Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

A loud whimper would have issued from Dahlia's mouth if not for her own hand clapped across her mouth to keep the sound inside. All she could think of was that Arran, her Arran , was in love with someone else.

All those moments when she'd caught the admiration in his eyes as he'd gazed at her, the thrill of his hand touching hers as he helped her to dismount, his kindness, his teasing, and the rush of terror she'd experienced when she'd seen him lying as if dead, injured and bleeding. The comfort that came over her when she lay at his side at Elspaith's.

And the waterfall. When she'd burned for his kiss.

It was all a lie. He'd never been for her. All this time his heart had yearned for Emilia.

She turned to go just as Arran emerged from Bairre's study. He looked at her, shocked. "What in hell are ye doing eavesdropping here? D'ye nae ken ye'll be dealing with Bairre's fury if he finds ye here?" He caught her arm and she shrugged him away, seized with sudden rage. To hell with Bairre and his temper.

"Ye've a wife!"

He shook his head and raised a finger to her lips. "What? I've nay wife."

Her chest heaved. She wasn't listening. "Ye're more a knave than I thought. All this time, ye've been toying with me, ye had a wife."

He looked around frantically. "Fer the sake of all the saints in heaven lass, Bairre mustnae find ye here with me." He grabbed her hand and bundled her into the servants' broom cupboard, the very place where she'd been hiding, pulling the old door halfway closed behind them. Taking great care not to disturb the buckets and mops alongside he clutched her to his chest in the tiny space available.

"Shh," he whispered into her hair

A heartbeat later they heard Bairre leave his study, the sound of his door closing and his footsteps along the passage.

"Dinnae make a sound."

To Dahlia's horror, Bairre's steps faltered only a mere hair's breadth from where they stood.

Has he seen us?

"Goddamned careless servants," he said, huffing loudly. The door to the recess clanged shut, followed by the sound of the wooden door bolt sliding into place. Dahlia and Arran were in pitch darkness, but too relieved to care. Then Bairre's footsteps took off, gradually disappearing along the passageway. They both dared to breathe again.

"Ye didnae tell me ye were a married man," she hissed. "Or that ye love another woman."

He gave a soft laugh, riling her, arousing her indignation to fever pitch.

How dare he laugh when it feels like my heart is breaking?

"I've nay wife lass. Ye're sore mistaken if ye think me wed already. Are ye jealous?"

"Dinnae lie tae me, Mackinnon," she muttered through clenched teeth. "I overheard ye talking about yer precious Emilia. The woman ye love above all else." She huffed. "And of course, I'm nae jealous. Why ever would ye think such a foolish thing?"

He chuckled again. "Aye. Ye heard right. Emilia is precious tae me. But what yer eavesdropping didnae reveal was that Emilia is me maither."

She gasped. "Och. Yer maither?" Dahlia was silent for a moment. "And the poor lady is a prisoner of Bairre Mackinnon?" Instantly the tension she'd held in every muscle of her body leached away and she felt herself soften, molding to him like a piece of potter's clay.

"Aye. The bastard has her and it's because of me love fer her that I dae his bidding." His voice quieted. "But, never fear melady, there is nae lass."

Her heart bounced, skipping a beat. There is nay one else .

All at once Dahlia was aware of his closeness, their chests together, their hearts beating fast, their panting breath. Her senses were filled with his warmth and the contours of his strong body, the power in his arms holding her. Her nostrils breathed in his scent of leather and ale and clean washed oaten soap, and the man-smell of him.

Heat poured through her and she was suddenly aware of her body in ways she'd never experienced before. The feel of her breasts moving against him, the sensitive acuteness of her nipples tightening and puckering, the thrilling, irresistible sensations between her legs, radiating down her thighs and across her belly. Finding it suddenly difficult to breathe she pressed herself even closer to him, overtaken by a mysterious longing for his touch.

"I wish I could see ye. I wish I could gaze intae those blue eyes of yers and lose meself there."

His arms tightened around her waist and she felt his manhood hardening, pressing against her thigh. It seemed the most natural thing for her to snake her arms around his shoulders and let her hands tangle in his long hair, pressing even closer to him as she did so.

He issued a loud groan. "Dahlia, dinnae torment me. I'm only a man and me blood runs red in me veins. Holding ye like this, feeling yer soft breath on me cheek, yer scent of roses, the soft curves of yer body leads me tae thoughts of what a man could dae tae a maid if he was free tae dae so."

At his words the breath hitched in her throat. "I dinnae ken of what ye speak. What could a man dae tae such a lass a meself?"

