Chapter Sixteen

While he ate a bowl of mutton stew, Sleat eyed Gegrim across the table at the Red Stag Tavern in Acharacle. Gegrim was one of the guards from Bearach that Sleat had managed to lure to his side through Parlan MacDonald. Sleat thought he could trust the guard but was unsure as of yet. He glanced around the tavern, making sure no other clansmen from Bearach were around.

Korbin MacDonald owned the establishment and he'd already informed Sleat that Neacal was helping some lady that another chief, named MacCromar, was looking for. And that there had been a wee skirmish just outside in which Neacal had killed some men. The remaining ones had all left, returning to their chief. If only Sleat knew where to find MacCromar, they could join forces, storm the castle and easily defeat Neacal and his dwindling clan.

Gegrim took a sip of ale, swallowed, then wiped the foam from his mustache. "Matthew MacDonald, the war leader, made us believe he was on our side but when the chief disappeared for a few days, Matthew locked up five of our men in the dungeon."

"Parlan and Roy?" Sleat asked between bites, outrage crawling through him.

"Aye, and three more they'd recruited. 'Tis where they remain."

Sleat muttered a curse. "Why did Neacal disappear and where was he?" He already knew it had to do with the lady but he needed more information.

"He wouldn't tell us, but after I saw who he returned with, I gathered he'd gone off with a woman, a singer named Anna Douglas." Gegrim shrugged. "I don't keep up with the chief's liaisons."

"A singer? Or is she a lady?"

"She's part of a traveling band of minstrels. And now I reckon she's caught the chief's eye. He already killed one of his own guards over her."

"Indeed?" Sleat felt his eyes flare wide. Neacal's madness could only work in Sleat's favor. "What did the clan say about that?"

"Some were worried at first, but then Neacal made it known the guard had tried to rape the singer. She is rather bonny."

Sleat shook his head. Neacal and his women. Even though he was scarred hideously, the women were still after him. He would never understand it. "How many men loyal to me remain free?" Sleat asked, then took a bite of bread.

"'Tis uncertain. I've been trying to sway more of the guards to our side but some are stubborn and daft enough to believe Neacal is a good chief."

Sleat chewed and swallowed. "We both ken that's a stupid notion. One inside man is all I need. I wish we'd arrived before Neacal returned to the castle, or better yet, encountered him outside the walls. Since we didn't, we'll need to sneak inside."

"Inside the castle?" The guard's eyes widened. "When?"

"Tomorrow night. Simply get me a key to the postern gate."

Gegrim hesitated. "What is your plan?"

Why would the guard waver? Was he not on Sleat's side? Was he a spy for Neacal? He'd best not betray Sleat or he would be a dead man.

Unfortunately, to get what he wanted, Sleat had no choice but to tell him the plan. "'Tis simple. I intend to slip into the castle, unseen, unheard, and kill Neacal while he sleeps. Everyone else will live, as long as they don't challenge me or my men. Taking over will be easy and no one in your clan need suffer, except Neacal, of course."

Gegrim nodded.

Sleat eyed him critically, watching for any deception. A man who betrayed his own chief was not trustworthy, of course. "I know the inside of the castle well. I can find my way to the chief's chamber."

"He usually has a bodyguard posted outside his door at night," Gegrim said.

"He may not fare so well, but I'll leave the rest unharmed."

"The chief also has a large Irish wolfhound."

Sleat snorted. "I remember, but I'm not worried about a dog, unless he can wield a sword."

"Nay, but he will bark and wake the chief, giving him forewarning."

"By then, it won't matter. I'll have several soldiers with me. We can easily break down the door, kill the dog, then kill Neacal."

"Another thing—when he returned, Colin Cameron came with him, bringing a few dozen men."

"Good to know, but I'm nay worried about it. I have the whole of the MacRankin clan to back me, in addition to my clansmen. You'll fight on my side, along with the men you release from the dungeon."

"Release?" Gegrim lifted his brows.

"Aye, you're to let them go tomorrow night just after dark. Tell them to stay hidden and then notify them when the fighting starts. Make certain they're well fed and armed so they'll be able to fight."

