Niall's Bride: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 4) Read online

Ailsa shakily got to her feet, but she still looked uncertain.

  “My lady—"

  “Yer secret is safe. I’ll not let harm come tae ye,” Caitria said firmly.

  Ailsa gave her a relieved nod, moving to the door. Before she left, she turned to face Caitria.

  “Be careful, my lady. Ferghas desires ye, and he's jealous of Artair. Sometimes—" she flushed, a look of shame flitting across her face. “Sometimes, he calls me by yer name while—while he’s—”

  “Ye doonae need tae say anymore,” Caitria whispered, giving her a sympathetic smile, though revulsion clawed its way down her throat.

  At supper, she tried to keep up a polite facade. Fortunately, Ferghas wasn't in the great hall—she didn't know if she could keep her composure around him. Despite her attempts at calm, Niall seemed to know something was wrong, his concerned gaze sweeping over her face as she ate.

  It was only when Niall escorted her from the hall that she allowed her polite mask to crumble. She gripped his hand, leading him out of the castle to the courtyard.

  “What is it, Caitria?” he asked, concerned. “Is it about earlier? Do you regret our lovemaking? I—"

  “What? No,” she whispered fervently, reaching up to touch the side of his handsome face. “Never.”

  Niall relaxed, though he still looked concerned.

  “Then—what is it?”

  “Ye were right about Ferghas,” she returned. “The jovial face he wears around the clan is a mask. He’s a monster.”

  A dark fury clouded his features.

  “What happened?” he growled. “Did he touch you? I’ll kill him.”

  “No,” she said quickly, a rush of warmth filling her at his protectiveness. But she made herself continue; this was important. "He forces the maids tae lie with him. If they refuse, he threatens tae tell my father they're stealing—many maids cannae survive without their post here, there's no other work for them. And when he does—take them—he's rough. Dangerously rough. He marks their skin; he makes them bleed. Ailsa said he takes pleasure in it," Caitria spat, fury coursing through her. "Ailsa told me she gave herself tae him tae keep him away from one of the younger maids—a lass of only fifteen."

  Niall's face contorted with rage; he clenched his fists at his sides.

  “Surely we can tell my father this," she said. "He’ll not tolerate such behavior from a clan noble. He'll imprison him—or exile him.”

  But a look of hesitation flitted across Niall’s face.

  “I agree that he must be stopped. But do you truly think Ailsa will talk? Or the other maids? You say she fears for her post here—she may also fear for her life. Ferghas is well-liked and ambitious. Do you think he’ll let the word of a servant get him imprisoned or exiled?”

  Caitria considered this. Her father would believe Ailsa, but to exile a noble from the clan required a consensus among the nobles. If even one disagreed or protested, Ferghas would remain. And he was charming enough to make it seem as if Ailsa was a liar or a jealous lover. If that happened, what would he do in retaliation against Ailsa? She shuddered at the thought.

  “We have tae at least keep him away from her—and the other maids,” Caitria said, expelling a frustrated sigh. “I’ll tell him tae stay away from—"

  “No,” Niall said sharply. “I meant what I said about staying away from him—especially now."

  “What will ye say?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The words came out as a growl.

  Caitria studied him, worry swirling through her chest. As much as she wanted him to spear Ferghas straight through with his sword, he would be punished if he attacked Ferghas without proof.

  “Niall, you cannae hurt him. My father will—"

  “I won’t,” Niall bit out. “As much as I want to . . . I won’t.”

  “My wedding tae Artair is only weeks away,” she whispered, her heart thudding erratically in her chest. “If we cannae use what he’s done tae the maids against him—what if we doonae have the proof we need by then? Ye’ll go back tae yer time, and my father will marry me off tae that monster."

  “No,” Niall said fiercely. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t go back until I know you’re safe . . . you have my word.”

  Chapter 16

  “Tis a fine day for a hunt, aye?” Drostan asked cheerfully, mounting his horse.

  “Aye,” Niall returned, trying not to glare at Ferghas as he mounted his own horse.

