Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

B oth Esme and Bruce waited for the sound of the front door closing before they allowed themselves to react. Esme was first. “Where did ye hide this time, master? I looked all over for ye?”

“Dinnae ye fash aboot that, lass.” Bruce was touched by her devotion, but he was also in no mood to chat. “Come,” he held out his hand for her to take, “I will nae let ye stay one more night under this roof.”

She took his hand, but then dropped it saying, “I must dress first.”

Trying hard not to let his impatience show, Bruce whistled through his teeth as Esme pulled a kirtle and tight sleeveless jerkin over her head. “I didnae think it was possible,” he admitted, “but ye are even lovelier today than ye were when I left ye.”

“Yer Norse beau will bide his time and wait for the embarrassment to settle doon before he comes back looking for ye. What’s the thinking, lass? Why did ye choose him instead o’ me? That still rankles me like a burr under me saddle.”

Sinking onto a small stool, Esme covered her face with her hands. “Ye ken why, Bruce. I wanted to kill him, kill them all!”

“Killing someone is easier to say than do, sweetheart.” Coming closer, he hunkered down next to her, placing one heavy hand on her shoulder. “If it were easy, there’s a strong chance none o’ us would live to see the sunrise. Has Mackenzie been asking ye questions?”

Not daring to look at him, Esme swallowed hard and shook her head, but her hands gave her away as she rubbed them over the bruises on her neck and breasts. “Aye,” she mumbled, “but I denied everything—dinnae fash.”

Bruce went out of the door first, and he knew when Esme followed him, he would make sure she never came back there. No home within walking distance for Clyde to access would ever be safe for Esme to live again. She had a target on her back now, a bigger target than any of the straw dummies at the archery training yard.

Clyde wanted Esme to be his official mistress, not just some lover hidden in the cottage. He wanted her to be close enough for him to take a moonlight stroll into her bedchamber whenever he wanted to. That meant he would recognize any children she bore him as his own. She would wear silks and sit at a table close to his on feast days.

If Bruce stopped it, that meant Mackenzie would be out for Esme’s blood and Clyde would vow vengeance on Bruce for stealing his prize. But if he allowed Esme to stay with Clyde, sooner or later Anna would find a way to get rid of her. And if Anna produced a son and heir for her husband, the chances were very high that she would have a bargaining chip. Many a man had put aside his mistress at the request of his wife, and some had even dispatched them if the wife demanded it. As foreign and barbaric as these practices might seem to the polite people of the South, the North had always lived by its own rules.

“Och, ye’re a troublesome lass, ye ken that, do ye nae?” Hiding her under his plaid, Bruce hustled Esme out of the hut adjoining Clyde’s. Esme grinned up at him, no longer afraid now that his strong arm was around her. “I am nae trouble, Bruce. At least, I hope I dinnae mean to be. But I have ye to protect me, so I will be alright.”

He growled and shook his head, but there was humor in his eyes. “The bond between us is nae so strong that I couldnae find the strength to scold ye, lass.”

Esme opened her mouth to reply, but this time he did not wait. He led her out of Clyde’s domain and took her to the small cottage on the cliffs where he had his hiding space under the floorboards. This had been his first home here on the island, a humble abode provided by the laird until he proved his loyalty to the tribe. Esme looked around her with interest at the dusty furniture; old chests, tables, and stools lined the walls. There were a few rushlight pincers on the mantle shelf and a bundle of kindling sticks next to a flintstone. The empty hearth showed that no fire had been lit lately.

Bruce saw the irony of what he was doing when he pushed the bedchamber door open. “Oot o’ the frying pan an’ into the fire, Esme. This is the only shelter I can offer ye until we manage to sort oot this mess.”

She did not reply but stood at the threshold looking at the bed. Bruce thought she was hesitant because of him. Giving her a little push, he stayed at the door. “I will no’ bother ye, lass. Clyde is enough to put any woman off lying on bed with a man for the rest of her life?—”

Jumping off the mattress, Esme shut him up with a kiss. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach his mouth and pull his neck down with her hand so he would bend to meet her eager lips, but it was worth it just to feel his body respond to her.