The guard nodded. "Very well. And I will be rewarded?"

"Aye, of course. You'll be named head of the guard for my son, Hamish, when he takes over as chief." Whether this statement was actually true or not remained to be seen. Hamish might make a different decision. But for now, he would tell the guard anything he wanted to hear.

Gegrim held out his hand and Sleat shook it firmly. Then Gegrim passed a key to him.

"This is for the postern gate?"

"Aye."

Sleat cradled the piece of metal in his hand. This was the precious object which would secure his younger son's future as a chief.

***

Neacal watched Anna sleep in the firelight. Such a golden angel, she was. He wanted to do naught but stroke her silken hair but he dared not, for he might wake her. Their earlier lovemaking had worn her out.

He was sleepy but he wanted to take in every detail of her lovely face. What they shared seemed more like a fanciful daydream than real life. And he'd not conjured any sort of daydreams prior to her arrival. Before he'd talked to her, he'd been lucky to get through each day. But now, she gave him so much to look forward to. Simple things… meeting her gaze, seeing her smiles, listening to her voice.

Making love to her was the best experience of his life, hands down.

There was no way in hades he was giving her up now. Never had anything in his life held this much importance.

Trying not to disturb her sleep, he drew her closer into his arms and laid his head on the pillow beside hers.

He slept and when next he became aware, she was snuggling tight against his chest in the pale dawn light, her head tucked under his chin, her arms around him.

Thank the saints, this was no dream. She was his. The best gift, the only gift he ever wanted.

He wrapped his arm tighter around her and kissed the top of her head. "Are you cold, lass?" he whispered.

"Aye."

"I could build up the fire again."

"Nay. You are so warm."

He stroked the satiny skin of her back, well aware she hadn't put on any clothes last night and neither had he. But a plaid covered them both.

She shivered.

When his hand reached her derriere, he tugged her toward him, wanting her to feel how aroused he was. Her flat belly pressing against his erection set his nerves on fire.

Anna could not believe how hot-blooded Neacal was this morn, so early.

He slid down and brushed his lips across her breasts, his short whiskers stimulating her, making her arch toward him.

"Mmm." He drew her nipple into his mouth, suckled at it enthusiastically, then moved to the other. She buried her hands in his hair, urging him closer. Pleasure and sharp arousal surged through her body.

He growled and rolled onto his back, bringing her to lie on him. Then he drew her legs forward so she was straddling him.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

He gave her a half devilish grin. "I want you to ride me."

"What?" she gasped.

"You've never done this before, have you, lass?"

She shook her head, heat burning her face.

His grin slipped out a bit more, a glimpse of white teeth. Good heavens, he was even more gorgeous when he smiled.

"Would you like to?" His dark blue gaze dared her.

"Aye," she whispered, especially if it amused and aroused him as much as he appeared.

"All right then. Lift up a bit."

When she did, he positioned the tip of his erection at her entrance, then stroked her there. Need surged through her, making her arch her back and close her eyes.

"Aye, now lower yourself onto me."

She eagerly followed his instruction, and he slid inside. She gasped, unable to believe how amazing he felt. He grasped her hips on each side and helped guide her in the rhythm. Placing her hands on his hard chest, she raised and lowered herself. The waves of her hair fell all around her to brush over his chest.

"Aye, that's it, mo cridhe ." Tangling his fingers in the long strands of her hair, he stroked her nipples. "Let go and ride me," he urged.

And she did. She allowed whatever inborn instincts she possessed to take control of her body. The hard length of him filling her, sliding deep, felt more amazing than anything and she could not get enough. She gasped at the sparkling sensations her own movements propelled through her body, from her toes to the top of her head.

Forcing her eyes open, she took in the intense way he watched her, his brows lowered, eyes midnight blue, his teeth gritted together as if the pleasure was near too much to withstand. The same way she felt. But looking into his fierce eyes as she rode him was the most erotic thing she had ever done. Such raw need written there, reflected back to her.

