Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (8 page)

“Have I hurt you?” he asked in a strained voice.

“Only if you stop,” she said, rocking her hips to prove her point.

He took her invitation. Ronan pressed his lips against hers and began to thrust until his rhythm was faster than her breath. He filled her so completely. Her passion coiled inside her and grew as he pounded into her.

She gripped his shoulders and his slid down to cup her bottom.

Her release swiftly overtook her in intense waves. She arched upward and trembled all over, muffling her cries against her fist, lest her brother hear her in the next chamber.

Ronan fell forward and softly grunted against her neck as he stiffened. His erection pulsed inside her. Chest to chest their hearts beat at the same cadence. For a moment, they were one being.

She stroked the damp hair from his face. His breathing leveled and his heartbeat slowed. He lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. When he smiled, her heart fractured. This was the man who owned her very soul. How cruel were the Fates to put them at such odds in life that they could not find their path together?

“I love you,” he said.

“Aye.” She smiled. “And I love you, Ronan.”

His face changed then and sadness crept into his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but she placed her fingers over it.

“Do not say anything. We have one night and I will not waste it on words unless they are ‘come here’, ‘turn over’, or ‘I want you now’.

Ronan chuckled. “You are right,” he said as he slid from her body.

He walked to the fire and returned with a tankard and a trencher of food. They ate in silence. His body was glorious in the soft light. Though he would be glorious in any light, the fine sheen of sweat he had just worked up cast a smooth effect over him. She stared at his chest and the fine matting of hair dusting his nipples.  Her gaze continued across his chiselled abdomen and beyond to where his erection was already stirring again.

She watched as it elongated and thickened. Her body hummed in anticipation when he lay on the bed beside her and it grazed her thigh. She was ready for him again.

Ronan placed the trencher and pitcher on the side table and turned back to her. “Come here,” he said.

She grinned and scooted toward to him.

“Turn over,” he said.

She flipped onto her stomach and giggled. He pushed her hair from her shoulders and trailed his fingers down the length of her back, making her shiver. His lips touched the small of her back while his fingers smoothed over her bottom. She closed her eyes at the sensation. Surely this was more pleasure than one woman deserved. Perhaps that was why they would never be together, because what they shared was more than any mere mortal was permitted.

Ronan stroked every inch of her body, and when he was done, he flipped her over and began the same ritualistic adoration with her front. He flicked his tongue across her nipple then sucked it hard between his lips. Freya arched off the bed, letting him know she loved this and craved more. She squirmed beside him and tried wrapping her legs around his waist but he stopped her.

Instead, he pulled her to sit astride him, with her breasts in perfect alignment with his mouth. He looked up into her eyes and smiled.

“I want you now,” he said.

Her heart melted. It was everything she could do to keep her tears at bay. She slid onto his erection; her body quivering as she thrust her pelvis forward. Ronan gripped her hips and buried himself deeply into her, she was now completely impaled by him. The sensations racing through her veins were almost too much to bear. He grasped her hips and repeatedly impaled her while at the same time tugged on her nipple with his lips, extending it and flicking it until white hot heat shot to the junction where their bodies were joined.

As suddenly as before, she climaxed around him.

Her body still shuddering, he flipped her onto her back and thrust back into her, deep and hard. His erection hit a place deep within her which coiled her passion once again. When she felt his body stiffen, she was right there with him, her body convulsing with a climax so hard she feared she would faint.

Ronan panted into her neck and held her tight. She wrapped her arms and legs around him too for fear he might disappear if she did not hold fast.

Hours later, just as the first streaks of grey crossed the sky, Freya slipped from the bed, dressed, then padded to the door. She turned to look at Ronan’s crumpled bed and the sleeping form of her love. Her eyes burned and her chest constricted, thinking about her future on the other side of this door.

She had to be strong. She had to let him go.

With that thought, she quietly returned to her chamber and to her own cold and unused bed. Freya turned her head into her pillow and wept.

Chapter Seven

Ronan approached Strathnaver with caution, followed by the men Fergus had sent with him: his wife’s uncle Neville, and brother Colin. His mother’s cottage was down by the sea and not visible from the road.

He shifted on his horse. His night with Freya had left him depleted and weary, as though he had been in battle. Her passion had barely doused when she had become aroused again. Not that he had a problem seeing to her needs, but it had been a long time since he had bedded a woman through the night.

When he turned his head, could still smell her faint scent in his skin. His loins tightened. How was that even possible? He had woken thirsty and ravenous from their intense lovemaking and sought out sustenance in the hall. He had hoped to see Freya breaking her fast, but she was not there, and he had not seen her upon his leaving. It was probably for the best. After the night they had shared, he doubted he had the strength to walk away from her. He was now more determined than ever to find a way to have her and prevent the inevitable feud that would ensue should she break her promise to her brother and Rorie MacKenzie.

Rounding the turn before his mother’s house, Ronan brought his horse up short. Allain nearly collided into the back of him. The roof of his mother’s cottage was nothing more than charred pieces of thatch still smoldering. He had burned them out? Ronan clenched his fists.

