Читать книгу Highland Captive - Hannah Howell - Страница 10

“He said what?”

Aimil looked at her brother, thinking how much a warm, dry bed and food had restored him. He was as weak as a baby and the fever still lurked in his blood, but she no longer feared he would die. She did think, however, that he was close to bursting a blood vessel in reaction to the bargain Parlan had offered her. Leith seemed ready to start spouting all sorts of male nonsense about honor and duty to name. It was going to be very difficult to tell him her decision.

“If I come to his bed, he willnae steal Elfking from me. ’Tis his ransom for my horse.”

Leith noticed the way she could not meet his eyes, busying herself with disrobing to her shift and performing her ablutions. “Ye mean to meet his price.” She began to brush her hair. “Answer me, Aimil.”

“Aye, I mean to meet his price.”

“Ye would sell yourself to him for the sake of a horse?”

“I would sell myself for Elfking. He isnae just a horse to me. Please, try to understand.” She wondered if he would guess that it was not for Elfking alone that she had decided to accept Parlan’s deal.

He sighed, regretting his harsh words. “I do understand. I ken weel what Elfking means to ye but what of honor?”

“Honor.” She set down the brush and turned to look at her brother. “Honor says I should cling to my chastity, save it for my husband who will be Rory Fergueson, a man I dinnae even like. Elfking is but a horse yet he is worth ten of Rory. Where is the honor in losing the best while clinging to something for the worst?”

“If t’was for my sake, t’would be understood but not to save a horse.”

“Those who ken me weel ken that there is a difference between ye in my heart. To save ye, I would give up Elfking. To save something Rory Fergueson will tear from me in but a blinking and with nary a thought to me, I willnae do. I cannae. I dinnae want to.”

He closed his eyes for he knew there was no argument to sway her. Having made it clear he did not want murder on his hands, Parlan MacGuin had searched and found the only other weakness Aimil really had. When Leith opened his eyes, Aimil had donned her shirt and stood by his bed, looking at him anxiously, tears streaking her pale face.

“Will ye turn from me, Leith?”

Lifting the bedcovers slightly, he patted the space beside him. She hastily filled it, huddling next to him and resting her cheek upon his chest. When his arm, heavy with weakness, curled around her shoulders, she closed her eyes with relief. Although she had no intention of turning from her decision, she had feared what it would cost her in her relationship with her brother.

“Brat, I think ye could whore yourself bowlegged and I would still love ye.” He smiled weakly when she gave a watery giggle. “God, if only I wasnae so weak,” he cursed. “I have been a poor protector for ye.”

“Nay. Odds have been against us from the start. Ye cannae fight a whole clan. Even if you were in full health, ye wouldnae be able to help me, Leith. If ye tried to put a stop to things, they would simply lock ye out of the way.”

“Aye, I fear what ye say is true. Are ye afraid, sweeting? He is a man about whom many a dark tale is told.”

“’Tis odd but nay.” She told him of the incident concerning Alex. “Ye see? The fearsome Black Parlan doesnae hold with the abuse of women. I cannae say the same for Rory Fergueson.” She noticed that Leith could not either but was not really surprised. “What is the worst that can happen to me?”

“Why, ye will be dishonored and,” Leith paused, blinked and continued slowly, “possibly unweddable.”

“That isnae a verra great loss to my mind.” She decided to be honest. “I hope for that, pray for it. Aye, I act partly with that firmly in mind. Ye never can tell. I may even enjoy myself. ’Tis said he is a great lover.”

“’Tis hard to ken if they mean his skill or the size of his staff,” Leith muttered. “I heard some ladies, if ye can term them such, their morals being loose, speaking about the Black Parlan last time I was at court.” He frowned as he recalled that conversation.

“What did they say about him?” she pressed when he had been quiet long enough to try her curiosity.

“That he is verra weel built. The wenches put it a wee bit less delicately. Called him quite the stallion.”

“Oh.” Aimil frowned. “Do ye mean that he could hurt me? I mean hurt me simply by doing what is natural?”

“Nay, lass. If what ye said is true, that he doesnae hold with the abuse of women, then he will be careful with ye for he will ken that ye are untouched. A woman’s body can shape itself to fit most any man. ’Tis not the size of the horse that matters but the ride it gives.”

