14

Niall had just left her chamber when Moira heard a quiet knock at the door. “Come in, Heather!” She called.

Moira’s maid servant was a young woman called Heather MacFarlane with the characteristic red hair of many Highland girls. She was only eighteen years old and had not been in service too long; she had been given her position because Glennie, on a visit to the village of Baltyre, had seen her begging in the street.

Upon inquiring, she found out that her parents had died, and she was looking after her three brothers and sisters, so she had hired the young woman on the spot out of pity.

Heather was a dutiful maid who did her job conscientiously and efficiently. Moira was reluctant to ask her about her family life, but they did share tidbits about life in the castle. They got along well together, and often laughed at the same things, although there was still an invisible barrier between them. Moira might not have been a lady, but she was still a few steps higher up on the social ladder than her maid.

She entered carrying some fresh wildflowers. Moira smiled in appreciation. “Thank you, Heather,” she said happily. “These are lovely! I love daffodils.”

“I thought ye might like them, Mistress,” Heather smiled, and her hazel eyes sparkled. She poured water into a vase, arranged the flowers, then turned back to Moira again. “Would ye like a bath?” she asked.

“I would love one,” Moira replied.

She had to wash Niall’s scent from her body in case Heather noticed it. It would cause even more gossip and speculation if the servants knew she had a lover, and if they knew it was the Laird, all hell would break loose.

She went to the window and looked at the land around the castle, thinking how sad she would be to leave it, because of Glennie and Niall, of course, but also because it had become home. Moira had never had a proper home before, somewhere where she could relax, think, read to her heart’s content, go out riding and enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Hers had always been a prison, sometimes even a torture chamber.

It was only now that she was realising how much had been denied her all these years. She was even envious of the servants, some of whose children lived with them in the castle. Moira wondered what her children with Niall would look like, then tossed the thought out of her mind angrily. Now was no time to be fantasising; she had to organise her few possessions to leave as soon as she could.

The bath arrived a few moments later, and Moira lay back in the scented water trying not to think about Niall, which was almost impossible now that they had been as close as a woman and man could possibly be.

Suddenly, she realised how hungry she was, and asked Heather to go and get breakfast for her.

“I can hear your tummy rumblin’, Mistress,” Heather said, laughing as she opened the door.

She took a few steps along the corridor towards the kitchen, and a man stepped out in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

It was Gerald McNicholl, and he smiled at her in a friendly fashion before his eyes narrowed, and he asked, “Do you have any news for me?”

“Aye,” Heather answered. “But we have tae talk somewhere else. I cannae be seen wi’ ye.”

McNicholl nodded, and they walked a few steps along the passageway until they reached a small storeroom. He entered and Heather followed him. It was very dark, and she was afraid of this strange old man, but he was paying her for information. Despite what she earned as a maid, she needed more money. The three siblings were fictitious; the truth was that she had an illegitimate child and a drunken father with gambling debts.

Gerald had seen the young woman begging too, and hearing that Glennie had given her employment, saw an opportunity to find out intelligence about Moira after he heard that she was to become her lady’s maid.

“He has taken Moira Jamieson as his mistress,” Heather told him. “I saw him sneakin’ out o’ her chamber this mornin’, an’ when I went in tae see her, there was somethin’ different about her.”

Gerald punched one of his hands into the palm of the other in a gesture of extreme anger. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“There is naethin’ wrong wi’ my eyesight,” Heather snapped. “An’ he looked very pleased wi’ himself.”

Gerald growled and let out a few choice expletives before he asked, “Do you have any other news for me?”

Heather looked doubtful for a moment. “Aye, but I dinnae know the truth o’ it,” she answered.

“Tell me,” Gerald ordered irritably. “I will make up my own mind about the truth.”

Heather sighed. “Well, there is a lot o’ talk in the village,” she said, “about a woman who poisoned her husband then ran away. It is told that her beauty is exceptional; blue eyes, fair skin, and hair. Her husband’s brother, Brody McDonnell, is lookin’ for her. He is a very fierce man, so I am told.”

Gerald’s mind was piecing together all the pieces of the puzzle. Moira Jamieson could very well be Moira McDonnell; he was sure of it. He patted Heather on the back and dropped a half-crown into her hand. It was more money than she could earn in a month.

Her eyes widened. “Thank ye,” she said gratefully.

“Keep up the good work or there will be no more,” he threatened. “Now, if you know anyone who can find Brody McDonnell, I would like to arrange to meet him. Do you think you can find him?”

“It will be easy enough tae find him. He is on a hunt, paying whowever has some intel,” Heather told him. Then, seeing a chance to extort a little more coin, she asked, “But if ye want a meetin’ it will cost ye a crown because that is a lot more work.”

“A crown?” Gerald’s voice was high with indignation, but Heather merely shrugged.

“Unless ye would rather get somebody else tae find him,” she suggested, raising her eyebrows. “Like Laird Niall…”

This was blackmail, Gerald realised. Heather’s source of income would be cut off, but he would lose all hope of keeping his mission secret.

He huffed. “You win,” he grumbled. “As quick as you can, mind.” Then he walked out in the other direction, and went out to go and find himself a whisky. He sorely needed one.

It was imperative for Niall to marry his niece so that he could gain more power and influence, and if Moira was who he thought she was, he knew just how to get what he needed.

When Moira left her chamber, she immediately went to find Glennie. She was unsure of whether to tell her about what had happened between her and Niall, but somehow she thought that Glennie’s sharp intuition would pick it up. Moira smiled at the thought that after such a short acquaintance, Glennie could read her like a book!

Moira made a thorough search of Glennie’s usual haunts, and was just about to give up when a thought occurred to her. She might be in the stables.

She made her way there, studying every detail of the castle as she passed to commit as much of it to memory as she could to store it up for the long lonely days ahead. Memories would be all she would have to console her.

