Chapter 11

That night, Jane dreamt about her uncle again. It started out well: they were both in a carriage bound for town, where he would usually buy her fruits, flowers and trinkets. Sometimes, people assumed they were father and child because of the color of her eyes. Sometimes, he did not correct them, and that gave her a little thrill.

In this dream, that was exactly what happened: a man who was selling seaside baubles complimented Uncle Howard on his choice of a seashell necklace for his ‘lovely daughter.' But instead of the smile and the mild rebuttal that usually followed when people made this assumption, Uncle Howard said, "She is not my daughter. She is my beloved niece. Well, not so beloved anymore..." That shocked Jane. She stared at him, and he stared back at her. "Yes, Jane, you heard me clearly. You are cavorting with the enemy who killed me. I could never love you." There was pure malice in his eyes. And then, in the manner of dreams, he rose until he towered above her. He then began to walk away, leaving a trail of blood behind him, blood which was seeping from a hole in his back. She ran after him. "Uncle Howard!" she cried. "Uncle Howard! No! Wait!"

A force pulled her away from her uncle. She fought it, but it overpowered her. She opened her eyes to see that it was a man.

With limpid blue eyes.

Jane woke up with a start. She was panting, her chest heaving up and down. She felt tears well in her eyes. She heard a knock at the door, but she thought she had imagined it. But then she heard it again, and she stood up and walked to the door. She opened it, thinking it must be Catrina.

It was Alistair.

"What are you doing here?" Jane asked.

"Ye were screaming," Alistair returned. "I have come tae find out why ye are distressed."

She burst into tears then. Alistair looked alarmed. He came into her room and shut the door behind him. "It is alright, lass. Dinnae cry any more. Soon, I shall return ye tae yer life as ye once kenned it. I dinnae intend tae keep ye here. Ye have me word."

"I am not weeping-" She choked on a sob. "I am not weeping because I fear what you may do to me. I am distressed because I just had a nightmare about my uncle." She sniffed and looked at him pointedly. "Whom you killed." Alistair's face darkened. "I was so close to him. Every time I see my reflection, I see him. I cannot run from it. I do not want to run from it. I miss him so. And do you know what makes it worse? It is that I speak to you as though you did not do it. As though we were… friendly acquaintances. When you killed him."

"Jane," he said, taking her arms and leading her to the bed so she would be more comfortable. "May I sit beside ye, lass?" he asked.

"It is your castle," she responded.

Alistair sat on the bed. "Jane… maybe me clan did kill him."

This admission jerked Jane's head up. "I would like fer it nae tae be so, but it may very well be. We are in a war. There are a lot of deaths on both sides. It is nae impossible that his death was at the hands of one of me clansmen. But as I told ye, one thing ye can be sure of is that every clansman of mine knows how I feel about stabbing another man in the back." Jane could see, from the set of his shoulders, that it took him a lot to say this. "And I can swear tae you that I didnae kill him."

"How can you be sure?" Jane asked. "You have said it yourself. It is a war, with casualties on both sides.

"I ken I didnae kill him because, besides never stabbing an enemy in the back, I would have remembered him if he had had the same green eyes as ye dae."

His statement took her by surprise. Distress pulsed through her. Alistair seemed to sense it, for he held her arms and explained: "Nay, Jane. Dinnae think that I have captured ye fer vengeance's sake." He sighed. "I have captured ye fer the sake of me braither."

Jane cocked her head. "Yer braither?"

"Yes," Alistair replied and finally told her the truth. "Me only living blood relative. Yer fiancé captured him almost a moon ago. He is keeping him prisoner. I merely want tae deliver ye tae him in exchange fer me braither. That is the reason fer it all. I have nay sinister intent, Jane Marsh."

Jane nodded in understanding. It made perfect sense now. In a way, she was relieved.

"I would dae anything fer me braither," he continued.

Jane nodded. She would do anything for her sister too. In a way, they were both there, in that very moment, because of the sacrifices they had chosen to make for the people they loved most in the world.

Of their own volition, her hands took his. She wanted to communicate to him that she understood him, that on this point, no one could possibly understand him more than she did.

His gaze seared her skin, brought on feelings that she did not even know that she had to the surface. She realized, suddenly, that she was wearing only a flimsy nightgown. It was Catrina's and so it was even shorter on her. Her bare legs were in sight, He breasts pressed against the fabric. Conscious, she sought something with which to cover herself.

"Dinnae worry," Alistair said, "I shall leave now." He disengaged his hands from hers and stood up. "Your fiancé, bastard though he is, is a lucky man." He turned to go, but Jane took his hand. "Stay."

Alistair looked at her in befuddlement.

"I feel nothing for him," she said quickly, her words tumbling over themselves in her haste to get them out. "Well, that is not correct, not completely at least. I am revulsed by him, revulsed by everything he stands for and revulsed by the part he played in all of this. My marriage to him is payment for his silence over my sister's predicament." Just then, Jane stopped herself. Eleonor's predicament was a secret, and she would never reveal it unless she had her sister's consent to do so.