“I think, nay, I truly feel that it willnae be so bad. In truth”—she took a deep breath to brace herself for her confession—“my body has already taken notice of his good looks and fine form. To be plain, I desire him greatly. Would it be so verra bad if I took the pleasure with him that I ken weel Rory Fergueson willnae give me? Is it wrong to do something to please myself before I must sacrifice so much to please others?”

“Nay,” he replied. “Ye deserve some pleasure and I fear ye have the right of it when ye say Rory will give ye none. I only wish it could be done without shaming ye. The rules are set firm, and the Black Parlan kens weel that he forces ye to shame yourself by making this bargain. For that, I will kill the man when I get the chance.”

Aimil shivered. She hated the coldness in her brother’s voice. Nevertheless, she offered no argument. Parlan MacGuin would have dishonored her whether she had been given a choice or not. She did not see it as dishonor but others would. Because of that, Leith would feel he was honorbound to make the man pay dearly. That she chose to go to Parlan made no difference.

Malcolm entered at that instant after a soft rap upon the door. “The laird wants his answer now, lass.”

She sat up slowly. “Does he now? Weel, mayhaps he can wait a bit more. Could give the big ox some much needed humility.”

“It isnae wise to make the laird wait,” Malcolm said as he barely restrained a grin, “nor to try his patience.”

“He sore tries mine,” she grumbled, rising to don her hose. “I dinnae ken what he needs me for. Surely a lusty wench with more flesh upon her bones would serve him better. I think the fool’s great size doesnae extend to his brain.” The last thing she wished to reveal was how Parlan’s desire for her thrilled her even as it puzzled her.

Looking at Leith, Malcolm received only a crooked grin. The girl plainly did not see how appealing she was to a man. Malcolm wondered if her total lack of vanity was part of her draw for Parlan. The laird had certainly known his fair share of vain women.

Answering Leith’s signal, Malcolm edged closer to the bed while Aimil continued to ready herself.

“Can ye nae talk the man out of this? She is a maid of good birth and doesnae deserve the shame he will bring her.” While Leith sympathized with Aimil’s reasons, he could not resist trying to stop her, even if obtusely.

“I tried but ’tisnae any use. The laird has the heat on him. Aye, I have ne’er seen it so strong. He will have her before she leaves here. This bargain is only to make the having come sooner for he feels she wouldnae be verra easy to seduce though ’tis a skill he has refined weel.”

“Nay, she would laugh at sweet words and warm looks. She sees them as foolishness and falseness.”

“So they ofttimes are. He willnae hurt her. Even though he sometimes doesnae like the woman, he treats her gently. He doesnae hold with treating the lasses rough. Ye ken as weel as I do that many another man would have tossed her down and had at her before now, hostage for ransom or not. ’Tis seen as a right, a right won by capture.”

“Aye, ’tis true, but I will still kill Parlan for the shame he deals her.”

“Ye can try. Aye, he kens ye will when ye get all your strength back. It matters not. As I said, he has the heat upon him.”

Deciding she had dawdled enough, Aimil moved to take her leave of her brother. Malcolm went to wait by the door, allowing the siblings a moment of privacy. She bent to kiss Leith on the cheek, glad to feel that, although still a touch warm, he had already lost most of the searing heat of fever.

“Dinnae fash yourself,” she murmured. “If it is too big, I will lop a bit off.” She smiled with relief when he chuckled softly.

“I willnae worry. My mind is set upon making him pay for this. ’Tis all I can do for now. I am not one to fret over that which cannae be changed.” He patted her hand. “Have no hesitation about coming to me to talk if ye feel the need to. Ye ken that there is little ye cannae talk of with me.”

Leith watched her go with Malcolm and sighed. He had meant what he had said. To lie there seething would be an exercise in futility, and he was not a man to indulge in that. He would save his anger for when he was well and free. Then he would put his anger into action. Although he was sure he would be awake all night wondering how Aimil fared in the hands of their captor, if she would find the pleasure she sought or only abuse and shame, his body ruled, forcing him into the healing folds of a deep sleep.

It was not easy for Aimil to quell her nervousness when Malcolm left her alone with Parlan. She may have chosen to come to him, but what she now faced was new, unknown, therefore frightening. As she sought to restore her calm, she studied his quarters. Heavy drapes kept out the chill, and a large fire aided while also controlling the damp that too often plagued a keep. The furnishings were simple but strongly hewn. Rich carpets kept the cold from one’s feet. The focal point of the room was the massive oak bed, high and enclosed with rich velvet hangings, drawn back at the moment. It was somewhat barbaric in appearance.

