Page 29

M urdo couldn’t help smiling at his wife’s sure-footedness as she skipped along the path that clung to the mountain slopes, Buck at her side.

The deerhound seemed to have appointed himself as Clara’s constant companion. He followed her everywhere and had taken to settling down at night outside their bedchamber door, as if to protect her.

Which was Murdo’s responsibility—but his wife still didn’t trust him.

The path reached the edge of the trees, and Murdo paused to adjust the bag over his shoulder. He drew in a lungful of mountain air.

He’d never tire of the view. The land sloped toward the tiny loch, a haven from the rest of the world. A waterfall tumbled down the rocky slope of the mountain, sparkling in the air before splashing into the loch, feeding it with fresh, clear water.

Clara caught him up and gazed across the landscape.

“What do ye think, lass?” Murdo asked.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

“It’s where I come when I want to be by myself,” he said, echoing the words his wife had uttered what seemed a lifetime ago.

“Like my cave at home,” she said.

“Aye,” he said. “Only ye’re wrong, Clara. This is yer home now.”

He held out his hand, and his heart soared as she took it. Then he led her toward the loch, Buck trotting behind. As they reached the edge of the water, the dog lowered his head and lapped the water.

“Thirsty?” Murdo asked his wife. “Buck here will say that ye’ll not taste better.”

“Well, if Buck recommends it, I’ll have some,” she said. “I can trust his opinion.”

She crouched beside the dog and scooped up a handful of water.

“And me?” Murdo asked. “Do ye trust me?”

Ye fool! Ye need to show her ye can be trusted, not demand her trust like a belligerent bairn.

She sighed and rose to her feet.

“Why don’t ye explore for a bit, lass?” he suggested.

“On my own?”

He nodded. “Then ye can discover the wonders of the place for yerself. But ye must promise to take care by the waterfall. The rocks are slippery by the water.”

She arched an eyebrow, and he raised his hand in appeasement.

“I know ye’re at home in the wild, lass, but it would break my heart if ye came to harm.”

Her expression softened, then she turned and circled the water’s edge, picking her way over the rocks that grew denser toward the waterfall.

“Buck, take care of yer mistress,” Murdo said, and the dog trotted after her.

Intelligent beast. Buck knew whom to trust, whom to fear…and who needed a friend.

By the time Clara returned, Murdo had set out the plaid blanket and the food he’d brought.

“Well, Buck,” she said, “we neither of us believed a man capable of preparing a meal.”

“I can feed myself, lass,” Murdo said, patting the blanket, his manhood stirring with want as she sat beside him. “And, if ye remember, I can feed ye also.”

He caught the curve of her lips.

“A smile!” he teased. “Buck, what do ye think yer mistress is telling us when she smiles? That she approves of her husband?”

She turned her gaze to the loch.

“Tell your master, Buck,” she said, “that he knows full well he has no need of his wife’s approval, given that she’s his to do with what he likes, whether she wishes it or not.”

Devil’s ballocks . Was there no pleasing her?

Aye, there was—she softened at the point of dissolution when he claimed her body in bed.

He rose to his feet and began undoing his belt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Bathing,” he said. “Ye recall what I said about bathing in the loch?”

This time, her eyes flared with desire.

Aye, she remembered.

“Shouldn’t we eat first?”

“The loch’s so cold that the meal will lie heavy on ye,” he said. “We can take our meal as a reward for braving the water.”

She glanced at the water’s surface, the ripples flashing in the sunlight. “It looks warm enough.”

“Wait until ye dive in,” he said, pulling off his plaid, his body already tightening in anticipation of the feel of the water against his skin. Then he shed the rest of his garments until he stood, naked, before her.

His pride swelled at the raw desire in her eyes. Many a woman had admired his body, screamed with ecstasy as he took them. But he only wanted one woman now, the woman before him who exuded raw, primal desire, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.

“There’s nothing so good for swelling a man’s”—he hesitated, glancing to his stiffening cock—“a man’s appetite than a dip in the water of the mountain. But I’ll not insist ye bathe with me.”

He turned to the deerhound, who stared at him, one ear up, the other flattened. “Tell yer mistress, Buck, that contrary to what she believes, her husband is not her gaoler. She’s free to do what she wishes.”

He strode into the water, gasping at the drop in temperature that he could never quite conquer.