“Ye great fool, Bruce Sterling. I want ye to stay with me. I want ye to lie with me. But answer me this question first.”

Willingly, he followed Esme to the bed and sat down next to her. “And what is the question, ye wee minx?”

Kicking off her slippers and tucking her feet under her, Esme made herself comfortable first. Leaning on one hand, she shuffled her body closer to him. “Ye may as well sit on me lap, sweetheart, and be done with it.” Bruce could not resist giving her cheek a quick kiss. She bloomed under this loving attention but shook her head. “First, I need to ken if ye love Mackenzie McFletcher. I cannae—I will nae come second to yer bedfellow, Bruce. I have too much pride, and at the end of the day pride is all I have at night to keep me warm.”

“Ye are second to no one, lass,” Bruce promised her. “Since I opened up me eyes on that lonely beach so long ago, me heart belonged to ye. Before that, nothing. No one was able to touch me heart. These three years have gone hard with me, Esme. I searched for ye so long, but ye remained oot o’ reach. I could nae leave withoot ye. I could nae make plans for the future. The only way I can describe it is like floating in water, waiting for yer feet to touch the ground below.”

She nodded her head solemnly. “I dinnae ken, Bruce. I thought ye were content to ride off over the dunes with Mackenzie and live in the compound village on the cliffs with her. I believed ye to be like the Fluga tribe, happy to sail to the mainland to collect tribute gold and fight the fierce Norse.”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Och, aye, I’ll no’ lie, lass. It was a way to live while I searched for ye, but the only reason why I fought on their side was because they were the folk that ye called master.”

Esme’s eyes grew dark. “What choice do we have? We are a conquered people. But let’s not talk aboot that noo.” Stroking the musty covers on the bed, Esme shot him an alluring look. “I have never lain with a man in bed, Bruce. And I would like to see if a bolster mattress is more comfortable than a brewery table.”

Reaching for his hand, she slid his fingers along her thigh, under her kirtle, and shift, all the way up to her cranny. “Feel how much I have missed yer touch. See how I desire ye?”

Now they had the time and privacy to explore their bodies, Esme and Bruce made full use of it. With the bright noontime sun blazing above them, heating the thatch and the cold stone walls as warm as an oven, it was like making love under a great torchlight. And when he inspected her naked body and found her to be perfect and untouched, Bruce could hardly restrain himself.

And yet he had to. He was built like a man in the prime of his life, full and strong. Esme had only one quick fumble on the brewery table as her sole experience. He wanted to give her so much more. They both instinctively knew that this was their time. Never again would everyone in the village be seated in the great hall with no other agenda than to stuff their faces full of food. Their isolation was palpable and they planned on making full use of it.

This time, there would be no fumble under the kilt and a furtive lifting of the kirtle. Face to face, body to body, they would touch and intertwine with one another until there was no point where Esme began and Bruce ended. Dropping his shirt to the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, Bruce could not stop checking over his shoulder to see that Esme was still there.

“Ye are a nymph,” loosening his plaid, he let it drop on the floor with his shirt before lying on the bed beside her, “I fear that when I try to hug ye close, ye might fade away like a will-o’-the-wisp.”

Esme held her breath as he propped himself up on one elbow and began to loosen her hair, his dark eyes gazing down at her fondly. “When I take ye and make ye me own, bonny lassie, I want this beautiful hair o’ yers to wrap around me heart like seaweed, strangling me willpower and dragging me down to the murky depths of yer wet domain.”

Esme giggled. She had never been wooed before, never been treated as anything more than some poor creature to be pitied by her own folk or as a vessel by the McFletchers. To have this man, so braw and handsome he could make a spinster’s toes curl with unbridled lust, staring down at her with adoration made her beyond excited to think that he loved her.

Burying her face against his chest, Esme whispered. “I dinnae deserve ye, Bruce. Ye are too good for me.”

He kissed her shyness away, moving his mouth down her poor bruised neck lightly, across the soft hollow created by her collar bones. “The first time I saw ye, lassie, I kent me wandering days were over. I have never stayed more than three days in one place, and here ye had me loiter for three years. And all that time, I have desired to do this to ye.”

