A Highlander Never Surrenders (29 page)

Graham lay naked beneath the darkening sky, a smile of deep contentment hovering about his mouth. He was home—in the north where the days were shorter with the coming of winter. Home, where the earth beneath a man’s bones was harder, less forgiving, until the spring returned and life burst forth anew, more radiant and magnificent than anywhere on the mainland. How had he stayed away so long? This time, he would remain. His travels with Robert were over, but not their friendship. That, they would share always. But he was home, and here was where he wanted to stay.

With her.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Claire’s breath while she slept, clutched in his arms. How she had changed his life, he would never know. He did not care. He only knew that the plans he made for his future included her. And that there was no other woman like her in the world. No other woman he wanted to spend the remainder of his days with.

He would have liked to gaze on her face while there was still some light, but he did not want to sever their embrace. For now, he would be content to remember the way she looked in the heat of her passion. How she matched his fervor, or mayhap surpassed it. He had taken her four different times this day, and each time her desire flared anew with his. He’d been with many lasses, but he felt as if he’d never made love to anyone before Claire. He would awaken her again, for they could not cross the cliffs in the darkness, and the night was going to be a long one. In a moment, he would get up and start a fire and hunt for something to eat. But he was loath to move. He wanted to stay right here with her forever, happy to simply listen to her breath while he breathed in her scent and felt her slow heartbeat pressed to his chest, and her lean, muscular limbs wrapped snugly around him.

He had won her heart. He was almost certain of it, but he felt no arrogance in such a feat. For she had won his heart, as well.

Her sweet kisses around his nipple roused Graham from sleep. He opened his eyes to the morning sun and the glorious sight of Claire’s smile.

“I am hungry.”

He grinned at her, lifting his hand to smooth her loose tresses off her cheek. “Can nothing sate yer appetite, wench?”

“It is your appetite that worries me, rogue.” She turned, presenting him with the alabaster delicacy of her profile while she glanced at his morning erection.

Graham found it amazing and unusual that she would blush now, after she’d taken such pleasure in his body throughout the night. Her innocence was as thrilling to him as the bold, blistering passion he had unleashed in her.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” He trailed his fingers along her collarbone, to the soft swell of her breast.

“Are you going to get up?” She sounded a bit breathless, but when he met her gaze she tossed him an impatient look.

His dimples flashed and her cheeks grew even redder before she pushed him away. “I would like to reach Camlochlin today. I worry for Anne, facing your laird alone.”

Graham laughed, springing to his feet. “Aye, Callum may fling her into a vat of boiling oil before the day is through. We should make haste.”

“I do not find that humorous.” Claire’s retort lost its sting as she watched him meander naked toward their horses. Dear God, he’d promised to render her senseless, and he had done exactly that. Why else would she find such joy in the flare of his shoulders, the shape of his firm buttocks, the carved sinew of his thighs? When she awoke, the first thing she became aware of was the soreness between her legs. The second was his body, so hard even in sleep. She’d wanted to touch him, to run her tongue over all those chiseled angles. She hated pushing him away, but it was either that or climb atop him and spend another day away from Anne. Ah, God, he made her forget what lay ahead and care only about being with him now.

She almost rethought her decision to make haste to Camlochlin when Graham retrieved a pouch of dried berries and turned back to her. She suddenly understood how Eve must have felt each morning when she awoke to find Adam in all his glory, traipsing around in the garden. She looked away when he smiled, catching her silent appraisal.

“How long will it take to get there?” she asked when he sat beside her.

“A few hours, if ye can keep yer hands off me.”

Damnation, was her lust for him that obvious? “It will be difficult, for even now I am tempted to strangle you.”

He cut her a sidelong look that was brimful of amusement and popped a berry into his mouth. “If killing me is what ye want, Claire, then I suggest ye stick to last eve’s battle plan. Yer wee hands around my neck would do naught but excite me.”

