The Chieftain (19 page)

She kept her eyes closed as he laid her down. When she finally opened them, it was to find him staring down at her. She instinctively
brought her hands up to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrists and pressed them against the mattress.

“Don’t. I want to see you.”

She held her breath as his gaze burned over her.

“You’re more beautiful than I imagined,” he said, then lifted his gaze to her face. “And I’ve spent a good deal of time imagining
having ye naked in my bed.”

She did not know which surprised her more—that he had imagined her naked or that he had called her beautiful. After yearning
to have Connor want her like this for so long, it was hard to believe it was truly happening.

“I imagined this, too,” she confessed, which earned her a long, heated kiss. She did not tell him that when she imagined it,
she had her chemise on. She had a strong suspicion that was only one of many surprises in store for her tonight. Not that
the first time hadn’t been surprising. That had been like being swept into a sudden thunder and lightning storm.

She swallowed as Connor moved down her body. When he reached her breast, bare to his touch this time, she was aware of nothing
else but his tongue as he slowly circled her nipple. Then he flicked it, setting off jolts of desire, before drawing her breast
into his mouth. She clenched her fingers in his hair to anchor her against the wild tumult cascading through her.

When he moved up to take her mouth again, she was acutely aware of his shaft pressing against her hip. Would it fit? It had
before, but barely. His hand slid up the inside of her thigh, and her unease gradually melted away. She followed the course
of his fingers as they moved in languid loops ever higher up her thigh. Her body was taut with anticipation long before his
fingers reached their destination. When he finally did touch the sensitive place between her legs, she nearly rose off the
bed.

Then his tongue was exploring her ear, and she felt as if she were floating. She never would have expected that to feel good.
Another surprise.

“Ye feel like heaven,” he said, his breath warm against her ear.

She thought she should say something back, but for long moments, she could not form words, even in her head. His fingers circled
round and round, creating an unbearable tension until she thought she might snap in two. Yet she did not want him to stop.

“You have magic in your fingers,” she finally managed to say.

When he leaned over her to kiss her, his chest rubbed against her nipples and she drew in a sharp breath. She wrapped her
arms around his neck and held him close as their tongues entwined in deep, mindless kisses. All the while, his fingers drove
her to near madness.

“Closer,” she said, digging her fingers into his shoulder. Though his body was touching the full length of hers, it wasn’t
enough. She wanted to meld into him.

“I want ye so much,” he said in a ragged voice. “Tell me ye want me, too.”

“I do.”
Always.

Bracing his weight on his arms, he moved to lie between her legs. She bit her lip when the tip of his shaft touched her center.
Connor paused above her, his black hair hanging down, framing his perfect face. Their gazes locked, and she saw the tumult
raging inside her reflected in the storm in his eyes.

The air pushed out of her lungs in an “ooh” as he slowly slid inside her. Every part of her body was alert with awareness
of his shaft inside her, stretching and filling her.

“I don’t know how long a lass might be sore from her first time,” he said, his breathing hard. “Am I hurting ye?”

“No.”

“Ye must tell me the truth,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “I couldn’t bear to hurt ye again.”

“Ye feel wonderful inside me,” she said and ran her hands up his chest.

Connor sucked in his breath when she lifted her hips, drawing him deeper. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he pulled
out nearly all the way and thrust deep inside her, again and again. Ilysa’s skin felt too sensitive, her body too tight. Connor
continued moving inside her, slowly and relentlessly, until she vibrated with need. She felt on the verge of something, but
she did not know what.

“Faster, harder,” she pleaded.

Connor made a growling sound deep in his throat. She wrapped her legs around him like a vise and held on as he drove inside
her. Through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard him call her name. He was hers. Waves of pleasure swelled and crested,
washing over her in a storm of wonder.

C
onnor awoke to sunlight streaming through his windows and Ilysa in his arms again. Instinctively, he pulled her closer and
kissed her hair. They had slept together every night for a fortnight.