Arran moved one hand to curve around her buttocks. "First off, a man could touch a lass where his hands shouldnae stray."

"Show me," she commanded, her pulse beating hard and fast.

His hands covered her backside, molding her, pressing her against his rigid shaft.

She gasped, wriggling a little, wishing she could see him, feeling the burn in her cheeks and knowing her face was a fiery red.

His hands moved up to cup her breasts, his thumbs and forefingers seeking her nipples, his thumb circling the hard nubs. She gave a little cry and whispered his name. The blissful sensations travelled all the way to the place between her thighs, catching fire there, causing her to lean into his hardness.

He matched her ragged breathing with his own quick and heavy panting. He groaned again. "I've shown ye some of what a lad might dae tae a lass who fancied him enough tae let his hands roam. D'ye fancy me enough tae say yes?"

She snorted. "Yer hands are already roaming free, Arran Mackinnon, what more d'ye need tae ken I'd say yes tae fancying ye."

"A kiss. I need tae feel yer lips against me mouth. I want tae hear a wee sigh of delight and a moan of pleasure from ye."

"Then kiss me. See if ye can make me moan and cry fer ye."

"A challenge, is it?" He gave a slight, almost inaudible groan and lowered his head. His hair fell over her as he sought her mouth and she raised her head, her heart racing.

Unerringly, in the pitch-darkness, his lips found hers and, as her mouth opened a little, his tongue slid across her lower lip, teasing and inviting her, so that she opened her lips fully to his kiss.

She was lost. As their lips and mouths joined, his tongue meeting with hers, her body caught fire, seeming to have a mind of its own. Writhing boldly against him with a restless hunger for his touch, the place between her legs swelled, slickening with wetness, aching, wanting him, becoming more sensitive with each delicious movement.

His hands stroked down her back, holding her as his hips moved, thrusting gently, taking on a strange new rhythm. She found herself joining his rhythmic thrusts centering her most sensitive place against his hardness.

So heavenly were the sensations ravishing her body that even Bairre and all his minions could have battered down the door and she would not have cared a jot. Clutching Arran's shoulders, she moaned in his mouth.

"Ah, lass," he hauled in a deep, shuddering, breath. "We must stop this now, before we pass a line we can never return from."

"I dinnae wish tae stop."

"I dinnae wish tae stop kissing ye. ‘Tis the sweetest thing I've ever kent. But I'm sorely afeared if a body should find us here like this, we'd be at the mercy of Laird Bairre Mackinnon."

"A man with nay mercy," she said grimly.

"Exactly me point." Arran gave a wry chuckle.

They stepped as far apart as they could manage in the cramped space while she smoothed her hair back and straightened her gown. Beside her, Arran was doing his best in the darkness to make himself tidy.

"I'm ready," she muttered. Without a looking-glass it was impossible to see if her hair was in place again but she'd done her best.

Arran scrabbled at the door. "What the devil?" He exclaimed. "There's nae handle on this side of the door. Bairre has sealed us in here"

A tiny wail issued from her lips. "When we're both absent from the feast Bairre is sure tae send out someone tae search fer us."

"Aye. That he is."

"Listen, I can hear voices." Her heart lifted. Perhaps there was some way out of this tiny space after all. "It sounds like the servants. Mayhap if we speak out, they will hear us and undae this door."

As the voices drew nearer, he thumped his fists on the door, making as loud a noise as was possible. Dahlia prayed silently that the owners of the voices would hear and take notice.

She heard one say, "Stop. There's a noise in the cupboard."

The footsteps halted outside the door and both she and Arran raised their voices. "Help us. We've been locked inside."

There was a long silence during which Dahlia held her breath. Next, she heard the bold being tentatively drawn across. The door opened a crack.

A round, cheerful face peered in. "Goodness, melord. How did ye find yerself inside our broom cupboard?" The woman caught sight of Dahlia sheltering behind him and a knowing smile crossed her features.

Dahlia did not recognize the woman as one who had been assembled to greet her arrival earlier. She could only hope that mayhap the woman would not know who she was. She kept her face down, staying concealed behind Arran in the gloom of the cupboard .

"Thank ye, lasses," he acknowledged. But, instead of striding out of the small recess into the passageway, he paused. It was clear he was waiting for the servants to continue about their business before he and Dahlia fully emerged from their captivity.

The two stout figures moved off, heading on their way along the passage, a muffled giggle trailing behind them.

Arran watched them depart and turned to Dahlia. "They've gone. Ye must make haste now before someone enters this corridor."

Heart in mouth, she ventured out, glancing from left to right. She twisted a ribbon that had come loose from a braid and tucked it behind her ear. "Is my hair neat?"