Quickly she turned her gaze to the man who leaned against a bed post with an indolence she knew was false. He wore a heavy robe and, she suspected, little else. The lingering wetness of his long hair told her he had recently bathed. She did not know whether to be flattered by his efforts on her behalf or piqued that he was so confident that she would come to him.

“I had begun to wonder if ye had decided to gift me with your horse.”

“When pigs crow the coming day.”

He grinned. “Have ye made a close study of all that is impossible?”

Shrugging, she eyed him intently. “I dinnae suppose ye may have changed your mind.”

“Nay. I was determined to have ye as soon as I kenned ye werenae a child too young for the having.”

Inwardly, she sighed with relief. “Leith will kill ye for this.”

“I would think less of him if he didnae try. ’Tis the reason I will try not to kill him when he makes the attempt.”

Even though she suspected his confidence in his ability was well-founded, his arrogance annoyed her. “He could weel kill ye.”

“That is a chance. A slim one though.”

“I think ye have far too high an opinion of yourself.”

Her last word ended on a squeak as he scooped her up in his arms and gently deposited her on the bed. It astounded her that such a large man could move with such silent speed. When he partially covered her body with his own, she shivered slightly. His large, strong body made her feel very small and very fragile, yet she was not really afraid. Instead, she felt the desire she craved to taste eke into her veins.

“Dinnae be afeard of me, sweeting. I mean only to pleasure ye,” he whispered, brushing soft kisses over her cheeks.

“Pleasure yourself, ye mean,” she grumbled, but felt an odd tingling where his lips touched her skin.

“Aye, but ye as weel, Aimil. Just relax and give yourself over to me.”

“I will give ye naught.” She hoped he believed her protests for she had no wish to let him know she was there for reasons other than his bargain.

“Oh, ye will, Aimil Mengue.” He trailed kisses down her nose to her mouth. “Aye, ye will.”

When his lips brushed and nibbled at hers, she almost sighed. It was very nice, conjuring up a pleasant warmth within her. Soon her mouth itched for something more, and she felt her hands creeping to his broad shoulders. When his tongue probed for entry, her eyes flew open in surprise for she was unsure of what he was doing.

“Part your lips for me, sweeting. I crave the honey of your mouth.”

“There is none there. My teeth are rotted and oozing.”

Parlan laughed softly. “Such a liar ye are, Aimil Mengue. Part your lips.”

Another shiver tore through her when his tongue eased between her lips to caress the inside of her mouth. Each kiss grew hungrier. He paused briefly between each, letting her catch her breath while teasing her slim throat with gentle kisses. She burrowed her hands into his thick hair even as her body arched, seeking his. The slow warmth that had begun in her started to grow. Tender noises of pleasure escaped her as she succumbed to the heady persuasion of his kisses. The sudden removal of her shift broke through the fog he had created in her mind.

“Nay,” she protested in a soft, husky voice, trying to cover her breasts with her oddly limp arms, embarrassment dimming her growing passion.

“Aye,” he growled as he gently tugged her arms away to gaze at her breasts with ill-concealed hunger. “So lovely.”

Her body bucked slightly when his tongue flickered over each taut nipple. Pure white heat shot straight to her loins. As his hands cupped and fondled the soft flesh, his kisses touching their every curve, she returned her hands to his hair. She pressed his head closer when his mouth closed over one hard, aching tip to draw upon it slowly. A litany of pleasure’s sounds escaped her throat, but she was too caught up in delight to restrain them. She ran her hands over the warm skin of his back. The way he groaned and trembled slightly only heightened her pleasure. She was glad when he tore off his robe for now she could touch even more of him.

As he heatedly spread kisses over her satiny midriff, Parlan reveled in her response. She was fire beneath his hands, far more than he had dared hope for. When he began to remove her hose, his hands touched the warm silken skin of her thighs and before he bent to kiss her there, he found that he had barely skimmed the surface of her passion.

Aimil nearly flew off the bed when he touched her bare legs. Parlan took quick advantage of her sensitivity there, his hands and lips moving over her greedily, leaving no spot upon her long, slim legs untouched. The pleasure grew so intense Aimil thought he would kill her with it. His large calloused hands both caressed her legs and held them steady so that he could kiss her, lick her, and nibble her. When he finally made his slow way up her body, his hand slipping between her thighs, Aimil was too frenzied to do more than twitch when he touched her so intimately.

