The Highlander

  The sound of horses galloping toward the castle had them all turning their heads to see who had arrived now. Tibold Chattan, laird of his clan, and Angus MacNeill, Niall's cousin, led the pack. Angus's dark hair was windswept, making him look as wild as Niall had ever remembered it, his dark-eyed gaze taking in all of the newcomers with a quick survey.

  "You found the lass?" Angus asked, hurrying to dismount and gave Niall a brotherly slap on the back, his grin spreading across his face. "One of the crofters said you had arrived. No doubt you have heard her uncle waits just inside."

  Tibold approached, his dark brown hair looking to be sporting a few more gray hairs, and his eyes a vivid blue, focused on Anora. "The man will be delighted to hear she is well."

  "She is my wife," Niall quickly said. "This is Anora."

  Tibold and Angus's jaws dropped.

  Angus quickly looked at Gunnolf as if he would say Niall was jesting, or should have ensured Niall had not done thus, or something.

  Gunnolf raised his hands in defeat. "He got away from me. What can I say? The lass was right for Niall. She belongs with no other mon."

  Angus shook his head, then smiled at Anora. "Welcome to the family, lass. My wife, Edana, will see to your needs and to the other lass's as well."

  Niall quickly made further introductions. Tibold still hadn't said a word. What was he thinking? Would he back Niall, or stand by Anora's uncle's wishes?

  "'Tis time for a feast," Tibold announced, as if food in their bellies would solve all their problems.

  ***

  Edana hurried to greet Niall and Gunnolf, welcoming them to her father's home. But as soon as Niall explained who Anora was, his arm wrapped securely around her waist as if she needed his support, Edana smiled. Anora was glad she didn't drop her jaw with shock like Edana's father and Niall's cousin, Angus, had done.

  Edana's blue eyes were as bright as her father's, but her hair was a glorious red. Angus's hair was as dark as Niall's, and his eyes just as dark a brown. He was a little taller, and when he smiled at her, Anora could see the family resemblance. After everyone had gotten over the initial shock that Anora was married to Angus's cousin, he had welcomed her with open arms as if she was part of the family now. She felt a little overwhelmed, truth be told. But she wouldn't have wished this any other way.

  Before Edana could take her and the baroness to a room to wash, a dark-haired man with greying temples stalked toward Anora, his build slight as if he were a diplomat and not a fighter. Then he glanced at Niall, who wouldn't release her waist as if he was afraid someone would snatch her away. She was used to fighting her own battles, but in this, Niall was her pillar of strength.

  "Who might you be?" the Frenchman asked Niall, his expression and tone of voice stern, before Laird Chattan could make introductions.

  "Niall of the MacNeill of Craigly. And this is Gunnolf, who is as much a MacNeill as my own blood," Niall explained, not letting go of Anora.

  Recognition shone in the man's eyes. "Your cousin, Angus, told me James had sent the two of you to locate my niece. And this, I take it, is my niece." Then the count turned to Tibold. "May I have a word alone with my niece?" he asked Chattan, as if Niall had no say in the matter.

  Anora was afraid to speak with her uncle alone, even though she thought he couldn't steal her away. But still, after all she'd been through, she didn't truly trust anyone who was French.

  "Nay," Niall said shortly, which brought a smile to Anora's lips.

  Tibold cleared his throat. "Mayhap, Niall and I could stay with the lass while you speak with her. She has been through quite a lot, and I am certain she feels… more reassured with Niall at her side."

  His brow pinched, her uncle looked annoyed, but then reluctantly nodded.

  Niall's grip on Anora eased.

  "Do you remember me?" the count asked Anora as they settled on benches before a nice warm fire in a small room while Niall stood by the hearth, arms folded as he leaned against the stone wall.

  "Nay, not well," she said, vaguely remembering her uncle, his voice a little rougher with age, his hair grayer, his skin more wrinkled.

  "'Tis understandable. You were very young when your father took you on the ship. I gave you the horse for your birthday when you were six."

  Her horse had been white as snow and sweet, but after her fall, Anora had not ridden her again.

