Possessed by the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
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all the women seemed to be offering their companionship freely, he had no problems with whoever among his men wanted to accept that.
He drank deeply from the cup in his hand and shook his head. Mayhap that was exactly what he needed tonight? His journey all over Scotland this summer had been long, the negotiations tenuous at times and lengthier than he’d expected, and a night wrapped around a willing and welcoming lass would not be the worst thing he could do.
“Are you looking for someone, Duncan?” Iain asked as he motioned for a servant to fill his cup once more. “Try this mead, one of the villagers makes it and it is the smoothest brew I have ever tasted.”
One mouthful proved Iain’s words true, but Duncan took another to avoid answering the question. It worked for only a few seconds.
“Do you seek someone?”
This time Iain’s voice was pitched lower and seemed to coax a reply from him he did not want to give. But it was there, in his thoughts.
Mara was not there tonight.
He’d searched through the crowd, looking from face to face and she was not there. Something flashed through him—disappointment? Lust? Longing? It must have been written on his face for Iain leaned in closer and spoke.
“I would not have the man upon whose favor the success of our negotiations rests to be unhappy here…or to have any need go unmet, Duncan. Speak her name or say what you need and I will order it done.”
Some insane desire sparked within him at that moment. He wanted to call out her name, call her to him and demand what he wanted from her. The thought of bedding her, peeling off her garments to see what truly lay beneath them and making her blush with the same pleasure that riding his horse had given her was one thing. And the urge to say it and demand it grew so strong, he drank another mouthful of the tasty brew to keep the words from flowing out.
He heard Hamish cough then and knew it for their signal, but his head swam now with thoughts and desires of Mara and the warmth brought by the mead. And again Iain plagued him.
“Well, Peacemaker, what say you? Is there someone that you fancy? Someone I can call to your chambers to offer you a night of pleasure? There are many who would be willing.”
Duncan’s body responded to the words and the offer. His cock hardened as it had when he held Mara in his arms and he’d noticed her ample breasts almost in his hands. That part of him had no indecision in it—it was ready and able for her touch and her taking. All he had to do was speak her name.
“…speak her name,” Iain urged temptingly in a whisper.
He shook his head, grasping the now-empty cup as he fought the battle within. A servant reached over his shoulder and filled the cup. Heat poured through him, but he tossed the mead down and watched as the room swayed before him.
Mara was not here. Mara was the name he wanted to scream.
Mara…had begged him not to.
He knew he could drink all night and not be affected, but this felt different. The villagers seem to melt together as they moved to the music that swirled around him. Tavis waved to him, but Duncan found that his hand did not move fast enough and Tavis had already moved past him when he did raise it.
Waves of heat surrounded him and he knew he needed to get out into the cool night air. Duncan tried to make his legs move, but they would not. The only part of him moving was the hardness between his legs, for it pulsed and throbbed and reminded him of what he really wanted this night.
Mara.
Pushing the hair back from his face, he leaned away from Iain who seemed not to notice the heat at all. Though he moved slowly, Iain’s face twisted and smeared into something not quite a face at all. But his voice never stopped echoing through Duncan’s head.
“You have but to speak her name and it will be so.”
“Speak her name….”
“Her name…”
Duncan stood then, fighting the words, fighting the heat, fighting the urges that grew and filled him and threatened to explode. His stomach tumbled inside and he felt the need to empty it…and soon. Searching for the door that would lead him out of the hall and the keep, Duncan found, not Hamish, but Iain at his side.
“Come, friend. You look to need some air,” he said, while guiding his steps down from the dais, through the celebrating crowds, along the corridor and out through the door.
The cool night breezes gave him some ease, but did not clear his head as he’d hoped. And the growing desire to touch Mara did not lessen, either. He cared not where their path led, so he allowed Iain to guide his steps away from the keep and into the quiet of the village. In a moment or some while later, they stopped.
“She did not come tonight,” Iain said.
Duncan looked up and realized they stood before Mara’s cottage. No light shone in the window and no sounds could be heard.
“She knew you favored her, yet she did not come as commanded,” the laird said. “She was told you wished for her presence at the feast, but she spurned you.”
Something was not right here. Part of him, the logical, calm part he relied on, was being pushed back and held at bay by some wild madness within him. His chest hurt and his breathing labored, his muscles trembled and his desire raged stronger by the moment. And the object of that desire lay just behind the door of this cottage.
“Mara is her name, Duncan. Say her name.”
Duncan took a step toward the cottage and felt her name on his lips. He just wanted to see her, to hear his name on her lips, to understand the strange and powerful feelings surging through him about her. Looking around, he found himself alone, standing just yards now from her door. The moonlight poured through the trees, dappling the ground at his feet and even the patterns seemed to urge his feet forward. The wind moved through the leaves and once more the voice whispered.
“Just say her name….”
Unable to resist it any longer, her name poured out of him into the dark of the night.
Marian sat up at the sound. More like an animal bellowing in pain than a man speaking, she drew the blankets up around and over Ciara before climbing from the pallet and going to the door. Checking the bar, she knew the door was secure against most dangers, but what lurked outside this night? Grabbing her cloak from a hook, she wrapped it around her shoulders and peered into the darkness through the small, high window.
The light of the nearly full moon made much in the area around her cottage visible to her, but she did not need light to recognize his voice when he spoke. The MacLerie’s man.
“Mara!” he called again, leaning over with his hands on his knees.
Sweet Jesus! He would wake not only Ciara but the entire village if he continued bellowing like a wounded bear. Deciding to take a chance that she could quiet him better face-to-face, she slid the bar up and set it aside. Lifting the latch, she opened the door a bit so she could speak to him.
“Sir Duncan,” she whispered. “My daughter sleeps within.” Marian stepped out and tugged the door closed behind her. “As does the rest of the village. Can we not speak of what concerns you in the morn?”
He stood up then, rising to his full height that made him tower over her and he strode directly to her. More than anything, she wanted to scamper back in the cottage, close the door, drop the bar and gain any protection that the croft could offer, and she did try. But, he moved too quickly. He blocked the door with his foot, making it impossible for her to close it. His hand slid up the edge of the door, making any thought of keeping him out a hopeless one.
“Please, my daughter…” she began in a whisper. Glancing at the pallet and seeing no movement there, she stepped forward to block his view into her home.
“I need to see you, Mara,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “Come out, so I can