Maximus: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 1) Read online

  And when he gently bit her lower lip, need rose up within her—a furnace that made her lose all timidity, all inhibition.

  She wanted to lie with this man.

  This was her last chance to stop things. She should really break off the kiss, should step back and put some distance between them. He would let her go; she sensed it. And maybe it was that instinct, the knowledge she was in safe hands with this stranger, that caused all thoughts of self-preservation to dissolve.

  A lustiness she hadn’t even known she possessed surfaced. She suddenly didn’t care what the dawn would bring—most likely regret and self-recrimination—right now, she felt as if she’d die if she didn’t have him inside her.

  He stripped her clothing off, his hands moving with deft, intense purpose. And then when she was naked, he feasted upon her. His hands, his mouth, his tongue were everywhere. The sensitive peaks of her breasts ached as he suckled hard. His hands parted her thighs and stroked between them. All the while, Heather clung to his shoulders, her body trembling with want.

  He then pushed her onto her back upon the bed, the healing basket and all its contents scattering across the floor. Heather barely noticed. Instead, she was intent on the fact that Maximus was unlacing his leggings and then stripping them off, revealing the most impressive erection she’d ever seen.

  Admittedly, she’d witnessed none besides her husband’s over the years. But the hard, throbbing length of this one made her breathing tear from her in short, needy pants. The swollen head of his shaft glistened as he climbed onto the bed and crawled over her.

  A soft cry escaped Heather. He’d literally prowled to her—predatory, yet controlled. Heather parted her already spread thighs wider, and when he grasped hold of her hips, she lifted them to meet him.

  He drove into her.

  Heather was lost. Her cries filled the chamber as she writhed up against him, welcoming the aching sensation of being stretched, filled completely.

  Sweat beaded upon her skin; she bucked against Maximus, meeting him thrust for thrust. Pleasure hit her hard, cresting and rippling out from her lower belly. Her thighs trembled from the force of it, and she arched back, a ragged cry tearing from her.

  Maximus continued to take her in hard thrusts, although he picked up the pace now. Heather peaked once more, vaguely aware of his own release as she did so. He reared back against her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. Then he gave a deep, animalistic moan.

  A moment later, he collapsed upon her, the ragged sound of their breathing echoing through the chamber.

  VII

  BELONGING

  HEART STILL GALLOPING, Heather rolled over onto her side and propped herself up on an elbow. Maximus had shifted off her and now lay on his back, his chest rising and falling sharply, one arm flung above his head.

  The sight of him made heat pool in the cradle of her hips once again. She couldn’t believe it. She’d just had this man, and she wanted him again.

  Her mother had names for lusty women—names she’d shouted at Heather right before she’d departed Dunnottar.

  Those insults had cut deep, and if she were honest, they were another reason she’d never returned to her kin.

  Unexpectedly, Heather’s vision blurred and a tightness coiled in her chest. Sometimes she felt so alone here in Fintry. The memory of the rift between her and her parents caused a hard knot of sadness to pulse in her breast.

  Don’t think of them, she counselled herself, blinking rapidly. Not now.

  Reaching out, she traced her fingers over the concave plane of her lover’s belly, up over the cage of his ribs, to the hard muscles of his chest. And there, she explored the Eagle tattoo that fascinated her.

  “What’s this?” she asked, her voice husky.

  Maximus opened his eyes, that peat-dark gaze settling upon her. “It’s a soldier’s mark,” he murmured.

  Heather inclined her head, her fingertip running along the curve of the eagle’s wing. The tattoo was a welcome distraction from her own thoughts. “There are letters under it … SPQR.”

  “Senātus Populusque Rōmānus,” he replied, in an accent that was entirely foreign to her. “The name of the imperial Roman republic.”

  “Really … and why do ye bear it?”

  His mouth curved, although those dark eyes shuttered slightly. “Surely, you’ve realized I’m not from this land. I’m from Rome … and in my past life, I was a warrior.”

