Page 69 of Highland Storm

A look of fierce satisfaction came over her husband’s face, and Lianae held her breath as he climbed atop her, pressing himself gently inside her body. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs about him, embracing him eagerly as a lover.

She nuzzled her face against his cheek. “But if I am yours,” she dared to whisper in his ear, nipping softly at his lobe. “You are mine, my prince.”

“Aye,” he swore, rearing back his hips. “Aye,” he said again. “I am yours.” And he thrust so deep that Lianae felt him straight into her breast. Crying out over a stab of pain so intense it bordered on pleasure, she gave him back equal measure, their bodies fusing and moving in perfect accord.

Keane returned a fierce moan of pleasure, claiming his bride for his own.

He loved her until they were spent, and then, afterward, they lay together in the small bed, naked and unashamed, painted gold by the firelight as he explored every inch, committing the feel of Lianae to his memory and purging all others from his heart and mind. If he would leave her soon, he would have her take a piece of him north…

His babe, in truth.

She may not have been pregnant before they’d arrived, but she damned well would be by the time they left, and the thought of this pleased him immensely—more than he might have supposed. Before she could fall asleep in her quiet languor, he pulled her to him once again, insatiable now that she was his, and only his.

During the days to follow, the mountain village bustled with activity.

The dún Scoti men bided their time, wanting to return to the caves in order to attempt once more to retrieve Una’s body. But so long as the king remained in residence, no one dared mention the grotto. The bier stood blackened and half consumed by the beach, a charred wooden skeleton left standing to remind them of their loss. And still no Una happened down the hill.

She was gone.

At sunrise on the third day came a summons from the king. Keane’s brother was invited to join him in his tent. Aidan refused, but he agreed to meet the king in a more sacred place—the boulder his people called Clach Tolargg, in honor of their fallen ancestor, Black Tolargg. His kinfolk believed the stones were the leavings of the gods, and the bigger the stone, the greater the spiritual connection. So they held all their counsels by the biggest one of all—had been holding counsels in that place since the day his people first arrived in the vale. If they would speak of the future of their clan, Aidan would only do so where he would be guided by their forefathers—where he could be closest to the woman who’d counseled him since the day his father died. Una.

Loathe to take orders from a petty king like Aidan dún Scoti, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim nevertheless agreed to the request. They met mid morning, whilst the women were preparing to break the fast. Keane leaned against Clach Tolargg, watching the exchange, and hoping he would not be forced to intervene.

His place had always been by his brother’s side, but now that he had a wife, he meant to keep her. Decisions were no longer quite so clear, though if he had his back against the wall, and was forced to draw his sword, he would not shed his brother’s blood…

The king came with five of his personal guards, Jaime as well—his champion. But considering that Jaime was wed to Lael, his part in this discussion was still unclear—as much so as was Keane’s.

Lael was present today as well—because no man had balls enough to make her leave—along with Lachlann and Fergus as both were elders on Aidan’s council.

David mac Mhaoil Chaluim was not the overeager young king he had been when he and Aidan first met, and there was, despite his grizzled pride, a certain respect between the two men. At fifty-one, David’s girth was no longer so lean and his hair not so dark, but his dark eyes were canny and clear with purpose. “I would have you join the campaign in Northumbria,” he said without preamble. “I can use all the good men I can get. Carlisle will open her gates to my men, but Stephen will ride north as soon as he has word I have taken the border city.”

“As I have said… I will not lend my men to battles that do not concern us.”

The king’s calm scarcely hid his anger. “Since when does keeping the king’s peace not concern you, Aidan dún Scoti?”

“I’m no Scot,” Aidan argued. “I have told you this as well, and yet ye insist upon claiming my people to your realm. We are no’ dún Scoti!”

“What are ye then?”

Ri against Righ Art—petty king against high king—stared at one another, fists clenched, neither willing to cede. Not many would understand how little sway David had in this vale—against his brother and laird. Only Jaime and Lael could possibly comprehend—but Jaime not nearly as well. His people purposely kept themselves apart from Scotia’s politiks and nothing would ever persuade his brother to change his mind, not after all this time.

“My place is here… in the vale.”

Keane could feel the tensions coming from his sister, and despite her ladylike attire, he more than anyone recognize the warrior beneath her gown. He would be willing to bet she had a knife hidden beneath her skirts… the question was, where would she put the blade… if push came to shove? She had four children with Jaime Steorling and Jaime swore his fealty to the king.

As did Keane…

For one terrible moment, he wished he were back in his youth, when times were simpler and choices were all clearer. Pushing himself away from Clach Tolargg, hoping to avert disaster, Keane announced, “I will go in my brother’s stead.”

Aidan shot him a look filled with contempt.

Lael might have done so as well ten years ago, but the look she gave him now was filled more with relief. Had she been a man, she might have spoken the same words he did now.

Because she loved her husband.

As Keane was coming to love Lianae.

Cracking his knuckles and stretching the chords of his neck, the king considered Keane’s offer, and finally nodded. “You were always meant to come, Keane, but if Aidan will agree to it, and if he will recognize me as the rightful sovereign over Scotland, I will leave it at that.” David mac Mhaoil Chaluim would not leave the vale without some small victory and more careful words had never been spoken. He was not asking Aidan to kneel before him, and he clearly understood that it would be asked in vain. But he simply wished Aidan to recognize him as the sovereign over Scotland—a nation to which Aidan did not subscribe.