The Chieftain's Feud (7 page)

“I had nary a doubt in my mind that he hated us, but ’twas only yesterday that my sister revealed the reason; my father has always refused to discuss the feud with me.”

“Tell me, what started this terrible feud that has parted us for all yon months. What did yer sister say? Tell me, please, Jamie,” she begged, afraid of what unthinkable insult in their parent’s pasts could have led to such enmity. He felt her quiver with anger in his arms. “Why do families pass down hate and loathing as their children’s inheritance?”

“Hmph,” Jamie expelled a short, sharp breath of derision. “To ken that would surely make me omnipotent. Unfortunately, I’m only a man my darlin’, with nae more notion of how the human mind works than you have. As for the cause of it, that can wait, as I wouldnae upset ye more than ye are already.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Nae, but mayhap it’s a skerrick too personal, too close to our own situation. Does that make sense?” He quirked his eyebrows at her to help loosen the tension he felt in her shoulders. In this instance, his chuckle was forced. “If, as ye say, the ravening hoards are about to ascend, I wouldnae care to meet them without sharing one last ride with ye, and nae arguments or worries about the time it will take. It’s been snowing all night and frae what I remember of the Buchans, they dinnae have wings. Yer family won’t arrive yet awhile. Long enough to take our pleasure and warn the McArthur before the next member of the Buchan clan arrives at his gate.”

He rolled onto his back and lifted Eve astride him. “Ye wouldnae deny a man under threat the comfort of yer body love,” he said, running his wide palms up the smooth length of her thighs towards the temptation, the heaven, that lay behind the red curls guarding her entrance. He touched her there, softly, curiously, an action that drew a shudder frae her—one he could see as well as feel, and he ached. It had been so long.

To Jamie’s eyes, the rounded bulge of her belly merely added to her beauty. “Can I test to see if yer ready for me? Do ye mind,” he said cautiously, worried if carrying a bairn would change what he longed to take place. For the first time in years he was smote with a moments uncertainty.

Not so Eve. “Test away, though I’m certain ye will find me hot, wet, and more than willing,” she said, with a slight lift of her hips in invitation. He in his turn eased her back to admire the glorious fullness of her breasts. His palms cupped her hips and simply stared at the bonnie lass carrying his bairn within the sweet curve of her belly. His gaze flicked to her face, watching her intently as he used one finger to find her entrance. She leaned back on her hands. The whites of her eyes showing as her head tipped back. Eve’s hair tumbled o’er her shoulders as bright as the flames in the hearth. He slid a finger inside her, watching her eyes close as he found a haven of damp heat ready for his eager prick to slide inside.

“I dinnae want to hurt ye, Eve. That’s the last thing on my mind, so we’ll caw canny and make sure yer body craves this as much as mine does.”

“‘Ach, Jamie,” she gasped, “when has my body not craved yours?”

He placed his hands on either side of her narrow hips, suddenly struck by their slimness and the miracle that was their bairn, sitting snug between them. For once he questioned, would he fit? He did slowly, surely, filling her, his teeth gritted against the impulse to surge inside, as if that would complete her, complete them both.

Embedded inside Eve, he paused, grappling with his control as he slid his hands the length of her arms, pulling her shoulders forward until her breast hung within a breath of his mouth, enticing. “Strangely enough, sweet lass, for once, I’m afraid. Yer too precious to damage in any way, so ride me as you may, as you will. Tonight ye have a slave.”

Jamie never said a truer word, aye it was strange to be gi’en control, could she please him? Her heart raced at the magnitude of him, a Scot, handing his power o’er to her. “Are ye certain, Jamie? I’m used to following yer lead.”

“Lass, if ye want to pleasure me, do what ever feels good for ye. After all these months I’m easy pleased.”

All these months?
Eve swallowed against the heart that had leapt into her throat leaving her speechless. Had Jamie told her true, that he hadnae lain with another lass since they became hand-fasted? Was it that he truly loved her?

