woensdag 19 oktober 2011

Claimed by the Highlander by Julianne Maclean

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven & Eight


















                                                               Chapter Nine
 
 
Construction of the new gate began the following day in the open bailey, the clansmen pounding away with their hammers, and groaning as they raised heavy planks under the warm sun. Gwendolen worked hard from the kitchen, supervising the luncheon preparations, for the men required their sustenance.

Late in the afternoon, she ventured through the Great Hall with a group of servants to deliver a cart of ale. She crossed the sunny bailey, her feet tapping lightly over the packed earth while the servants followed with the wheeled cart. When she reached the gate, she breathed in the sweet-smelling scent of freshly cut timber. Wood shavings from the lathe littered the ground, and the crack of hammers echoed off the castle walls.
Then Gwendolen caught sight of Angus. She had not known he'd joined the laborers, and her thoughts clogged her brain as she watched him drag a long wooden plank across the bailey. The heavy length of wood rested on one broad shoulder, and he leaned forward into the task, the muscles of his thighs straining as he took one heavy step, paused, then took another. His shirt clung wetly to his back. Perspiration dampened his hair. He had rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, and she could see the muscles in his forearms, flexing and contracting with each strenuous step.

She stood watching him until the clansmen recognized what was in the cart and began to crowd around it. She helped serve the ale to the thirsty workers, while Angus reached the bridge beyond the gate tower, stopped, and twisted his body to set the plank down. It bounced heavily as it landed, and sent a cloud of sawdust swirling into the air.

He straightened and tipped his head back, closed his eyes as if to drink in the sun's warmth. A drop of perspiration trickled down the side of his sun-bronzed face, and he wiped it away with the heel of his hand.
Gwendolen stood transfixed, holding a tankard of ale, waiting for him to notice her. At last their eyes met, and she held out the drink.

Striding toward her, he accepted the ale and tipped it back. His throat, shiny with sweat, pulsed as he guzzled. The liquid cascaded over the sides of his mouth and down his damp, muscular chest, disappearing under his shirt. Gwendolen followed the path of the ale with rapt eyes, as he wiped an arm across his mouth and handed the tankard back.

She grew flustered by the intensity of his stare as he waited for her to take the empty container. When she reached out, their fingers brushed lightly together, and the brief contact created a lingering havoc in her brain.
"Thank you," he said.

My pleasure. How is the new gate coming?"
"It's coming." He gazed at her briefly with those ice blue eyes, then turned to resume his work.
She set about collecting the empty drinking vessels from the other clansmen, realizing with some unease that she was beginning to look forward to her wedding night, and was thinking about it far more than she should.
But what did that say about her loyalties to the MacEwen clan? she wondered uncomfortably, then quickly swept the question from her mind.

                                                                     ***
 
For three days, and three excruciatingly long nights, Angus refrained from visiting Gwendolen's bedchamber, for he did not think he could manage another session of foreplay that didn't end in full-scale, outright, bed-smashing intercourse.

Instead, he spent those days exhausting himself on the construction of the castle gate, deliberately choosing tasks that tested his body, in order to distract himself from thinking about Gwendolen. Currently, he was at the top of a ladder, pounding on a wooden peg.

He also took steps to get their wedding celebrations under way as quickly as possible. Naturally, if he could drag her to the chapel that afternoon and be done with it, he would. He would marry her and bed her without delay, and rid himself of this hunger for which there was only one cure. But the two clans needed something to celebrate, and he wasn't marrying Gwendolen to satisfy his lust. He was doing it for Kinloch -so it had to be a first-rate spectacle with a bounty of food, dancing, drinking, and applauding.
And then, by God, there would be sex. Lots and lots of sex.
He pounded harder and faster on the wooden peg, and accidentally smashed his thumb with the hammer.