He growled and, holding her hips, thrust up into her fast and hard. Without warning, the pleasure exploded like colliding stars. Her strength gone, she fell and he caught her against his chest, continuing his wickedly divine thrusting. One last plunge deep and he shuddered against her, a savage growl rumbling from his chest.

He rasped a Gaelic curse. "You possess my soul. I swear it, lass."

Tears dripped from her eyes, but she knew not why. He was something she never could've expected.

"Are you crying?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Aye, you are. Did I hurt you?"

"Nay." She didn't bother to wipe her tears away. He'd already seen them.

"Why then?"

"Because I love you." Oh good heavens! She hadn't meant to blurt that out. But it was the truth and she refused to regret it.

He drew her to him and rolled her to the side until they lay face to face. "And I love you," he said, stroking her tears away with gentle fingers.

Joy erupted inside her like a fresh, gushing spring. He felt the same? How could she be so lucky? Someone above was smiling down upon her… someone who had guided her to Neacal.

While he dried her tears, his gaze searched her eyes. "When you're free of that beast, will you marry me?"

Her mouth dropped open. "How—?"

"Do not fash yourself over the how of it. I'll make it happen; mark my words."

"'Twould be my fondest wish to be your wife," she whispered, more tears burning her eyes.

A small grin quirked his lips. "And my fondest wish as well."

But how on earth could she get free of Blackburn?

Neacal didn't realize he'd drifted off to sleep in Anna's arms until a pounding at the door awoke him. "What the devil?" he muttered. "Who is it?" he shouted.

"Bhatar, lad. Hugh is with me."

Neacal ground his teeth. "Devil take them," he whispered to Anna.

Blushing, she snickered softly, then hid her grin.

He shook his head, then rolled off the mattress and onto his feet. "I'll meet you in the library," he shouted.

"We can wait here. 'Tis nay a problem," Hugh returned.

Neacal muttered a string of curses. "Meet me in the library," he ordered, grabbing his shirt. The last thing he wanted was the elders to see Anna in his chamber. Especially in his bed.

Once he was dressed, he opened the door only wide enough to step into the corridor. The two hoary-haired codgers awaited him.

"What is it now?" Neacal asked.

"One of the servants returned from Acharacle," Uncle Bhatar said. "A large force of soldiers is camped out there in the wood."

***

The following night was near black as pitch as Sleat and his men, along with the MacRankins, crept from the wood and toward Bearach Castle. Torchlight reflected up from within the castle walls, guiding them across the wet sandbar that led to the small island. Taking an indirect route, they climbed over the rocks and up the steep bank which led to the castle. Low growing gorse and heather scratched at his legs.

Avoiding the portcullis, they silently edged along the high wall, seeing no one. Sleat peered through the thick iron bars of the postern gate. Distant torches lit up the exterior of the castle and the bailey. A guard stood about fifty feet away, his back toward Sleat. The guard was going to be a dead man in only a matter of moments.

Grinning, Sleat carefully inserted the key into the padlock on the gate… but it wouldn't budge. As quietly as possible, he jiggled it.

"Hurry, Da," Hamish whispered beside him.

Sleat pulled the key out and inserted it again, then wiggled. Nothing. What the hell? Had Gegrim given him the wrong key? "That double-crossing bastard," Sleat hissed.

A flaming torch dropped from the wall above and a battle cry rang out. The torch struck one of his men and his clothing burst into flames. He yelled and danced about. Hamish shoved him to the ground. "Roll, you idiot!"

Through the gate, Sleat saw the guards running toward them, swords aimed.

"Retreat!" Sleat yelled. Some bastard had warned Neacal and his men. Probably Gegrim. He should've known not to trust the whoreson.

Men's shouts echoed from distant parts of the castle and more torches were tossed from the wall to light up the battle ground, catching the heather afire. An arrow struck the ground beside Sleat, shot down from the wall-walk. He leapt aside and lifted his targe.

Guards and soldiers charged along the wall from the front portcullis. How did they have so many men at the ready? Gegrim must have told them of Sleat's plans, for no one else knew. He and his men were already outnumbered.