His whisper-light kisses moved down her belly, sending her into uncontrollable shivers of delight. The way he touched her had a hint of wildness about it as if he might turn the kiss into a nibble at any stage. Esme did what she had always wanted to do; run her fingers through his thick dark hair and grip it by the roots. She tugged hard when his mouth moved down to between her thighs, his tongue probed into the warmest, wettest part of her, making her bite her lower lip to keep a sigh of rapture from escaping.

The sensation was so gratifying that Esme was prompted to return the favor. Only she could not. She was still too shy. He was her master, she was his slave. He seemed to sense her hesitation and lifted his head. “I ken what ye’re thinking, sweetheart, but I can promise ye that I gain much pleasure from doing this—as much as what ye feel, so do I.”

Esme found this hard to believe but was happy to let him overrule her. Never before had such sweet caresses touched her body in all her tender places. Her body seemed to melt with heat as he moved to kiss her lips, using his hand to stimulate her soft mound. His mouth was demanding, giving her a small taste of what his end goal might be. This would be no urgent thrusting on the edge of a table. As exciting and daring as that encounter had been, it was an act of possession and dominion at the end of the day. What he was doing to her now was definitely more akin to making love.

She dared to reach down with her hand and grip the most rampant part of him. It thrilled her to feel him respond, but he moved her hand away. “Let’s nae push oor luck or test me endurance, lassie,” Bruce murmured the words with a hint of humor, “I am on the very edge of me forbearance as it is.”

It was so gratifying to know that she—little Esme MacKenzie from the fishing village on the island beach—had the power to make this man lose his mind with desire. Lying on this bed, face to face, their bodies undulating together, here they were equals.

Bruce watched her face closely to read her expression and found that she was close. It was not the only sign she was giving him. Her hips were circling as if they were searching for better fulfillment. Her fingers gripped the hand that caressed her, trying to guide them into a firmer, faster stroke.

Lifting her hair so that he did not accidentally pull it, Bruce moved to lie on top of her. There was no fear of pain this time; she was ready and willing, almost desperate for him to penetrate her. Esme tilted her hips, presenting her entrance to him with sweet allure.

When they joined their bodies together this time, there was nothing more important to the couple except to fulfill each other to their hearts’ content, which they reached very quickly, Esme muffling her moans of ecstasy in the dusty bolster pillow so that no passersby could hear.

She was amazed to find that one of the best things about the intimate act was lying in her lover’s arms afterward. Only here could they be face to face and heart to heart without the Highlander’s great height and size overwhelming her.

Pressing her lips against his mouth gently so that Bruce could feel her speak the words, Esme whispered. “What will we do if me belly fills with a bairn? I’ll nae have a bairn of mine raised in Clyde’s household.”

Kissing her lightly, Bruce murmured as he stroked her long hair. “Och, me darlin’ lassie, if ye have a bairn, ye will be the first to do so.”

She gave him a playful smack on the arm. “Hie! I dinnae want to ken aboot all the other maidens ye have lain with, Bruce!”

That animated him to prop himself up on one elbow so that he could explain. “Nay, love, that is nae what I meant. What I mean is this; I ken of no immortal who has successfully sown his seed inside a woman.”

Esme was intrigued. She had witnessed Bruce’s uncanny healing abilities up close and was in no doubt they existed. The magic was no longer a myth. It made up a small part of the legendary man lying on the bed next to her. “D’ye mean to tell me that yer brethren have no offspring?”

Shrugging his massive shoulders as he traced a tantalizing finger over her belly, Bruce seemed sanguine about it. “Aye, as much as I ken aboot the matter.”

This was not good enough for Esme. Grabbing his finger so that he could not distract her, she demanded that he tell her more. After a short pause and a long sigh, Bruce began.

“Can ye remember what ye did last year, Esme? Or recollect all the events of yer life as a child? Nay? Well, then ye will have a good idea of how difficult it is for me to remember over two hundred years ago. That was when all this bewitchment began. Listen closely as I tell ye the sad tale o’ the once mighty Sterling clan.”