                                                                 ***


The following day, Angus entered his bedchamber in the middle of the afternoon, locked the door behind him, and sank into an upholstered chair by the window. He was drenched in sweat after testing the gate, which was now complete, but required a few minor adjustments. He was tired of working on it, however. His thumb was still swollen and throbbing, so he came here to rest a while.
He lounged back, closed his eyes, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He rubbed his stinging eyes with the heels of his hands. It felt like the insides of his eyelids were coated in dust. He hadn't enjoyed a good night's sleep in days.

He pushed himself out of the chair and practically crawled to the bed, where he flopped onto his stomach and thought of his forthcoming wedding night. An unwelcome rush of lust stirred his blood.
He was not accustomed to satisfying his own needs. Raonaid, over the past two years, had always been eager, but it had been two months since he left her, and Gwendolen was still, as of yet, unavailable to him. He might do better if he just took the edge off a bit. At least one fist still worked, and that's all he needed.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy above, feeling riled and annoyed that he had been reduced to this.
A knock sounded at his door just then, and he sat up abruptly.
"Fook off!"
"Fook off, yerself," Lachlan replied from the corridor. "Open the door."
"I'm busy."

There was a pause. "Too busy to receive Colonel Worthington, the governor of Fort William? I thought you might like to know that he's outside, pounding at the gate. He seems agitated."
"Dammit, Lachlan," Angus said in a low voice, as he vaulted off the bed. "I'll show you agitated."
He'd always known that passion for a woman made a man weak, and here was the proof. He had been caught off guard, distracted by the persistent merry making that was going on under his kilt.
He flung the door open. "If you tell me he's here with the full force of the English army, I'll be throwing you over the castle walls."

Lachlan stood in the corridor with feet braced apart, loading a musket. "Nay. It's just the colonel himself and ten redcoats. But he's getting impatient. I think you ought to let him in." Lachlan poured powder into the pan, charged the weapon, and rammed down the cartridge.
Angus pushed past him, heading for the staircase. "Tell the guards to open the gate," he ordered. "Bring the colonel to the solar. I'll wait for him there. And offer drinks to his men."
He quickly descended the curved staircase, aware of how quickly the threat of an attack could douse certain fires in a man's blood, and light others that were equally hot.
His passion for Kinloch was immense.
He swept all thoughts of Gwendolen from his mind.

                                                                ***
 

Gwendolen leaned over the battlements and looked down at the small company of mounted soldiers on the bridge, led by the great Colonel Worthington himself.
It was hardly an army of liberators with archers and cannons, appearing over the horizon for a surprise attack. To the contrary, the soldiers, in bright red uniforms, looked lethargic and bored. While they waited on the bridge for the gates to open, the horses nickered and tossed their heads. One soldier sneezed three times into his hand and complained about the dust, and another suggested that he sniff strong vinegar into his nose each morning to take care of the problem.
Clearly there would be no heroic battle today.

Colonel Worthington removed a folded linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead, while insects buzzed incessantly in the meadow beyond.
At last the enormous new gates swung open, and they all trotted into the bailey. Gwendolen moved to the other side of the roof to watch.

The redcoats were greeted cordially by Lachlan MacDonald and a few other MacDonald clansmen, who took charge of the horses and led them to the stables. The soldiers were taken into the hall, while Lachlan escorted Colonel Worthington to the North Tower.

Gwendolen's heart began to pound. What would happen when the colonel spoke to Angus? Would he take her side, and command Angus, under order of the King, to restore Kinloch to the MacEwens? Or would he recognize Angus's right to rule Kinloch and inform him that he had learned of the invasion from someone inside the castle walls? Worst of all, would Angus discover who had sent the dispatch?
 