  Rome.

  Heather had heard of the city, and of the Pope that lived there. Nonetheless, she found it hard to comprehend what a soldier of Rome was doing in a tiny Scottish village.

  “You’re wondering why I’m here?” he asked, as if reading her thoughts.

  “Aye,” she admitted. “I’ve never met anyone who’s so distant from home. My kin are far enough away as it is … but I can’t imagine having to cross seas and a continent to reach them.”

  “My kin are all dead,” he replied, his half-smile fading.

  “So why are ye here?” Heather asked after a pause.

  “I came to Scotland many years ago as a mercenary,” he replied, his gaze shifting from hers and fixing upon the rafters above his head. “I now earn coin by trapping wild animals and selling their pelts.”

  “And ye have business in Fintry?” she asked, incredulous. The village didn’t even have a furrier.

  He shook his head. “I’m headed to Stirling, where there are plenty of buyers for my furs.” His gaze shifted right once more, pinning her to the bed. “So, tell me, bonny Heather. Where are you from?”

  Heather swallowed. She preferred it when they talked about him. “I’m a De Keith … of Dunnottar.”

  He nodded. “Dunnottar. I visited once … years ago now. It’s an impressive fortress.”

  Indeed, perched upon a cliff edge looking over the North Sea, Dunnottar had no equal when it came to its awe-inspiring setting. Heather had missed it over the years.

  “And why don’t you go home?” he asked.

  Heather gave a brittle laugh. However, there was no mirth in it. Once again, the urge to weep rose within her, and when she answered, her voice was strained. “Ye heard my exchange with Cory earlier?”

  Maximus observed her, his brow furrowing. “Yes … you were wed to his cousin, and now you’re his widow. You don’t belong in Fintry, Heather.”

  “I’m not sure I belong anywhere now,” she admitted, her voice wobbling slightly. “My parents were against my marriage. Before I left Dunnottar, we argued … ugly things were said … on both sides.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Things that can never be taken back?”

  Heather drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe not.”

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  They stared at each other, and Heather swallowed hard, in an effort to ease the tightness in her throat. She didn’t want to bare her soul to this stranger, and yet the urge to let someone see just how sad she was inside rose within her.

  “I feel as if I was given a good life, a fortunate one, but I set fire to it,” she said softly, “and now I sit amongst the ashes.”

  A pause followed before his mouth curved. “Then you’re a phoenix?”

  “A what?”

  His lips stretched into a full smile. “It’s a long-lived bird … that dies in flames and then is reborn from its own ashes.”

  Heather huffed. “Ye think I can be reborn?”

  “I know you can,” he replied, his smile fading. “You’re still young, Heather. You’ve still got time.”

  They fell silent then before he reached up to caress her face. The pad of his thumb traced her lower lip. It was a sensual gesture, and one that made the sensitive flesh between her thighs ache. The look he was giving Heather caused her body to melt.

  A phoenix … what a strange bird.

  “Even so, you don’t want to leave things too late,” he continued. “Your parents won’t live forever.”

  Heather’s mouth curved. He hadn’t
met Iona and Donnan De Keith; her parents were as tough as the land that had bred them. Her smile faded then as she caught the shadow that moved in the depths of his eyes.

  “Pride is a lonely companion,” he added softly. “And it steals time like a thief. Don’t let it rob you of your family.”

  Heather inclined her head, observing him. Maximus was a man with regrets. She wanted to ask him about his past, yet she prevented herself.

  Tonight wasn’t about baring their souls to each other. Tonight was about pleasure, about two strangers sharing their bodies. With the dawn, everything would change.

  And so, she said nothing, her eyes fluttering closed as his thumb resumed its caress of her lower lip.

  A moment later, he rolled over and flung a possessive leg over her hip, drawing her toward him. His hands cupped Heather’s face, and his lips found hers. She leaned into him, tasting him, breathing him in.

  Aye, tomorrow all of this would be but a memory. But tonight belonged to them.