  She glanced at Niall, who was looking fiercely protective of her. She loved him for it.

  "You were not much older than that when your father took you by ship and the English confiscated it. I only learned you had survived while I was fighting during the Crusades and could not return for you. I asked James MacNeill, whom I had befriended, if he would take you under his protection should it become necessary."

  "Aye, and Niall and Gunnolf have done so at his request," she said.

  "Aye." The count took a deep breath and let it out. "Our lineage is connected directly with the royal family and once several learned you were still alive and unmarried…"

  Her uncle couldn't force her to leave with him when she was wed—according to the Highlanders' laws—to Niall.

  Her uncle frowned at her as if reading her mind. "You are not married, are you?"

  "Aye," she quickly said, even if her uncle would not agree to the conditions.

  "By our laws, aye," Niall added just as quickly, and the way he was standing now, tense, ready to fight for what was his made Anora stiffen a little. She did not want Niall fighting her uncle. He was her family.

  "I have heard of these notions of yours," her uncle said to Niall. "As long as both parties are agreeable, the marriage is valid. But not by our standards. And the lady is of the nobility. She could not marry a…" He stopped what he was about to say, and then he changed the subject. "As I was saying, the word has spread that you are available for marriage, though you are a little old. But because of your lineage, the noblemen are willing to make do."

  Niall snorted. Everyone glanced at him. He gave her uncle a disgruntled look and a shake of the head.

  She arched a brow at her uncle. Niall had not seemed to mind that she was nearly an old spinster. And she was grateful for that.

  "Two French counts and a viscount, in particular, want your hand in marriage," her uncle said.

  "Nay," she said vehemently.

  He looked disapprovingly at her, but ignored her outburst. "The one, I cannot abide. He is dangerous, and I believe because of his outspoken ways, he will end up getting himself killed before long. I would not wish you to be in such a situation. Not only that, but I fear his only interest in you as a marriage prospect is your lands and title. But he has oft had disagreements with King Phillip. If he should be executed, then you would be forced to marry some other lord—"

  "Not of my choosing. I have agreed to wed Niall and the deed is done. And since I am not French and I am only a shepherdess, not someone of nobility, that should suffice," she said, determined to make her uncle see her point. She was a storyteller, after all. Why should she not make her own up to aid her in this matter? Her uncle had no way of knowing who she truly was.

  Her uncle frowned at her.

  She frowned right back at him.

  Niall smiled.

  Then Charlie and the puppy ran inside the room and greeted her. Glad for the interruption and the calming effect he always had on her, she leaned down to give him a heartfelt hug, and then lifted the puppy onto her lap. Charlie curled up at her feet, watching Niall, wagging his tail as if waiting for Niall to call him over to greet him also.

  "You are my niece and you have no choice in this," her uncle said gruffly. "Another lord is—I feel—too old for you. I do not believe he has the temperament to deal with a young woman who has lived the life you have. The solution to the marriage problem is for you to marry Pierre. He has always cared for you, and now that he has his father's title, he is just as suitable to marry you."

  "Pierre? He said naught of this to me when he and his companions took me hostage. Why
did he fail to mention it?" Not that she had any intention of marrying him. She didn't believe Niall would ever have loosened a horse's saddle as a jest to play on another lordling when they were lads.

  "For propriety sake, Anora. I am the one to tell you whom you are to marry. It is not Pierre's place to do so," her uncle said, annoyed.

  Pierre had nearly killed her when she was a little girl. Oh, aye, she'd had feelings for him when she was young, loved how he'd tried to kiss her and kissed the wrong girl. But those days were long since gone and for many years she had lived a much different life. She couldn't even imagine trying to learn all about a courtier's ways. How would they treat her? She'd served as a shepherdess all that time, and she didn't believe the French nobility would see her in a good light. Especially when she'd been with Niall as husband and wife.

  She was no longer a countess and hadn't been one since she was very little. She wished to be with Niall, orphaned—aye—just as she had been. She wasn't certain how all his family would treat her, but she thought his aunt, who had cried so on his tunic when he was a lad, could be like the mother she had lost. Like Jane,who had helped to raise her.