She felt both nervous and elated as she began to move on him, and sought confirmation of her efforts from the expression on his face. Gradually, Jamie followed her rhythm, his hips surging against her, brushing the wee bud of sensation betwixt her thighs. Her breathing quickened at the wonder of it, the sensations. Her breasts swayed toward Jamie’s face. Greyness blurred her vision as she panted, almost in a panic, sucking in air she couldn’t get enough of. The way she could ne’er get enough of the man caressing her insides with his velvet sheathed hardness sliding in and out. She groaned as his mouth found her breast, drawing her deep into his mouth—tongue teeth and lips robbing her senses as once more he took back control. “Ach, Jamie, lad,” she moaned, “dinnae stop, dinnae stop…”

If Jamie ever had a vision of where heaven could be found, he must have followed that notion into her arms. Perfect, Eve was perfect. They fit together like hand in glove, made for each other. Above him, Eve’s face wore an expression of awe as if that moment of wonder was right there within her grasp. His body burned, shaking with need and determination that she wouldn’t take that leap without him and suited the flex of his hips to the race they were running.

Sweat coated their bodies, his, hers, who could tell? The chamber echoed with the slap of skin against skin, the sound of each thrust cleaving a pathway to a personal paradise, until finally Eve clenched around him and he let a yell of release rip frae his throat.

Had it ever been this perfect before?

He had his doubts that the air above the Lynn ever quivered with such euphoria as he felt here in this stone chamber, listening to the wind whistle past the deerskins covering narrow slits in the wall. Eve had collapsed atop him, moaning and squeezing his prick with her insides as if she couldn’t bear to let go. His head buzzed with the noise of his blood pounding at his temples and he lay abed simply holding her until the room stopped spinning and sense began to seep back into his brain.

She was his miracle; there would ne’er be another like her. Eve had saved him from the ruins of his life.

Aye, holding Eve in his arms felt like an act of God, but if he didnae want it to disappear into a tug-o-war between Chieftains he would have to act quickly. His father and the others would have to be warned, but there was something he had to accomplish first.

He rolled onto his side taking Eve with him. Her body felt lax and sated; as had his own until his brain began working and sense prevailed. He pushed her red curls back frae her face, wondering how he had ever have compared her to Brodwyn. In their months apart, thoughts of Eve made him burn with want and need, his whole being aflame frae the loss of his hand-fasted wife. Whereas, Jamie realised, his memories of Brodwyn had filled him up with anger as cold and hard as the ice forming around Cragenlaw.

“Listen to me, lass. Much as I’d like to lie abed with ye all day long, we have to prepare for yer father’s eventual arrival. Are ye fit to get up and get dressed?”

“I am if there is anything for me to wear,” Eve said, pushing up on her elbow to look at him, her eyes bright, gleaming in the light frae the fire, as if she hadnae been at death’s door when he joined her in the big bed.

Aye, this was the lass he remembered, brimming with mischief, without a fearful bone in her slim body. Merely staring at her made him want to take her again. His heart raced and his cock stirred until the notion was thwarted with a kick frae inside the belly pressed against him, as if to remind him there were more than just the two of them to consider. “I believe my sister Iseabel has spread your garments near the fire to dry. She and Kathryn Comlyn undressed ye and tried to get ye warm. They had almost gi’en up on ye till I arrived and they discovered who it was we had found in a snowdrift. I told Iseabel about us being hand-fasted, and it was she who suggested the best way to warm ye…” He paused for a moment, unwilling to throw a bone of contention into the loving atmosphere they had created, but it had to be said. “Did you realise how dangerous was riding out into the cauld and snow for both you and the bairn?”

“Nae more dangerous than biding where I was.” She pushed the covers down, baring her hips and belly. “Look at me. How much longer do ye imagine I could have kept my condition hidden? I had to leave before I was found out. My father wouldnae have to think on whose bairn I was carrying. He would ken in an instant. And aye, he might have let me have the bairn, but after it was born, what then? Would a Buchan allow a wee Ruthven to live? As for my uncle Hadron, he has such an inexplicable hatred for the Ruthvens, he frightens me. I had night terrors that he would rip my bairn frae my body, killing us both without a second thought. Nae, I might have taken a risk, but it was a lesser one than staying.”

Jamie leapt out of bed, aghast at what his carelessness with his seed might have caused. It must have happened the night they pledged themselves, one to the other, hands held to seal the bargain, as if that promise had released him frae the need to prevent a conception. They had made love many times that night, elated by the vows they had made, but that would ne’er be enough for Buchan not to kill them both—kill them all. It was up to him to make sure that wouldnae happen.