 
 
                                                   Chapter Ten
 
Gwendolen sat in her private chamber, feeling as if she were waiting to be escorted to the executioner's block. Every sound outside her door caused her to jump, as if it were the ominous approach of the hooded axe man. By the time someone actually climbed the stairs and knocked, she had worked herself into such a state of anxiety that she kicked over a stool in her haste to answer the door.
Standing outside in the corridor, it was -as she had expected-the conqueror of her clan, looking grim.
He had not visited her chamber since the night he carried a candle into the room, woke her from her dream, and joined her on the bed. She experienced a flash memory suddenly of his body pressed tightly to hers, his mouth on her neck, her legs wrapped around his kilted hips and shivered with a mixture of sexual arousal and fear.

How strange that she would think of such things now, when there were far more pressing matters to worry about like the fact that in his hands, he held the letter she had written to the English colonel at Fort William.
Angus's eyes were cool and mistrustful. Not knowing what to expect, and feeling guilty and convicted before he even spoke a single word, Gwendolen invited him inside, while her stomach turned over with dread.
He entered and glanced around the room, as if looking for more evidence of treachery, then glared at her directly. God help her. He knew she had sent the letter. She had broken her vow to him, and may have cost him his ultimate triumph.
"You have something you wish to say to me," she said, deciding it would be best to confront the issue head-on.

She glanced down at the small rolled parchment in his battle-scarred hands, which was tied with a black ribbon that had come from her own dressing table, and felt transfixed by the sight of those long fingers. He ran a bruised thumb along the length of the dispatch.
"Did you write this?" he asked.

She knew she had to say something, but couldn't seem to find her voice.
His eyes lifted, and a muscle flicked at his jaw. "Did you?" he repeated, causing her to jump.
Gwendolen strove to remain calm. She looked him in the eye and nodded, for she certainly couldn't let Mary take the blame for it. The poor girl couldn't even read. This was her own doing, and she would claim full responsibility.
Bracing herself for the oncoming storm of the Lion's wrath, she wondered if he would beat her. Or drag her to the prison.
He looked down at the dispatch again, and she was forced to stand and wait, while he decided what to do with her.

Slowly, he moved to the window and stood with his back to her, saying nothing for the longest time. Gwendolen grew more desperate to explain herself. She wanted to apologize, because she had indeed broken her word, while he had kept his side of the bargain. He had not harmed or mistreated her, nor had he robbed her of her virginity before marriage. He'd treated her mother with respect as well, and had permitted her to keep the jewels that once belonged to his own mother, years ago.
As much as it shocked and pained Gwendolen to admit it, Angus the Lion, savage warrior and sworn enemy of the MacEwens, had been merciful.

"You lied to me," he said at last, in a low voice that made her wonder if those days of mercy and kindness were over.
"Aye. But if you will let me explain"
"Do you think you deserve that opportunity?"
"Please, Angus"

He faced her and took a very long time to consider her appeal. "All right," he said at last. "I'm listening."
Somehow, she managed to speak in a steady voice. "I sent it the morning after you invaded Kinloch and claimed me as your wife."

His eyebrows pulled together in a frown, but she forced herself to continue.
"Please understand that I was afraid of you and I felt a responsibility to my clan. Kinloch belonged to the MacEwens. My father had been dead only a month, and already we had lost it. I didn't know what to expect from you. All I knew was that you were a ruthless warrior and you claimed me for your own political gain, and I am still unhappy with your tyrannical methods and the life you have forced upon me, without ever asking."

He eyed her with his usual menace, and she spoke even more passionately while stepping forward.
"Angus, you are a warrior. Surely you cannot blame me for fighting for my freedom and what belonged to my family. It was my father's greatest achievement, and now that he is gone because he is gone Kinloch means everything to me. I was only trying to save the people of my clan from your cruelty."
She stopped herself, realizing she had just insulted him. But there was no other way to put it. It was the truth.
"You think I came here to be cruel?"

"That is how you are perceived," she told him. "You took our home by force. You crushed us, swiftly and brutally. You left me no choice but to rebel."
His eyes had a burning, impassioned look in them "Is this explanation supposed to make me overlook your treachery?"

