The Beast of Clan Kincaid (33 page)

Niall retorted, “I don't know what is going on over at the Alwyn stronghold—but that is not how Kincaid men treat their wives.”

“Try harder,” he exhaled, feigning disappointment, and sat on a rock. “I'm still not convinced.”

He lost all patience. He would not play games where Elspeth was involved.

Now he did move forward and seize Magnus up by the tunic. “She is gone, Magnus. She is gone and I love her, and without her … until I find her …
I cannot breathe
.”

Magnus stared at him, then jerked away, straightening his garment.

“She loves you too,” he answered quietly. “And she's afraid and miserable, and there's nothing I can do to help her. That's the only reason I'm going to tell you where she is.” He extricated himself from Niall's grasp. “Well, not the
only
reason.”

“What other reason is there?” Niall demanded impatiently.

“If I do you this favor, will you see that I get my horse back?”

*   *   *

Elspeth sat in a chair, looking into the fire. Magnus had been very kind, allowing her to stay in the cottage where his mother had, until recently, lived before marrying her new husband and moving into the village. Tucked into an earthen hillside, its thatched roof and stone chimney were barely visible to any passerby, especially now that night had fallen.

For hours, she had done nothing but think and agonize over those she loved, and how she might continue loving them all as fiercely as she had before. But all her agonizing had produced no clear answers about what to do. She could not shake the feeling of shock and disappointment, that her father had a part in taking Niall's family's lives. That he had been the one to set a young boy's life on a course of homelessness, loneliness, and rage. How, knowing this, could she love him still? Yet … she did. Certainly her father deserved punishment for what he had done. Yet each time she pondered the thought, tears fell and her heart rejected the possibility of his death.

And … Niall. How could she blame him for what
he
had done?

She had thought back on their every moment together, and could find no hate, no lack of care in the way he had treated her. It was true, what he'd said the night before—he'd tried to push her away, so she would marry someone else and not be forced to bear witness to her father's defeat. Why had he done that? Was it too much to believe that he loved her as she loved him? Yet how could they ever be happy together, with all the pain between them? How could she live with him each day if he exacted his revenge against her father? She could not simply stand by and accept him with open arms.

It was late, and from the sound of the gale rising outside, she feared that a storm might be upon her. She had already undressed for bed, and wore only her chemise. But best she fetch a bit more peat for the fire, to see her through until morning. Taking up a large basket, she unbarred the door and peered into the black darkness. Cold inched up her legs, creeping under her thin garment, causing her to shiver. Pulling her plaid around her shoulders, she made her way to the peat pile at the side of the house. The wind rose in a roar, and pulled at her garments, pitching them about her legs. The basket filled, she hurried back inside, and secured the door. She turned.

And gasped, seeing a tall, dark shadow beside the fire—a man whose face she could not see for the shadows. But she recognized him just the same.

“Forgive me,” said a voice—Niall's, and he strode toward her. Her heart felt as if it burst inside her chest.

She dropped the basket, a moment before finding herself wrapped up in his strong embrace, so passionate and fierce she could hardly breathe.

“Forgive me,” he said again softly. “Not for what I have done, but for bringing you pain.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she cried, seizing him tight, afraid to believe he was truly there. That he had come for her. She meant the words, but hearing his plea opened her heart to him completely.

Now that he was there, she never wanted to let him go.

His hands came up to touch her face, and he peered down. “Listen to me, my love. Your father and I have come to terms—”

“Terms,” she whispered, almost afraid to hear, almost afraid to hope.

He nodded, smiling guardedly.

“I love you, Elspeth,” he said solemnly. “Without you, it all means nothing. You are my wife, and I want you beside me. For you, I will accept justice without death or vengeance. For you, I will try my utmost to forgive.” His lips fell upon her cheeks, and her mouth, and her forehead, worshipful and hotly urgent, lighting a fire inside her heart. “Please, Elspeth, I beg you, just come home.”