Swiftly, but carelessly he pulled on his clothes—shirt, plaid and short coat dragged from where they lay—and he tossed Eve’s garments onto the bed. “Get dressed while I’m gone. I won’t be long.”

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and reached for her shift, wearing the same anxious expression as when she told him about her fears over her father and uncle. “Where are ye going?”

“To find the priest,” he said; then he was off, striding through the door. As he hurried, his chest swelled and the muscles in his arms and legs flexed as if bulging inside his skin. Among all the emotions crowding his head, he became aware that the decision he had taken made him more of a man than he’d ever been chasing lasses for the sake of lust and pleasure.

He had a family now, and he would do his utmost to protect them even at the cost of life or limb.

Nhaimeth was breaking his fast in the great hall. Rob had already eaten and was standing at the McArthur’s shoulder, nae doubt discussing the celebration of Yule and the feast they had planned for after the sun went down. Not that it had peeped out at all that day, naught being visible behind the heavy snow clouds.

Graeme McArthur was part of the group around his cousin, though his wife Iseabel had yet to make an appearance, which was unusual, since her bairns were seated but a couple of arms-lengths frae his seat at the board. Little de’ils. There was as much porridge on the lad’s face as in his bowl, and his sister was giggling and doing her best to make it worse. Nhaimeth kenned fine their mother wouldnae see the humour in their nonsense, and he was minded to join the group at the high board as soon as his bowl was empty. Midwinter’s crippling cauld wasnae the time of year for going without meals. Which minded him that Jamie had yet to make an appearance at the board, and Iseabel had been tight-lipped o’er where he had disappeared to last night after Nhaimeth saw them talking.

Ach, there was Iseabel now, and his seat close by her bairns was the perfect position to ask her about the lass Rob had carried home on his saddlebow. Folk—women mainly—with an eye to romance might see it as the stuff minstrels wrote songs about, but then few of them had seen the wee icicle of a lassie they had carried into the Keep.

Iseabel Ruthven’s countenance was hardly that of a bearer of bad tidings, but Nhaimeth bided his time until she sent her bairns off in the charge of a maid who guided them out of the hall by the scruff of their necks with Iseabel simply shaking her head, as if there was nae kenning what they would be up to next. Looking up at her, Nhaimeth asked “What word of the lass we found? Did she survive the night?”

“That she did. I’m certain she will be fit enough to join the Yule celebrations,” Iseabel informed him, but apart frae that, didnae give out much cuttings.

So Nhaimeth simply nodded, leaving her to break her fast while he joined the group at the high board. If there were any more to be learned of the lassie, and Jamie as well, he would be well situated to hear it. Meanwhile, he was a dab hand at planning celebrations, since once upon a time he had played a big part in them, both at Dun Bhuird and Cragenlaw.

As the great hall gradually filled with aromas to make the mouth water—venison and wild boar—Nhaimeth could hardly wait. He sat with Rob near the fire and away frae lasses and kissing boughs. At first he could see Rob enjoying the attention, but since Jamie had yet to arrive, his young friend had become the target and began warily watching any of the maids moving in his direction.

Nhaimeth laughed. Rob was too handsome for his own good. “Now,” he chuckled behind his hand, since he could see Rob’s eyes begin to smoulder, “you have a guid notion how a deer feels.”

Rob glared in his direction, but it was half-hearted, for one side of his mouth tilted—half a smile. Yet before he could give Nhaimeth the rude answer dancing at the back of his eyes, a cruel draught blew through the hall, bringing with it a slight commotion as the Constable and one of his housecarls marched into hall with snow dripping off their plaids and coating their boots white.

They strode directly up to the McArthur’s place at the high board, the Constable leaning a forearm on the board while the housecarl waited. Rob pushed his stool behind him, letting it crash to the floor as he hurried towards his father and the other Chieftains who had but recently begun to relax o’er a mug of ale. Nhaimeth followed more slowly, amazed at the sudden tension in air that had been joyful and festive.

As he made his way to join the group around the Constable, he noticed the women—Morag, Isabel and Kathryn—summon their bairns and hold them close to their skirts with hands smoothing soft curls, both black and red. Few blond bairns came out of the highlands unless they were Norsemen’s spawn.