She considered the question carefully, then lifted her chin. "Aye, it is. I admit that I violated our agreement, but I was frightened, and you can hardly blame me. You are an intimidating man. It seemed my only option at the time."
He strode forward with narrowed eyes. "At the time..."
"Aye."
"You were frightened..."
"Aye."
"Are you frightened now?" His eyes were forbidding, his voice husky, as he ran a rough knuckle across her cheek.
Gwendolen backed away and bumped into the bed. "Very much so."
"So you'd do it again if you had the chance? You'd call on some other army to come and remove me by force? Or kill me?"
Her body trembled as she strove to get air into her lungs. "That depends."
"On what?"

"On what army it was. I wouldn't call in the French. They'd probably take your side over mine."
Angus held the tiny rolled dispatch in front of her face. "I should beat you senseless for this betrayal, and teach you a lesson you would not soon forget."
He stood before her, waiting for her to speak.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Angus's chest was heaving. He wet his lips.
"Will you at least tell me what Colonel Worthington said?" she asked.
"What are you hoping to hear? That he threatened me and ordered me to leave Kinloch? That if I disobey, King George will return with an army of redcoats and drop an anvil on my head?"
"Now you're mocking me."

He backed away. "It was pointless to send this message, lass. The English have more important matters to contend with than a disagreement between two clans. Colonel Worthington said so himself. He doesn't wish to become involved. What were you thinking? That they'd come and defend your dead father's claim to this territory?"

She moved away from the bed. "I don't know. I thought that our loyalty would mean something to him. We are Hanoverians and we defeated an army of Jacobites two years ago. I thought the King would defend our lawful possession of these lands, which we earned in defense of his Crown."

Angus palmed the hilt of his sword. "You know nothing of politics and war, lass. The Whigs wanted my father dead, and your father took care of it for his own personal gain. He was offered Kinloch as a prize, and that's why he invaded. It had nothing to do with honor or loyalty to any Crown. It was about land and power, nothing more. That's what it's always about, when one man tries to take another man's home." He crumpled the dispatch in a fist and walked to the window. For a long time he looked out at the surrounding countryside. "I have taken back what belongs to me, and Colonel Worthington has no interest in challenging my rule here. He made it clear it's a clan issue, nothing more."
"He's not worried that you will try to raise another rebellion?"
"I gave him my word that I will live here in peace."
"And he believed you?"

Angus swung around to face her. "You seem to take promises very lightly, lass. Does a man's word mean so little to you? And do you have no care for your own?"
She was overcome suddenly with shame. She walked slowly to a chair and sat down. "My honor means everything to me."
"But you broke the promise you made to me when you negotiated terms of surrender. You promised to be loyal."

She bowed her head. "Does this mean our agreement is annulled?"
Perhaps he would not even wish to marry her now. If he felt he could not trust her, he might imprison her. Or perhaps simply banish her. And then what? She would be forced to leave her home and the members of her clan, while they would remain here to be ruled by a MacDonald. As things stood presently, she at least had an opportunity to rule beside him and petition for the rights of her own people.
Perhaps her mother had been right all along. Perhaps she should cease these futile efforts to oppose him, and find a way to submit and exert some influence, through her position as his wife.

It was not as if it would be wholly unpleasant. Heaven help her, she had been anticipating their wedding night with a surprising degree of curiosity and desire. And from what she'd witnessed from his behavior thus far-especially today it would not be a life of beatings and torment. He had every reason to punish her after what she'd done, but he had not done so. At least not yet. He'd proven himself over the past week to be a fair chief. And he was handsome. Despite everything she was attracted to him.

Acutely aware of his movement across the room, even while her eyes were downcast, Gwendolen awaited his decision. He approached and stood before her. His kilt brushed against her knees, and her heart began to race. His presence was overwhelming to her in ways she could barely comprehend, and she found herself hoping that he would not call off their marriage.