“Whoreson!” He was off his horse in a heartbeat and running. Inside, the table had been tipped over and shelves were knocked down so that their contents had spilled and smashed onto the floor. He spied a dark spot on the floor beside the bed and walked toward it. Reaching down, he brushed his fingers across the stain, his stomach lurching. He turned his fingers over and rubbed his thumb across them.

Blood.

Ronan met Allain outside.

“We ride hard,” Allain said.

“Aye to that.” Neville agreed. “How do you wish to approach the castle?”

“From the beach,” Ronan said. “We can come in from the north side and follow a path they may not have guarded. ’Twas how I helped Fergus escape.”

“Aye, I recall that lad. So you expect to gain entry through the dungeon then?”

Ronan nodded and pointed to the cottage. “That I do. If the mess in there is any indication, I doubt they have offered them guest chambers.” He gritted his teeth. If that bastard had hurt one hair on his mother or sister’s head, he would gut the man and then gouge his eyeballs out.

Ronan mounted his horse and spurred the horse back to the road as fast as he could. Once there, he was able to make better time. They would not make it to Golspie before dark, so he chose to find a secure place to sleep for the night.

Now, lying on the cold ground and wrapped in his plaid, Ronan’s thoughts drifted to Freya. He did not need to concentrate too hard to feel her warm body pressed against his. He turned to his other side to hide his growing erection. She had been glorious in her passionate abandonment.

He dreamt of having Freya in his arms, but she then turned into Muren screaming while several men surrounded her, taunting her.

Ronan tossed and turned, trying to settle, but all he could think about was either Freya’s passion or his family’s torture. His dreams melded the two and he woke time after time bathed in a cold sweat and shaking with rage.

By morning, he was ready and on his horse before anyone else. Now on the road, he kicked his horse’s sides hard and leaned his body forward. The sky had cleared and he could see for miles ahead.

Before long, he led the party onto the path that would take them around the castle and to the beach. They led their horses to an enclosure. Ronan peered inside and caught sight of a man pitching hay.

“Hamish?” Ronan whispered the man’s name hoping he would guess at the need for discretion.

The man’s face lit up with a smile as he turned. “M’lord, you’ve returned!” He rushed to Ronan and knelt in front of him, holding onto his hand.

Ronan grasped his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “Hamish, there is no need for that. I need your help.”

“Aye, m’lord. I will do anything to help you. The other one,” he paused and furrowed his brow, frowning. “I do not mean to be impertinent, m’lord, but the other one is surely a monster.”

Ronan’s stomach burned. “What has he done, Hamish.”

The man shook his head. “’Tis awful at the castle. My poor Shannon works in the kitchen.”

“Aye, she started there last year.”

Hamish smiled. “That you would remember a wee kitchen maid speaks to your greatness, m’lord.”

“Hamish, tell me what has happened. Has my uncle hurt anyone?”

“Oh, aye,” he said and cast his gaze downward. “And worse, m’lord. His soldiers have done ghastly things to the chamber maids. One of them was beaten badly and has been sent back to her family.”

“By God’s blood, I’ll rip him apart!”

Hamish looked around Ronan and narrowed his eyes. “Are these all the men ye have, m’lord?”

Ronan turned to regard Neville, Allain, and Colin. They were all battle trained and would bode well, but there was only four of them in total.

“For now, Hamish. I have come to collect my mother and sister, and once I see them to safety, I will return with two large armies.”

“We wondered what had happened to ye,” he said. “Some said ye deserted us, but I told the lassies ye would be back and ye would help.”

Ronan placed his hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “You are right, Hamish. I witnessed his arrival. Allain and I realized we would need to get help since the men still loyal to my father had arranged my uncle’s arrival.”

Ronan sized the man up. His reaction seemed genuine. Could he trust him? He had no way of finding out for certain and realized he had no choice.

“Hamish, how many men do you think have bent under Alexander’s rule? What I mean is, do you think they would help our cause?”

“None that I know of have pledged fealty to him in their hearts. The men you spoke of who were loyal to your father have all been executed. It was the first thing he did. Shannon said he had them all slain within an hour of arriving at Dunrobin, saying he did not tolerate traitors.”

Ronan stepped back. Well, that was an interesting twist.

“M’lord, do not think there is an ounce of good in him. While he may have executed your common enemies, he has made it quite clear you are to be killed on sight. He holds you responsible for his continued banishment after your father died.”

“Aye, Hamish. Worry not. I have every intention of seeing the inside of that man’s chest for his crimes. Can we leave our horses here? I do not want to alert anyone to our presence. I shall return for them by nightfall.”

Hamish pulled himself up a little straighter. “It would be my honour, m’lord. You are welcome to anything I have.”

Ronan smiled. Once the horses were secured in the stable, he led them down a path toward the beach. Crags rose high above. He secure the horses and followed the path until he came to a narrow cave and slipped inside. He would not chance lighting a torch and so used his hands to feel his way forward until jagged rock smoothed out and became formed hallways connecting the entire dungeon. He knew every nook and cranny of this cave from the times he had snuck in here as a child.