"Retreat!" Sleat scrambled back down the hillside over the rocks, heather and gorse. Some of his men had already escaped. One of Neacal's guards chased after him, his sword raised. Sleat slashed his blade at the man. He blocked it and struck back. More enemies approached, trying to halt their retreat and trap them. Battle cries resounded around him.

Blades clanged behind him and a man shouted. Was it one of his own men? He couldn't take his eyes off his opponent to see.

He had to kill this bastard, or die himself. He refused to be trapped on this island and at Neacal's mercy. Sleat redoubled his efforts and struck at the enemy.

Seconds later, he ran the man through, then shoved him to the ground. Glancing back, Sleat could not tell who was who in the torch-lit gloom.

"Retreat!" he yelled again in the event some of his men hadn't heard his order the first time.

Several of his clansmen, as well as MacRankin's, followed him down the steep hillside, across the rocks and along the sand bar causeway. Neacal's guards gave chase. Some of his soldiers turned back to hold them off while Sleat and MacRankin headed toward the wood.

Where was his son? Sleat stopped and turned back to stare into the dimness, lit here and there by torches and burning heather.

"Hamish!" he yelled.

One of his soldiers ran past him.

"Where is Hamish?" Sleat demanded.

"I've nay seen him."

Sleat growled a string of curses, then headed back toward the castle. Dozens of soldiers poured down the hill now.

He paused. To run toward them by himself would be certain suicide. "Hamish!" he roared, fear and rage such as he'd never felt before consuming him.

One of Neacal's guards slowly stalked toward him.

"Where is my son? Send him to me!"

"You're the one who brought him here. If he's dead, his blood is on your hands," the guard said.

Nay, he could not conceive of it! "You bastard! I'll kill you!"

"Aye, come on, then!" he challenged, beckoning with his hand.

Sleat glanced toward the wood. Had Hamish escaped before him? Mayhap he was already hiding with the others.

The guard hastened his approach. "'Haps you would like to go inside and talk to the chief," he taunted.

"Go to hell!" Sleat ran across the damp sand toward the wood, praying with each breath that Hamish waited there. When he arrived, he was gasping for breath and lightheaded. "Hamish? Where is… Hamish?"

"Is Hamish here?" MacRankin yelled.

Unable to see everyone in the darkness of the wood, several of the men asked around.

"Hamish!" Sleat shouted.

Silence.

Sleat fell to his knees, rage and grief overcoming him. He cursed Neacal MacDonald to hell and back, stabbing his dirk into the loamy soil over and over, imagining it was Neacal he gored.

***

"Chief!"

Neacal glanced in the direction the shout had come from, the postern gate. One of the guards ran toward him. "Sleat thinks his son was injured or killed outside."

"Was he?"

"Don't know yet. We'll have to round up the dead and injured."

"Some traitor must have given Sleat a key to the postern gate," Neacal said. "We were wise to change the padlock after we heard about the troops camped at Acharacle."

"Aye. Speaking of the traitor… the five in the dungeon were released when the fighting began."

"Damnation!" Hackles raising at the very idea some man he thought he could trust was the worst backstabber, Neacal glanced around the bailey. He suspiciously eyed each of the men, but none appeared guilty. "We have to find out who it is. Are any of the five still here? Or did they escape during the battle?"

"Parlan was killed. I don't know about the others."

Neacal nodded. "Guard this gate well. Once the dead and injured are brought inside, lock it again. Sleat could have a larger force ready to invade at any moment, especially if his son turns up dead."

"Aye, chief."

Neacal returned to the center of the barmkin and waited while the dead and injured were being brought inside the walls. Guards stood with torches shining down on five dead men and two captured with minor injuries.

"'Tis Sleat's son, Hamish," Neacal muttered, staring down at one of them. "Is he dead?"

"Aye," Matthew said.

"Sleat will return with a vengeance."

"Aye," Matthew said again.

"Why were they attempting to enter through the postern gate?" Neacal's gaze moved steadily over his clansmen and guards. "Did someone give them a key?"

"We're trying to figure that out," Gegrim said.

Neacal didn't recognize the other two enemies, still living, their hands tied behind their backs. Their plaids were different, but Neacal had seen the design somewhere before. The white, black and red pattern nagged at the back of his mind.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the scraggly, sweating man being restrained by a large guard.