“Yes, I will,” she agreed, gasping as he kissed her.

His hands caught in her plaid, pushing it from her shoulders, leaving her standing only in her shift.

“I need you,” he said in a low rumbling voice, from deep in his throat. His mouth found hers again, his hands finding her waist, clenching her there, fisting in the linen. “I need you so badly. I need you
now
.”

Elspeth could not even respond for the passion rising inside her, so strong and overwhelming, she could only kiss him back, and touch him
everywhere
, his shoulders, his back, his face, unshaven and so pleasingly rough against her fingertips. She pushed his plaid from his shoulders, his belt from his waist—until with a groan he wrenched his tunic up and over his shoulders, throwing it to the ground, leaving him naked before her.

His movements urgent …
impatient
, he seized her beneath her buttocks, lifted her, bracing her against the wall, shoving her garment high up her waist, his hips coming hard against hers as she clung to his shoulders, his arousal hard and apparent against her thigh. She moved—and his hand came between them—

“Niall!” she cried, her mind blurred with pleasure as he entered her.

His body went rigid for a moment, then he moved again, thrusting deeper, and then again.

Oh, the pleasures of a capable and muscular man. A warrior. Her beast.

He held her easily there, impaling her body against the wall, one hand supporting her, the other cupping and squeezing her breast with his calloused palm. In the golden firelight, his dark head bent, and he took her nipple into his mouth, all the while moving against her, unleashing on her an unrelenting pleasure inside her, such as she had never imagined in her wildest, most wicked dreams of him.

“I can't get deep enough inside you,” he gasped and turning, carried her to the bed, each step bringing her pleasure as his sex jolted deep inside her. He lay her on the coverlet and spread her knees wide, and after thrusting several times, held her thighs at his hips, and rolled, bringing her atop him.

She moaned, sinking onto him, savoring the pleasure of being on top.

“Move, darling. Like this.” His hands gripped her hips and he showed her the rhythm, which she eagerly took to, taking her pleasure, her palms planted against his chest, and in doing so giving him pleasure as well, the evidence of which she saw on his face, painted in firelight, as he looked up at her, his eyes dark with passion, his chest rising and falling, and his gasping, groaning breaths.

The bed creaked and groaned beneath them, as their urgency increased.

“Now,” he urged, lifting up onto his elbows and giving a powerful thrust of his hips, lifting her, stunning her—

And hurtling her into a dazzling paradise, an explosion of pleasure intermingled with the purest sensation of love, so intense she wanted to feel it forever.

And yet it subsided … to be replaced by his arms, his body, wrapping around her. “Elspeth.
My love.
”

 

Chapter 24

“Come,” Niall said, extending his hand. “Let us go out, and walk among our people.”

Our people. It was the first time in the two days since they had returned together from the cottage, that he'd said the words. Elspeth's heart brimmed with happiness and pride she had not known could be possible. At last it seemed real that she and Niall were married, and they would build a life together, here in this place that they both loved.

As part of the agreement between Niall and her father, the MacClaren, Bridget and her sisters had departed earlier that morning to take residence some distance away in what had been Elspeth's home when she was a child—the castle that had been part of her
tocher
. They had taken many of their servants and warriors with them, as well as all items of importance to the MacClaren clan. However, a good number had remained, making it known they wished to swear fealty to the laird of Kincaid and to be part of a new future with him as their leader. Conall, however, never wavered in his loyalty to the MacClaren, and followed his chief.

Even so, Elspeth knew the loss of the others' allegiance had pained her father. But he was firm in his assertion that Niall was the rightful lord of Inverhaven and its surrounding lands. And so it had been a bittersweet good-bye, with many tears from Elspeth and her sisters, but not all unhappy ones as her family was not so far that she would not see them again soon, and she would, as she remained concerned for her father's health.