  Anora rose from the bench and joined Niall and took his hand. He quickly slipped his arm around her shoulders—showing more—possessiveness, protectiveness. She loved how he was always that way with her.

  "Niall and I chose each other because he works for his cousin, the laird, and I will do what I know best—take care of my sheep." Though she would have to get some more. "I am sorry that you have not found your niece, but I am afraid she died long ago on the ship that the English commandeered. Everyone aboard the ship was lost."

  Her uncle considered her for an extended moment, then Niall. Her uncle finally let out his breath. "I see." Then he cast Niall a long-suffering look as if he knew just who had stolen Anora's heart without her uncle's permission. "I believe you are right, Anora. The little girl I knew was spoiled and pampered, naught like the woman I see before me."

  Anora smiled a hint at the memory. Niall squeezed her shoulders, and she suspected he'd question her about that later.

  Her uncle continued. "The little girl I knew could never have survived the ordeals that you have been through. I will leave you in the Highlander's care."

  "How am I related to Andrea Rochelle?"

  "She is my daughter, your cousin, though she has always referred to you as her little sister. She was overjoyed when she learned you were safe. She had already been sent away to marry a man when you were very young and she was widowed a few years ago. She was not happy Count Gastone wished your hand in marriage when she had hoped he would be the one for her. He is the older gentleman and is much more suited to her."

  "Then mayhap he will reconsider her when he learns the younger sister is gone."

  "Mayhap." Her uncle looked weary as he stood to take his leave. "Take care of her, Niall of the MacNeill. Fulfill your cousin's promise to me to keep her safe for me."

  "Aye, my lord. You have my word," Niall said.

  Anora truly didn't remember her uncle all that well—for the short time she had known him—but she felt she owed him much heartfelt gratitude for allowing her to stay behind and remain with Niall. She pulled away from Niall and joined her uncle, giving him a hug. He appeared startled as he looked down at her in surprise, his dark brown eyes wide. Then he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a warm embrace.

  "If I had an uncle, he would be just like you," she whispered.

  "And you would be the niece I cherished that had grown into such a beautiful young woman." He kissed her cheeks and thanked Chattan for his hospitality, and then he walked toward the doorway, looking a little forlorn, his shoulders stooped.

  Anora wiped tears from her cheeks, but before Niall could reach her, she ran after her uncle and took his hand. "You will stay for the feast the laird is having his people prepare, will you not?"

  He looked again startled and stared down at her with kindly eyes.

  "I would have you as my friend," she added.

  He gave her a reassuring smile. "I will visit you and see how you fare, Anora. I will be honored to be your friend."

  "Pierre knows I am that little girl."

  "We all know the truth, Asceline. You have your mother's looks. The same colored eyes and hair, the same mutinous look when you wish to have your way. I will make up a suitable story—mayhap that I told James I wished his cousin to marry her and prevent her from marrying a man she did not love."

  "Please call me Anora, uncle. I have been known by that name for so much longer. You… you were the one who told me stories when I was little," Anora said.

  "Oui, Anora. I did."

  She smiled at him then. "I make up stories like you did."

  "Then we have something in common. Would you… sit beside me at the meal?"

  "Aye," she said, without hesitation. And then she kissed him on the cheeks and gave him a warm hug—just like she had done when she had been a little girl.

  ***

  After feasting and much merrymaking to celebrate that Anora and Niall were married in the kirk—a condition her uncle had insisted upon—Niall and Anora retired to a private chamber.

  Niall smiled at her as they bathed in a tub together, glad the festivities belowstairs, the meal, and an impromptu wedding in the Chattan's kirk—had all turned out so well.

  "The first time I thought of you in a tub was when I spied it in your byre while I was getting the rope to tie you up," Niall said, looking at the sweet vixen sitting next to him in the tub, her skin wet and glistening, her breasts swollen from his kisses already, her smile fixed. "It was wet, and I could envision you bathing there."

  She threw the soapy rag at him and it hit him in the chest.

