Niall's Bride: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 4) Page 9

  He gave her an understanding nod and a smile. It was a start, a start to getting her to open up to him again. She started to turn away, to keep walking, but he again reached out to stop her.

  “You don’t know how you change, do you?” he whispered. “How your eyes sparkle when you’re intrigued, how your face lights up when you’re happy? I didn’t see any of that when I first met you. But that’s how you looked the entire time we were in Inverness. I know I came here to protect you—but there’s more, Caitria. I like putting joy in your eyes. And I will put it there again. I may not be Artair, but I’ll do what I can to make you happy while I’m here.”

  Her eyes were a storm of conflict, yet when he pulled her close and claimed her mouth in a kiss, she responded.

  He held her close, hoping that he was demonstrating the truth of his words, his intentions, his longing for her—all through his kiss.

  Chapter 14

  “I do believe yer betrothed is courting ye,” Liusaidh said, giving Caitria a teasing smile over her embroidery.

  Caitria flushed, carefully poking her needle through the fabric of her own embroidery.

  A fortnight had passed since she and Niall had returned from Inverness, and he seemed determined to win back her trust—by courting her.

  Every night after supper in the great hall, he would take her on a walk around the castle grounds. During their walks, he would give her updates about the proof he was attempting to gather about Ferghas. Latharn hadn’t been able to find anything amiss from Ferghas’s daily habits, and Caitria’s maids pleaded ignorance whenever she tried to inquire about him. So their discussions about Ferghas were brief, and he would instead provide her with more details about the time he was from—and about himself. She’d tried reacting with cool disinterest, but that hadn’t lasted long. In spite of herself, she cared deeply about him and was still hungry for more knowledge about who he truly was.

  She learned that he’d never known his mother, who died when he was young, and he did indeed have a distant relationship with his late father—that had always been the truth. He didn’t have many close friends in his time, and mostly spent his time working. He told her with a wry grin that he had more leisure time in this time than he did in his own.

  And gradually, she found herself opening up as well. She told him more about the close-knit and warm relationship she’d had with her brother, how much she missed him. She confessed how much she hated the formal suppers her parents insisted that she attend, how confined she felt in the castle.

  “I feel I doonae have a choice,” she told him one evening, as they strolled throughout the courtyard. “I’m all they have.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to live your life for them,” he returned.

  “I ken things are different for lasses in yer time,” she said, shaking her head. “I doonae have the means tae part from them. Nor do I want tae.”

  He didn’t push the matter as he took in the rigidity of her expression. But he did begin taking her on rides beyond the castle grounds, a quiet defiance to her father’s discomfort with him taking her so far. Drostan finally insisted that they take Hendry with them whenever they left the castle grounds. Hendry, sensing that they wanted to be alone, would keep his distance as they rode their horses throughout the moors that surrounded MacGreghor Castle. A rush of delight raced through her whenever they rode, enjoying the feel of the wind whipping through her hair. She could always sense his eyes on her when they rode, and a blaze of heat would infuse her as he met her eyes with a smile.

  If he was trying to melt her armor, the guard she tried to keep up around him—it was working. The walls she’d attempted to erect around her soul had crumbled, and the combined need and desire for him infused her once more.

  Now, Caitria met her mother’s gaze and gave her a stiff nod.

  “Aye,” Caitria said simply.

  But she lowered her embroidery, biting her lip as she studied Liusaidh, wanting to shout what she was truly thinking. Artair Dalaigh is actually Niall O’Kean. He’s a time traveler from the future, here tae protect me from Ferghas, the clan noble everyone loves and trusts.

  “I can feel yer thoughts shouting at me,” Liusaidh said, raising her eyebrows. “What is it?”

  Caitria hesitated. She’d meant what she said to Niall; she didn’t want to see him imprisoned or hanged. She would keep his secret—even from her mother.

  “I ken what it is. Ye’ve developed feelings for Artair.”

  Caitria’s heart constricted as she met her mother’s eyes. Yes, she had, which was why his revelation had hurt so much. And given that he was from another time, he’d soon vanish from her life forever.

  “Aye,” Caitria whispered, blinking back her tears.

  “I could tell it was so,” Liusaidh said, beaming. “Everything has seemed so different between the two of ye since the betrothal feast. But why do ye look so morose? Ye’re soon tae marry the man ye care for.”

  Caitria forced a nod and a smile.

  “Aye,” she repeated, as shards of pain pierced her chest. “I ken.”

  When Niall came to fetch her later for a walk, he took in her tumultuous expression, and stilled.

  “We don’t have to walk today if—"

  “No,” she said. She wanted to spend time with him. She could no longer maintain the veil of coldness around him—nor did she want to. And the very sight of him, in his dark tunic and a green plaid kilt, his intense blue eyes probing hers, made a painful longing twist through her. “I want tae walk with ye.”

  He gave her one of those smiles that made desire jolt through her like a lightning bolt, and took her hand, leading her out of the castle.

  “It may be too soon to ask,” he said, after they walked for a brief stretch of companionable silence. “But have I earned yer trust? Yer forgiveness?”

