"Dougall." His name was almost a sob.
"Whist, love," he chided, his fingers sliding across her slick skin and moving in circles around the nub of her excitement. "Don't fash. Relax and enjoy it."
She could just have punched him, and the thought made her eyes pop open. She suddenly understood what Saidh had been talking about. Until now, Murine had always been upright, riding him to prevent causing her back wound to pain her. It had left her in control as she'd sought her pleasure. This time Dougall was in control, and he was driving her crazy with his teasing caresses.
She tried to shift then, hoping to push him on his back and mount him, but Dougall merely tossed one leg over hers, pinning her in place with it and his chest.
Murine growled in frustration, her head thrashing on the ground. Then, desperate to bring an end to her torment, she managed to work her hand down and find his erection. She closed her hand around him, and then hesitated. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, but the way Dougall briefly stilled when her hand closed around him suggested to her that she was on the right track. When his fingers began to move against her flesh again, she instinctively eased her own hand down his length, imitating what happened when he joined with her.
Dougall immediately sucked air in through his teeth, and growled, "Leave off, love. I want to pleasure ye."
"I want ye in me," she countered and slid her hand up his length now.
He ground his teeth together, but then merely lowered his head to claim her lips. When she opened her mouth for him, he thrust his tongue inside, at the same time pushing a finger inside her body.
Murine cried out into his mouth, her body arching so far she feared she'd break her own back. When his finger then started to retract, she raised the one knee she could and planted her foot flat on the ground to push her hips up to meet the next thrust. This time a second finger joined the first, filling her almost as completely as he did when he made love to her. But this time he didn't pull back out, but kept his fingers imbedded in her, pressing firmly as his thumb began to run back and forth and around the nub that was the core of her excitement.
Murine's body seemed almost to vibrate with tension for a moment and then she screamed into his mouth and bucked and thrust as her release finally exploded over her in mind-numbing waves. Only then did Dougall withdraw his hand and shift over her to join his body with hers. Murine gave a half gasp, half groan as he filled her, and then wrapped her arms and legs around him as he began to rock in and out of her.
At first she thought she was done and would simply hold him and wait for him to find his pleasure, but she was mistaken. Within moments he had her crying out and clawing at him again. Only this time when she found her release, she was not alone and Dougall's shout joined hers as he held himself still, planted deep within her, then he sagged on his arms briefly before shifting and rolling to his side and then his back, taking her with him to lie on his warm body.
Murine nestled into him, her eyes just closing when he said, "Wife?"
She blinked her eyes reluctantly back open, but was too exhausted to lift her head to look at him and merely mumbled a sleepy "Mmm?"
He hesitated and then said, "We leave the day after tomorrow."
Murine merely nodded and closed her eyes again, supposing they would return to Buchanan until Dougall had built a home for them. They'd talked about it just the other night. He'd inherited land and a good sum of money when his parents died. All the boys had. And he'd added to it with his horse breeding and some mercenary work he'd apparently done before his father's death. When put together with what coin he'd saved from acting as Aulay's first the last several years, Dougall apparently had more than enough money to build them a fine home.
She didn't care. She would have been happy living with him at Buchanan for the rest of their lives, or even in a small cottage. So long as they were together, she didn't care where they lived.
"For Carmichael," Dougall added, and Murine stiffened.
They both remained still for a minute, and then she sat up abruptly and stared at his solemn face.
Sitting up as well now, Dougall took her hands. "Laird MacIntyre wants to see the will, and I think ye need to as well."
"I don't," she denied, pulling her hands from his. "I ken what it says and that's enough."
"It isn't," he insisted, catching her hands again. "Murine, I would wager me life that the will is a forgery. Yer father would no' leave all to a nephew he'd never met and--"
"I told ye, me fainting made him fear the people would no' accept me to--"
"I ken ye think that, but I think ye're wrong," he said firmly. "And whether he would leave ye in charge o' Carmichael or no', he certainly would no' ha'e left ye in Danvries' care." He frowned. "Murine, yer father killed Montrose's father in a wager o' battle rather than leave yer mother, a complete stranger to him, in the man's care. He would then hardly leave you, his own daughter and only remaining child, in the hands of the man's son. Especially when that son was as weak and cruel as his father ever was."