Then he drew in a deep breath and dove in.

The cold stabbed at his skin like a thousand needles, then, as he swam through the water, the cold turned into a fizz of life.

When he surfaced for breath, he flicked his head sideways to remove the hair from his eyes, then dove under again.

He yearned to glance back to where his wife sat, but he steeled himself to ignore her.

Let the quarry come to ye, Master Murdo.

That was what Duncan had said years before, when he first took Murdo stalking. Deer were shy creatures, and the hunter needed to wait until curiosity conquered the shyness. Clara was like a deer. Her curiosity needed to conquer her mistrust.

Then a scream came from behind him, and he turned to see his wife disappearing beneath the water’s surface.

“Clara!” he cried, fear clawing at him. He swam toward her with powerful strokes, then her head bobbed up through the water’s surface. “ Devil’s ballocks —are ye well?”

She made a gulping sound and shook her head from side to side. As soon as he reached her, Murdo pulled her into his arms.

“I’ve got ye, lass.”

She shook, then let out a cry.

No—not a cry. She was laughing .

“Sweet bleedin’ heaven! I hadn’t expected that .” He clung to her, weak with relief.

“I’d like to see those prim little debutantes swim here,” she said, her laughter continuing. “We should invite Miss Peacock for a house party, then I can take her for a mountain walk and push her in.”

She met his gaze and her laughter subsided. Despite the cold, he could feel the warmth of her body pressed against him. He looked down and caught his breath as he saw her breasts pressed against his torso, her nipples forming hard little points that poked at his chest, demanding attention.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I-I heard ye cry out,” he said. “I thought ye were drowning.”

“I hadn’t expected it to be so cold.”

“Ye’ll get used to it, lass.”

He shifted position until his manhood pressed against her belly, and her eyes widened.

“Aye,” he said. “Contrary to opinion, the cold can invigorate a man—when the right woman is in his arms.”

She lifted her legs to wrap around his waist. He let out a cry as his manhood rubbed against her flesh, then he placed his hands about her waist and closed his eyes to savor the sweet sensation of his woman, ripe and ready for him.

He only need lower her body a fraction and he’d be buried inside her.

“Ah, my woman,” he sighed. “I’ve dreamed of this moment, taking my woman in the fresh waters of the loch. And what a woman ye are! Ye’re better than the finest…”

She stiffened, and his voice trailed off.

“Finest what?” She withdrew.

“It matters not,” he said, pulling her close. “I didn’t know ye were a maiden when I took ye on our wedding night. I thought…at least after what my da said…”

“You thought I was a whore, like my mother.”

Guilt gnawed at his soul.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I had no wish to hurt ye.”

“I knew it would hurt the first time,” she replied, “but my mother said a considerate husband would be gentle, to ensure his wife’s pain was as bearable as possible.”

“I’m sorry I hurt ye, Clara.”

“I didn’t know any different. And I’ve endured worse.”

Endured.

“Perhaps we should eat,” she said. “I wouldn’t want Morag to have gone to the trouble of making a meal for nothing.”

She waded out of the loch, and Murdo followed. But this time, her boldness had been replaced by self-consciousness. She shielded her body with her hands, then pulled a blanket over her shoulders, making a fuss of Buck as he thumped his tail on the ground.

They ate in silence, and when it was time to dress, Murdo averted his gaze to preserve his wife’s modesty. Da would have called him a fool—a man had every right to look at his wife, given that her body belonged to him. But Murdo didn’t merely want Clara’s body. He wanted her trust, and her love.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon had assured him that anything could be purchased for the right price—a wife, a husband, and a title. But the one thing that couldn’t be purchased was his wife’s heart.

On their return home, Murdo spotted a young boy limping across the path, and he recognized Gregor Stewart, the parson’s youngest.

The boy stumbled and fell with a cry, but before Murdo could react, his wife sprinted toward him.

“Are you hurt, little man?” she asked.

“Who are ye?” the boy said.

“I’m…” Clara glanced toward Murdo. “I’m Mrs. McTavish, and I’m pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, the boy took it.

“I’m Gregor,” he said.

“Are you alone, Gregor?”

The boy nodded. “Da’s in his study.”

“Foolish lad!” Murdo said. “Ye ken the mountain’s not safe for a lad yer age.”

