The Chieftain (16 page)

“Bless ye for taking this burden from me!” Sorely said and gave a laugh that rang false.

Sorely was an arse.

“Gather ’round,” Connor called out. “If I hear any more grumbling, you’ll all spend the night in the dungeon with the rats.”

The young men went silent.

“The MacLeods will shred ye to bits if ye don’t learn to fight better than this—and soon,” Connor continued. “Your lives are
my responsibility, and I don’t intend to see that happen. Now, ye will give me your best, or go home to your mothers.”

None of them wanted that humiliation. They shuffled their feet as Connor’s steel-gray gaze moved from face to face.

“Are ye prepared to become warriors worthy of Clan MacDonald?” When they remained silent, Connor raised his claymore into
the air and shouted, “Are ye?”

“Aye! Aye!” the lads shouted back.

Connor directed them to form two lines, one in front of Lachlan and the other in front of him. During the long period in which
the castle was in the hands of the MacLeods, Lachlan had led practices with small groups in fields, with someone keeping watch.
He had discovered he was good at training others in the skills of war, and it gave him satisfaction.

As he worked through his line, practicing with each would-be warrior in turn, he kept one eye on Connor. Again, he begrudgingly
approved. Unlike Sorely, Connor never ridiculed the lads’ mistakes. He was patient, but persistent. He corrected, praised,
and pushed each young man to improve his skills, which could make the difference between life and death for them one day soon.

After a couple of hours, Connor raised his hand to call for a rest. Lachlan started to sheath his blade, but Connor stopped
him.

“Let’s give them another kind of lesson,” Connor said, with a glint in his eye. “I’ve been dying to fight ye since the day
ye arrived and knocked Sorely on his arse.”

Unease settled in Lachlan’s belly. Though Connor was smiling now, Lachlan was fairly confident that the chieftain would not
like being knocked on his own arse in front of the men.

“Pay attention, lads!” Connor shouted and faced Lachlan in a crouch with his sword in his hands.

Sweat broke out on Lachlan’s forehead as it occurred to him that if he was going to kill Connor, he should do it now. He could
slide his blade between the chieftain’s ribs and be done with it. He heard his father’s voice in his head, saying the words
he’d said to Lachlan from the time he was a bairn with a wooden sword in his hands.

One day, you will avenge your mother and restore our honor. You must kill him. Kill him! Kill him!

As they circled each other, Lachlan was aware of the shouts and cheers of the men gathered about them. But once Connor sprang
at him with a series of powerful blows, he no longer heard the other men—or his father’s voice. He had grown accustomed to
being better than every man he fought, but he soon realized Connor MacDonald was his match. The practice with the others had
not shown Connor’s skills to their fullest. He was good. Very good.

The chieftain should be tired after hours of training, but he showed no sign of it as he slammed his sword against Lachlan’s
time and again. And he was enjoying himself! Lachlan had not had an opponent who truly tested his skills in a long while,
and to his surprise, he began to take pleasure in the fight as well. When Connor leaped over Lachlan’s blade after Lachlan
was dead certain he had him, Lachlan smiled in appreciation of his opponent’s quickness.

They spun and pounded each other back and forth across the courtyard. Finally, Lachlan got lucky and landed a blow with the
flat of his sword against Connor’s thigh. He hit him hard enough that the blow should have knocked Connor off his feet—but
it didn’t. Before Lachlan could recover from the force of his swing, Connor spun in a circle.

The next thing Lachlan knew he was lying on his back with Connor’s foot on his chest.

“That was good,” Connor said, grinning down at him. He was breathing hard and beads of sweat were rolling down his face, despite
the cold, misty weather.

It was not until Connor held out his hand to help him up that Lachlan saw the blood soaking through the chieftain’s shirt.

Someone shouted, “The chieftain’s been hurt!”

Lachlan froze. In a practice, a man was supposed to fight hard, but never strike to kill. Had Lachlan forgotten himself in
the heat of their battle? Had he given in to his father’s admonition ringing in his head?

Anguish twisted in his gut as he saw that Connor was bleeding both from his chest and his upper thigh.

“I did not mean to do it,” Lachlan said, barely speaking the words aloud.

“What?” Connor looked down at himself with a frown. “Ach, ye didn’t do this.”

Several men jerked Lachlan to his feet and held him by his arms.