He cradled her chin in his callused hand and lifted her face. Her heart pounded erratically while he looked down at her, as if he was trying to decide whether or not he could ever trust her again.
She gazed into his eyes and spoke with straightforward sincerity. "I was wrong to betray you, but if you will give me another chance, I promise it will not happen again. I have learned my lesson, and I will pledge myself to you now, if you like."

He slowly brushed his bruised thumb over her lower lip, and his touch caused something inside her to tremble with unease. Or perhaps it was desire. She couldn't seem to make sense of her feelings.
Without responding to her apology, he backed away. There was a grim shadow of resentment in his expression. Was it possible he no longer wanted her as his wife? Perhaps there was not even a single shred of hope for a second chance.

Not yet ready to give up, she took hold of her skirts and moved forward off the edge of the chair to her knees. "I, Gwendolen MacEwen, pledge loyalty to you, Angus Bradach MacDonald, as Laird of Kinloch. I promise to serve you faithfully and devotedly, and provide you with heirs."
A raven flew past the window, screeching noisily. Gwendolen waited through the rush of her anxiety for Angus to say something.

"What about your brother?" he curtly asked. "If he returns, will you honor this pledge to me?"
She met his clear blue eyes. "I give you my word that if he comes, I will not betray you, and I will do my best to encourage peace between you. You once said you would offer him land...?"
"Aye."

"Then I will hold true to my pledge. I will do my best to convince him to accept your offer."
Something dark continued to simmer in his expression, but his words delivered another message. "Then I accept your oath."

Profoundly relieved, she gathered her skirts in her fists and stood. "You still wish to marry me?"
"Aye. We'll exchange vows in four days."
She blinked. "That soon."
"There's no reason to delay."
He stood motionless, staring at her, then looked down at the crumpled dispatch he still held in his hand. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, then he moved to the desk, lit a candle, and held the parchment over the flame.

"No one knows you are the traitor who sent this," he said, as her letter slowly turned to black ash and disintegrated before her eyes, "except for the woman in the kitchen. Can you keep her quiet?"
"Of course."

"It's best if the clans believe that you are a faithful bride of Kinloch. To behave otherwise is to encourage rebellion, and I want peace here."
"I want that, too," she assured him.
He lifted his eyes briefly and glanced at her.
Gwendolen suspected he was not yet convinced of her trustworthiness. He would be watching her very closely in the coming weeks.

The flame devoured the dispatch, and when it was gone, Angus blew the ashes off the desktop and wiped it clean. "We will not speak of this again," he said, making his way to the door.
"Angus..." She followed him into the corridor, where he stopped at the top of the stairs with his hand on the wall. "After what I did, will you still honor the original terms of our agreement?"
With cold, seething eyes, he returned to her. She backed up and hit the wall. He braced both arms on either side of her, trapping her there.

"If you're asking whether or not I intend to wait until our wedding night to make love to you..." He paused, considering it. "It's very tempting to ignore the terms, since they've already been breached." She sucked in a breath, and he took his time to peruse her face. "Do I make you nervous, lass? Are you afraid of me?"
"No, I am not afraid." But she was. Heaven help her, she was.


He looked down at her lips, then leaned in for a deep, wet, demanding kiss that tested the genuineness of her surrender. One arm slid around her waist and pulled her close, while the other remained braced against the wall. The texture of his tongue sent all her nerve endings into a buzzing state of awareness, while a shock of pleasure rippled outward from her lips down to her belly. His spiky whiskers rubbed against her chin, and she marveled at the strangely gratifying pain.
Slowly, he backed away. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Don't work yourself into such a tizzy," he said. "I'll honor my word. You can keep your precious virginity for a few more days."
"Thank you."

"Save your gratitude for our wedding night," he said, as he turned to leave, "because I suspect you'll want to thank me then. Repeatedly."
He disappeared quickly down the curved staircase, and Gwendolen exhaled sharply with relief.

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