  He’d been planning for the perfect time to confront Ferghas; he’d preferred to corner him on his own. But when Drostan asked him to join him and some of the other nobles for a hunt, Niall knew he couldn’t refuse. He should have counted on Ferghas being a part of the hunt; the man was a sycophant constantly nipping at Drostan's heels.

  Niall eyed Ferghas as he gripped the reins of his horse, icy hatred filling his veins as Ferghas laughed and joked with the other nobles. What would his fellow clansmen do if they knew Ferghas enjoyed forcing the castle maids into his bed and causing them pain for his enjoyment? His hands tightened on his reins at the thought of Ferghas doing such things to his Caitria.

  “Wait for the hunt,” Drostan said with a chuckle, pulling Niall from his dark thoughts. He was studying Niall’s stormy expression with amusement. “We’ll need any ire ye have for the wild boars during the hunt.”

  Niall forced himself to laugh. Ferghas met his eyes, and it took everything in Niall’s power to not glower at him. Ferghas gave him a cool smile, and Niall fantasized about pummeling the smile off of his face.

  Drostan seemed cheerfully unaware of their tension, engaging in light banter with the other nobles as several stable boys readied their horses for the ride. As much as Niall had come to like and respect Drostan, the man did have his shortcomings: his stifling of his daughter—and his complete blindness to men like Ferghas.

  When they all finally rode away from the castle, Niall kept his focus on Ferghas, trying to figure out the best way to get him alone—even with the others around.

  It was only when they entered the nearby sprawling forest, arriving at a clearing where they tied up their horses, that he got his chance.

  Drostan and the other nobles ventured forward, on the trail of a boar that a tracker had spotted, leaving Niall and Ferghas lingering behind.

  He realized that Ferghas’s lingering was purposeful; he seemed to also want time alone with Niall. Unlike the first days of his arrival in this time, Niall felt no anxiety about this. He welcomed it; a dark pleasure filling him at the thought of smashing Ferghas’s face with his fists.

  When Ferghas turned toward him with a sneer, Niall was ready. He grabbed Ferghas by the throat, slamming him against a tree. Ferghas’s eyes widened with anger—and fear, Niall noted with pleasure—as he leaned in close.

  “I heard a nasty rumor about ye,” Niall snarled, allowing his rage to flow freely through him as he recalled the fear in Caitria’s lovely eyes. “I heard ye like tae frighten lasses in tae yer bed and torture them.”

  “It seems ye’ve been hearing lies,” Ferghas spat, anger infusing his dark eyes.

  “It seems not,” Niall returned. “I tell ye this—if ye go near any of the maids—or Caitria—again, ye’ll have me tae deal with.”

  “If ye harm me, Laird MacGreghor will—" Ferghas began.

  “I ken how ye value yer reputation,” Niall interrupted, making great effort to hold on to his accent through his fury. “I ken ye willnae want whispers about yer 'proclivities' tae circle around the castle. Ye go near any lass at the castle again, I’ll make sure such rumors reach the laird’s ears. And then ye’ll no longer be his favorite.”

  This threat seemed to reach him. Ferghas stiffened, his eyes scanning Niall’s face, as if determining the veracity of his threat.

  “Ye can threaten me as much as ye want—but I think ye're hiding something," Ferghas said finally, and Niall tried not to let his alarm show at his words. "And when I find out what it is, Caitria will be mine."

  Niall tightened hi
s grip on Ferghas.

  "Ye stay away from my betrothed. Ye doonae even say her name," he spat. "Or I will run ye through with my sword, I doonae care about the consequences."

  Pleasure filled him at the genuine fear that shone in Ferghas's eyes before he roughly released him, turning to stalk away.

  “Where were ye?” Drostan asked, as Niall and Ferghas joined him and the others. A member of their hunting party had slain a boar, who now lay still and dead before them. “We needed yer help with this boar. The stubborn beast wouldnae go down without a fight.”

  “I thought I spotted another boar in the other clearing,” Niall said, surprised at how easily the lie came. He met Ferghas’s gaze, daring him to contradict his words. “Ferghas and I went tae check.”