“For God’s sake, let him go!” Connor thundered. “This blood is from old wounds. They must have broken open in the fight.”

Lachlan staggered when the men released him.

“See, there’s no cut in my shirt,” Connor said, holding it out, then he pulled it off and showed the men the bleeding wound
in his chest.

The jagged, circular wound clearly was not made by the blade of a sword, but by an arrow, and Lachlan knew Connor had a matching
wound on his thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I told ye,” Connor said, gripping his shoulder and looking straight into his eyes. “Ye didn’t do this.”

But Lachlan had done it. And not in a fair fight, man-to-man, as Connor deserved.

S
omeone fetched Ilysa after the fight, and now Connor had to endure the torture of her hands on his bare skin.

“Why are these arrow wounds taking so damned long to heal?” Connor asked.

He gritted his teeth as Ilysa’s fingers drifted down his chest in feather-light touches. This was far worse than the times
she had dressed his wounds after they first arrived at Trotternish. Back then, he could convince himself that the nearness
of a woman—any woman—would have stirred him. Now there was no escaping that his desire was for Ilysa alone.

He had kissed her, and that had changed everything.

“The arrows went deep, and ye keep re-opening the wounds.” Ilysa clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You’re not careful at
all.”

She leaned over him, and her red-gold braid fell over her shoulder like an invitation. Though her bodice exposed nothing,
his memory of the tops of her breasts in a low-cut gown was vivid.

“I heard you and Lachlan gave quite a display.” She brushed the top of his thigh with her fingertips, taking his breath away.
“I hope impressing the men was worth splitting open this wound on your leg.”

“Lachlan got in a good hit there with the side of his sword,” Connor said in a strained voice. In an attempt to divert himself,
he added, “I’m thinking of making him my captain.”

Ilysa withdrew her hands, and he felt their absence like a missing tooth.

“What, ye don’t agree with my choice?” Connor asked. “Lachlan is the best warrior I have, and the men respect him.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, but her tone was uncertain. “But something troubles Lachlan, and I wish I knew what it
was.”

Connor forgot Lachlan—and everything else—when she rested one hand on his hip while she used the other to spread her lily-scented
salve over the wound high on his thigh. He held his folded shirt over his throbbing erection. When Ilysa tied the bandage,
her hand was so close to his cock that sweat broke out on his forehead. He closed his eyes before she caught him looking at
her like a starving animal. But as soon as he closed them, his imagination took him in dark, erotic directions.

Connor snapped his eyes open, and there she was, her lovely face just inches from his. He remembered the softness of her lips,
and he hungered to taste them again. It would be so easy to encircle her tiny waist, lift her onto his lap, and ravish her
mouth.

“Almost finished,” she said, sounding a bit breathless.

Is she thinking of those kisses, too?
He envied the man who would be her next husband. Ilysa had a kind heart, a soothing presence—though Connor was not finding
it soothing at the moment—and a calm, competent manner.

His gaze traveled over her as she turned to retrieve another rolled strip of linen from her basket, and he wondered what she
was like in bed. When Ilysa took off her clothes and gave up control, was she the kind of lover who drove a man wild?

Connor swallowed. Aye, he suspected she was.

When Ilysa leaned across him to wrap the linen around his chest, her breast grazed his arm. Though it was barely a touch,
they both drew in a sharp breath. Their eyes locked, and heat flared between them hot enough to set the room ablaze.

Ilysa’s lips parted, and Connor could not see or think of anything else. He gave in to the inexorable pull drawing him closer.
Cupping her face, he felt her breath on his lips before he kissed her softly. Ilysa dropped the cloth she was holding and
gave a sigh. That was all the encouragement he needed.

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her with a wild, passionate abandon. Somewhere in the back of his head, the sensible,
dutiful part of him was telling him this was a huge mistake. But it felt so right. Ilysa felt right. She was perfect. Extraordinary.

She spread her fingers into his hair at the back of his neck and pressed herself against him. From her sighs and moans as
she returned his fevered kisses, she wanted him, too. Though she looked young, she had been married. She must know what she
was doing to him and where this was leading. Still, a twinge of guilt made him hesitate and start to pull back. Ilysa sensed
it and wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck.

“Please, Connor.” Her voice was breathless. “Just this once.”

