A Highlander's Gifted Love (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 9) Read online

  Chlodie froze.

  Uncertain what to do, she stepped round the door fractionally, sticking her head round the lintel.

  “Thanks,” she said softly.

  Merrick sniffed. “Don’t mention it.”

  As if some sort of understanding existed between them, the shorter gray-haired woman stood slowly, leaning on the chair back as she replaced it gratingly.

  “I’ll get them spinach leaves, Merrick. And check if we have some sage still.” She went slowly to the door, speaking as she went.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hume.”

  Merrick didn’t watch her friend depart. Instead, her attention was fixed on Chlodie.

  “You came far, to be here,” she said.

  Chlodie frowned. “Not really, Mrs. Merrick,” she began, swallowing hard. “I come from Invermore House. It’s in the forest…”

  “Not far in body. I mean far in spirit. It took much, to choose to come here.”

  Chlodie felt her spine go cold. She stared.

  “Um, I suppose…”

  “No suppose about it,” the woman chuckled, dryly. “Sit down, milady,” she added, waving a hand at the chair opposite her.

  Gulping, Chlodie drew back the rough-carved seat and sat down. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, though whether it was fear, or anticipation, or something of both that she felt, she wasn’t sure.

  “You came here hoping to find answers to a question that has been inside you a long while.”

  Chlodie nodded, feeling herself shiver.

  “Yes.”

  “The answers will surprise you, I think,” she said softly. “You know you see things, and yet you fear it. Why?”

  The demand made Chlodie frown, shocked suddenly.

  “Well, because…it’s unseemly, and…”

  “Unseemly!” The laugh was a dry chuckle. Merrick looked genuinely amused, shoulders shaking as she shook her head. “Well! That’s a term I never heard it called…”

  “Sorry,” Chlodie said, instantly flushing pinkly. “I mean…I didn’t mean any insult.”

  “It wasn’t any insult,” Merrick said. When she looked up, her eyes were stony.

  “It…” Chlodie began. The harsh voice cut her.

  “If it’s seemly to keep a young lass dancing to your will, or seemly to play merry havoc with the lives of others, because you can, I’d find it insulting to be called that. Would you?”

  Chlodie felt her eyes get wide. “Well, now you say that, I…”

  “Seemly.” Merrick made the word a filth. “Seemly folk start wars, ruin lives, break hearts. You want to be seemly, lass? Then you can curl your hair, follow their ways, turn your back. The road it leads down is cold as a grave. You want to keep walking?”

  Chlodie shivered. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know because it’s all you ken,” Merrick said, disparaging. “Ye ken the house and the ways and the man who calls you names. There’s so much ye ken, and one thing ye don’t.”

  “And what’s that?” Chlodie whispered.

  “Yourself.”

  The eyes that held hers drew her in, drowning her. Chlodie felt a lump in her throat, as big as if she’s swallowed pebbles. She swallowed hard, forcing it down.

  In the black waters of that gaze, she felt as if she was staring into a theater, a corridor of memories. She saw a little girl, her hair pale red, hunched over on a bed, drawing a picture she’d seen in her visions. The same little girl, running in the garden, and then stopping as she saw a vision of a messenger, bringing news. The silence in the house, before they moved from Invermore Manse to this smaller, abandoned manor in the woodlands.

  In each vision, it seemed as if the happy, inspired Chlodie withdrew a step or two, leaving a quiet, dutiful puppet in her place.

  “It’s not living, when you’re not who you were born to be. Is it, lass?”

  Quieted, Chlodie shook her head.

  “No,” she managed.

  “Aye,” Merrick said. To her surprise, she felt hands enfold her own. The fingers were surprisingly strong, powerfully warm.

  Chlodie sat and looked at the surface below them, trying to stop her sobs. She didn’t want to disgrace herself by crying in front of Mrs. Merrick, but, at the same time, the tears that had been inside her for almost twenty years were starting to surface, wanting release.