  “Aye?” Drostan asked, looking over at Ferghas. “Did ye catch the beast?”

  “We didnae get close enough tae catch it,” Ferghas ground out.

  Niall felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate. Ferghas’s acquiescence meant that he took his threat seriously. Good.

  Though he still didn’t have the proof he needed, a vain man like Ferghas wouldn’t risk his reputation. Hopefully the castle maids—and Caitria—were safe from him for now. Now he just had to figure out how to get the bastard punished for what he'd done—and the hell away from Caitria.

  And then you can leave. Go back to your time, he told himself, but he felt no joy at the thought . . . only a cold emptiness.

  Niall couldn't sleep that night, still worried about the threat Ferghas posed to Caitria and the other women in the castle by his very presence. The sooner he could expose him, the better. Latharn was dutifully following Ferghas when he could—he had to eventually discover something.

  Frustration surged through him; there had to be more that he could do. But given that he had to be careful not to reveal his true identity, his options were limited. He was the outsider, Ferghas the beloved insider. And he had to remind himself that he was in a different time; the word of a servant girl wouldn’t guarantee Ferghas's punishment and exile—if she even agreed to come forward. And he feared that the nobles wouldn’t see Ferghas's transgressions as cause to punish him, even if Drostan did. No, he needed something that could guarantee Ferghas’s exile.

  He stiffened as his chamber door creaked open, forcing him out of his thoughts.

  Caitria entered, looking sexy as sin in her underdress as she approached. He'd never considered such garments sensual before he saw Caitria in hers; it clung to every one of her curves like a second skin.

  His breath hitched in his throat as a sense of déjà vu seized him. He'd seen this moment in one of his dreams about her.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered, trying to ignore the overwhelming rush of desire that flowed through him. “If someone sees you . . .”

  “’Tis the middle of the night. No one’s awake,” she replied. “I . . . I was worried about ye. Ye seemed preoccupied at supper. And I wanted tae see ye.”

  There was no mistaking the hunger in her eyes as her gaze raked over him, and he licked his dry lips. Though he’d wanted her ever since he first saw her, and even more so after making love to her, he’d told himself that one time was all he’d ever allow himself. But seeing her before him now, beautiful and seductive, he found himself unable to control his limbs, and he stumbled out of bed, pulling her into his arms.

  "I'm not preoccupied now," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. She returned his kiss, her lips fervent against his, and he held her so tightly he could feel the steady drum of her heartbeat against his chest.

  Still kissing her, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, all rational thought leaving his mind. He groaned his pleasure as he disrobed her, exposing the beautiful curves of her naked body to his hungry gaze.

  “Caitria,” he whispered. “I want you again.”

  “I want ye as well,” she whispered. “I . . . I ache for ye, Niall.”

  His heart swelled, and he started to undress, but she reached out to stop him.

  “Let me,” she whispered shyly, reaching out to slide off his tunic. She sat up to place kisses along the plane of his abdomen, and he hissed in a sharp breath, trembling with desire.

  “Yer skin is so fine, so unmarked,” she whispered. “Are other men in yer time this unmarked?”

  A growl erupted from his throat at her mention of other men, and her eyes widened in innocent surprise. He’d never felt such possessiveness toward a woman before—especially for a woman who didn’t truly belong to him.

  “Don’t talk of other men,” he growled, and her look of surprise turned into one of playful mischief.

  “Why not?” she teased.

  “Because,” he said, hissing as her hand reached lower to delicately stroke his cock. “I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. You may not be mine—not truly—but—"

  “I am yers,” she returned, her gaze rising to meet his. “For now.”

  For now. An ache filled him at the words, followed by a wave of powerful longing. If only he’d met her in his time. If only she could be his in truth.

  He drew in a sharp, ragged breath as her hand continued to stroke his cock. She looked up at him with concern as a firestorm of heat careened through him at her touch, and she dropped her hand. “Did—did I hurt ye?”

  “No,” he ground out. “Only the opposite.”

  Her smile returned, and she again reached out to stroke him, her movements becoming more firm. She sat up, giving him a look that was positively sultry, before leaning down to take him into her mouth.