When she pressed her lips against his neck, he shivered with the force of his desire.
Aye. Just this once
. He could not turn away, not when she was kissing him like this.

He stood, lifting her up with him. She was as light as a child, but she was all woman when she wrapped her legs around his
waist. He felt the damp heat of her desire against his throbbing cock as he gripped her buttocks, and he was certain he would
die if he could not have her.

“I want ye so much,” he said between frantic kisses as he carried her to the bed. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

He set her on the edge of his bed and groaned when he finally cupped her breasts. They were small and high and perfect in
his hands, just as he knew they would be. As he kissed her neck, she leaned back on her arms and let her head fall back. With
her skirts pushed up and her legs wrapped around his waist, the thin layer of his trews was all that was between him and heaven.

His heart raced as he ran his hands under her skirts, along her silky thighs. Aye, he would have her. Right now, right here,
like this. The words pounded in his head:
Now, now, now.

And still, he made himself stop to ask her the question.

“Are ye certain ye want this?” His heart beat wildly, and his breathing was ragged as he waited for her answer.

“I do.” As she slid her arms around his neck and leaned forward to kiss him, she said, “More than anything.”

C
onnor tugged desperately at Ilysa’s clothes, trying to touch more of her skin. He had no idea how they had gotten on the bed
and didn’t care. As he covered her with hot, passionate kisses, his heart beat so hard he thought it might burst from his
chest.

He suspected Ilysa’s young husband had been the sort who fumbled in the dark with little notion of how to please a woman.
For having been married, Ilysa seemed inexperienced. Inexplicably, this was just one more thing about her that drove him wild.

Her every surprised squeak of pleasure and low moan from the back of her throat sent him reeling. She had a natural passion
that left him breathless. He felt the self-control that always seemed such a part of her crack, and he could not wait for
it to shatter beneath his hands. He wanted to hear her moans and watch her face when she came in his arms.

Her skin was soft as silk. He wanted to taste every inch of it and to make love to her slowly in a dozen ways. But not now.
Not this first time, when he needed her so badly. He would take her fast and hard, pounding into her until she screamed her
pleasure and he exploded.

When he touched her center, her body jerked, but she was hot and wet for him. She tossed her head and writhed against him,
exciting him so much that he feared he would come against her side like an overexcited fifteen-year-old.

He rolled on top of her, and she felt glorious beneath him. Though he kept his weight on his elbows, she was so slight that
he feared he would crush her with the violence of his desire.

“’Tis been such a long time since I had a woman,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I can’t wait much longer.”

“I’ve waited forever for you,” she whispered.

Connor didn’t know what she meant by those words, but she was pulling on his hips. His body understood that and was screaming
for release.

His shaft found her opening with an unerring sense of direction. He squeezed his eyes shut as he forced himself to slide just
the tip in.
O shluagh
, she was so tight. He tried to go slowly, but she felt so good that she was going to kill him. Then she lifted her hips again
and destroyed his last shred of control. His ears rang from the surge of pleasure as he thrust deep inside her.

“Ouch!”

That was the last thing he expected to hear. Through the pulsing need that shook him to his core, the realization broke through
that he had felt something give way inside her. A tear.

Oh, Jesu, no, she’s a virgin!
The words blazed through his head, but it was too late. He was already deep inside her.

He tried to make himself pull out, but Ilysa held on to him as if he were saving her from drowning. Need thrummed through
him, straining his control like a rope taut to breaking. Her legs tightened around him, urging him on. Then all he knew was
the sensation of her tight, wet heat around him and her soft gasps in his ear as he pumped into her again and again. He exploded
in a violent burst of unbearable rapture that left him stunned.

As soon as he could gather himself, he rolled off her and covered his eyes with his arm.

“Dear God. What have I done?”

Guilt crashed down on him. He had violated every rule he had made for himself. The one about not risking having a child outside
of his marriage was the least of them. Even before he was chieftain, he never took innocent virgins to bed.

And worse, this virgin was his best friend’s sister. Duncan’s last words to him burned in his ears:
See that it doesn’t happen with my sister.
Loyalty mattered more to him than anything, and he had violated his friend’s trust. He had violated Ilysa’s trust, too. She
was his responsibility.