Ronan stopped to listen for any sounds coming from a chamber to his left. He only heard a drop of water falling in a steady rhythm nearby. Then something brushed his leg.  A rat. A big one too, by the weight of it against his boot.

“God’s teeth. Rats!” It sounded like Colin uttering the expletive.

“Quiet. Do you want to get us all killed?” Ronan asked under his breath. Rats, be damned, they could not risk being caught.

Inching forward, he led them to a door with light pooling underneath. Ronan placed his ear to it, listening for movement on the other side. Something. A muffled drip. When he pushed the door open, they stepped inside and came to a dead stop.

Four torsos hung from the walls by the arms. Their heads were missing as was the lower half of the bodies. The stench was unbearable. Rotten flesh and sticky blood covered the floor. A long string of guts slid out from one of the unfortunates and hit the floor with a splat. Ronan glanced around, there was no one alive in the room and so the noise must have been falling body parts. He turned and ushered the men out of the room.

“Are you unwell lad?” he asked Colin, forcibly pulling him along.

Colin shook his head and swallowed. The natural lump in his throat bobbed up and down as though he worked hard to keep the contents of his guts inside.

“Hold it together, lad, we will get in and out as quick as we can,” Neville said, grasping Colin’s shoulder.

Ronan turned back to the hallway and stopped when it forked in three directions. The hallway on the right wrapped around and met back up to where they stood in the form of the one on the left. The stairs to the upper floors of the castle were at the far end. The hallway in the middle led to a large circular room containing additional torture chambers and the oubliette and other prison cells.

As they made their way down the middle hallway, the air thickened with the stench of blood and rot. He had only been away for a sennight and already his uncle had done such carnage. He prayed those harmed were his father’s loyal guard and that their deliverance into Hell was long and painful.

They came to the large round chamber that was encircled with other small chambers. All of the chambers were open and dark within, except for one. Light emanated from the hole in the door and underneath. Ronan’s father had this room designed for security so that when in use, anyone would know of an approaching person. There was only one way in and one way out.

He had only barely crossed the threshold into the circular chamber when whimpering caught his attention. It appeared to be coming from behind the closed door and was high pitched like that of a woman.

Forgetting his caution, he crossed to the chamber and peered inside a square hole in the door. In a heap on the floor sat his mother who was rocking his sister in her arms.

His mother looked up to the hole in the door and blinked. She closed her eyes and shook her head and then opened them again.

“Mother, ’tis Ronan. Your eyes do not lie; I am here.” He released the latch and swung open the door.

She scrambled to her feet and went to him, clutching him by the arms, embracing him quickly before gazing into his eyes. “Ronan, you cannot be here. He will gut you where you stand! Please, please, leave here at once!”

Her frantic plea made Ronan’s heart tighten. She had always put him and his sister before herself. Her affair with his father all those years ago had changed him but not her. He had often wondered what had passed between them and how she could have ever loved the monster his father had been.

“Mother, I am here with some men, and we are getting you out of here,” he said. He then looked over her shoulder at Muren, still crouched on the floor. “Have either of you been harmed? And why are there no guards?” He looked back into his mother’s eyes. She could not lie to him even if she wanted to, for he knew her too well.

“No, Ronan, we have not been harmed. The guards do not come until after the noon meal. Not that they’re needed. By the time they arrive, they have caroused all night and smell of sour ale and piss.”

Ronan grunted with disapproval. That would buy them some time, though. “I was at your home. There was blood on the floor.”

He could not breathe as he watched confusion pass over her face. Then her eyebrows rose and a smile played around her lips. “One of the guards tried to force himself on Muren and I stabbed him. Before anything else could happen, Alexander snapped the man’s neck then ordered the other guards to hoist the dead man onto a horse before we left.” She paused, then said, “He said he will not harm us if you turn yourself over to him. Ronan, he is completely mad. I do not know what to tell you except that you must leave here at once. There will be no trial—only judgement.”

“And it is because I, too, believe him to be mad that I will not leave you here with him. The longer you banter with me, Mother, the more time we waste.”

He released his mother and went to Muren. She was clearly weak so he carried her while Neville assisted his mother.

Ronan was careful as they left the round chamber and made their way back through hallway, past the chamber of dismembered bodies and to the door leading into the cave. They took great care feeling their way in the dark cavern that lead to the beach.

They inched forward and stopped frequently to listen for approach. Something was not right. It was all far too easy. He suspected that if Hamish had betrayed them, guards would be waiting for them at his home. So when they reached the beach, they turned to the right and southward instead of left and north.

“We do not collect the horses?” Neville asked.

“No. We do not. This is too easy,” he said.

“Aye.” Neville agreed. “We will need horses though.”

“We will get them, just not anywhere near Dunrobin Castle.”

Neville nodded and they continued creeping along the crags until the land flattened out and they could turn inland. They stopped to rest in a thicket that gave them a good view of the beach and the forest ahead.