Feeling that faint sign of rejection, Parlan lifted his head from her breasts only to hear her make a sound much like a purr and to see her open for his touch. “God, so lovely. Ye are melting for me.” He moved his mouth greedily over her breasts as he stroked her and probed her secrets. “Aye, lass,” he groaned against her throat, “let your sweetness flow. I mean to taste it soon. Nae this night but soon.”

“Please, please,” she moaned, having no idea for what she begged but only certain that he could give her what her body now craved.

“I must hurt ye the first time but t’will pass,” he rasped as he readied himself to possess her.

She did not really hear him but moved her hips against his in a way that made him shudder. He took her with one hard thrust in the hope that quicker was better. Feeling the shield of her innocence rend before his charge, he savored the proof that he was the first, even as he flinched in sympathy with the pain he had caused her.

Aimil shuddered beneath the onslaught, but the sharp pain was gone as quickly as it had come. All she could think of was that there was more. She moved her hands to his taut buttocks as her legs clasped him tightly, urging him to move with both actions.

“Oh,” she sighed, her whole body shuddering with delight as he moved with slow, measured strokes. “So fine. ’Tis so nice.”

“Nice? Sweet Mary, ’tis heaven. Move with me, sweeting. Aye,” he gasped when she parried his next thrust. “That is the way of it.” He encircled her hips with his arm to press her closer as he brushed fevered kisses over her face. “Aye, take it all. Take me in deep, lassie. God, ’tis sweet.”

After kissing her hungrily, he watched her as his motions grew fiercer. He was barely able to appreciate the way her body convulsed with her release when his own seized him. A hoarse cry of exultation escaped him as he drove deeply within her to spill his seed, a gift of passion that her body accepted with trembling greed. She continued to shake and to squirm slightly with lingering pleasure after he collapsed upon her. Parlan found her subtle movements arousing, despite how sated he felt.

Aimil felt as if she drifted down from the clouds slowly and was amazed that she was still alive. That something extraordinary had happened was evident by her furious heartbeat and her gasping breaths. Her whole body tingled, yet she felt heavy and langorous. It had been all she had hoped for and more. She realized once was not enough. Since her maidenhead was now lost, she decided it would matter little if he did it again. She found herself hoping that he would.

Easing himself away from her slightly, Parlan grinned at her. “There now, didnae I say I would give ye pleasure?”

It struck her that he looked very much like a small boy who had found the bean in the twelfth-night cake. She felt sure that his experience with women allowed him to know exactly what he had stirred in her. Aimil sincerely doubted she was the only one to gain such pleasure in his arms. There was no way she was going to pronounce him bean-king and add to his already lofty opinion of himself, not when he was supposed to think her there solely because of their bargain. She gazed at her fingernails with an air of boredom.

“I have never suffered such a lack of entertainment in all my short life,” she drawled.

Parlan roared with laughter, not in the least insulted for he knew of the pleasure he had given her. He held her close as he laughed, and she soon joined in for it was a contagious sound. Aimil also knew that she had not fooled him.

As their laughter died away, she was seized by a feeling of deep exhaustion. A great deal had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, indeed, in the last week. Her body had clearly decided that, if she did not have enough sense to rest, it would take the decision out of her hands.

Parlan sensed the sudden laxness in her and raised himself up on his elbows to look at her with a crooked grin, knowing she needed to rest but wanting her again. “Are ye betrothed, Aimil?” he asked, feeling a strong need to know if some man had a claim to her.

She tried to open her eyes to look at him but gave up. “Since the cradle. I am to be wed at summer’s end.”

“To whom?”

“To Rory Fergueson. I am going to sleep now.”

The quickness with which she fell asleep momentarily surprised Parlan out of his reaction to the name of her betrothed. He nudged her but got no reaction. She lay sprawled on her back much as if she had been felled by a blow. Shaking his head and grinning, he lay back down to think about her betrothal for a moment, the feelings his surprise had briefly quelled rushing to the fore.

If there was one man in the world he could truly say he hated, it was Rory Fergueson. The man had no redeeming qualities at all. He had no proof but he was sure that Rory was responsible for the brutal way Parlan’s cousin Morna, had died. Rory Fergueson was vicious, sly, a liar, and a cheat. Each time the MacGuins had raided the Ferguesons, Parlan had hoped to find Rory within his sword’s reach, but the man had always eluded him. Fondling the lush hair tangled around Aimil’s face, Parlan knew he could not let her fall into that man’s hands. Getting up, he donned his robe and strode off to Leith Mengue’s chambers.

