Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) (27 page)

Fear mingled with bawdy thoughts of what she felt against her thigh. "Mrs. Ross, maybe? What if she only used the sack posset as an excuse, and she was really up here as part of a plot, but we surprised her—"

"A plot?" He shook his head decisively. "Mrs. Ross wouldn't hurt a midge." He reached to the bedside for his goblet of sack posset, taking a healthy gulp as though to prove he was sure it wasn't poisoned. "She cared for me as a bairn. Why should she want to do me harm?"

"She cared for your mother more, and she's less than happy with the way you ignored her all those years."

"She was, true enough. But she knows now that it wasn't my fault. I cannot believe she still holds a grudge."

"How about Annag and Duncan? They surely do."

Trick's clever fingers pulled the pins from what remained of her bun. "I seriously doubt Annag and Duncan are hovering behind that door." The gray day had delivered on its promise, and rain slashed against the small window set deep into the wall. "It's the storm you're hearing,
leannan
."

"Niall, then? He's been passed off as the duke's younger son. If something were to happen to you, he'd inherit it all. The dukedom, Amberley, Duncraven..."

In the midst of combing his fingers through her loosened hair, Trick stopped and stared at her, his jaw slack with disbelief.

"No, I don't believe that, either," she admitted with a sigh.

A flash of lightning brightened the window, and he smiled. "Listen." His gaze captured hers as the answering thunder rumbled. "It's naught but the storm. And a storm I'm feeling inside, right now."

He claimed her mouth once again, and in seconds she forgot the mysterious footsteps, caught up in a storm herself.

His lips opened, his tongue meeting hers, circling hers in a way that drove her wild. She tasted the tiny chip on his tooth, her hands on the sides of his face, her fingers tangling in his hair. One of his hands cradled the back of her neck while the other crept under her chemise, caressing her legs with a skill that sent a shudder ricocheting through her.

He worked the chemise out from under her, and she wiggled farther onto his lap, loving the feel of his skin against hers, reveling in the heat of the hard length of him beneath her bottom. She shoved a hand into the placket of his shirt, gripping his shoulder. The warm skin felt good, but she wanted more. One-handed, she loosened the laces, breaking their kiss to pull the shirt over his head.

With a sigh of contentment, she smoothed a palm across his bare chest. He groaned in return, urging her legs apart with his fingers. One hand delved between them while his other arm curved around her shoulders and he cupped a breast. Above and below, he played her body, his fingers doing an intimate dance that made her quiver and squirm on his lap. Closing her eyes, she threw back her head and surrendered herself to the feelings.

She wanted more, more. A finger worked its way inside her, teasing her to madness, and still it wasn't enough.

"Now," she whispered. "I want you now."

"Look at me, lass."

Her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. She'd never seen anything so intense and compelling in her life. "I want you," she breathed again.

He ripped the chemise over her head and, in one smooth motion, twisted her off his lap and onto the mattress. Then he was lying atop her, skin to skin, heavy and warm and exciting beyond anything she'd ever imagined. Instinctively, her legs came up to cradle his hips, and he raised himself, poised to enter her. She felt him there, against her, and let out a little mewling sound of need.

"Now?" he asked.

"Now." She held her breath, still uncertain yet wanting him more than she'd ever wanted anything. As he slid home, she braced for the pain.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly. She felt stretched, and filled, and where their bodies were joined was a feeling so urgent that a whimper escaped her throat.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

She nodded and arched against him, wanting more, needing more. It seemed an age passed while she held her breath and her eyes slid closed again. "Is there more?"

"Aye, there's more," he said, beginning to move, slowly shifting in and out. Just a bit at first, and then more, and then more still. Little by little the tension built, until her entire world was centered on Trick and what he was making her feel. A glorious whirl of exquisite sensation, and still it wasn't enough.

"Faster," she whispered, and he plunged into her faster and deeper, again and again, more and more, until she couldn't breathe and her body erupted and the world turned upside down.

She heard his groan and felt the hot flood of his release while the tremors still wracked her body. Finally, spent, he collapsed against her, kissing her neck and cheeks and whispering her name over and over.

"Dear God." She struggled to catch her breath. "I just—"

"What?" Trick asked, his voice husky against her mouth. "What is it,
leannan
?"

She sighed, a sound of regret from the deepest place in her heart. "I cannot believe I deprived myself of five weeks of
that
."

His reply was a strangled laugh, and another groan, but he clutched her close and kissed her all over again.

She felt languid and drained, and it was a long time before her heart slowed and her breathing quieted. A long time before she noticed the phantom footsteps again and flinched.

"It's the rain," Trick reminded her. His voice sounded low and lazy, satisfied, content. It thrilled her to know she had made him that way. "We're alone here at the top of the tower. It cannot be anything else."

"Annag and Duncan..."

Taking her with him, he turned over and cuddled her against his chest. "Do you honestly think they've climbed up on the roof to come down these stairs and commit murder? On a stormy night like this?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't put anything past those two. It's obvious enough they don't like you...or me."

"They're bitter. Odds are Niall has always been favored as the duke's son—Lord Niall while they were plain Duncan and Annag. Then their father left them to live here—although they were grown, that had to hurt."

"And now you've returned to claim that father—"

"A bit of his attention, maybe, but I've no claim on the man."

Rain pounded on the roof above them, loud needles of it striking the small window. She met Trick's eyes, remembering other eyes that had looked familiar. Beneath his shining hair, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. Suddenly she pictured Hamish, that same expression on his face.

And it all fell into place.

She reached a hand to graze his cheek, the faint whiskers scratchy against her fingers. So very male. "Do you not see, Trick, how much you're like him?"