  He laughed and pulled her onto his lap and nuzzled her cheek, her neck, her soft skin. He cupped a breast in his hand and then began to caress it again, feeling her nipple poke into the palm of his hand, stirring his blood.

  "And then again, when you suggested I take a bath. The only way I would have done so—to ensure you didna slip away to warn someone of my presence—was if you had joined me in the tub. Believe me, I couldna get the thought out of my mind after that," he said.

  "You are so scandolously wicked, Niall," she said, smiling.

  He grinned at her. "Aye. Dinna tell me you didna think of me sitting naked in the tub when you offered for me to use it."

  Her cheeks blushed a brilliant red.

  "Just as I had suspected, wee bonny lass." Her thoughts had been just as wicked as his had been. He touched the torque he had given her as it rested between her breasts. "You still wear it."

  "Aye, I will always. I cherish your gift to me."

  He loved her. Then he leaned down to kiss her lips.

  Despite not ever believing she would be sitting on her husband's lap in a wooden tub built for two—in a Highland castle, of all places—Anora loved Niall with all her heart. She met his kisses, just as eager as he was to enjoy the intimacy between them once again. And not in a freezing cold cave, but with a fire on the hearth, and a curtained bed just waiting for them.

  Earlier, she could not believe how the baroness, her older cousin—though she loved how the woman wanted to be her sister and Anora would think of her fondly in that way always—had hugged and kissed her and wanted to be her friend and visit with her in the future. Or when Edana and her sweet maid, Una, had helped prepare her for her wedding night when she'd already had one in that cold, damp cave.

  She had no worries about Charlie or Zara, as Tibold had given permission for them to sleep with Gunnolf in the keep until they left. She smiled at the thought. Others might have chided him for the matter, and she thought Angus was about to, but Gunnolf had given him one of his charming Viking warrior looks that said Angus had better not. The teasing light in Angus's eyes told her he'd say something about it later, though.

  She kissed Niall again, but then she stood in the tub. "In a soft bed," she said. "This time."

&
nbsp; Niall was all for it. He was out of the tub, drying her so quickly, she was surprised and amused. Until she witnessed how aroused he was. She had only felt his hard staff against her when they were clothed, or barely was able to observe him in the dark cave. And even while they had sat in the tub, she could feel him, but not see him as well as she would like.

  Now, with candles all aglow, and the fire lighting the room with a soft yellow light, she could see all of him—muscled, his wound healing, some battle scars evident from fights he must have had before she'd met him, and his staff ready—he was glorious—all dripping wet, and hers.

  "You keep looking at me like that, lass, and I swear I willna have time to make it to the bed to ravish you there." His voice was husky with longing, his eyes darkened with desire.

  She smiled, her whole body feeling as though it was on fire. She dried him off as he wiped her down, and then without waiting, he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the rushes to the bed.

  Sinking against the soft down mattress, she was in heaven, and pulled at Niall's arm to join her.

  He kissed her long and hard on the mouth, his lips scalding, showing just how eager he was to have her. She probed his mouth with her tongue, knowing just how much he loved it and she did, too. His hands caressed her body, her arms, her breasts… every touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

  He paused to suckle a breast, and she had never experienced such intense pleasure as…

  Barely breathing, she quit thinking as his warm, wet tongue caressed a nipple, and her whole body tightened with need. Enraptured by his tongue on her skin, his teeth grazing her breast, she could barely think of anything else but the way he was making her feel—loved, desirable, and needed.

  And she was certain she made him feel the same way as eager as he was to please her.

  His fingers tangled in her hair for a moment, as he renewed kissing her mouth, his leg wedged between hers, the rampant heat of their bodies making her burn as hot as the peat fire at the hearth. His staff rubbed against her thigh, and she was ready for him to claim her as she had claimed him for her own. His hand slid down her hip in a tender caress before he made his way to the center of her being, stroking her, bringing her to that fiery point of pleasure. The burst of fulfillment washed over her in a rush of heat, before he plunged his staff deep inside her all the way to the hilt, thrusting, his need as great as hers.