She knew he was teasing her, but it was the matter-of-fact tone of his voice that made her laugh. She felt his eyes on her, as profound as a physical caress while he delighted in her mirth.

“Ye don’t laugh much.” He leaned closer to her and reached out to brush his fingers over her lips. “I will teach ye how to enjoy life.”

“By becoming a lady-rogue?” Her laughter faded when his hand curled around the back of her neck and his mouth descended on hers.

“
My
lady-rogue.”

There was nothing ladylike in the way Claire spread her legs when he pushed her down and covered her body with his. Nothing genteel or demure about how she bucked beneath him, clawing at his rippling shoulders. When she rolled with him and came up on top, she pressed her palms to his glistening chest, tossed back her wild mane, and rode him as if she owned him. She was no damned lady, and she did not want to be one.

Chapter Twenty-seven

. . . and the man who has lost everything shall gain it all back.

“Dear God in Heaven, my sister is dead.” Claire chanced opening her mouth to say, even though she was sure her heart would leap out of it when she saw the next turn.

Perched high upon a narrow ledge of Elgol’s honeycombed cliffs, she near fainted when Graham peered over the edge at the jagged rocks below. “Nae, she did not fall. Ye’ll thank Angus fer that later.”

“Should I not be tied to you?” she asked, taking no comfort in his teasing smile. A wave of nausea churned her insides. As if her eyes had a mind of their own, they darted to the edge, only a few meager inches from Troy’s hooves.

“Claire.”

“What?”

“Open yer eyes.”

Och, hell, she did not want to. Couldn’t she just keep them shut until Angus came to get her?

“Claire,” Graham said more forcefully. She obeyed this time, and scowled at him. “Stay behind me and follow my horse’s steps. The ledge is wider around the next turn. Ye’re going to have to dismount when we come to it and sit with me.”

Did he say dismount? “You’re mad if you think I’m getting off this horse.”

He turned in his saddle to look at her more fully. Claire’s pulse raced hard enough to make her feel lightheaded. She wanted to scream at him to be still lest he fall. “Ye’re too fearful,” he said. “Ye’re making Troy nervous.”

“I do not want to get off,” she insisted even as Troy grew anxious between her legs.

“I see yer sister—and Robert’s—possess more courage than ye,” Graham said, turning forward again. He smiled when he heard the string of mumbled blasphemies flowing from her lips and the clopping of Troy’s careful hooves behind him.

She saw, almost as soon as they rounded the next bend, why he was wise to make her ride with him. A slow, gossamer mist rolled down the wind-beaten precipice, its dewy moisture clinging to her hair and skin. They had to ride through it, in it. Visibility would be poor, and without the steady, confident pace of a good horse, one would likely fall to one’s death.

Dismounting—carefully—she reached for Graham’s hand and let him lift her to his saddle. She waited without moving, barely breathing, while he tore off a strip of his plaid and tied Troy to his horse.

It astounded her how safe she could feel in a man’s arms, but when the cliffs finally fell away, the view below her left her truly breathless.

A castle, as black as pitch, rose out of the behemoth mountainside at its back, its serrated turrets piercing the hovering mist.

“ ’Tis worth the challenge of getting here.” Graham dragged in a ragged breath behind her. “ ’Tis Camlochlin.”

It was starkly beautiful, brutally isolated, ominous and foreboding, like something pulled from the imaginings of a mad poet. A jagged cluster of towers loomed above its inhabitants below and within like a sentinel.

It was safe from intruders, to be sure. Monck was clever to have her and Anne brought here. No one would ever find them, and if they did, they would likely be too afraid to get any closer. Suddenly panic engulfed her. How would she ever escape when Monck sent word? Trying to would likely get her and Anne killed. Returning to her horse, she turned to look around. Could she make it back over the cliffs?

“ ’Tis more colorful in the spring, but ye will like it here.”