When she entered the building, she saw Glennie at once. She was standing with her arms looped around Ritchie’s neck while he placed a tender kiss on her neck. They were talking to each other in whispers, and she could not hear what they were saying, but their love was like an aura around them.

As she watched them, Moira desperately wished she could share this kind of experience with Niall. She sighed, then turned and walked away from the loving couple, feeling guilty at having spied on them in their private moment.

She had walked only a few steps when she encountered Niall, who was about to enter the stables to fetch his horse. There, he would no doubt find Glennie and Ritchie, and a battle royal would ensue.

Niall smiled widely at Moira and asked, “Would you like to come hunting with me?”

Moira thought frantically about what to do next, trying to keep calm while her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. She dangled another suggestion in front of him, hoping he would not refuse it.

“I don’t like hunting,” she said at last, then gave him a wicked smile. “But I can think of much better things to do.” She would seduce him as a means of escape, but at least she would thoroughly enjoy the deception.

Niall raised his eyebrows as he caught her meaning, and laughed. “Do you have no self-control when you’re with me, woman?” he asked. “You are shameless!”

“Guilty as charged!” Moira admitted, giggling, then she grabbed his hand and led him down a maze of dark corridors to a part of the castle that was rarely used.

There was an odour of staleness and dust in the air, but neither of them cared about anything as long as they were alone and together. There was a small chance of them being found, of course, but it only added to the thrill in a strange, dark way.

“I cannot stop telling you how beautiful you are, Moira,” he said huskily. “You have bewitched me, and I am completely under your spell.”

Moira reached up to trace the shape of his lips with her forefinger. “And you have a wonderful imagination,” she said softly. “There are no such things as witches.”

“Oh, yes, there are,” he replied. “Because I am spellbound.” His voice, deep and husky, sent waves of pleasure straight down to Moira’s core, and she tilted her head back to let Niall kiss his way down her neck. Then, growing impatient, she pulled him in for a heated kiss. They were familiar with each other now, and each knew exactly what the other wanted and needed. When their lips met and caressed each other passionately, and their tongues teased each other, they were both driven into a frenzy of delight.

Niall gradually eased Moira backwards until she was leaning on the wall behind her, and he pressed himself against her, gently forcing himself between her thighs.

“Are you ready for me, my love?” he asked. “You have so much to learn, and I am so willing to be your teacher.”

Moira cupped his face in her hands and drew his face down for another soft kiss. “Teach me,” she whispered.

“Gladly.”

He pulled up her skirts and touched the sensitive spot between her legs, and a bolt of bliss shot through her so strongly that Moira cried out Niall’s name and thrust her body forward.

She was pressed even harder against him, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection, which drove her almost insane with need. When she felt him insert his fingers into her opening, she screamed, but he had no mercy on her as he pushed his first two fingers in and out of her channel, stretching her for his entrance.

Moira could feel his heat, smell the musk of his body, a mixture of leather, soap and something that was just him, just Niall. It was the most erotic, arousing scent she had ever smelled.

She could wait no longer. “Niall, please!” she cried desperately.

“Please what?” he asked in a growl.

“Please take me,” Moira replied. She was hardly able to speak or think, all her senses were full of him.

Niall said nothing more, but lifted her off the floor, still pressed against the wall. Instinctively, Moira wrapped her legs around his hips and cried out as he filled her, grunting with satisfaction.

“You are mine,” he murmured, as he thrust into her with as much force as he could manage. This was not going to be a gentle experience, but wild, unchecked and passionate, almost primal.

Moira was hardly able to believe this was happening to her. Once again, she was climbing, trying to reach the peak of the mountain where she knew she would find ecstasy. Yet, that was not all. What mattered most was that the man she loved was wrapped around her, was inside her, and was expressing his love for her. It was absolutely glorious.

Then, all of a sudden, she was there, and Moira’s body was overtaken by wave after wave of a sensation so rapturous she could hardly believe it was happening to her. She clung to Niall for purchase because if she had nothing to hold on to, she felt as though she might be blown away by this tide of rapture.

Niall, too, was in a very special place where he had only ever been once before, and that was with Moira, and he knew that without her, he would never go there again. His climax slammed into him with such force that he let out a fearsome yell, and his arms tightened around Moira so that she was almost breathless.

After a moment, they drew apart, and Niall set Moira down on her feet again and freed her from his embrace. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily with exertion, then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly.

They were silent for a while, but it was a sacred silence, since at that moment there was nothing to say. Both were utterly sated with love, and earth and everyone in it might not have existed at all. Here, in this dark and gloomy place, they had found heaven.

Yet, both knew that they would have to go back to the real world eventually. Glennie would be looking for Moira to go out for a ride, and Niall wanted to hunt some fresh meat for dinner. The normal concerns of everyday life were pressing in on them; it was time to back and face them.

Moira looked up into Niall’s leaf-green eyes and sighed. “I wish we could?—”

“Do that again?” he finished for her, with a wicked laugh. “So do I, Moira, but I’m only a weak and feeble man and I need time to recover.”

He tried and failed to look pathetic, and Moira giggled. The more she knew of Niall, the more she loved him; his kindness, generosity, and wicked sense of humour.

“You are about as feeble as the stud horse in the stable!” she told him.

The stallion was a huge grey with a furious temper just like Niall’s horse Logie and a wild appetite for mares in season.

“You are a little mad,” Niall said as he looked down at her. “But I suppose witches are, especially beautiful white witches who practise good magic.”

Moira laughed a little sadly. “That is a very strange compliment,” she told him.

“I wish you could stay.” Niall’s voice was wistful as he looked into Moira’s lovely face.

He would never find such a woman again. There had to be a way of keeping her with him. He was damned if he was letting her go now!