The man spat at him, but missed.

Rage shot through Neacal like a bolt of lightning, and he barely restrained the impulse to punch the bastard in the jaw. "Which clan are you from?" he growled.

The man remained silent.

Neacal turned his attention to the other bound man, asking him the same question, but he kept his mouth shut tight.

"Lock them in the dungeon. I'll question them later. I wager they'll start to talk when they grow hungry."

"Aye, chief." The guards dragged them away.

"In the morn, we'll take the dead bodies out and allow Sleat to reclaim them," Neacal told Matthew. "As for right now, have our men search this island and the surrounding area to make sure no living enemies yet remain."

"Aye," Matthew said. "We'll keep a sharp lookout for Sleat. No doubt he will return soon."

"Indeed. Also, see if you can discover who the traitor is who gave Sleat a key."

***

Just before noon the next day, Neacal carried a lantern and descended the steps into the dungeon. Leith and Dugan accompanied him, one before him and one behind, each carrying torches. 'Twas doubtful the new prisoners were hungry enough as of yet to talk. Neacal didn't condone torture—he'd endured too much of it himself—but he had to find out who these men were and what Sleat's plan was. The lives of his clansmen depended on it. He took his position as his clan's protector very seriously.

He already knew Sleat had wanted to take Bearach for Hamish, but now that Hamish was dead, Sleat's plot was likely simple revenge. Neacal didn't underestimate him. He knew the man would strike back ten times harder, but they would be ready.

One of the guards unlocked the iron-barred door. After it screeched open, Neacal stepped into the cell. The short, stocky prisoner sat propped in the corner. "Get up," Neacal commanded. When he did, Neacal approached and gathered his shirt front into his fist. "What is your name?"

The man smirked. "Go to hell, you mad bastard."

Rage ensnaring him, Neacal punched him in the stomach and the man went down. Lying upon the dirt floor, he groaned.

"Do you think Sleat cares a thing about you? He left you and your comrades for dead. You're nothing to him. You owe him no loyalty. All you have left is your life. 'Tis your decision whether you keep it or lose that, too."

"You'll kill us once we tell you what you want to know." The other man in the opposite corner said.

"Nay. I'll let you live and even have bread and water sent down. But first you must be honest. If you lie, you get naught."

The two men held their silence.

"Do you want to drink your water from a cup? Or do you want to lick it from the damp walls?"

"Nay!" The man he'd knocked down was almost a whimpering mess. "If you'll promise to release me, I'll tell you."

"What makes you think I'll believe you?"

"I'll tell you true. I swear it."

"Keep your mouth shut, Jarvis!" his comrade ordered.

"Jarvis, is it?" Neacal asked. "Go on then, Jarvis. Which clan are you from?"

"Don't do it, you bastard!" the other prisoner yelled.

"Leave me be, Angus!" Jarvis squawked, glaring at his clansman.

"Well, which clan is it you come from?" Neacal asked.

"MacRankin," Jarvis blurted.

Though 'twas a simple answer, hearing that name was like a sharp kick to Neacal's gut. The MacRankin chief was the one who'd tortured him two years prior. Neacal glared at the man, scrutinizing his face in the dimness. He didn't remember him from his association with the clan. Had Sleat told him to say that? Sleat most likely knew of the whole situation.

"Why should I believe you?" Neacal demanded.

"I have nay reason to lie. I want out of here. I have a wife and a wee son, only a few months old."

"Since you're a traitor, their lives will be in danger, you dolt!" Angus grumbled.

"Why were you with Sleat and what is his plan?"

"The MacRankin joined forces with Sleat. I don't ken why. Some sort of deal they worked out."

"Are you talking about the chief? Titus?"

"Aye."

Neacal couldn't believe it. "What does he want with me?"

Jarvis remained silent a long moment.

"Come now. Don't stop singing."

"Revenge."

"What for?" Damn the man. MacRankin already had his revenge. Neacal hadn't even lain with Lady Aislinn. He had kissed her a couple of times but 'twas not worth the torture he got.