He prided himself on always making decisions logically. He weighed his options carefully, taking into account all the ramifications
before making his move, as in a game of chess. He was, in fact, an extraordinarily good chess player. When the situation called
for it, he was quick and decisive. But even then, he made his decisions based on logic and the information available to him
at the time.

There was nothing logical, however, about his falling into bed with Ilysa. He had not meant for it to happen the first time—or
the second. In fact, he had decided it would
not
happen.

And now, he could not imagine awaking without her smell in his nose, her silky skin under his fingers, and her warmth against
his side. In so short a time, she had seeped into his very bones until he did not know where he ended and she began.

With Ilysa, he was able to forget his responsibilities and burdens as chieftain for a while. He could just be a man lost in
his woman’s arms. What she did for him went far beyond their physical passion, as remarkable as that was. She filled the empty
places inside him that he had not known were there. She made him feel whole.

All his life, he had strived to be better than he was—a better son, a better man, a better chieftain. He supposed his mother’s
abandonment and his father’s disapproval had something to do with that. But Ilysa thought he was enough, just as himself.
Her faith in him made him all the more determined to become the man and chieftain she thought he was.

Connor’s growling stomach finally drove him from the bed. As he dressed, he watched Ilysa’s peaceful form. Sometime in the
night, he had shaken her hair loose from its braid, and it spilled out around her on the bed like a red-gold sunrise.

She left him breathless. He was tempted to wake her and make love to her again, but he should let her sleep after keeping
her awake half the night. Once again, he told himself that he must cut this off. There was no future in it, and Ilysa deserved
a future.

Ilysa rolled onto her side and opened her eyes. When she gave him her soft smile, Connor felt his resolve draining from him
like sand through an hourglass. Soon enough, he must take a bride for the alliance, and Ilysa would take a husband.

She sat up, holding the bedclothes over her breasts. Her modesty amused him after all they had done in bed.

“Slaying dragons again today, Connor MacDonald?” she asked with a smile in her eyes.

And the wonder of it was that Ilysa believed he could.

Ilysa wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and got out of bed to join Connor. She slid her arms around his waist and sighed
with contentment as she rested her head against his chest. Her days and nights were a blur of happiness.

“I must go,” Connor said, but he held her closer. “The men need training.”

“I’ll get ready and come downstairs with ye,” she said, though she knew what he would say.

“’Tis best if we aren’t seen coming into the hall together,” he said.

This pretense that he insisted upon was the only mar to her happiness. “Are ye ashamed of me?” she asked.

“Ashamed?” Connor took her by the shoulders and leaned back to look into her face. “Why would ye ask that?”

“What else am I to think when ye don’t want anyone to know I sleep here?”

“I do it to protect you,” he said. “I’m ashamed that I’ve taken advantage of ye, but I could never be ashamed of you.”

“Protect me from what?” she asked. “You’re not the first chieftain to keep a woman without making her a wife, and ’tis usually
considered an honor for the lass.”

“An honor? Hmmph.” The happiness seemed to drain from him. With gentle fingers, he brushed a loose strand back from her face.
“I don’t want them talking about ye.”

“I love ye,” she said as she flung her arms around him and held him fiercely. “I don’t care who knows it.”

“I wish ye could be my wife,” he said, regret dragging at his voice.

That he wished it was more than Ilysa had ever hoped for.

She told herself it was enough.

How Connor dreaded his marriage. He held Ilysa’s lithe body against his and closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent of
her hair, wanting this moment to last forever. He should not have told her he wished he could marry her. What value was there
in a wish he was not free to follow?

He should have heard from the MacIain by now if he was coming with his warriors—
and his granddaughter
. It was traitorous for Connor to hope that the MacIains would not come, and foolish as well, for his reprieve would be temporary.
Connor would just have to make a different marriage alliance.

Without help, the chances of the MacDonalds prevailing against the larger forces of the MacLeods were slim to none. Alastair
MacLeod was a formidable chieftain who had led his warriors for nearly forty years. He was unlikely to make mistakes.