  “Well, lass?” Merrick sighed after a long moment had passed. “You’re better?” She nodded as Chlodie, swallowing hard, nodded back. “And see? I’m a seer. We’re not all wild, scary madmen.”

  Chlodie stared at her, astonished. Then she chuckled. “No,” she agreed, laughing.

  “You should ask the mistress about Francine. She’ll tell you,” Merrick added, cryptically. “Now, off you go. It’s not me ye need tae consult.”

  She jerked her head at the door and Chlodie nodded, strangely not insulted by the curt dismissal.

  “I’ll hear of your seership,” she called.

  Chlodie stiffened, hearing that, but continued quickly out.

  In the hallway, she went slowly up the stairs. It felt as if a dark weight had been taken from her and she was, only now, seeing the light. She felt as if she floated up toward the stairwell, spirits lifting.

  In the top hallway, she found her steps taking her to the parlor. When she went in, she sat down heavily in the silence. The fire burned in the grate, the flames dancing as they licked the logs, flickering and writhing.

  It’s not a shameful thing, practiced by filthy outcasts.

  She sighed, feeling as if the flames danced in her own chest, filling her with brightness. She didn’t have to believe that anymore! It was a revelation. The burden of shame she had carried seemed to dissolve inside her, slowly.

  Behind her, she heard a noise in the doorway. She tensed, and turned. Her eyes caught a flicker of red hair.

  “Oh!” Domnall whispered. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was…”

  “Shh,” she whispered. “No harm done.”

  She felt her eyes fill with the sight of him as he moved slowly into the firelight. Tall and heavily muscled, with his face carved and oddly delicate, he was so handsome that she thought her heart might actually stop.

  “Milady,” he whispered.

  He was staring at her, too, and Chlodie felt her cheeks flame and, for once, she had the dawning realization that, perhaps, he stared at her because she was beautiful.

  She swallowed hard.

  “I thought you had gone,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “I couldn’t go.”

  She felt her heart twist. He was looking at her with his whole heart in his eyes. In the borrowed kilt and a fresh tunic, he looked like the handsomest man she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, Domnall,” she whispered.

  He stepped in round the door and, before she could think about it, his hands descended onto her shoulders and he drew her to him, his lips covering hers.

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around him tight, her body pressing to his, each part of her yearning to be closer, to touch more, and to feel more.

  He was kissing her with a passion that was almost frightening. His lips moved over hers with a slow intensity, parting them gently, feeling her mouth.

  “Domnall,” she whispered as he moved, gasping, from her mouth.

  His hands moved into her hair and he pulled her close again, gasping. She pressed closer, feeling her hands trace down his back, stroking the thick muscle.

  As he pressed his body to hers again, she felt herself ignite under his touch. Something in her – something she didn’t understand – seemed to know what it wanted. It drove her to press herself against him, body suffused with longing, stomach tingling, lips questing.

  Breathless, they collapsed into one another’s arms.

  SHADOW AND LIGHT

  Chlodie held her breath as Domnall’s body pressed against hers on the settee. Her heart thumped against her rib cage and she knew that in this moment something very profound was going to happen.
She could feel her whole body flooded with a slow heat, her heartbeat racing, every nerve straining. She knew that, whatever was about to happen, as he pressed his body down against her, was something she had wanted, without awareness, for years.

  “Chlodie,” Domnall growled in her ear.

  She felt her body tense.

  “Domnall,” she whispered. “You know…we can’t…”

  He sat back on the settee, his face contemplative.

  “I know,” he said. “But, Chlodie. I have never felt…” he stopped himself, shook his head. Wordlessly, he sat back on the settee, pose defeated.

  Chlodie sat up too, arranging her skirt neatly and hastily. She looked across at him. Her whole body was throbbing with longing and she knew that he felt as she did. She touched his hair lightly.

  “We need to wait,” she whispered. “I am not married.”