  It was still dark when Heather slipped from the bed. Maximus had fallen into a deep slumber and didn’t notice when she padded across the floor and reached for her lèine and kirtle in the darkness. She would have to collect her basket and its contents later.

  Her limbs felt loose and languorous, and she had been tempted just to snuggle up to the warm male body next to her on the bed. Yet now the madness of lust had faded, Heather was aware that she was still under her employers’ roof.

  Witless goose, Heather thought as she dressed quickly, fumbling with the laces of her bodice. Morag will flay ye alive if she catches ye in here.

  Indeed, the reminder was a sobering one.

  Just like Heather’s mother, Morag would have a name for women such as her.

  Heather’s pulse fluttered, and the knot in her breast—which had subsided for a short while—tightened once more.

  What have I done?

  With that thought, Heather tip-toed from the chamber and closed the door as gently as she could behind her.

  Back in her own chamber, she started to shiver. The small lump of peat in the tiny hearth had long since gone out. Beside the bed, a stubby candle had nearly burned down to a molten pond. Lighting another, she sat down on the narrow cot.

  Heather wrapped her arms about her torso and squeezed her eyes shut. Her eyelids burned, not from fatigue, but from the urge to cry.

  She was good at presenting a tough, confident face to the world—yet it was as if Maximus had held up a looking glass to her, revealing the sadness that pulsed within.

  And the pride that prevented her from going home.

  Heather rubbed her closed eyes. She should really try and get some rest. Dawn came early at The Bogside. Morag got her and Alana up before daybreak to help in the kitchen, and there was always linen to be cleaned and floors to be scrubbed. The chores never ended, and just thinking about the coming day made Heather’s chest ache.

  Maximus was right: she didn’t belong here.

  And yet as the months had stretched out into years, she’d remained in Fintry. She’d exchanged the odd letter with her sister over the past couple of years. Aila had written, begging her to return to Dunnottar, but she’d resisted. She’d told herself that going home wouldn’t solve anything.

  But after speaking to Maximus, Heather realized that she’d let her stubborn nature get the better of her. She didn’t want to face her family, and yet he’d made her see that she’d eventually regret not doing so.

  Not only that, but Cory’s parting threat had made it clear that life in Fintry was about to get difficult for her. And when Aonghus heard what had happened, he’d be furious. Most likely, he’d blame her.

  Heather opened her eyes and knuckled away a tear that had escaped and was now trickling down her cheek. Blinking, she looked around the shadowed chamber. This was her only private space, her refuge from the rest of the world. She had few belongings, as she’d had to sell what few things of value she possessed, in order to buy food when Iain didn’t return from battle.

  To look at this room, one would never have thought that she’d grown up in a comfortable household, and had wanted for nothing before coming here.

  Perhaps that was part of the problem. She hadn’t known hardship. She’d felt jubilant to finally taste freedom when she accompanied Iain south. She’d been overjoyed at escaping her parents’ yoke, and hadn’t taken an honest look at the man she was escaping with—a man she’d soon learned to fear.

  The years since had taught her that freedom came at a price. Not long after departing from Dunnottar, it became clear that she’d chosen unwisely.

  Her mother had been right, although it would be galling to face her again.

  Heather drew in a shaky breath and gathered her courage. It’s time to go.

  She’d been wrestling with this decision for a while now. But it didn’t matter how she procrastinated, life marched on regardless.

  Fate had taken control tonight, in bringing Maximus into her life. Cory and his kin ruled here—none of them would forget this insult. Maximus would disappear with the dawn, and if she stayed, she would regret it.

  That last thought galvanized her.

  Rising to her feet, Heather pulled a leather satchel from under the bed and dusted it off. The time for dithering was over.

  VIII

  THE BROOM-STAR

  MAXIMUS WRESTLED WITH his conscience as he prepared to leave with the dawn.

  So, you’re just going to leave her to Galbraith’s mercy?

  You aren’t even going to say goodbye.

