Ian had claimed her as his at last.
In truth, she had always been his. Always.
Oh God, he was a bad man and a poor husband. For certain, he’d been too rough with her—and she a virgin. But he’d never needed a woman like that. Never. At least he had stopped himself from plunging into her and taking her hard and fast as he’d wanted to.
He should have talked to her and been gentle from the start. Ach, he probably frightened her half to death attacking her the way he did the moment the door was closed. And then he shocked her by tasting her. He smiled to himself. Nay, he couldn’t regret that part—and he was quite sure she didn’t, either.
When she found her release… there was nothing like it in this world, and probably not in the next one, either. He was still shaking from what making love to her had done to him. He was a blessed man to have a woman who could make him feel like that.
He pulled her close so that her head was resting on his chest, breathed in the scent of her hair, and started to drift off to sleep.
“I met the English lady ye wanted to wed.”
Her words jarred him from his stupor. “What?”
“Philippa,” she said in a soft voice. “She’s all that ye said she was.”
“I can’t remember what I said about her.” Why was she talking about Philippa?
In a small voice, she said, “Do ye still regret that ye were prevented from marrying her?”
“Sil, I don’t want any woman as my wife but you.” After what had just passed between them, how could she be asking this? Women could be very hard to understand at times.
“I’ve told ye there will never be another woman,” he said, “but I cannot change the past.”
And that was the problem. Their past was precisely the reason she needed reassurance.
He rolled her onto her back and leaned over her. “Ye have no cause to be jealous of Philippa,” he said, looking into her eyes. “And it’s not just that ye are more beautiful than she is.”
“Ach, now I know ye are lying to me,” she said, making a face.
“Ye don’t know how lovely ye are.” She was beautiful with her hair all wild on the pillow and her cheeks rosy from their lovemaking.
She sucked in her breath when he leaned down and flicked his tongue over her nipple. It stood up for him, begging for more. He pressed his cock against her side so she would feel how hard she made him.
“Wedding Philippa would have been a terrible mistake,” he said.
She licked her lip and asked in a breathy voice. “Why is that?”
“Because ye are the woman who was made for me.” He rolled on top of her, pushing her legs apart. “If ye have any doubt, let me show ye again.”
CHAPTER 28
Ian winked at Sileas and squeezed her leg under the table as he scooped up the last of his porridge. He knew he looked like a lovesick fool to the other guests, who were having breakfast or a cup of ale before going about their business for the day, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
“Ye look pretty this morning,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, either, though he knew it embarrassed her.
“Will we collect the others and leave Stirling this morning?” Sileas asked.
He was about to suggest they could go back to bed for another hour or two first, when a man entered the tavern and scanned the crowded room. Damn, with that bushy black beard, he looked like a Douglas. Then the man’s gaze settled on Ian, and he strode through the tavern toward them. Damn again.
“The Douglas has a wedding gift for ye,” the man said, sounding more like he was delivering a threat than a felicitation.
Ian took the parchment the man handed him and broke the seal. It was a charter for Knock Castle and the surrounding lands signed by the queen, as regent.
“Give my thanks to the Douglas,” Ian said, rolling the parchment back up and sticking it inside his shirt for safekeeping. “I don’t suppose ye know if it’s the only one?”
The crown had a bad habit of giving charters for the same property to more than one clan, which tended to fuel the conflicts already burning between clans.
The man ignored his question and sat down next to him on the bench. “Donald Gallda MacDonald of Lochalsh is raising trouble again.”
Donald Gallda was leading this latest rebellion against the crown. Like his father and cousin before him, Donald sought to resurrect the MacDonalds to their former glory, when their chieftain was Lord of the Isles. After his father’s failed rebellion, Donald was taken by the king to be raised in the Lowlands, which was why Highlanders called him Donald
“The days of the Lord of the Isles are long past,” the Douglas man said. “Siding with the rebellion will do you and the MacDonalds of Sleat nothing but harm.”
Ian agreed, though he wasn’t about to share his thoughts on the matter with a stranger. It had been twenty years since the Lord of the Isles had been forced to submit to the king of Scotland. Since then, the MacDonald clan had broken into several branches, each with their own chieftain, and there was no going back from that. The MacDonald’s former vassals—the Macleods, the Camerons, and the Macleans, among them—were used to their independence as well.
“I hear Donald Gallda ousted the royal garrison and took Urquhart Castle,” Ian said.
“Ach, they’re devils,” the man said. “Starting this fight on the heels of our bloody losses to the English.”
