The Maclean Groom (27 page)

He kissed her, his tongue stroking hers in silent encouragement. “'Twill hurt a wee bit,” he said thickly, “but only the first time, lass.”

Holding her in place, he thrust deep inside her, tearing the virgin's membrane. Her surprised cry slashed across his heart. Her slender form grew tense and stiff beneath him.

He kissed her lowered lids, tasting the salty tears. “Ah, darling,” he crooned, “'tis sorry I am that I can't take the pain for you.”

“Are we through?” she asked hopefully.

He smiled at her innocent candor. Considering his shortness of breath and his pounding heart, he felt as if he'd
engaged in hand-to-hand combat wearing a full suit of armor. “Not yet, lass,” he said. “'Twas the difficult part, though, and 'tis over. Now the fine, fair, bonny part begins.”

Rory pleasured his bride, worshipping her soft femininity with his hard male body. He built a slow, steady rhythm, watching the wondrous emotions play across her expressive features, as her curving lashes drifted downward to feather her cheeks. He lifted his engorged sex up inside her, increasing and sustaining her enjoyment. Knowing the uninhibited response she was capable of giving, he would settle for nothing less.

Tears started to trickle down Joanna's face, and Rory stopped in dread. His heart lurched and skidded against his breastbone. “Are you in pain, lass?” he asked, prepared to withdraw.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. a look of awe on her face. “There's no pain, Rory,” she said in her husky contralto. “None at all. 'Tis only that it feels so…so…”

He renewed his rhythmic strokes. Smiling tenderly down at her, he urged thickly, “Tell me, darling. Tell me how it feels to have me deep inside you.”

“'Tis so very…very…wonderful…” She sighed as she smoothed her fingers across his chest, burying her nails in the thick mat of hair. “'Tis so…very…marvelous…I couldn't keep the tears back.”

He scooped her long hair aside and braced his forearms on either side of her head. “Wrap your legs around me, Joanna.”

She followed his directions without hesitation. Her supple limbs clung to him as her vibrant muscles clenched around his male member, driving him wild with sexual excitement.

“We have as long as you need, lass,” he assured her, keeping the cadence unhurried and constant. “Take all the time you want. Enjoy every movement, every tiny flicker of pleasure. There's more after that, and more again still.”

Joanna brushed her open mouth over his shoulder and
upper arm, then nipped him with her sharp little teeth. Her breathing grew heavy and ragged. She tightened her arms and legs around him, trying to get closer and tighter, squeezing him in her uncontrollable passion.

“God in heaven, lass,” he breathed, pure joy spearing through him. “You take my breath away.”

“Oh, Rory…oh, Rory…oh, Rory…” she cried softly. Her slim body quivered and tightened in her fulfillment. He could feel the delicate tissues fluttering around his hard staff as she convulsed reflexively, once, twice, and then once again, before collapsing back on the pillow.

The thrill of her eager response ignited blazing sparks of sexual excitement within him. The seductive perfume of her female body assailed his battered senses, and Rory knew he could hold back no longer. He thrust into her tight passage, exploding in a climax so powerful that his large frame jerked and shuddered.

His heart thundering, his breath coming in great, raw gasps, Rory rolled onto his back, taking Joanna with him. She pushed up, her knees bent on either side of him, her forearms braced on his chest, and gazed at him with eyes filled with awe and wonder. Clearly dazed by what had just happened between them, she stared at him, speechless.

He bracketed her head in his hands, his fingers buried deep in her marvelous hair. “You are mine, Joanna,” he said, his voice harsh with suppressed emotion. “Mine, and mine alone. I swear by God, I'll kill any man who tries to take you from me.”

 

“'Tis kind of you to join us in the kitchen, Lady MacLean,” the black-haired lassie said politely. She stood beside the table, watching Joanna knead the floury dough. “Mama lets Cook make the cobblers and tarts, but only I get to help her with the gooseberry pies.”

“Making gooseberry pie is one of my favorite pastimes,” Joanna assured the thirteen-year-old. “And 'twas kind of you to loan me your gown.” Joanna glanced down at the pale yellow wool to discover a green stain on the
sleeve. “And look what I've done! I've ruined it!”

