,” he said to Isobel, “I dinna believe you need any clothes for a while.”

  She chuckled. “‘Tis why I agreed to marry you.”

  He laughed.

  “But what will your people think of us if you do not feast with them?”

  “That I am enjoying time well-spent with my lovely wife, as it should be. They would be more than surprised if we should show up at the feast right away.” He sighed. “Lass, I canna tell you enough how sorry I am to have told you wrong about your da.”

  “You revealed to me what you believed with all your heart, Marcus. You would not have told me if it had not been for me saying King Henry might not allow us to wed. I am glad to learn that my father truly had a daughter with my mother, and that MacLauchlan is truly not my father. That is all that matters.”

  Marcus stepped into his chamber and she glanced around at it. Big, the bed massive, the curtains around it gray, the wood dark, two arrow slit windows, rushes, pegs on the wall, a chest, a table, and a chair.

  Her curtains were blue and she wondered if she could bring them here to soften the dark look a bit. Her curtains looked to be a richer wool and heavier. Though she did not want to offend Marcus should he feel she was not happy with the accommodations.

  “If you wish anything changed, you have but to ask.” Marcus set her on her feet.

  She did not want to ask for anything for her personal use when she felt the moneys spent on such extravagance should be used for the benefit of all his people.

  The revelry below stairs had already begun in the great hall, and she did feel a little guilty and embarrassed that she and Marcus were up here, and that everyone in his clan would miss him and know just what they were up here doing.

  He unwrapped her from the blanket and helped her into the warm water. Then he crouched next to the tub, took the cloth, and began to wash her as before, only he tried to do so more slowly. But he had the same difficulty and as soon as she was wrapped in a towel, and sitting by the fire, he vigorously scrubbed himself down while she watched him, amused.

  She dropped her towel, and his eyes widened. She returned to the tub, but his gaze quickly shifted from her smiling face to the rest of her, taking all of her in, making her feel desirable like when he used to look at her, interested, intrigued when they met at the loch. And she loved him for it.

  She crouched next to the tub, took the cloth from him, and began to slowly clean him like he had done for her.

  “You are washing so quickly, you are missing half the splatters of mud,” she teased, and she loved that she could do this for him, like he had done for her.

  “Ahh, lass, you will have to hurry.” Marcus’s voice was already rusty with lust as he focused on Isobel’s touch, or attempted to, but seeing her naked as she washed his face, and neck, then his chest and waist, and lower still, was making him even harder than before.

  He loved the way she ran the cloth over him with tenderness and care, not scrubbing roughly and in a rush to get it over with so he could take her to bed. He was grateful she wasn’t in the least bit shy when it came to being with him. When she slipped the cloth even lower, beneath the water, he knew he had no mud splatters left there. She washed his legs, but only briefly, then began to stroke his staff with the wet cloth. Despite being tough on the battlefield, when it came to his naked wife leaning her delectable breasts over the tub and her hand so deftly stroking his staff with the cloth, he couldn’t hold back the craving he had for her.

  He rose from the tub, dripping wet. She dropped the wet cloth in the water, but before she could do anything else, he climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and hastily dried himself off—while the brazen lass watched! Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “Some things a man canna last at.”

  She smiled up at him. “But it felt good, aye?”

  He smiled as he deposited her on the mattress and joined her. “Verra.”

  He loved the way she was not inhibited with him, how she touched him all over, making his blood hot for her, his heart race. He kissed her, rubbing his rigid staff against her soft body, glad she had warmed up and was not ill from all she’d had to endure.

  He suddenly realized he should have asked how she was feeling now. The way she was kissing him back, her tongue teasing his lips and tongue, the way her fingers stroked his sides and back, he suspected she was perfectly fine.

  He didn’t want to stop kissing her or molding his body to hers, feeling her soft skin and curves, smelling her sweetness, wanting to dive deep and claim her again and again. He swept his hand upward to cup one of her heavenly breasts before he moved his mouth lower to feast on one and then the other, tonguing her taut nipples, caressing her.

  She moaned and moved against him, urging him on. He wasn’t sure she would be healed up enough, but he wanted to make love to her as long as she did also.

  He dipped a finger and then a second deep inside her wet sheath. She was ready for him. Then he began to stroke her swollen nub and poked his tongue into her mouth, enjoying the honeyed mead they had shared on the journey here. He was so ready for her, barely able to contain himself, the way she had aroused him, starting with him bathing her, and then her dropping her towel and washing him.

  She arched against him and barely breathed, and he believed she was just about there.

  He stroked her harder and she gripped his hips tightly, her eyes closed, her lips parted, but before she cried out, he kissed her, muffling her cry of pleasure. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

  It was time. He couldn’t hold back a moment longer and spread her legs further. “Tell me if you are sore and I will stop.” Even though it would nearly kill him.

  “I am fine.”

  He centered himself between her legs and plunged his staff in deep, felt her shifting a little underneath him, and he worried that she was uncomfortable. “Are—”

  She pulled him down for a kiss, silencing his question, and then he began to pump into her, needing this joining, sharing the closeness—the love that their coupling meant. He still couldn’t believe that Isobel was truly his and he thanked God that it was so.

  He continued to drive home, kissing her, loving her, enjoying this intimacy that he’d wanted to share with her for so long.

  Until he could not hold back any furth
er, no matter how hard he tried, the torturous pleasure filling him with a need so great, he had to release, filling her with his seed. Her face flushed with heat, she fairly glowed as she smiled up at him.

  He chuckled. “Did you finally warm up enough, lass?”

  “Aye. If you had done this earlier, I would have been completely warm.”

  “In the crannog?” He laughed. As shy as she was around other men about wearing only a blanket in the enclosure, he could not imagine her being willing to make love with him there. “How are you feeling?”

  “Wonderful.” She snuggled against Marcus’s chest, and he caressed her back as he listened to all the happy bantering in the great hall.

  The noise in the great hall grew louder, and Marcus swore his people wanted him to know just how wondrous a time they were having, despite his not being there. But he was just where he wanted to be—with his ladylove, like this.

  “So tell me, what was it that you thought of me after I left you at Torrent Castle?” He’d been curious about it ever since she had brought it up. Of course, he’d thought of what it would be like to see her naked, to kiss her, and bed her. But he’d never suspected her thoughts would have turned in that direction. And he was more than interested in knowing.

  She began running her tantalizing, soft fingertips over his chest. “Kissing, first and foremost. I had seen men stealing kisses from maids near the stables and once in the gardens. I saw the way a man wished to touch a woman’s breasts, and how after he rubbed the maid’s breast with his eager hand, they both worked to pull her léine down so he could press his hand against her soft flesh. I had never seen a man kiss a woman’s breast, or take her into his mouth.”

  Marcus chuckled. “You saw way too much as it was, lassie.”

  She smiled so wickedly at him, he wished he could have shown her all that he had much earlier. “I wished to know what it would be like with you. I could imagine all sorts of things, but never what it would truly be like. I would hug my goose-down pillow to my body, imagining you…tupping me,” she finally said. “Only not from behind, like a ram and a ewe.”