  “Jesus—" he gasped, as she bobbed up and down, and though he knew she was an innocent, another shard of jealousy pierced him over just how good at this she was, and he wondered darkly if she'd done this before. Her tongue licked delicately along his shaft, and she let out a moan of pleasure as she moved up and down on his cock. He trembled, on the verge of exploding, but removed himself from her mouth with a pained groan.

  “Was—was I doing something wrong?” she whispered. “I—I’ve heard the chambermaids say—”

  “You were doing all too well. Had you kept going, I would have exploded,” he confessed, reaching out to gently press her back down on to the bed. “And I want to feel you, Caitria. I want to feel your beautiful body against mine before I come inside you.”

  She whimpered with pleasure as he reached down to stroke her moist center. Keeping his gaze trained on hers, he sank into her with a groan. He slowly began to move within her, his thrusts increasing in force until he was pounding her lovely body into the bed, his desire reaching a crescendo as he came with a strangled cry, followed soon after by her own cry of release.

  Afterward, he pulled her close, though she tried to get up.

  “I need tae return tae my chamber,” she whispered.

  “Stay. For just a moment,” he whispered, a fierce need for her coiling inside him as he buried his face into her hair, which smelled of sweet rosewater.

  “I—I was thinking,” she whispered tentatively, after he'd held her for several long moments, “that perhaps . . . if we doonae have the proof we need against Ferghas in time for the wedding . . . that we should just wed.”

  He stiffened, looking at her in surprise.

  “What?”

  “If we’re wed, Ferghas cannae come near me,” she said. “Even he wouldnae dare cross the bonds of marriage.”

  Niall considered her words, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He allowed himself to imagine wedding Caitria, vowing to be at her side for all time, and a surprising sense of joy coursed through him at the thought, a joy he dashed away. He couldn’t wed her while he bore another man’s name—it would carry the pretense too far.

  “Caitria, we can’t,” he said gently.

  She swallowed and averted her eyes, getting to her feet and slipping back into her underdress.

  “Caitria, wait—”

  “I shouldnae have suggested such a thing,” she whispered, not looking
at him. “My apologies. If ye doonae find enough evidence against Ferghas . . . ye should just return tae yer time.”

  Chapter 17

  When Caitria awoke the next morning, a rush of embarrassment filled her as she recalled what she'd suggested to Niall last night.

  How could she have been foolish enough to suggest that they wed? Niall had his own life in the future, he was just here to help her. And there was still a good chance that the true Artair would appear.

  Still, a treacherous part of her fantasized about what it would be like to actually wed Niall, to clasp her hands with his and proclaim herself as his for today, tomorrow, and always.

  Her chambermaid Eithne entered, bringing her back to the present.

  “Laird Dalaigh is waiting for ye outside yer chamber tae take ye riding,” Eithne said with a smile.

  “Give the laird my apologies, I’m feeling tired and cannae ride today,” Caitria replied, avoiding Eithne’s eyes.

  She listened as Eithne informed Niall, and after a moment of hesitation, she heard his footfalls disappear down the corridor.

  She told herself that this was for the best. She needed to start distancing herself from him, to prepare herself for his eventual departure. Her face flamed hot at the memory of her wantonness last night, she'd behaved like a whore, taking him in her mouth, crying out his name as she'd writhed beneath him. That wasn't the way a proper woman behaved.

  Women are different in his time. He'd told her this during one of their riding trips—how it was common for women in his time to have taken a man—even more than one—to their bed before marriage, and how it would be odd for a woman to wed as a virgin.

  How many such women had Niall enjoyed in his bed? Jealousy surged through her, and Caitria clenched her fists at her sides to quell it. This was another reason she needed to keep her distance. She was probably just one of many lovers he'd had—and he'd have many more when he returned to his own time, as handsome as he was.

  She pushed aside the jealous thoughts when she went to see her father at midday. Drostan was in his study with the steward, poring over records books. She started to leave, giving him an apologetic smile for the interruption, but he straightened and waved her inside, telling the steward to leave them be.