As chieftain, he had blatant offers all the time from women who wanted the status of being the chieftain’s lover, or better
yet, of having his child. For two and a half
long
years, he had resisted every attempt to seduce him, only to fall to the subtle charms of an innocent lass.

A coldness gripped his heart as he realized he had not pulled out before spilling his seed. It had not even crossed his mind.
But then, his mind had played no part in this at all.

“Why did ye not tell me ye were a virgin?” he asked. “I would not have done this if I’d known.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell ye,” Ilysa said in a soft voice.

He should be furious with her. Instead, he was just confused. And beneath the confusion, he was foolishly pleased that she
had chosen him to be her first lover. What an idiot he was.

Why had she wanted him to take her virginity? Did she hope to bear a chieftain’s child? Was she simply curious? Was it because
she trusted him, as he trusted her? Or did she fancy herself in love with him? He groaned. God help him, that would make what
he’d done even worse.

“You were married,” he said. “How could ye be untouched?”

Ach, no, he’d made her cry. Could he do nothing right? He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair.

“I didn’t think ye would regret it so soon,” Ilysa said in an unnaturally high voice.

“I should regret it.”

Ilysa leaned her head back to look at him with her big, brown eyes. “Why?”

“Because I cannot wed you,” he said, brushing back a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. “You’re the last woman
in the clan I should have bedded.”

“I know ye can’t marry me,” she said.

Connor sat up straight, suddenly remembering the guards outside his door. How long had he and Ilysa been in here?

“We must get ye out of here before anyone suspects,” he said as he leaped from the bed.

It was too late to save her virginity, but he could protect her from having everyone in the castle talking behind their hands
about her sleeping with the chieftain. Duncan was right. Though she had been alone with him in his chamber many times before,
men looked at her differently now. Connor should not even have closed the door.

After throwing on his clothes, he put his arm around Ilysa’s shoulders to help her from the bed. Another wave of guilt swamped
him when he saw the swath of blood marring the perfect whiteness of her thigh.

“Wait here,” he said and brought her a wet cloth.

After she wiped off the blood, he lifted her to the floor and helped her straighten her gown. Again, Connor wondered how much
time had passed and if the guards had heard anything that would make them suspect what had happened.

What had happened here?
He wished he knew. She had not answered his question about how she could still be a virgin or why she had deliberately not
told him, but now was not the time to press her.

When he put his arm around her and started toward the door, Ilysa’s legs wobbled. Connor swallowed, remembering how hard he
had thrust into her.

“I’m so sorry, Ilysa,” he said.

She stared straight ahead, her expression fixed, and he knew she was trying not to weep.

Her first time should have been gentle and loving. God help him, in his rush to have her, he hadn’t even taken off her clothes.
Of all that he had done wrong, taking her like that was his biggest regret.

As soon as Ilysa barred her door, she leaned against it and sank to the floor. If only Connor had not ruined it all by regretting
it as soon as it was over. She covered her face. For a short time, Connor had wanted her with a fevered passion that was far
beyond anything she had imagined or hoped for.

And she had imagined it countless times and hoped for it every single day since he returned from France.

Yet she had never guessed how amazing it would be. When he pulled her into his arms, she felt overwhelmed at first—by the
sheer size of him, the press of his hard-muscled chest, and the force of his desire. But when he lost himself, kissing her
as if he would die if he could not have her, it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. Everywhere he
touched her, he set off magical sparks. Her skin still tingled, and she ached inside with her need for him.

She had known he might be disappointed, or even angry, afterward, but she hadn’t cared. It hurt when he took her virginity,
but she hadn’t care about that, either.

Their joining engendered such an intense feeling of oneness that she could have wept for joy. When he tried to break away
at once, she simply could not bear it. She locked her legs around him and dug her fingers into his arms, refusing to let him
go. She had been right to fear that once she released him, she might never hold him again.

When Connor began moving inside her again, she felt sore. At the same time, unexpected sensations spread through her like
rings from a rock thrown in a pond. In those precious moments while they were joined, Connor was utterly and completely hers.
His burdens were forgotten, the needs of the clan set aside, and there was nothing but the two of them. Her heart soared as
he cried out and they were one in a glorious passion.

And then Connor rolled off her.
Dear God, what have I done?

How could he say that after the extraordinary thing that had just occurred between them? Perhaps it was only extraordinary
to her. Or was making love always like that for him? The question flitted across her mind, but she could not let herself think
of Connor with anyone else.