Leith glared at the man who had awakened him and had just come from taking Aimil’s virtue. “What do ye want?”

“Is Aimil betrothed to Rory Fergueson?”

“Aye, since the cradle,” Leith answered, curious over the agitation he sensed in the larger man, “though I had forgotten the matter until the day we were captured. The wedding plans were being set and that caused me to recall the arrangement.”

“Doesnae Lachlan ken the sort of man Rory Fergueson is?”

“I cannae think he hasnae heard the rumors. ’Tis an old arrangement that cannae be broken because of rumor. Of course,” he added coldly, “Rory might weel break the betrothal now that ye have stolen Aimil’s honor. Few men want to wed another’s leavings.”

“Stolen her honor I may have, laddie, but I havenae hurt her in the doing of it. Rory Fergueson will kill her.”

The charge was made with such conviction that all of Leith’s thoughts of Parlan’s crimes fled. “Do ye have proof to back your charge?”

“Nay, curse it. Five years back he and my cousin Morna, were lovers. She thought he would wed her, told me of her hopes, for she had been a virgin when he had taken her. Then her hopes changed. She became afeard of the man though she wouldnae tell me why. When she told me she was ending the affair, I was pleased for I had never liked it, but she wasnae a verra comely lass and I felt she ought to have her moment.”

“What happened?” Leith prodded when Parlan fell into a brooding silence.

“The next morn she was found dead. If it wasnae for the ring and dress she wore, we wouldnae have kenned who she was she was beaten so badly. She had been used so harshly the women who treated her said she was torn up inside. I have no proof but each thing I have learned of the man since then tells me t’was him, and I have studied him verra closely. The man has left a long, bloodied trail of women who are too afraid to speak against him or who are dead, leaving no proof ’tis Rory doing the killing. The beast covers his tracks weel. I must have proof and then I can cut him down wherever and whenever I find him.”

Leith did not question Parlan’s conviction of Rory’s guilt. “All I can do is speak to my father. He is the law.”

“It isnae enough.”

“What ye have done this night just might be.” Leith did not really want to think that Parlan might have done Aimil a favor.

“Nay. T’will depend upon how badly Rory wants her or what is to be gained through the marriage.”

“I cannae give ye an answer to either of those.”

Parlan swore and ran his hand through his hair, unable to conceal his agitation. “I cannae allow this marriage.”

“Ye cannae allow it?” Leith glared at the man. “Ye are a MacGuin nae a Mengue. ’Tisnae your place to allow or to disallow.”

“Aye, but ’tis I who hold her now.”

“She is to be ransomed. T’was said ye would send word to my father on the morrow.”

“Ransoming can be a difficult business,” Parlan drawled, quickly putting together a plan. “A lot of haggling may need doing. Could take a verra long time.”

“Rory may wait.” Leith found himself uncomfortably allied with Parlan to stop Aimil’s marriage to Rory.

“Aye, and he might weel expose himself as the depraved bastard he is. Surely your father would stop the marriage then?”

“I cannae say,” Leith reluctantly admitted. “Since she first showed signs of womanhood, he has been blind to her existence. I was meaning to speak to him on the marriage, but your brother captured Aimil and me. Rory’s uncle, James, and my father were like brothers. They both wanted the families joined in marriage. James died twa years back naming Rory as his heir. That could make my father all the firmer in his decision.”

“God, a promise to a dear friend now dead. They are the hardest to change. Does Aimil favor Rory?” Parlan asked.

“Nay, she says she doesnae even like him. T’was why I meant to speak to my father. The way things stand between Aimil and my father, however, it could make him push all the harder for the marriage.” Leith spoke with weariness weighting his voice for he did not have the strength to wrestle with such problems.

“Why? What did the girl do to turn Lachlan against her?”

“She grew up. Aye, ye may weel look puzzled but there isnae any other explanation. She was his favorite. He took the pair of us everywhere. Then, one night she wore a new gown that revealed her budding woman’s figure and he has turned a cold side to her ever since. None of us kens why, and my father offers no answers.”

“There must be a way,” Parlan growled as he started toward the door.

“Weel, I will be verra glad to hear of it if ye find it.”

“If there isnae another way, I will wed the cursed wench myself,” he snapped, and left abruptly, leaving Leith staring after him in stunned surprise.