But hours had passed, and with them any vestige of sadness. She felt at peace. With Niall at her side, she had received the Kincaid people into the castle, and walked with many through the halls where she listened as they talked of memories. Others came bearing meaningful Kincaid relics, ancient weaponry and tapestries and carvings that had once hung in honor on the walls of the castle. Elspeth had seen that they were returned to their rightful places, and was rewarded by the gratitude and love she saw reflected in Niall's eyes. He had pulled her aside for more than a few ardent kisses.

With the falling of night, bonfires burned, and a celebration unfolded. They meandered through, talking to Kincaids and MacClarens alike, letting it be known that in the coming days, everyone would have an audience with the chief and his lady, and that all would soon be settled on a parcel of land.

It was then that Elspeth saw the face of someone surprising, in the light of a distant fire. It was Magnus.

She looked to Niall, afraid he would be angry by the presence of an Alwyn clansmen, so close to their home, especially when she knew Niall's pursuit of justice was not yet complete and there was still conflict with the Alwyn to come. But he looked steadily back at her.

“Go on, just this once. But tell him not to return. Our clans remain enemies, and I cannot have him here.”

She nodded. “Yes, I understand, and I will.”

She crossed the earth to stand beside Magnus and smiled at him.

“Is he angry I am here?” he asked. “Is he insisting that I go?”

“No.” She moved closer, peering into his eyes. “Well, yes. But you understand, don't you?”

He nodded. “I do. But I went to the cottage and you were gone, I had to make sure you were all right.”

“I am well, Magnus. He is everything to me, and I am very happy.”

“Then I am happy for you.”

Elspeth's heart expanded with joy and fondness at hearing his admission.

She reached to touch his arm. “Niall told me why you tried to force me to elope that night. Because you were trying to save me from a marriage to Hugh. Is that true?”

He nodded. “Buchan's ward refused to marry him, and he turned his sights on you.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

He smiled, and nodded toward Niall. “It appears that you saved yourself. You have a devoted beast to protect you now.”

She clasped her hands together, and a different emotion rose up inside her chest. “And he will stop at nothing to learn the truth of that night. Who was responsible for the deaths of his family. You know he will come for the Alwyn, eventually. And you, if you stand with him.”

“I know.”

“You would be welcome here.”

“I know that too.” He looked at the fire. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “But this is not my home. Even so, you must tell Niall that the Alwyn has sent a messenger to Edinburgh, formally challenging his claim on these lands.”

“On what basis?” she demanded, drawing her plaid around her shoulders against a sudden gust of wind.

He glanced sideways at her. “On the basis he is an imposter, and not the true son of the Kincaid.”

Her heart flared with anger. “But he
is
the true son of the Kincaid.”

Magnus shook his head, and stood, straightening. “I know you believe that, but the Alwyn has a powerful ally and unless there is a way to prove his identity beyond a shadow of a doubt…”

“Niall has his own allies, Magnus,” she said, feeling the heat of anger rise in her cheeks, hating the danger that even now threatened her and Niall's happiness. “And there
is
proof of his birth.”

“What proof?” he demanded quietly. “Truly, I wish to know. I need to know, so I know what to believe.”

Had she said too much? She drew back, turning from him. “I can't tell you,” she answered softly. “It's a secret, and I have promised not to tell.”

She would never betray Niall's trust, and part of that meant protecting his secrets. He wanted so desperately to find his brothers. To know they were alive. If there was any hope of that, she must do all she could to help him.

“Then by all means,” Magnus replied sardonically. “I won't beg you to tell.”

But if there was a way, through Magnus, to make the Alwyn back down …

She took several steps toward him. “He bears a secret mark, known only by those few who survive from his father's council. He, himself, did not even know the importance of the mark until they told him. More than that, I cannot say.”

Magnus's brows gathered. “What sort of mark?”

“A very distinctive tattoo,” she answered in a confidential tone. “But I won't tell you where and you mustn't tell anyone what I've said. If you are my friend, Magnus, you'll promise that you won't.”