She would have to if they tried to force her to wed Robert, she thought, while Graham disappeared over the crest. And what about him? She had thought, had hoped that he would help her stand against Monck. But she had the feeling that following Graham these last few yards would change her life forever. Camlochlin was not a shelter meant to keep her safe from a traitor—for the traitor had sent her here. It was a prison where she would wait out her days until Monck forced her to wed.

“Claire.”

At the sound of Graham’s voice, she flicked her reins, helpless, once again, to do anything but follow him.

“Is there no other way out?” she asked him, catching up and looking around at the thatch-roofed bothies scattered about in no particular pattern, their inhabitants peeking at her through narrow doorways, cautious, untrusting.

“Aye, to the east, over those hills. But ’tis the long way ’round. The cliffs are easier.”

A ray of hope bloomed in Claire as she surveyed the sweeping hills to her right. Her hope vanished an instant later when she spotted the guards pacing the battlements. From their vantage point, they could see in every direction.

Connor would have applauded the outlawed MacGregor for building such an impenetrable fortress.

“It is no surprise to me how your laird managed to elude his enemies for so long. Even if the army found this place, they would be seen coming for leagues.”

Graham agreed cheerfully and raised his hand in greeting to a group of men training in a wide, open practice field just off the western wall.

One lad, who appeared younger than the rest, saw him, dropped his sword, and bolted forward. His hair was as pale as Claire’s, and his eyes, a lighter shade of blue. He looked so much like Connor that Claire’s heart halted in midbeat until he reached them. When he did, he immediately bowed before her as if she were royalty.

Until that moment, Claire had forgotten that she was.

She felt other eyes on her and turned to see a small group of men and women venturing out of their homes. When Claire’s gaze met theirs, they bowed before her. These people, so far from the laws, were Royalists, loyal to their king.

“Rob said ye were comin’,” the lad said, turning to Graham. He smiled up at him and a ray of sunlight pierced the gloom. “ ’Tis good to see ye again, brother.”

“ ’Tis good to be home, Jamie.” Graham leaped from his horse, clutched his brother’s forearm, and dragged him closer into a tight embrace.

Ah, Jamie,
Claire thought, dismounting next.
The devoted husband of the Devil’s sister, Margaret
. “M’lady,” he said turning back to her, washing her in warmth. “ ’Tis an honor to meet ye. We’ve never had the king’s relations here at Camlochlin. Yer sister is inside with my wife and Kate. I will tell them that ye have arrived.” He spun on his heel before she could answer and charged for the castle. “Rob’s been tellin’ us of yer adventures,” he called over his shoulder at Graham. “But I wait to hear them from—” He crashed headlong into the chest of another man exiting the doors just as Jamie reached them.

“Callum,” Jamie went on as the man held him steady on his feet. “Graham has returned!”

“Aye, I can see that.”

Claire watched, torn between running the other way and staring at the chieftain in open, blatant appreciation, as the legendary laird moved Jamie out of his way and began walking toward her and Graham. She almost laughed at herself for thinking him beautiful. The man was glorious; the perfect embodiment of a warrior, unmatched and unbeaten. His colorful plaid draped shoulders a league wide. The heavy claymore at his side added more swagger to his long, masculine strides. His dark hair glistened with moisture from the light fog around him and fell well past his shoulders with two strands plaited at his temples. His face might have been fashioned from the unyielding rock hovering behind and above them. When he stood just a few inches from her, Claire could not help but tremble at his presence. His eyes were the color of fire, blue speckled with ruthless shards of gold. He fastened them on her first, a slow, grueling assessment from her boots to the sword dangling at her waist. She raised her chin in an effort to appear less affected by him, but the sheer power of his gaze, when it finally settled on hers, sapped her confidence and she looked away.

“Our king’s cousin is welcome at Camlochlin.”

She looked up as he straightened from a slight bow, meeting her gaze with one of respect. Then he swept past her, smelling of heather and mist.