Lady Nina laughed as she moved the iron kettle from the smaller of the kitchen's two fireplaces, where the fruit mixture had been cooking, to the trestle table. “Don't fret about the gown,” she said, her lovely face glowing rosily from the heat of the fire. “'Tis one of Raine's oldest. She's growing so quickly, she won't be able to wear it much longer anyway. She'll soon be taller than I.”

At the mention of her height, the girl's jet eyes grew serious. “Aunt Isabel said I'll be taller than Papa before I'm sixteen,” she commented gravely.

Joanna glanced over at the lass, who stood across the table stirring the bubbling sauce with a large wooden spoon.

Raine was tall for her age, with a gangly frame that made her seem all thin arms and long legs. Unsure just where to put her hands and feet, she reminded Joanna of a newborn filly.

Lady Nina paused in her work momentarily to study her daughter from the corner of her eye. Then humming softly, she began to ladle the steaming fruit into the waiting pie shells as Joanna rolled out the pastry for the top crusts.

A huge white apron belonging to a kitchen maid had been wrapped twice around Joanna's small frame, and all their aprons were now liberally splattered with flour and gooseberry sauce.

Outside, the rain had turned to a light mist, and the warmth and cheeriness of the large kitchen lent a special camaraderie to their task.

Joanna had slept through the morning meal, coming downstairs only after everyone else had gone about his business. She'd learned that Laird Alex had asked Rory to look at a mare about to foal. The men had left for the stables immediately after breakfast.

Joanna's pulse quickened at the thought of her husband. After their impassioned joining when she'd first awakened at daybreak, Rory had held her in his arms, his nude body hard and unyielding beneath her softness. He'd taken her
again and yet again, in a slow, lingering fashion, building up the wondrous excitement within her, till her response to his caresses had become wild and uncontrollable. She'd lost all sense of decorum and modesty, following his every whispered suggestion with a willingness that brought a flush to her cheeks. God's truth, she'd even scoured his back with her nails in the throes of her ecstasy.

What he thought about her uninhibited behavior, she didn't know. She'd fallen asleep atop him, spent and sated. When she'd awakened for the second time that morning, she'd been tucked snugly beneath the coverlet, her husband gone.

“So this is Somerled Macdonald's granddaughter,” a cheerful soprano voice said from the doorway.

Pulled from her reverie, Joanna looked up from the flour-covered table to find a lady in a purple velvet gown and old-fashioned horned headdress regarding her merrily. Bits of oatmeal rested on her shoulders, sprinkled there to ward off the faeries, no doubt. A small pair of steel scissors, the greatest protection possible from the entire elfin race, dangled from a chain round her neck.

Joanna had been told at supper the previous evening that the laird's older sister was supping in her private parlor with her niece; and she assumed the newcomer was Lady Isabel.

In her late forties, fair-haired, average in height and squarely built, the woman favored Laird Alex to a striking degree, though an aura of otherworldliness seemed to hover about her. 'Twas possible the lady practiced white witchcraft.

“Come in, Isabel, and meet Laird MacLean's new bride,” Nina said, continuing to spoon the bubbling mixture into the pie shells. “Joanna, this is my late husband's sister, Isabel.”

Not waiting for Joanna to acknowledge the introduction, Isabel crossed the kitchen's stone floor to stand beside her niece at the table. “I can see the resemblance to Somerled,” she said pleasantly. “The extraordinary marigold hair
and plum-colored eyes. 'Twould be hard to mistake you, even in a room full of redheaded Macdonalds.”

Joanna set the pastry roller down. “You knew my grandfather, then,” she said curiously.

Smiling benignly, Isabel paused to drop a kiss on her niece's temple, then met Joanna's intrigued gaze. Her hazel eyes glimmered with some unexplained mystery. “So they haven't told you yet.”

Nina stopped her work and wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron. “This isn't the time, Isabel, or the place—”

Isabel leaned forward and stated without a hint of rancor, “Your grandfather was executed for murdering my brother.”

A
t her aunt's words, the wooden spoon Raine had been holding clattered to the floor. Her face drained of color, the girl raced out of the room.