  “No,” he said, and again there was that peculiar quirk to his mouth, a smile. “Though, if you wished, it, we could find a priest tomorrow.”

  “Domnall!”

  Her voice was shrill and she stared at him, her heart melting with a mix of terror, and excitement.

  He smiled again, slowly.

  “Well?” he whispered. “If we did, then we would have done no wrong. At least, not by a few hours, anyway,” he looked regretful. She stared.

  “Domnall, if we did…”

  “I swear it,” he said.

  His eyes held hers and she knew that he meant it. Every nuance of his body said that he was earnest. She felt his hands tighten on her shoulders, and looked into his gaze.

  “Domnall, I believe you,” she whispered.

  “Thank you.”

  Then there were no words. Only his mouth, soft and tender, pressed to hers, those arms, thick with strength, wrapping round her, drawing her soft body against his firmness.

  He pressed her gently backwards on the settee, and then raised a brow, jerking his head in the direction of the door. When he stood, breathlessly, she followed him.

  She couldn’t quite believe what she did as she followed him down the darkened hallway, up the stairs to the sleeping quarters. Everything should tell her that this was wild, and wrong, and madness. Yet all that she could think of was love. As well as the fact that, soon, he could be killed.

  I need to know this sweetness I feel. I need to feel it now, before I cannot.

  She followed him silently into the bedroom.

  Leaned against the door, he bent down and kissed her, his lips hard against hers. She felt her body yielding as he gently pushed her to him.

  Her mind was hazy now, thoughts coming slowly down a long tunnel as he pushed her back onto the bed. She sat beside him. His arms twined round hers, hands stroking down her back.

  Sighing, she opened her mouth and let his tongue explore her.

  He pushed her back down onto the mattress, hands stroking her gently as he leaned back and gazed down.

  Wordlessly, his face a mix of joy and wonderment, he reached down and gently unclasped the button of the brown dress. It was behind her neck, and she felt the back part and a little cool air move against her spine.

  He smiled and, a small hesitant frown creasing that contemplative brow, he gently reached behind her and undid the next button.

  She rolled sideways a little, letting him access the buttons, her whole body clenched with excitement as he undid first one, then the next, the gap widening down the back of her gown, heart thudding louder with every parting of fabric.

  When he reached her waist, she tensed. His hand smoothed over the linen skirts where they showed beneath her gown and she flushed with delicious amazement.

  I never thought to be touched this way.

  Chlodie, cheeks flaming, felt him tug the gown slowly from her body. He allowed its weight to carry it over her hips and drop it to the floor. Then he sat back, gazing on her.

  Chlodie, lying on the bed in petticoats, felt her cheeks flame. Oddly, she felt no shame. Only a rising wonder.

  He stroked her shoulder, his throat tight. She saw him gasp, and then felt how he moved his hand down her arm, stroking the skin and moving the strap of her petticoat down. She tensed, scarcely breathing as he started to remove her under things.

  As he reached down to draw her petticoat over her hips she felt her whole body redden. She wore nothing under her petticoats.

  He leaned back, looking down at her.

  She felt her cheeks flame as his eyes wandered over her form. His gaze lingered in a way that made her blush. She suppressed the need to cover herself, and found herself, instead, surprised by how much she enjoyed it. The admiration in his eyes was frank. She accepted it, too.

  * * *

  Domnall felt his body tense with a longing that he thought would crush him. He looked down at Chlodie, the soft curves of her form pale in the flames light of the dying fire. He reached down and, scarce able to believe it, let his hand trace down her shoulder again, as it had a moment ago when she was clothed. This time, he felt himself shudder.

  Her skin was like satin. He had to bite his lip to control the rising need inside him. He was aching for her now, but at the same time he didn’t want to scare her.

  Go slowly, Domnall, his thoughts advised. He had to – she didn’t know anything of this.

  He let his touch linger, moving, teasingly for himself, down towards her waist. He gasped, feeling the warm roundness of her body pass under his palm.