"His betrothed. She threw herself from the tower and he said 'twas your fault."

"What?" God's blood. Aislinn had killed herself? Neacal grabbed hold of one of the bars to steady himself. That could not be his fault, could it? "Mayhap Titus pushed her from the tower, or had one of his guards do it."

Jarvis simply stared at him. Both of them knew how malicious and soulless the MacRankin chief was.

"So… now he wants to kill me? Is that it?" Neacal asked.

"Aye. 'Tis what he said."

"And what does Sleat want?"

"He wanted this clan and castle for his son but… he's dead now."

"Exactly."

"He'll be back."

"I'm certain of it. More revenge, aye?"

Jarvis nodded.

"Who met with Sleat in Acharacle and gave him the key to the postern gate?"

"I know not. I was camped out in the wood at the time. I'm naught but a foot soldier."

"Did you see him?"

"Nay. We'd walked for miles and 'twas late. I was asleep."

"Maybe a name was whispered amongst the soldiers," Neacal suggested. "The name of someone from Bearach. One of the MacDonalds. A stranger would've been noticed."

Jarvis shook his head. "Sleat is a MacDonald, too, and I don't ken all his men."

"Damnation," Neacal muttered.

"Will you please let me go now?" Jarvis begged. "I have to get back to my wife and son to take them away so MacRankin will never find me. I told you what you wanted to know."

"I'll think on it. I may have more questions for you. In the meantime, try to recall the traitor's name. I'll return in the morn."

MacRankin likely wouldn't leave the area now. Neacal fully expected him to help Sleat attack Bearach at some point in the near future, so 'twas unlikely Jarvis' family was in danger at the moment. Of course, Neacal would never want to put a woman or child in peril.

After the three of them exited the cell, his guards locked the door and they climbed the steps. "Give the prisoners some bread and clean water," he told one of the guards as he left.

Even if he couldn't find out the traitor's name now, they needed to come up with a plan of action in dealing with another attack.

***

At gloaming, Colin joined Neacal on the ramparts. "Sleat and over two dozen men were in Acharacle at the tavern last night after their failed siege attempt." Colin and his garrison had just returned from scouting the surrounding area. "But they're gone now."

Neacal nodded, his gaze running along the mainland shore. "They must have left their galleys somewhere south of there and come overland. Conniving bastards."

"Aye."

"No doubt they'll be back with more men. What's worse is MacCromar may show up at around the same time."

"The rest of the MacRurys will be here by then, surely," Colin said.

"I certainly hope so or we'll be outnumbered. I doubt the MacKenzies will be here in time. I only just sent for them. I would've done so earlier if I'd known about MacCromar. Or MacRankin" Neacal shook his head. "How did I gain so many enemies?"

"Well, you must admit that ladies are two-thirds of the reason." Colin gave a wry grin.

"You're right." And Neacal had thought no woman would ever want to come near him again after the torture and all his scars. Anna had surprised the hell out of him.

"You've had bad luck with women," Colin observed.

"Aye, but no more. Anna's the only woman I want… and the last. Once I defeat MacCromar, naught will stand between us." Neacal was antsy to get the whole conflict over and done.

"What about the clan council? Will they agree to accept her as lady of this clan?"

Annoyance at the elders made his muscles draw taut. "They'll accept her or find themselves a new chief."

"Well… you're serious then. Willing to give up everything for her."

"Indeed. I've never wanted to marry before now. You ken that. I always had a feeling I would know when I found the right woman. I wasn't sure she existed. But 'tis Anna."

"How do you know she is the right one?" Colin asked.

Neacal eyed him, realizing Colin truly wanted to know the answer and was not teasing him. "Are you looking for a wife?"

Colin let out an audible breath. "As you might expect, my da wishes me to marry forthwith. 'Tis the way of it for a future chief. And I prefer to choose my own bride."

"I don't ken how to find the right woman. Strangely, the best way appears to be to not look for her at all. For me, Anna is like the bright blue sky in spring, or the purple heather on the hills in summer. Looking at her makes me forget the evil and the torture. 'Tis like she reached a hand down and drew me effortlessly from the dark abyss."