Murine swallowed and lowered her head. That had hurt her more than anything. She had not minded so much that the castle and title had been left to her cousin Connor. While women often inherited both titles and property in Scotland, she knew it was rarely done in England. What had bothered her was that she had been left in Montrose's care when her father had always seemed to detest the man. And she, too, hadn't believed it when Montrose had first told her . . . not until he'd explained that her father apparently felt her habit of fainting made her weak and in need of care.
"Me fainting," she began unhappily.
"Does no' make ye any less the brave, strong woman I've come to know ye are," Dougall said firmly.
Murine waved that away. Of course he saw her as strong now. She hadn't fainted since the journey to Buchanan, she thought, and said as much to Dougall. "Ye've forgotten how I was before ye and yer brothers started making me eat and filling me with tinctures."
"How were ye?" he asked solemnly.
"I was forever fainting," she pointed out with irritation. "I was weak."
"Weak?" he asked with amusement. "Lass, yer fainting did no make ye weak. As far as I can tell it did no' slow ye down at all. Even with yer fainting ye saved me sister and Lady Sinclair from a murderess. And ye fled yer brother, his home and England itself to travel alone to Scotland to preserve yer virtue," he pointed out. "That does no' seem weak to me."
"I did no' travel alone," she pointed out solemnly.
"Nay," he agreed. "But ye started out alone. Ye braved bandits and every other danger of the road to flee." He gave her hands a shake. "Ye're no' weak, Murine. Ye ne'er were, even with yer fainting. And if I can see that, yer father would ha'e too," he said firmly.
Placing a finger under her chin, he raised her face until she met his gaze, and said, "I ken ye think yer father felt ye weak because o' the fainting, and I ken that the possibility that he did hurts ye. But Muri, he was no' a stupid man and surely saw what I do. That ye're beautiful, fine and strong, fainting or no'."
Murine bit her lip and blinked against the tears suddenly crowding her eyes.
When one escaped to race down her cheek, he brushed it away solemnly and said, "We are riding out to meet up with MacIntyre the day after tomorrow, and then riding to Carmichael and demanding to see the will. Ye need to ken that yer father did love and respect ye, and was no' so shamed by yer fainting that he left yer care to a bastard like Montrose."
Realizing he was waiting for her agreement, she let her breath out on a sigh and nodded.
Dougall relaxed and managed a crooked smile. "'Twill all be fine," he assured her, pulling her forward for a hug.
"Will it?" Murine murmured with her cheek against his chest, and pointed out, "Because if the will was switched, it brings up questions about Father's death."
Dougall stiffened and pulled back slowly to meet her gaze and she saw regret there, but he nodded. "Aye, it does."
When Murine merely sta
red at him, he admitted, "It has always bothered me that yer father was apparently on the mend when ye left, yet dead days later." He shook his head. "I know ye well enough to ken that ye would no' have left Carmichael unless he had been well on the mend."
"He was up and about, his breathing mostly clear with just the occasional cough and sniffle," she said solemnly. "He even spent the afternoon below stairs by the fire with me the day before I left."
Dougall nodded again, as if he'd expected as much, and then pointed out, "And Montrose would hardly switch out the wills and risk yer father recovering and discovering the switch."
Chapter 15
Murine glanced up at a sigh from Saidh, and watched her pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, wringing her hands anxiously. Murine had never thought she'd see the day when Saidh Buchanan, now MacDonnell, would wring her hands like a helpless woman. But she'd been doing it all morning.
Biting her lip, Murine sat back in her seat and tried to think of something to say that might soothe Saidh. However, she'd been doing that all morning, and there was simply nothing that could be said that would help in this situation until it was resolved.
Murine sighed and peered down at her untouched sewing again. She hadn't slept well since Dougall had told her they would be heading to Carmichael today. She'd woken up that morning, exhausted after the second long night where more time had been spent worrying over the coming journey than on actual sleep, only to learn that the journey had been delayed because Greer's squire was missing. It seemed the young lad, named Alpin, had been supposed to return yesterday from a two-week visit home, a trip that had been prescribed in his squiring contract. The lad was expected to arrive by the sup. When he hadn't arrived by bedtime, Greer had begun to worry. When dawn arrived with still no sign, he'd sent men out to ensure the lad and his escort had not encountered trouble on the road. His men had returned quickly with the news that they'd found the escort dead on the road not far from MacDonnell . . . and there was no sign of the boy.