  Leaning forward, he took her gently in his arms.

  Feeling her body, naked and soft, pressed to him, was like a paradise. He kissed her, and he had to fight again the urge that ran through his veins like wildfire.

  Slowly, he forced himself to sit up. He worked his shirt systematically over his head, and then drew off the kilt.

  He saw her eyes light on his chest and move down and he felt himself flush.

  Then, tenderly, he sat down beside her. He stroked her again and watched the fearful expression change into something like trust.

  Then, gently, he let his hand move to part her thighs.

  She made a small sound and he tensed, and then realized it was not fear.

  He moved to kneel between her thighs.

  It was almost impossible to hold himself back, but he did, a while longer, enjoying it. He kissed her, and then felt himself push inside her.

  She gasped. Her body tensed, and then opened to him. He saw a flash of pain on her face, replaced instantly by pleasure. He relaxed, too. He hadn’t wished to hurt her.

  His whole length inside her, he moved back slowly, then pushed in again. She gasped, and this time there was no pain on her face, only wonderment.

  Feeling very much as she looked, he moved out and pushed in again, feeling his whole body melt against her, wonderingly. He had never felt such sweet welcoming.

  He moved in and out again, thrusting with slow, sweet urgency, unable to believe the pleasure it gave.

  She was making small gasps now, and the sound got inside him, igniting the longing that he felt, making his body tingle and start to tense.

  The feeling of sweetness, rising and growing, started to fill him from his belly, spreading up his chest toward his heart. He bit his lip, fighting it, wanting to feel it longer, draw it out, never stop, ever…

  She cried out and the sound broke through the wall of his restraint.

  Gasping, he collapsed on top of her.

  They lay like that, sweat cooling, arms wrapping each other, until he felt himself slowly stir awake.

  He was sleeping with his head against her shoulder, the cool round form of it pillowing his nose. He leaned back and sat up, stroking her skin. She sighed and stirred and reached for him. When her arms wrapped him, he thought his heart might melt for the sweetness.

  He lay down beside her and stroked her skin, amazed by the soft coolness, letting his hand stay at her thighs, questing between them.

  She gasped as he touched her there, and he resisted the urge to keep doing it, feeling with surprise tha
t she was ready again.

  He wrapped her in his arms then, drawing her towards him. When he slid inside her again, she gazed at him with wonder. He smiled and kissed her and they moved together until the sweetness broke over him again like a cascade.

  Collapsing beside her again, he lay there until the first light woke them.

  A NEW MORNING

  Domnall woke with a sweet wandering sensation in his stomach. He looked down at the head beside his on the pillow, flaming hair shining in the dawn’s pale light.

  “Chlodie?”

  She shifted and smiled, and he saw her slowly come to heart-stopping wakefulness, her eyes studying him.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  He drew her close, crushing her against him, his heart about to burst. He stroked her hair again and leaned back, kissing her tenderly.

  “Good morning, Chlodie.”

  She grinned. She stroked a hand down the side of his head, lingeringly, touching his hair.

  “Good morning, Domnall.”

  He smiled, realizing what a pleasure it was to whisper her name thus.

  “Chlodie. Chlodie. Chlodie.”

  She giggled. Repeated his name.

  He grinned, foolish, and she smiled back. They lay there, holding each other.

  After a heart-stopping moment, he leaned back, looking at her.

  “We need to dress.”

  She sat up quickly, face flushed. “You’re right,” she said. “What if somebody enters?”

  “I blocked the door,” he whispered.

  He saw her eyes move over the array of furniture – a chair and a night stand – he’d pushed before the door. He laughed.

  “I couldn’t risk it.”

  “No,” she nodded, leaning back against the back rest of the bed. “You’re right. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, milady,” he whispered, raw. “Thank you so much.”

  She blushed and giggled and he held her.

  Then, as soon as they had kissed, she stood. Unashamedly naked, she reached for her petticoat skirts.