Ilysa did not know how she could bear to face him tomorrow and see the regret in his eyes. Who knew where he got his sense
of honor? Not from his parents. Regardless, it ran deep, and he had gone against it.

As for Ilysa, she loved Connor—with every breath and every heartbeat. Nothing could ever persuade her that what she had done
was wrong.

Lachlan had left the castle immediately after the practice with Connor and was at his sister’s before nightfall. Flora’s busy
household was overflowing with children, and he was surrounded as soon as he crossed the threshold. After pulling pigtails
and tossing his nephews and nieces into the air, Lachlan waded through the chaos to his sister.

“Sorry I haven’t been to visit in so long,” he said as he kissed her cheek.

“So long as you’ve been fighting MacLeods, I’ll forgive ye,” she said with a smile and went back to stirring the pot that
hung over the hearth. “Truly, I’m proud of ye.”

That was both the reason he had avoided seeing her for weeks and the reason he had needed to come tonight.

“How’s my favorite lass?” he said as picked up wee Brigid, the youngest of the large brood.

“Alive, thanks to our chieftain,” his sister said. “Ach, that man’s a saint.”

“The chieftain?” Lachlan asked. “Why do ye say that?”

Flora waved him into a chair at the table, and he sat with Brigid on his lap.

“He came to a meeting here at the house,” Flora said. “The MacLeods somehow found out he was here, and we all had to flee
for our lives.”

Lachlan’s chest felt tight at the thought of his sister and her children in such danger. Flora proceeded to tell him how Connor
had rescued Brigid, carried her to safety, and then diverted MacLeod warriors from where the family hid on the hillside. So
this was where the attack had been the night before he first met Connor. In his mind’s eye, he saw the chieftain limping across
the field to the castle.

Lachlan leaned his elbow on the table and covered his eyes. Christ above. The man he had tried to kill had saved them.

“The chieftain should have run with the others rather than risk being caught for our sakes,” Flora said. “He killed five MacLeod
warriors who surely would have found us.”

“Have ye told Father this?” Lachlan asked, though he doubted even saving Flora and the children would absolve the chieftain’s
family in his father’s accounting. At least their father had not burdened Flora with their blood debt of honor, if only because
she was born female.

“No, I haven’t seen Father,” Flora said and tossed some herbs into the pot she was stirring. “Malcom doesn’t like me to go
far from the house these days with the MacLeods and pirates about.”

“Malcom is right,” Lachlan said. “It would be better still if you and the children moved into the castle.”

“I won’t leave my home to the thieving MacLeods,” Flora said, putting her free hand on her ample hip. Ever the vigilant mother,
she shifted her gaze from Lachlan and called out, “Leave your brother alone, or I’ll smack ye.”

Lachlan sighed, knowing there was no use in trying to persuade her to leave. It was this very MacDonald stubbornness that
would drive the MacLeods off their lands in the end.

“I hope Father isn’t the reason you’ve put off marrying,” his sister said, demonstrating once again that she could yell at
her children and cook without losing her train of thought.

Lachlan loved her to death, but he was grateful that his older sister had so many children to order about. When they were
growing up, she’d only had him.

“Just look at ye with my wee Brigid,” Flora said, her eyes going all soft. “Ye need to find a lass who will be good to you
and give ye bairns of your own.”

“With the MacLeods breathing down our necks, this is no time to think of taking a wife and starting a family,” Lachlan said,
and wondered if the day would ever come when he could.

“Our new chieftain gives me great hope for our clan,” Flora said. “May God watch over him.”

How could Lachlan satisfy his father’s right to vengeance and also protect his clan? When he started this, he believed that
one chieftain would serve as well as another. But since then, he had taken both Hugh’s and Connor’s measure. He had suggested
his sister go to Trotternish Castle, knowing Connor would fight to the death to defend the castle and everyone in it. If Hugh
Dubh held the castle, Lachlan would not want his sister anywhere near it.

He looked down at his curly-headed niece who had fallen asleep in his lap with her thumb in her mouth. Hugh would never risk
his life for wee Brigid.

In the end, that made all the difference to Lachlan. He would give up his father’s battle over the past. From this moment
forward, he would fight only for his clan’s future, and he would do it at Connor’s side.