  He clenched his jaw and slipped on the pony’s bridle. One lusty night and this was what happened? It was easier when he visited a brothel. There, it was just an exchange: no hard feelings and no responsibilities. Earlier in the night, he’d been relieved to awake and find Heather gone. But now he felt like a rogue for slipping out of the tavern without seeing her again.

  It wasn’t the woman’s fault; it was his over-developed sense of responsibility. Heather De Keith had asked nothing of him—yet he worried about her nonetheless.

  Enough. Maximus started strapping on his garron’s harness. The sooner I get on the road, the better.

  He’d just finished buckling the straps when footsteps scuffed behind him.

  The pony snorted, its nostrils flaring. Calming the stocky beast with a stroke to the neck, Maximus slowly reached for his knife with his free hand. Then, as his fingers curled around the hilt, he turned, peering into the shadows.

  He hadn’t been in Fintry long, but he’d already managed to make enemies here. One couldn’t be too careful. “Who goes there?” he demanded.

  A shape detached itself from the darker shadows inside the stables, outlined in the faint glow of starlight behind the open door. “It’s me … Heather.”

  A pale hand raised, pushing back the cowl of the long woolen cloak and revealing her face.

  Maximus’s hand shifted from the hilt of his dagger, the tension in his shoulders uncoiling. “You shouldn’t creep up on people.”

  “Sorry.” She moved closer. “I didn’t mean to startle ye.”

  Maximus noted then that she wore a large satchel slung over her front. He arched an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

  The woman tilted up her chin, meeting his gaze. “I decided ye were right. I don’t belong in Fintry. I’m going home.”

  “What … today?” Maximus was torn. On the one hand, he was relieved that she’d taken his advice, but on the other, seeing her again just complicated things.

  Heather’s mouth curved, an expression that made warmth kindle in the pit of his belly. Last night had been unexpected. He hadn’t enjoyed bedding a woman that much in many long years—so many, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let go like that.

  The fact that this woman had a body to make Mithras beg for mercy probably had something to do with it. Stripping her naked had been a joy, as had feasting upon her soft, milky skin.

  Even so, seeing Heather here, dressed for trav
el, put him on edge.

  “Aye … today,” she replied. The deep shadows within the stables made it difficult to glimpse the expression in her eyes. Yet he imagined a stubborn gleam in their grey-green depths. “Ye said ye are bound for Stirling this morning. Can I travel with ye?”

  Maximus tensed. Once again, he felt torn. It was partly his fault she was leaving. “I travel alone, Heather,” he replied after a heavy pause.

  She made an impatient sound in the back of her throat, the same sound she’d made before insisting she take a look at his injured arm. Heather De Keith wasn’t a woman who liked being thwarted. “God’s bones … it’s only until Stirling.” The note of exasperation in her voice was evident. “After that, I’ll find my own way north.”

  Maximus didn’t answer for a few moments. She was right: they’d reach Stirling by mid-afternoon. Even so, when he’d told her he traveled alone, he hadn’t lied.

  Maximus Flavius Cato was a loner.

  Last night, this woman had woven a spell over him, and he’d willingly succumbed. For just a few hours, he’d been able to forget who he was. He’d been able to lose himself in pleasure.

  But allowing Heather to accompany him to Stirling made things messy—and Maximus preferred to keep his life simple. He didn’t want another Evanna. He never again wanted to stare into his lover’s eyes and see her hurt, disappointment, and vengeful rage.

  The silence between them lengthened, and he could sense her rising irritation, the tension vibrating off her cloaked body.

  It’s only one day. Surely, even he could manage that.

  “Very well,” Maximus huffed, turning his back on her. “I take it no one knows you’re leaving?”

  “Of course not,” she replied crisply. “They’d make a fuss. Not that Aonghus and Morag would miss me personally, mind.”

  “I can’t see why they wouldn’t,” he muttered, taking hold of the garron’s bridle and leading it from the stall.

  “Excuse me?”