The boy wrinkled his face into a frown, but Clara placed a hand on his arm.

“You’re a brave young man venturing onto the mountain alone,” she said, “but I’m sure your parents will be worried, and with good cause.”

“My foot hurts,” the boy said, sniffing. “If I’m late home, Da will give me the strap.”

“Well, if ye went out without telling yer ma…” Murdo began, but Clara frowned at him.

“May I see your leg, Gregor?” she asked.

The boy nodded, and she placed her hands on his shin, feeling along the leg until she reached the ankle and the boy yelped in pain.

“Have I broken my leg? Ma will be ever so angry.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Clara said, “but we’ll need to bind your ankle.”

She tore at the hem of her petticoat, then wound the strip of material around the boy’s ankle and secured it with a knot and helped him to his feet.

“Better?”

“A little,” the boy said, clinging to her hand.

“Shall we take you home?”

“What if my da gives me the strap?”

Clara glanced at Murdo. “We can say you were out walking with us.”

The boy grinned and gave her a hug, then they set off.

Murdo’s heart swelled at her warmth toward the boy. What might she be like tending to her own child?

To their child…

As the parsonage came into view, Gregor pointed ahead. “That’s my home.”

Murdo saw his wife stiffen.

“Your father’s the parson?” she said, her voice tight.

“Aye,” Gregor said, tugging at her hand. “Come along, Mrs. McTavish—I want ye to speak to my ma.”

Clara glanced over her shoulder at Murdo, then let the boy lead her to the house, where she hesitated for a heartbeat before knocking on the door.

The parson’s wife opened it.

“Ma!” Gregor cried. “I’ve brought Mrs.—”

“What are ye doing here?” she snarled, almost baring her teeth at Clara. “And with my son! I thought I told ye…”

“Mrs. Stewart,” Clara began, “your son hurt his—”

“Keep away!” The parson’s wife pulled Gregor to her, then slapped him on the rump. “Get inside, child, and clean the filth off ye.”

She turned to Clara. “I already said I don’t want a whore near my family,” she snarled. “It’s bad enough that on Sundays we must endure— Oh! ” She yelped as she caught sight of Murdo approaching.

“Please continue, Mrs. Stewart,” Murdo said, taking Clara’s hand. “There’s nothing ye can say to my wife that ye shouldn’t say to me.”

She had the grace to blush, if nothing else. “Forgive me, Mr. McTavish, but—”

“It’s not my forgiveness ye should seek,” Murdo said. “But I’ll not ask it.” He lifted Clara’s hand to his lips. “Not because I think my wife undeserving of an apology—she’s the most deserving soul I know—but because no apology is worth the words uttered if it’s not given with sincerity.”

Her color deepened.

“Ye might well blush, Mrs. Stewart, being a parson’s wife,” Murdo said. “Gossip doesn’t become a woman. Does Mr. Stewart share yer opinion of my wife?”

She shook her head. “He’s said I mustn’t listen to talk, but yer father said—”

Murdo raised his hand. “ Nobody here has the right to speak about my wife, least of all him,” he said.

“My wife is kind and virtuous. Since she’s come to Strathburn, she’s done more to benefit the clan than my father ever has, and ye know why?

Because she cares whether the people here live or die—unlike some, who wish to see others as subordinates.

” He thrust his face close, and her eyes widened in fear.

“If I hear one word against my wife, uttered on the lips of any woman hereabouts, I’ll hold ye personally accountable. ”

“Mr. McTavish, that’s hardly fair. I—”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Murdo said. “Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I’m not aware who peddles gossip. Or perhaps ye’d like me to discuss the matter with yer husband?”

She shook her head.

“Good,” he said. “Now go and see to yer son. Consider yerself fortunate that my wife was there to tend to his injuries. And remember,” he added, jabbing a finger at the woman’s chest, “one word against my wife and ye’ll face the consequences.”

She nodded and retreated inside, and Murdo steered his wife toward the castle.

Before they reached the building, he felt her little hand slip into his.

“Thank you.”

“I promised to cherish and protect ye, didn’t I?” he replied. “I failed ye once, but I’ll never fail ye again.”

He met her gaze, and the smile in her eyes gave him a shred of hope that one day, she might once more be able to give him her trust—and her love.