“Raine!” Lady Nina called to her daughter, then met Joanna's horrified gaze. “I'm sorry, my dear,” she said sadly. “I wanted Raine to get to know you first, before she learned you were the granddaughter of Somerled Macdonald.”

Joanna stared at her in shock. “Your husband was…”

Lady Nina's eyes, the same brilliant cerulean blue as her gown, suddenly blurred with tears. Her pale brows pinched together as she nodded unhappily. “Gideon Cameron. The man your grandfather murdered.”

“Grandpapa didn't murder your husband,” Joanna said. “My grandfather would never have killed any man without just provocation.”

“Gideon was struck from behind,” Nina replied with quiet certainty. “No matter what the provocation, a true gentleman would never strike an unsuspecting man in the back.”

Joanna's voice rose excitedly. “If Gideon was killed from behind by an unseen assailant, it proves Grandpapa didn't slay him. And because of your family's mistaken accusations, my grandfather was taken to Edinburgh and wrongly executed for a crime he didn't commit.”

Rory and Alex came into the kitchen in time to hear her
last breathless statement. The two men, their hair and clothing damp from the rain, looked at her grimly. Standing near the doorway, they seemed to have brought the cold in with them, for the air grew frigid in spite of the crackling fire.

“You're wrong, Joanna,” Rory said with clipped gravity. “We had unequivocal proof of the Red Wolf's guilt.”

Furious that he would tell such a brazen lie about her grandpapa, she braced her floury hands on the trestle table and glared at him. “I don't believe it!”

Alex moved to stand beside Lady Nina. His placid eyes troubled, he put his arm around his good-sister's shoulders, offering her his support. “This is terribly painful for Nina,” he said calmly, “but you should know the truth, Lady Joanna. Gideon's severed head was delivered to Archnacarry Manor wrapped in a tartan pinned with a Macdonald clan badge.”

“That proves nothing!” she countered. “Many Macdonalds wear that badge. Someone could have stolen it.”

Widening his stance, Rory folded his arms across the front of his saffron shirt and lifted a brow sardonically. “That particular badge was accompanied with the written compliments of Somerled Macdonald.”

Joanna ripped off her apron and threw it on top of the pastry dough. “You're lying!”

Isabel smiled, her hands folded in front of her in unruffled detachment. “'Tis no lie, Joanna MacLean. On that very table, your husband and his two brothers swore an oath on Gideon's head to bring the Red Wolf of Glencoe to justice.”

Shaking with fury, Joanna clenched her hands at her sides. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to give in to such a humiliating weakness in front of her grandfather's enemies. She met their gazes straight on, determined to show them she had the backbone of a true Macdonald.

Then she turned to her husband and addressed him with brittle disdain. “I wish to go home to Kinlochleven.”

Rory's jaw squared; his eyes turned frosty. “We'll return home when I say, Joanna, and not before.”

At his harsh words, Nina glanced at Rory, then looked back at her trembling guest, her lovely eyes filled with sympathy. With her silky apricot hair and creamy complexion, she looked like a compassionate angel.

But Joanna Macdonald didn't need the woman's pity. She didn't need anything from the Camerons. She believed in her grandfather's innocence with every ounce of her being. In their haste to seek revenge, they'd caused the death of a blameless man. They were the ones who deserved to be pitied.

“Had I known how you felt about my grandfather,” she said through stiff lips, “I would have slept by the roadside rather than enter your home.”

Before anyone could say another word, Joanna spun on her heel and left the kitchen.

 

Instead of returning to the bedroom where MacLean might follow her, Joanna entered a large chamber on the second floor, its door having been left wide open. She hoped to avoid a confrontation with her husband until after she'd regained control of her emotions.

She hadn't the least shred of doubt that her grandfather had been guiltless of Gideon Cameron's death. She'd been allowed a brief visit with her grandpapa the day before he was hanged. He'd clasped her to him, reassuring her of his love.

“Darling of my heart,” he'd said, using the familiar endearment for the last time, “I swear to you on your father's grave that I am innocent of the cold-blooded murder of Gideon Cameron.”