Connor cupped the side of Ilysa’s face and ran his thumb across her bottom lip. No matter how little time the reprieve bought
him, he wanted it.

“Come back to bed with me,” he said. “I need ye.”

I
lysa was passing through the hall on her way to the kitchens to speak to Cook about supplies when she saw Lachlan. He stood
alone, leaning against the wall next to the door that led outside. The other men respected Lachlan, but he mostly kept to
himself.

When she met his gaze, Lachlan jerked his head to the side, then went out the door without a backward glance. Exasperated,
she followed him outside and caught up with him between the buildings by the well.

“If ye wish to speak to me, Lachlan of Lealt,” she said, putting her hand on her hip, “ask me politely.”

He gave her his bored look with his eyelids half closed, but the corner of his mouth quirked up, giving away his amusement.
“Ye came, didn’t ye?”

Ilysa rolled her eyes, but she smiled, despite herself. “Now that you’ve dragged me away from my tasks, what is it ye want?”

“I’ve had no luck discovering who in the castle is spying for Hugh,” he said. “Have you?”

“I thought I had it figured out—until ye told me it wasn’t you,” she said.

“I’ll be leaving in the morning for a few days,” Lachlan said, ignoring her remark. “The chieftain wants me to see if I can
find out where Hugh’s new camp is. I may hear something about this spy as well.”

“I’ll keep my eye out for clues here,” she said.

“That’s why I’m talking to ye,” Lachlan said. “Don’t try to uncover the spy on your own.”

“I can’t help looking,” she said and gave him a pleasant smile.

“Don’t,” Lachlan said. “You’re a bright lass, and ye might guess right. If the spy realizes it, you’ll be in danger.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Ilysa said, which was what she always said when men felt compelled to give her orders she did
not intend to follow. She rose up on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You be careful out there, Lachlan.”

A short time later, Ilysa was enjoying a chat with Cook amid the clatter of pans and the savory smells of the midday meal
preparation. She took the opportunity to ask him something that had been on her mind.

“What do ye know about the ghosts in the castle?” she asked.

“Hmmph. There’s more than one now?” Cook paused in his chopping to turn to her and raise a skeptical eyebrow. “I’ve only heard
about the nursemaid in the tower.”

“Then tell me about her,” Ilysa said.

“She dropped our last chieftain’s baby son out the tower window,” Cook said. “Ach, she was a sweet, cheerful lass, but she
didn’t have the sense of a turnip.”

“Ye knew her?” Ilysa had assumed the tale was an old one, as ghost stories usually were.

“It only happened about twenty years ago.” Cook shook his head. “God knows what that silly lass was doing hanging half out
the window with the babe when he slipped from her arms.”

“I thought the chieftain had no sons after Connor.”

“Not by his wife, he didn’t.” Cook turned to the kitchen maids who were scrubbing pots behind them. “We need more meat for
the stew. Go fetch that hen that’s stopped laying eggs and kill it outside. I don’t want that squawking in here.”

“What happened to the nursemaid?” Ilysa asked.

“The chieftain ordered her cast adrift at sea in a boat,” Cook said as he reached for another leek to chop. “Neither the lass
nor the boat was ever seen again.”

Ilysa bit her lip. It was a harsh punishment, though not unexpected for such a grave offense. The loss of a chieftain’s son
was a loss to the entire clan.

“Ye haven’t heard about the other ghost?” Ilysa asked in a low voice, though no one else was in the kitchen now.

“The nursemaid is the only one I know of,” Cook said, slanting her another skeptical glance.

“I’ve seen a second woman with the nursemaid and the babe.” Since sleeping in Connor’s bedchamber, she had awakened several
times to see them. The image always faded quickly, and she was never sure if it was a vision or a dream.

Cook did not respond for a long while. When he finally did, his question surprised her.

“Have ye told Lachlan?” he asked.