A questioning look appeared on Alistair's face and he seemed poised to say something.

"I think about being married to him and it drowns me," she added quickly, to stop him. "It drowns me, Alistair." Jane was breathing hard, and she knew she was doing an awful job of communicating what it was that she really wanted, but she had to try. "I know that my destiny is to marry a despicable man, but…" Her voice trailed off. She had to say it the right way. It was unladylike, what would follow next, but she would say it anyway. She was no coward, and this was her life.

She looked deeply into his eyes and said, "Alistair, I want to know desire before I am trapped forever."

"Dae ye ken what ye are saying, lass?"

She said nothing and instead rose. She walked to him until they stood facing each other. And then she brought his head down and kissed it. It was inexperienced, experimental. She knew the motions but not the method, but that did not deter her. She moved her lips against him, regardless.

And then he took over. He took her lower lip between both of his. He nipped at it, teased it with the tip of his tongue. And then he slipped his tongue inside.

She moaned.

Her body molded itself against his. She drew him down to her, and her arms locked behind his neck. He moved against her, his passion hard and raging. In one deft movement, he drew the nightdress down, exposing her breasts to the chill night air.

That made her gasp. She pulled away in a moment of uncertainty. Her hands came up to cover her breasts, but they were not big enough to keep her ample bosom away from his view. He saw peeks of creamy white skin, and, between the fingers of her right hand, her rosy nipple peeked through. He closed the space between them, his gaze on steadily on her face. Without looking away, he gently pried her hands from her breasts. He placed them at her sides and then replaced them with his hands. They kneaded, remolded, plumped.

All while looking deeply into her eyes.

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, in shock or pleasure, or a little of both.

He pinched her nipples.

She gasped, the sound loud in the still room.

He applied more pressure, and when she could not take it any longer, when her knees turned to water, he backed her against the bed until she fell back on it. He followed her down and covered her mouth with kisses. Her hands sought his of their own volition. They sought to return them to their place on her breasts, but he had a better idea. He bent down and took one nipple in his mouth. She made a keening sound and twisted under him. He placed a soothing hand on her hip. And then he looked up at her face. Her lips were plump with his kisses. She was quite flushed. "Are ye alright?" he asked.

She shook her head and his eyebrow furrowed. "Are ye hurt?"

"No," she said. "You have not given the other one your attention."

It took a moment for him to realize her meaning, but when he did, he grinned and attacked her breast with a savage ferocity. She mewled and held his head in place with one hand. The other ran down his back in continuous motions. He pulled away from her and brought his shirt over his head. He flung it away and met her eyes.

Her hands were hesitant at first. They hovered over his chest, but then they started to touch, to explore, to feel. He was all muscle. With her index finger, she traced the scar that ran from his right shoulder to the left side of his belly. She touched his navel and brought her hand up so she could test the texture of his shoulders.

Raw muscle. Her hand explored upward: his neck, his chin, his cheek. She placed her finger on his lip and he opened his mouth so that it slipped inside. His eyes on hers, he sucked on her finger just as he had laved her nipples only seconds ago. It was deeply more erotic than everything he had done until this point. She couldn't quite explain it. A moan escaped her lips. He took her hand, still wet from his mouth, and placed it against her breast.

"Pinch," he ordered, and she obeyed. He rewarded her with a slow, sucking kiss. When he pulled away, she looked like someone drugged.

"Alistair," she moaned. "Oh, Alistair."

Alistair looked at her nightgown in contemplation. The top part of it was bunched underneath her breast, and its entire length stopped mid-thigh. He looked at her meaningfully, as if to ascertain her sureness.

She nodded.

He joined her on the bed and held her just like he had done in the cave. Only, this time, one hand went around her belly, holding her in place, while the other traveled up her leg. "Dae ye ken, lass," he rasped in her ear, "that I wanted tae dae this as we lay together in the cave the other day?"

Her reply was a ragged sight, for he had found her center. He kissed her ear, drew on the lobe, sucked at it, as his thumb flicked her bud.

She screamed.

"Quiet," he ordered, his voice a low rumble in her ear, "or you'll wake the entire castle up."

She bit her lip and nodded, and he continued his ministrations.

But how did he expect her to keep still, when he was tugging at her core, when he appeared as though he was calling out her soul? How could she keep still when she felt as though she was racing towards the end of the earth with no one to pull her back?

She made low, keening noises, noises that she could not keep in. His thumb's movements became faster, more urgent. It was pleasure so acute, it was almost pain.

It was too much.

She burst into tears.

His mouth captured hers, tasting her tears, her pleasure.

When she reached her peak, her legs clamped against his hand. She shuddered multiple times. His free hand ran over her belly in soothing motions. Her thighs parted and he retrieved his hand. She turned to him, limp as a rag, her body flushed.

He looked at her as though she were the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Alistair," she breathed, finally. "Alistair, I want you to… I want… What I mean to say is..."

He smiled at her. "Ye need nae saying anything." His hand rubbed her back. She blinked drowsily. "Go tae sleep now. I will be here when ye awake."