Joanna brushed the tears away and looked about her. The room was in semidarkness. The heavy damask curtains on the tall windows had been drawn, allowing the gray morning light to filter in. But no candles had been lit.

A harp and a virginal stood in front of the windows, telling her she'd discovered the music room. Bookshelves and portraits graced the walls, as well as a tapestry depicting Hercules slaying a lion. Armchairs and small tables
were scattered about the room, and a high-backed settle faced the hearth.

Joanna walked to the cold grate with the intention of kindling a small blaze. When she reached the fireplace, she found Raine curled up on the cushioned bench, her head resting on a pillow. Startled, the girl immediately sat up, her long braids swinging.

“I'm sorry,” Joanna said. Her heart ached for the unhappy youngster, who was the one truly innocent victim among them. “I didn't realize you were in here. I'll go.”

Raine put out a hand as though to stop her. “Please stay.”

Joanna hesitated, not wanting to upset the girl more than she'd been already. “If you'd rather be alone, I quite understand.”

The lass shook her head, her dark eyes solemn. “I wouldn't. I'd like you to stay. Honestly.”

Joanna sank down on the tufted gold cushion beside her, wondering what she could possibly say to the pensive girl who'd been told, wrongly, that Joanna's grandpapa had murdered her father. Then she noticed the piece of gray stone that Raine clutched in her hand.

“What do you have?” she asked kindly. “May I see it?”

Raine immediately handed it to Joanna with a bashful shrug. “'Tis a faery arrow.”

Joanna took the chipped piece of flint with genuine interest. Though she'd never seen one, she knew that tiny arrowheads such as this were used on mortals. Unable to throw the elf-bolts themselves, the Little People compelled a man in their power to hurl it at another human being. The person struck instantly lost the power of his limbs and was taken to the dwelling place of the faeries. She turned it over in her hand, studying it with curiosity.

“Did you find this?” she asked.

Smiling shyly, Raine nodded. “I found it two summers ago in the woods nearby. I kept it especially for you. 'Twill guard you from evil.”

Touched by the warm-hearted gesture of friendship,
Joanna tugged on one of the child's long braids playfully. “Thank you, Raine. I shall treasure it always.”

The youngster regarded her with quiet contemplation. “I knew I would meet you one day, Lady Joanna, though I didn't know your name. I saw you there in the birch woods the day I found the faery arrow.”

“How could that be?” Joanna inquired with a dubious shake of her head. “I've never visited this glen before.”

Unruffled, Raine met her guest's disbelieving gaze. Her sooty eyes shone with a tranquil confidence. “I have the sight,” she said simply.

“You do?” Joanna took a deep breath as she leaned back on the settle. Although she'd never met anyone fey before, she knew that some Scottish people did, indeed, have the second sight. In fact the MacNeil clan was noted for it. “And you saw me in a vision?”

Raine nodded. “I want you to keep the elf-bolt,” she insisted with an earnest smile. “'Twill protect you from evil.”

Deeply moved, Joanna took the lassie's slender hand and squeezed it compassionately. “Even though you believe my grandpapa murdered your father, you still want to give me this?”

Raine clutched Joanna's fingers, and her answer rang with conviction. “The Red Wolf did not kill my da.”

“How do you know?” Joanna questioned eagerly. “Did you see that in a vision, too? Do you know the identity of the man who murdered Laird Gideon?”

Raine bent her head, her thick black braids hanging down in front of her poppy-red gown. Her shoulders slumped in discouragement. “I have no knowledge of the man who's responsible,” she admitted. “But when I saw the note signed with Somerled Macdonald's name, I knew in my heart it was false. I tried to tell the grown-ups how I felt, but they paid me no heed.”

“Oh, Raine!” Joanna cried, knowing how painful it must have been for her to lose her father in such a gruesome way. “I pray God, you didn't see—” She stopped, too
horrified to continue. She threw her arms around the lass and hugged her close.

“I saw my father's severed head,” Raine confided, dry-eyed. “I was in the garden when they tossed it into the yard.” Though she didn't break into tears, she wrapped her thin arms around Joanna and clung to her tightly.