Smiling, Colin shook his head. "Och! Love has turned you into a bard."

Neacal felt his lips quirk with amusement.

"And you're even smiling? Saints! The lass is a miracle worker."

She was, indeed, and he was prepared to fight for her.

***

Later that night, Neacal entered his chamber to find Anna sleeping in the dim glow of the low-burning fire. He removed his clothes and crawled into bed with her. 'Twas an indulgence he could not resist. He snuggled close to her, absorbing her sleepy warmth.

She stirred. "Neacal?"

He snorted. "Who else?"

"I just wanted to be sure," she said, the smile in her voice evident. "Is everything all right?"

"Aye. The men are prepared for a surprise attack. All guards are on duty. I should be out there with them but I couldn't stop thinking about you." Although she wore a thin smock, he could easily feel her luscious curves through the material. "You feel so good."

Reaching back, she placed her hand on his thigh. "Are you naked?"

"Of course."

Wriggling, she turned to face him and pressed her lips against his bare chest. "Mmm. Nice."

Arousal bolted through him. "Why aren't you naked?"

"I could be in a matter of seconds if you help me."

He quickly tugged her smock upward and helped her slip it from her arms and head, then flung it aside.

"Ahh." He pulled her closer and absorbed the decadent feel of her heated breasts pressing against his chest. 'Twas one of the best feelings in the world. He slid his hand down over the small of her back to the sweet curve of her hips. So perfect.

The punch of arousal made him lightheaded. He trailed his hand down her thigh and lifted it over his.

Her lips moved over his chest, placing little kisses. She flicked her tongue against his nipple. He growled, drawing her closer and slipping his fingers upward between her thighs. She arched her back and drew her knee higher on his hip, giving him access to her heated center.

"Saints," he hissed. "You're so luscious. So wet."

"'Tis your own fault."

He grinned. "I love taking the blame for that."

Before he knew what she was about, she wrapped her hand around his shaft and squeezed. At the renewed streak of arousal, he growled and ground his teeth.

"I need you, Neacal."

"Not as much as I need you, my sweet Anna."

He moved between her thighs and stroked himself through her heat.

"Aye." She dug her fingers into his arse, urging him on. "Please."

He slipped inside, the sublime feel of her spurring him to slide to the hilt. Absorbing the glorious feeling, he paused, pressing his forehead against hers. After the perfect moment, she flicked her tongue against his lips. Instinct taking over, he withdrew and thrust again.

She gasped loudly, then whispered, "So good, Neacal. More."

"With pleasure." Aye, he wished to give all she wanted. His only goal in life now was to protect her, please her, and make her happy.

He drove himself into her, over and over again, watching the beautiful expressions of passion and joy move over her features. The moments when she chanced to open her eyes, love gleamed there… a love such as he never could've imagined. A love that his own heart reflected. Now, he knew what a soulmate was. Now, he knew why love could heal all wounds—because it was the most powerful force on earth.

"I love you, Anna," he breathed against her ear, not stopping. With his body, with his soul, he wanted her to feel how much he loved her.

"And I love you." Her words were broken, heated, passionate. A moment later, she grasped him in a tight embrace, her legs around his hips. Everything in her pulled at him, demanding he give her everything. And he did. An explosive pleasure burst through him and he poured himself into her.

***

At breakfast the next morn, a guard entered and ran across the great hall between the long tables. "A large force of men is approaching overland, m'laird," he said.

Neacal and Colin arose from the table and, once Neacal retrieved his bow and arrows, hastened up the stairs to the ramparts and the wall-walk.

"Damnation," Colin muttered as they watched around four dozen men, some on horses and some on foot, cross the wet sand toward the island on which Bearach Castle sat.

Narrowing his eyes, Neacal scanned the various plaids worn by the men. "That's Blackburn MacCromar. Not Sleat."

A woman screamed in the distance.

"Who is that?" Colin asked. "Why would a woman be traveling with them?"

Ice slid through Neacal's veins. "God's blood, that can't be…"

"Who?"

"Anna's sister."