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In response to her protest he reached out, drawing her plaid aside, and began to unlace her blouse. She caught at his hands, but Colin MacDonald shook his head admonishingly at her and, grasping her wrists in one of his big hands, imprisoned them above her head. “No, no, Fiona sweeting, don't hinder me. Those sweet breasts of yers have tantalized me for weeks. I must see them!” His large fingers were surprisingly supple and skilled. Swiftly they unlaced the garment, then the chemise. Pushing aside the soft fabric, he gazed uponher bared bosom. “Ah, Fiona,” he finally said, “how perfect ye are.”
She flushed beneath his hot gaze, biting her lip to hold back her cry. She didn't understand what was the matter with her. To her shame she found his hungry look exciting. Her breasts had matured in the last two years, becoming fuller and almost perfectly round in shape. The skin was milky white and very soft to the touch.
Colin MacDonald reached out to caress the two sweet globes of flesh. His fingertips touched her tenderly, brushing across the fullness lightly stirring up feelings she had not believed any but Angus Gordon could awaken.
“No more,” she pleaded with him. “Don't touch me, I beg ye, my lord. Why must ye shame me like this?” There were tears in her emerald-green eyes that glittered in the light of the quarter moon. She had known this morning what the king expected of her, but faced with the reality of it, she did not know if she could bear it.
His expression serious, he bent in answer to her plea, kissing the flesh of her bosom. “Yer mad, Fiona sweeting, if ye think I can stop now,” he told her. “What is between us is as unquenchable as a roaring fire. Ye canna stanch it any more than ye can stem the rising tide.”
“I will never yield my heart to ye, Colin MacDonald,” Fiona said honestly to him. To her despair a large tear rolled down her face.
“Aye, sweeting, ye will, given time,” he responded, a single finger reaching out to catch her tear, lifting it from her cheek to his lips. “I will honor ye as Angus Gordon never did. He took ye for his whore and paraded ye before all of Scotland, but I will wed ye, FionaHay. Ye will be my wife, and I will be proud of it,” he said.
For a moment Fiona saw the vulnerability in his bright blue eyes, and her heart contracted. Did James Stewart in his righteous quest for a united Scotland have any idea of the terrible betrayal he had put into effect? He had forced her from the man she loved in order to betray a man who loved her. It was monstrous, but she had no choice in the matter else she, too, be destroyed. And there were others also to be considered. Her sisters. Nelly. And—oh, what did any of it matter any more! She would do her duty, and spend the rest of her life ashamed of her part in this secret deception that would destroy them all. And for what? Scotland?Damn Scotland! Damn James Stewart and all his kind!They knew only power and more power.
Suddenly and to her utter amazement Colin MacDonald began to lace up her blouse again. When he had finished, he raised himself from her body and lay next to her. Fiona was completely puzzled. What was the matter? Why was he not ravishing her as she assumed he meant to do? Had he suddenly found her distasteful?
He smiled gently at her confusion. “I will not take you until we are man and wife, sweeting. We high-landers honor our women, particularly those we intend to wed.” He took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss her fingertips. “I will sleep by your side to protect you and so that my men understand the seriousness of my commitment toward you.” Then he drew his cloak about them, and pulling her closer so that she faced him, he closed his eyes.
Fiona stared at the sandy lashes brushing against his tanned cheek. For several minutes she couldn't bring herself to move as he appeared to slide easily intoa deep sleep. Finally she shifted herself into a more comfortable position, resting her dark head against his broad chest. His heart beat rhythmically beneath her ear. Her nostrils twitched at the mixture of scents emanating from him. Horse. Sweat. Soap? Aye, ‘twas soap she smelled beneath the other traces of male fragrance. A tiny smile touched her lips. So he was eager to please her, she thought. Considering his behavior, she found that interesting. She was surprised by his tenderness, for his reputation was that of a fierce, hard man, but then had not Maggie said all the lasses were mad for him? If he treated them all with such sweetness, it was no surprise. Her instinct was to reach out and caress his red-gold hair, but she restrained herself. It was such an outrageous color of hair for a man, and yet it suited him admirably.
She lay in his arms now, drained by all that had happened this day. She had awakened at Scone, ready to return to Brae. Now this night she lay upon a grassy knoll in the arms of The MacDonald of Nairn, her hoped-for future despoiled. She had a new future. She was the king's secret weapon against the MacDonalds. She would do her duty, even if her heart was broken into a thousand pieces.