“I'm truly sorry about your father,” Joanna told her softly as she bussed her temple. “Having met you and your family, I know Gideon Cameron must have been a very fine man.”

Raine drew back and looked up at the portrait above the fireplace. “My mother misses him terribly,” she said in a small, hurt voice. “I miss him too.” A single tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed the crystal drop away with the edge of her hand.

Joanna followed the girl's heartbroken gaze. The gentleman in the painting resembled his younger brother. Built square and solid, Laird Gideon Cameron had the same reddish-blond hair and the scholar's detached expression. His eyes, like Alex's and Isabel's, were light hazel.

She looked at the dark-eyed girl and smiled comfortingly. Drawing her close, she brushed back the tight wisps of curly ebony hair that had worked free from her braids and kissed Raine's high forehead.

“I hope we can be friends,” she said sincerely. “And that someday the identity of the evil person who killed your father will be revealed.”

 

Rory stopped in the doorway of the music room, watching Joanna and Raine embrace. When his wife had rushed out of the kitchen, he'd stayed to apologize to Nina and Alex. Then he'd gone upstairs to his bedchamber, expecting to find Joanna spitting invectives. Finding the room empty, he'd hurried to the stables, suspecting she might have decided to ride back to Kinlochleven on her own. But the grooms assured him that Lady MacLean hadn't tried to saddle Fraoch or any other mount.

Growing angrier by the moment, he'd methodically
searched the great hall, the lesser hall, the solar, the gallery, the pantry, the buttery, the garderobe, and even the rain-soaked kitchen garden. Only chance had brought him past the music room's open door.

Joanna looked up at that moment and saw him. Without waiting for an invitation, Rory walked over to stand beside the two lassies seated on the bench.

“Raine gave me a faery arrow,” Joanna told him quietly, “to shield me from misfortune.” She offered the flint arrowhead to him, and he took it, absently turning it over to examine the chipped stone.

Relieved to find Joanna's fiery temper had cooled, he smiled at the dark-haired girl beside her. “You're spending too much time with your aunt,” he chided fondly. “Soon you'll be making potions to ward off the evil eye and chanting rhymes to cure everything from the toothache to pleurisy.”

Though he didn't approve of the middle-aged woman's eccentric ways, he suspected that Raine felt closer to Isabel Cameron than she did to her sweet, gentle mother. He also thought he knew why.

“Aunt Isabel knows nothing about the elf-bolt,” Raine replied with utmost seriousness. “I want Lady Joanna to keep the arrowhead with her always. 'Twill protect her from danger.”

“My wife needs no amulets or talismans,” Rory told the girl affectionately. “I will keep Joanna safe.”

The thirteen-year-old studied him, her intelligent eyes thoughtful. “When you are with her, Laird MacLean, no man will ever hurt her. But when she is separated from you, you will not be able to shield her from her enemies or yours.”

With a confident grin, Rory took Raine's hand and placed the piece of chipped flint in her palm. “Then we have nothing to worry about, do we, lass? For Lady Joanna will never be separated from me. Now you'd best go downstairs and find your mother. She's been looking for you.”

Raine dropped the elf-bolt into Joanna's lap, and with a
quick smile at her, hastened to the door, then paused. “I have a gift for you, too, Laird MacLean,” she called to him, a sudden, impish smile lighting her youthful features. “For the success of your marriage. I'll bring it to you soon.”

“Thank you, Raine,” he said with a chuckle. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

When the child had closed the door behind her, Rory gazed down at his bride. Even in the stained and faded yellow gown fashioned for a much younger lass, Joanna glowed from within, lit by some buoyant inner radiance. At the moment, however, her usual spontaneous joy had been carefully banked, and she watched him with troubled eyes.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, the pain in her voice not quite hidden by her obvious anger. Laying the arrowhead on the cushioned seat, she rose and stood rigidly before him. “Why here to Archnacarry, when surely you must know how I feel about my grandfather's execution and the part you and the Camerons played in it?”

“I wanted you to meet Gideon's family, Joanna,” he replied. “I wanted you to realize what a fine, decent man he was and what a tragic loss his family felt at his death. I wanted you to understand why I had to track the Red Wolf down and bring him to justice.”