“Why would I?”

“I believe your second ghost must be his mother,” Cook said. “The poor soul. It was her babe who died.”

“Her babe?” Ilysa asked. “Lachlan’s mother had a child by our last chieftain?”

“Aye. Becoming the chieftain’s mistress brought her nothing but sadness in the end.” Cook set down his knife and turned to
face Ilysa. “See that the same doesn’t happen to you, lass.”

“I didn’t realize ye knew about me and Connor,” Ilysa said, her cheeks going hot.

“Half the castle knows you’re sharing his bed,” Cook said. “The rest suspect it.”

“Ye needn’t fret about me,” she said when he continued looking at her like a mournful dog. “I’ve never been so happy. Truly.”

“Lachlan’s mother was as joyful in the beginning as you are,” he said. “Now she’s a ghost who cannot rest.”

Winter made a return with freezing rain that blew in gusts and hit Connor’s face like pellets. He should have taken it as
a sign.

They were practicing in the field outside the castle in mud up to their ankles, but no one complained. A Highland warrior
had best be prepared for fighting in the rain.

“You’re favoring your right side—ye may as well point to where I should strike ye,” he shouted over the wind at Robbie, his
practicing partner. “Aye, that’s better.”

Robbie was small for his age at sixteen and lacked natural talent, but the lad was determined, and the extra time Connor spent
with him was paying off. In fact, all the younger men were improving.

“Connor!” someone shouted. “Isn’t that your small galley headed this way?”

He glanced out to sea and, sure enough, the galley they had stolen from Shaggy Maclean was entering the bay. Before leaving
the practice, Connor took one last swing and knocked Robbie backward into the mud. Next time, the young man would know to
block it.

He took the steps cut into the side of the cliff two at a time and arrived on the beach just as the galley neared shore. Niall,
his chestnut hair dark with rain, was alone in the boat, so Connor waded out to help haul it in.

“Am I welcome?” Niall asked with a sheepish grin.

“Get out of the damned boat and help me,” Connor said.

Niall vaulted over the side, and together they carried it above the tide line.

“’Tis good to see ye,” Connor said, slapping Niall on the back. “But next time ask permission before ye take my boat.”

“I was under the impression that it was my boat now,” Niall said as he reached inside it for his claymore and a leather bag.
“Admit it, ye were planning to use her for kindling before I repaired her.”

“For kindling? This beauty?” Connor said, though the galley had been nearly destroyed in a storm and looked unsalvageable
before Niall got hold of it. “Never.”

Connor looked forward to a long discussion over whiskey regarding who had the better right to the stolen boat. Since the MacDonalds
acquired the sleek vessel from Shaggy, it had changed hands at least once on a wager.

As soon as they burst into the hall, dripping rain, mud, and seawater, Connor’s eyes found Ilysa across the room, and she
smiled at him. Each time he entered the castle now, he felt as if he were coming home to her. It was a good feeling. After
a long moment, Ilysa’s gaze shifted, and she noticed who was standing beside him.

“Niall!” She picked up her skirts and ran across the hall to throw her arms around him.

Niall blushed and grinned while he hugged her longer than Connor thought necessary. “Let her be,” he said. “You’re getting
her all wet.”

After finally setting Ilysa on her feet, Niall swept his gaze over her. “I haven’t grown accustomed to ye looking so fetching.”

Ach, it appeared Niall had acquired his older brother’s charm. Time to hide the women.

“Change out of those wet clothes before ye catch your death,” Ilysa told Niall.

“Can I eat first? I’m starving,” Niall said, sounding young again. While Ilysa sent servants scurrying, Niall thrust a sealed
parchment into Connor’s hands and, pitching his voice low, said, “Ian sent me with this as soon as it arrived.”

With a sinking heart, Connor recognized the MacIain chieftain’s seal. He stuck the missive inside his shirt to read in private.
Would it say MacIain was coming or no? Either way, it could be nothing but bad news.