  She stopped walking, turning to face him. She believed that he was from another time—and she believed that he had come here for her. He could have kept up the facade, but he’d chosen to be honest with her—knowing that he could have hung once she told her father.

  Niall waited for her response, his body stiff.

  “Aye,” she said, giving him a small smile. “Ye have.”

  Relief softened his features, and his body relaxed. He reached out to tuck her close to his side as they continued to walk, and she allowed herself to lean into him.

  “Is this truly the first time ye’ve traveled through time?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I saw the obsession my relatives had for it—it was all-consuming and unhealthy. And traveling too frequently can be dangerous. I think it prematurely killed my father—a healthy man like him shouldn’t have had a heart attack. Besides, I liked my own time, and I was determined to stay there.”

  Her chest tightened at his words, another painful reminder that his time here with her was temporary.

  “Until the dreams,” she said, looking up at him. “The dreams ye had about me.”

  “Yes,” he said earnestly. “They were so vivid; I knew you had to be real. And you are.”

  “Where do ye think they came from?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe the stiuireadh had something to do with it. I may never know.”

  A sudden thought occurred to her, and a fierce heat spiraled around her belly.

  “In these dreams,” she said tentatively, “are we ever . . . intimate?”

  He stopped, looking down at her. She stilled, her heart picking up its pace at the look of raw desire in his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, with deliberate slowness. “We are.”

  She swallowed and turned away, abruptly changing the subject; asking if he’d made any progress with gathering proof against Ferghas. His eyes were teasing as he responded, knowing exactly what she was doing, and when she went to sleep that night, it was with images of Niall’s naked body entwined with hers.

  The next morning, Niall took her riding out to the waterfall he’d taken her
to before. They traveled alone, as Hendry wasn’t able to come with them—he needed to train several new guards. Niall assured him they wouldn’t be gone long, nor would they travel far.

  When they entered the patch of forest that surrounded the waterfall, they were completely alone.

  Niall pulled her into his arms as she took in the rushing waters, and she closed her eyes, breathing him in. She wanted to hold on to moments like these for as long as she could.

  She turned to face him, and he reached down to touch the side of her face. When he leaned down to kiss her, she didn’t resist, clinging to him and returning his kiss with a passionate hunger.

  When he pulled back, her veins still hummed with desire. She met his eyes, breathless.

  “Niall,” she whispered. “Niall . . . I doonae want ye tae stop.”

  Niall stilled, his blue eyes filling with surprise, then with a fierce hunger.

  “Are ye certain?”

  “Aye. My whole life, I’ve always done what was expected of me . . . always done what I thought I should do instead of what I truly wanted. And . . . I want ye, Niall. It’s like I told ye before, I think I always ken that ye werenae Artair. ’Tis ye I care for, Niall. ’Tis ye I desire.”

  At her words, Niall let out a low growl. He seized her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly before trailing his lips down to her throat. He lifted her in his arms before lowering her to the cloak they’d spread out on the ground, his gaze hungry on hers as he disrobed her.

  For the first time in her life, a man’s eyes took in her naked flesh. But he more than just looked at her—he devoured every inch of her body with his eyes, and moisture crept between her thighs.

  “Christ, Caitria,” he groaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

  He again claimed her mouth with his, plundering it with his tongue before he disrobed, and a painful ache coiled within her as she traced the muscled hardness of his skin, her hand drifting lower to his cock. He let out a low moan as she stroked it, taking it in its length with awe. A small trickle of uncertainty filled her at the size of him, and she raised her eyes to his.

  “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered, reading her thoughts. “Trust me.”

  He leaned down, peppering kisses down the line of her throat, to the swell of her breasts. Jolts of fire seared her as he seized one aching nipple with his mouth, suckling it to hardness. She’d never felt such pleasure before, and her cry echoed out in the clearing as he released it, suckling the other nipple into the same aching hardness.

  He took his time with her breasts, laving them with his tongue, suckling her nipples, until she was quavering and shaking with need.

  Only then did he continue to pepper kisses down her abdomen, to the juncture of her thighs . . .

  “Niall,” she gasped, jerking with surprise as his mouth clamped onto her center. “What—what are ye doing?”

  “Tasting your sweetness,” he replied, and his tongue dipped inside of her. She cried out as his tongue swirled inside of her, and she became lost to the sensations claiming her as he feasted upon her, moaning and whispering of how delicious she tasted.

  Soon, the pleasure became too much, and she reached down, burying her hands in his wavy hair as her body began to quiver and shake with the force of her release. The clearing around her dimmed, and she placed her hand on her mouth to stifle a scream.

  When she came back to earth, Niall was kissing his way back up her abdomen. She’d overheard her maids whispering about what she’d just experienced—how rare it was for a lass to find her release, and when it seized you, how it made your body quake, how it made you forget your own name.

  “I just had a release,” she whispered, dazed, and he chuckled.

  “Yes,” Niall said, grinning down at her, gently kissing the side of her throat, her jaw. “In my time, it’s called an orgasm. And I intend to give you many more.”

  He met her eyes as he positioned himself above her.

  “Look at me, Caitria,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Even more lovely than in my dreams. And in those dreams, I’ve seen your face ripple with pleasure. Heard my name on your lips . . .”