"Niall? Aye, I've said how uncanny—"

"Not Niall. Well, yes, Niall, but you must know there's a reason for that, for why you're so very alike." He needed to hear this; he couldn't deny the evidence any longer. "It's because you share not only the same mother, but the same father as well."

"Do you think so?" Some of the puzzlement cleared, his amber eyes filling with a hesitant hope instead. "I suppose the timing makes it possible. Father was last here when I was ten, and Niall was born the next year...I wouldn't expect Mam would have willingly shared my father's bed again, but I wouldn't put rape past the man, either. Maybe Niall
is
my full brother." He managed to sound bitter and elated at the same time. "Wouldn't that be something?" he added before he suddenly frowned. "But why, then, would he say he's Hamish's son?"

"Because he is," she said gently. "And so are you."

The breath left Trick's body in a rush. "That cannot be."

"It is." Kendra's eyes searched his before she scooted up to sit against the headboard beside him, taking the coverlet with her. "No, I haven't asked Hamish about it, nor did he come to me. But I've eyes in my head, Trick, and I'm not as close to the situation as you are. You share his features, I'm telling you, and his manner, and then there's the way he looks at you."

"The way he looks at me? How is that?"

"With longing and pride. Were you the duke's son—a child gotten on his love by another—wouldn't he view you with resentment, instead? He's your father, I'm sure of it."

He couldn't find the words to disagree, mostly because he wasn't sure whether he disagreed or not.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Kendra pressed. "I know you don't hold him in much affection, but that will come, don't you think? Deep down, I believe he's a good man."

"It's much to absorb," he admitted. "Finding a new brother, and now maybe a father, too."

"We found a new brother last year." Looking down, Kendra moved the amber bracelet back and forth on her wrist. "Jason had a run-in with a man who turned out to be our half-brother, the spawn of our father before his marriage. But our brother turned out to be wicked. A murderer, nothing like Niall." She glanced up. "It was a horrible thing to accept."

For a few moments he remained quiet, imagining. "That must have been very hard."

"It was. Although I don't expect accepting Niall and Hamish is easy, either." The amber stones glimmered in the firelight as she slid them with a finger. "An instant family, as it were."

"Niall felt like my brother right off. It's hard to explain." He stared at the bracelet, remembering when she first wore it on their wedding day. It had looked strange on her then, but tonight it seemed like it had belonged there all along. Just the way he felt with Niall. "But Hamish..." He met her gaze. "I feel nothing there. I hear what you're telling me, and it makes sense, but I'm not sure I believe it."

She took their goblets from the bedside table and handed him his. "Just think about it," she said and drained her remaining sack posset.

The drink was cold now, he was sure. The rain coming down sounded cold, too, but she felt warm wedged beside him. He wondered how she managed to smell like sunshine on a blustery night like this.

"There's no need to rush into acceptance," she said softly.

"He could be dying." Trick downed the last of his own drink, cold, yes, but thick and bracing nonetheless.

"He could," she conceded. "But he seems to be getting better."

He took her cup and set them both on the table. "This may have just been a good day."

"Morning will tell." She yawned, then leaned over for a kiss, the sweet milkiness of the posset mingling on their tongues. With a soft smile, she lay down and curled tightly against him, like precious cargo carefully nestled in a ship's hold.

She felt good there, a perfect fit. "It's odd," he said, his voice low, his breath fluttering the downy hairs on the nape of her neck where she'd swept aside her tresses. "They don't know me, really, and yet they seemed to accept me from the first."

"They're family," she said simply. "They love you, Trick. Unconditionally."

And now she was family, too.

Unconditional love.

The idea was so alien to him that he thought about it far into the night as he watched her sleep.

"Wake up, you gaberlunzie." Mrs. Ross poked Trick's shoulder, and he moaned and rolled over. "Lord Niall is downstairs, pacing and waiting to take the two of you off somewhere, aye? So get your bones out of that bed."

"I'll make sure he gets ready," Kendra told her, sitting down to pull on a stocking. Having been awake for an hour, she was getting tired again just watching Mrs. Ross bustle around the room on her morning duties. "Could you send Jane up to fix my hair?"

"Aye. That I can do." With a smile, the wiry woman gathered the empty goblets they'd left on the night table. "Did you enjoy this, then?"

"Very much." Kendra silently scolded herself for thinking the sack posset might have been poisoned. Trick was right; though she sometimes had a brusque manner about her, the old nurse wouldn't hurt a midge. "Do you know, Mrs. Ross, where that corner staircase leads?"

The woman swiped her dust cloth over the table—not that it helped very much. The dirt just flew up and settled right back down. "That turret comes from the dungeons, lass. And goes to the roof above."

"Oh." Just as Trick had said. Kendra glanced at her slumbering husband. He slept like the dead, like he'd spent another wakeful night before succumbing to exhaustion. She, on the other hand, had slept like a newborn babe, dreaming dreams that made her cheeks burn to remember them.

Mrs. Ross was watching her, a question in her faded blue eyes. Kendra put a cooling hand to her face. "Though Trick insisted it was surely the rain, I thought I heard footfalls on those steps last night."

The woman's gray head nodded sagely. "It's been said to happen."

"People go up on the roof?"

"Not people, lass."

"Ghosts, then?" Kendra's breath caught. "The ghosts of prisoners?"

"Not that I've heard."

Kendra blushed as the woman bent to retrieve yesterday's clothes from the floor. Cavanaugh and Jane ought to be doing that—not that she and Trick should have left their garments on the floor in the first place. What could Mrs. Ross be thinking?