Page 14 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

Lyall looked around the garden appreciatively. “Stunning,” he breathed, smiling. “May I look inside?”

“I would be insulted if you did not,” she replied. “Let us have some ale and then I will give you a tour.” She showed him into a cozy parlor with a glowing fire in the grate, flowered curtains in the large bay windows, and large bowls of flowers on the shining ebony furniture. The walls were painted a very pale pink, and there were several unlit brass candelabras placed around the room.

“It is very feminine,” he observed. “Do you think a big man like me belongs here?” His voice was husky, and as she looked into his eyes she saw them turn dark with passion.

“Yes,” she whispered, and stepped into his arms.

Then he kissed her, and it was like no kiss she had ever felt before. His mouth was firm and demanding. She responded by twining hers around his, moaning with pleasure. His body was straining against hers so tightly that it reawakened the delightful fluttering feeling between her thighs.

When the kiss ended they were both breathless and flushed, still pressed against each other as if they could not bear to separate. When Ailith tried to step back she found herself held in an embrace that was so firm it was impossible for her to escape, but then she realized that she did not really want to anyway.

“Feel what you do to me, Ailie," he whispered, rubbing his hips against hers. “Every night I dream about you lying beside me, then I am making love to you, but when I wake up I am always alone. I don’t want to be alone any longer. Beautiful, beautiful Ailie, I need you more than any other woman I have ever met, and I cannot bear to think of a future without you. Marry me, please, Ailith, for I cannot be whole without you.”

At last, realizing that she was holding her breath, she smiled at him. “Yes, yes, and yes," she murmured. “Of course I will marry you.”

He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms, laughing. “Oh, God, Ailie," he said with passionate relief, “you have made me the happiest man in the world!”

She made no reply other than a soft little sigh of pleasure as they stood in each others’ arms.

Lyall and his men made a thorough search of Ailith’s house and garden, just in case any of Jock’s men had come in during the night and were waiting in ambush. When this had been done, he went outside and looked up and down the hill on which the house was built, but he could see nothing suspicious.

“I am leaving six men here,” he told her. “I do not want you to be in any danger, Ailie. You are too precious to me.”

He hugged her tightly to him and she leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling his muscular arms around her, protecting not just her body, but her spirit, from all harm. As long as she was with him she was safe from Jock, because physically Lyall was bigger and stronger, but also from his anger and his imaginary curses. Oh how she longed to be his wife! With a last kiss he left her and she hugged herself, smiling from ear to ear.

“And I will go to see Laird McCauley,” he said, his tone grim and menacing, “and put the fear of God into him!”

8

Lyall and Jock

As good as his word, Lyall made the three-mile journey to Inverlieth Castle as soon as he left Ailith’s house. He was furiously angry, thinking of the woman he loved being threatened by a little nonentity of a man who had only gained any status by being the owner of a castle and an estate. Lyall himself owned both, but he knew, without vanity, that he had the respect of his tenants and fellow lairds.

Lyall despised men who threatened women, since he believed women were better than men in many ways, with their gentle and nurturing spirits and their ability to bring out the best, most protective side of his own sex. He could not describe the depth of love he felt when he thought of Ailith. The fact that her head barely came up to his shoulders brought out an almost fierce defensiveness in him; she was so small and vulnerable. Then he thought of her purchase of Lucy and her treatment of the horse broker, and laughed. Perhaps “vulnerable” was not the right word. Sometimes she was downright dangerous!

Although the thought of seeing Jock McCauley made his stomach curdle with disgust, Lyall knew it had to be done, because he had to be told in no uncertain terms that if he harmed Ailith in any way then he was declaring war on Lyall Stevenson. And the Laird Stevenson was not a man to be toyed with.

The closer he got to Inverlieth Castle the angrier he became, and by the time he saw the hulking mass of stone that was the family seat of Jock McCauley, he was incandescent with rage. The castle stood at the top of a low hill and was made of unforgiving gray granite, which lent it an air of frowning disapproval.

The main bulk of it was built into the slope of the hill, looking as if it had grown out of the hill itself, and was almost totally sheer and windowless. It faced the sea and was virtually impregnable.The main gate was at the back of the castle and faced inland, looking down onto a gentler slope, and was much lower than the forbidding front wall. However, it was defended by a wide moat, narrow drawbridge, and two sturdy iron and oak gates with two portcullises, one ten yards behind the other. It had been built three hundred years before and the crenellated walls were beginning to crumble in some places, but it was still a formidable fortress. The only way to defeat an enemy in a structure like this, Lyall thought, would be by siege. But that was an expensive and time-consuming option.

He was not thinking of mounting a siege anytime soon, but he liked to have the defensive measure of any nearby enemy; after all, forewarned was forearmed.

Enemy, he thought suddenly. He is my enemy, and we are fighting over Ailith’s love.

Lyall’s reception was not warm, but he had expected that. He was stopped, searched, and made to turn out his horse’s saddlebags to prove that he had no weapons inside. The groom led his mount to a temporary shelter in the stable and Lyall followed him, as was his custom, to make sure that she was well treated in his absence. While he was there, a beautiful mare caught his eye. She had a fine-boned, slightly dish-shaped face and a strong arched neck crested by a long white plaited mane, and her eyes were bright and intelligent.

“What a lovely horse,” he said aloud, without thinking.

“Sheba,” said a slurring voice from behind him, and Lyall turned around to see the round-shouldered, ever-grinning Findlay. “She is my favorite horsey, an’ she is wi’ child.” He said this so proudly that he sounded as if he had sired the foal himself.

“She is a beauty,” Lyall agreed, smiling at the unfortunate creature.

“Aye.” Findlay patted the mare’s neck and she gave a little whinny, as if in approval. “The Laird will only let me ride a donkey,” he said sadly.

Lyall gazed at the poor man in pity, wondering if he could find something for him to do on his own estate. Even if all he did was sweep the floors, it would be better than being at the beck and call of a tyrant.

He waited in the courtyard for two hours before Jock McCauley appeared, a delighted grin on his face. “Laird Stevenson!” he said expansively. “What a wonderful surprise!”