  Holding her gaze, he entered her soaked center—slowly—his jaw tight with strain. The pain that pierced her was intense and sharp, and Caitria cried out.

  “Look at me, my beauty, my Caitria,” he whispered. “The pain will pass. And there will only be pleasure. You have my word.”

  Her eyes locked with his as he slowly began to move. And he was right, the pain eventually subsided, giving way to a deep, spiraling pleasure that twisted in her belly and threatened to claim her whole. His movements were slow at first, before turning into powerful thrusts, and soon his cries matched her own as they moved together, her legs instinctively wrapping around his. Caitria once again felt those quakes that seized her body, and he cried out, shuddering as he spilled his release inside of her.

  Afterward, they lay together, entwined and breathless, before he extricated himself from her, covering them both with his cloak and pulling her close.

  “That was even better than I expected,” she whispered.

  "Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I take it you’ve been thinking about it?”

  “Ever since the betrothal feast,” she confessed, reaching out to trace the line of his stubbled jaw.

  “I’ve been thinking about it since long before then. Since I’ve seen you in my dreams,” Niall whispered.

  “And how was it? In comparison?” she asked teasingly.

  “Far better, my beautiful Caitria,” he said, his words making her heart soar.

  She closed her eyes, resting her face against his broad chest, not wanting to think about the day when this would all end, and Niall would depart from her life forever to return to the time where he truly belonged.

  Chapter 15

  After they'd returned to the castle and Caitria headed toward her chamber, she couldn’t stop smiling. She wondered if anyone could see the difference in her. She certainly felt different—lighter, as if she was made of air. She closed her eyes, recalling the feel of Niall’s kisses peppering along the line of her throat, her naked body entwined with his. Her first time had been far better than she'd expected, and it only ignited the flare of desire she felt for him. She wanted more. Much more.

  “Ferghas, please—no!”

  The panicked voice of Ailsa, one of her chambermaids, jerked her from her blissful thoughts. Ailsa stumbled out of a chamber, her hair and clothes mussed, trailed by a furious-looking Ferghas.

  They both froze at the sight of her. Ailsa swallowed and gave Caitria a hasty bow before scurrying past her down the hall. Ferghas’s eyes held hers, cold and challenging, before they raked over her body. She pulled her cloak around her, bile filling her throat. Unlike Niall’s gaze, which left a trail of heat on her skin, Ferghas’s gaze was like shards of ice.

  He stepped forward with deliberate slowness before giving her an exaggerated bow.

  “My lady,” he said, standing so close to her she feared he would touch her, but instead, he walked past her after giving her a dark smile.

  Only then did Caitria let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She clutched the wall, taking several deep breaths. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened had she not stumbled upon them.

  She suddenly froze; an idea forming in her mind.

  “Ye requested me, my lady?”

  Ailsa entered her chamber, her gaze respectfully lowered. It was hours later, right before supper, and Caitria had sent for her.

  “Aye,” Caitria hedged. “Will ye help me prepare for supper?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Ailsa closed the door and approached Caitria, but Caitria stepped back before she could help her disrobe. Ailsa raised her startled brown eyes to hers and swallowed; Caitria noticed that she was trembling.

  “My—my lady?”

  Caitria didn’t respond, taking Ailsa�
�s hands with a reassuring smile and leading her to two chairs in the corner of the chamber.

  “Ailsa,” Caitria said gently, as her trembling increased. “’Tis all right. I only want tae help ye.”

  “Please doonae tell yer mother about Ferghas,” Ailsa whispered. “I—I ken servants arenae supposed tae dally with the nobles.”

  “I willnae,” Caitria promised. “Ailsa, I mean it. I’m not angry with ye. I ken that Ferghas isnae a good man.”

  Ailsa froze, looking at her with surprise.

  “But . . . the laird loves him like a son. Everyone loves him. He—”

  “Not me,” Caitria interrupted. “I want ye tae tell me what happened in that chamber.”

  “Please, my lady,” Ailsa said, shaking her head. “I cannae lose my post here, I cannae get through the winter withou—"

  “You willnae lose yer post here. Ye have my word.”

  Ailsa still looked uncertain; her eyes filled with anxiety.

  “Ailsa, listen tae me. I’m the daughter of Laird MacGreghor, and I will one day run this castle. I’ll protect ye. But ye must be honest with me.”

  Ailsa swallowed hard before she spoke. As Caitria listened, her entire body went cold, rage coursing through her.

  My God, she realized with a chill. Niall is right about Ferghas. And she knew in that instance that if Ferghas was capable of what Ailsa was telling her—he was capable of murder.

  When Ailsa finished speaking, she looked at Caitria with wide eyes, taking in her taut features with trepidation.

  “Are—are ye angry, my lady?” Ailsa whispered.

  “Aye,” Caitria returned. “But not at ye. Ye may leave.”

  “But—ye need tae get prepared for supper.”

  “I can get dressed myself,” Caitria said, forcing a kind smile, though anger still roiled through her. “Why don’t ye take the rest of the evening for yerself? Go tae yer home and rest.”