"Ye're beautiful, melady and yer hair is tidy." He offered a grin. "'Tis best we're nay seen together. I'll nae return tae the hall but walk on the battlements and converse there with the guards while ye return and take yer place again."

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips before swiveling and walking off without a backward glance.

Her heart was jumping in her chest as she watched him stride down the passageway. The kiss that had shattered her senses seemed like a dream now, almost unreal. The prospect of returning to the festivities and resuming her seat beside Bairre made her feel physically ill. She gathered her wits, aware she would need to appear serene when she returned. She turned and was walking slowly in the direction of the hall when she glanced up and saw a figure approaching.

It was Craig Donald.

Och, me Lord. Was it possible he'd seen her together with Arran before he walked off? She placed a shaky hand to her heart, willing it to quieten.

As Craig drew alongside, he gave her a cheerful smile and offered her his arm. "Melady, the laird has bid me seek ye out and return ye tae the hall. He was concerned that ye might have become lost among the myriad passageways of the castle."

Breathing deeply, striving for calm, she took his arm.

"Oh, thank ye fer helping me find me way back tae the hall. The laird was correct. I am somewhat confused about finding my way about the castle."

He threw here a quizzical glance. "Mayhap it would be wise to ensure ye have another accompany ye until ye are more familiar with it."

"Aye. That is so." She kept her voice low and agreeable, breathing a sigh of relief. It seemed Craig had not observed any of what passed between her and Arran.

By the time they made their way back to the high table, her breathing had steadied and she was ready to face Bairre's scowling face, only too well aware that if he'd sent Craig to find her, he must be displeased.

She held her head high, refusing to let him see her fear, addressing him coldly. "Thank ye, me laird fer sending yer war leader tae seek me out. I fear I lost me way, taking a staircase that led me in the wrong direction." She pasted on a smile but could not contain the acid remark that her previous imprisonment here had not provided her any opportunity to learn the ways of Castle Mackinnon.

Bairre continued to scowl although he seemed somewhat mollified after she'd rattled off her excuse. It occurred to her that if she was sufficiently unpleasant, he might reconsider their betrothal and even petition the king to release him.

He slowly turned his scowl into a smile that seemed altogether forced, while his small, dark eyes continued to regard her with suspicion.

"Very well, me lady. Now take yer seat beside me. We've some very fine delicacies yet tae come that mayhap will tempt yer appetite."

A small kitchen-maid, scarcely more than a child, appeared bearing a tray laden with bowls of pudding and sweetmeats. As she leaned forward to place the heavy tray on the table her hand slipped and one of the bowls tipped off the tray and dropped, upended on the table in front of Bairre, splashing custard across his shirt.

In an instant he swung back his hand and slapped the young girl hard across the face, shouting at her.

"That's fer yer clumsiness. Now set tae cleaning the table."

The girl set to wiping the table using her own pinafore to try and soak up the mess. Her hands were shaking so hard she could scarcely keep a grip on the cloth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, where one held the deep red imprint of Bairre's hand.

Another maid dashed forward with a cleaning cloth and dabbed at the splattering of custard on Bairre's shirt.

Dahlia glared at Bairre, her heart going out to the small girl who had been so brutally treated.

"Nay lass. Dinna fash," she whispered to the girl. "Another maid will finish cleaning the table. Take yerself back tae the kitchen and find yersel' a clean pinny."

The girl raised her head, managing a faint smile through her tears. She bobbed her head to Dahlia and uttered a faint "Thank ye," before turning on her heel and darting away, leaving the tray and bowls. A second kitchen-maid appeared, and silently cleaned the table and set the bowls to rights.

Once the women had tidied up and left, Bairre turned toward Dahlia. His face was beet-red, and he seemed fit to burst with rage.

"Ye defied the order I had given tae that useless girl. I told her tae clean the table and ye sent her away." His voice was a growl coming from somewhere deep in his throat. "It is I who issues commands here and ye'd best keep that in mind. I'll deal with ye as I did the maid if ye dare tae thwart me again."

Dahlia looked at him wide-eyed, quaking at the savagery in his tone. For the first time since she'd arrived, he was showing her exactly how much power he had over her. Her heart fluttered as she realized the danger she was in. She saw at once how foolish she'd been to hope her defiance might convince him to send her home. Instead, it would simply lead him to treat her with more and more cruelty in order to force her compliance.

If he had even the faintest inkling of what had passed between herself and Arran she had no doubt, their very lives would be at serious risk.

Yet, she longed to see Arran again.