AnchorandStorm (15 page)

He let go of her and walked around one side of the bed to the nightstand. Then he bent over the lamp there, as if to turn it down.

“What are you doing?” Emily cried, stopping him before he could extinguish the light. “You’re afraid…”

“
Hmph.
Aye, but wi’ you here, I think I’ll be all right.”

“Oh,” she replied. Then as the truth dawned on her, she turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. If he wanted the room dark, that could only mean one thing.

“Em?”

She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t find her voice.

He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “What is it, lass? What’s wrong?” She shook her head, but he persisted. “Tell me what I’ve done.”

“You don’t want to see me.”

“
What?
” He turned her around and made her look up at him. “Lord, woman, have ye lost yer mind? Of course I want to see ye.”

“Then why did you want the lamp out?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Ye seemed shy about showin’ yerself. I thought ‘twould make it easier for ye.”

“Oh.” She gave a small laugh. “Most likely it would.”

“Come here.” He sat on the edge of the high bed and drew her between his legs. He was still erect, a hard rod of flesh poking at her belly. “Do ye remember when ye held that party and ye found me in the honeysuckle arbor? I’ve carried in my mind the vision of yer breasts swellin’ over the top of that gown ye wore. Ye made me do something that night I’ve no’ done since I was a green lad.” He untied the remaining ribbons on her gown and slipped it off her shoulders, leaving her standing naked before him. “God almighty,” he breathed, “look at you.”

Embarrassed by his intense perusal, Emily made a motion to cover herself with her hands.

“Don’t.”

“Please don’t stare at me so, Angus.” She could feel the flush not only in her cheeks but over her whole body.

“Why not? Ye’re a beautiful woman, Em. Ye should be stared at. Doesna Lord Callander stare at ye?”

“Aye, but not like this.”

“How then?”

“He looks at me when we’re lying abed.”

Angus moved back and stretched out on his side. “Get into bed then, so I may look at ye.”

She lay down beside him, still fighting the urge to cover herself. Then she thought to reach for the blankets, but before she could do so, Angus began to cover her—with his own body. He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders, the other around her waist and pulled her close.

“God, but ye’re a soft woman.”

“I’m too plump by half.”

He raised up and looked down at her. “Who told you that? Did
he
tell you that?”

She was surprised by the anger in his voice. “No, I’ve just always believed it.”

“Well, ye’re not. Ye’re fine the way ye are. Besides, who wants to lay atop a bag o’ bones?”

When he said that, Emily felt herself begin to relax a bit. She had wondered why Angus would want to have intercourse with her when he didn’t love her. She felt better knowing that it was not only the incentive offered to him, whatever that might be, that spurred his desire but that he found her body desirable as well.

When he began to touch her, however, she felt a tension of a different sort. His hand roamed over her breasts, stroking lightly with the backs of his fingers. She moaned and arched her back to press harder against his hand.

Through the fog of passion he aroused in her, she thought she heard him ask, “Does
he
touch you this way?”

But before she could reply, he had taken her nipple into his mouth and she was incapable of speech.

“Yer breasts are beautiful. Does
he
suck yer nipples?”

She knew what he was asking, what he was trying to do to her by his questions. She wanted to say,
Don’t do this
, but all that came out was, “Ah,” as he moved down her body. He rubbed his cheek along her belly and she felt his warm breath ruffle the soft hair on her mons. A draft of cool air brought a strange sense of loss when he took his arm from underneath her.

“Open yerself to me, Em,” he said and with his hands stroking her hips and sliding around to the tender skin of her thighs, she could do no less. She spread her legs and he lay down between them.

Then she was lost to the sensations of his fingers and tongue—teasing, stroking, licking. She grabbed a handful of his hair, intending to pull him away, but her crisis was approaching quickly. She held the back of his head firmly, urging him on.

For a moment, he raised his head slightly and murmured, “God, yer cunny is so sweet. Does
he
do this to you?”

It was too much. “Stop,” she said, pulling back from him.

“What?”

“Stop it, Angus.”

“Why? Did I hurt you? I—”

She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “We both of us know there are three people in this bed tonight, but if we are to do this thing, we cannot speak of him.” Her voice broke. “We
will not
speak of him.”

He moved next to her and wiped a tear from her cheek. Then he sighed. “Ye’re right, lass. I’m sorry. ’Tis only that, well, I suppose a man likes to know how he compares.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes and Emily had the feeling he was embarrassed. His next words nearly melted her heart. “Ye see, it’s been a verra long time since I’ve done this.”

“Angus, ye don’t mean…?”

“Aye, not since before Culloden.” He gave a short, self-conscious laugh. “I wasna sure I remembered how.”

She reached out and pulled him close. “Oh Angus, don’t worry. Ye’re doing fine. Ye’ve no need to be concerned over how ye compare with any man.” She kissed him tenderly on the forehead, then the cheek, then the mouth. She moved lower, finding a small hollow above his collarbone. She kissed then licked the spot, drawing a deep groan from him. Then her mouth returned to his.

He crushed her to him and deepened the kiss. She was not surprised to find that he tasted as good as he smelled and felt. Then he laid her down and stretched out full-length on her body. His hardened flesh pressed against her thigh.

Despite her words to him, however and as much as she tried, she could not help but make comparisons between Edgar and Angus. The soft brush of Angus’ unruly, sun-streaked curls was so different from the silken caress of Edgar’s thick dark hair. The delicate rasp of Angus’ scant beard felt nothing like Edgar’s clean-shaven cheeks. The calluses on Angus’ fingers brought new and different sensations to the same actions performed by Edgar’s smooth hands.

She forced the images of her husband from her mind and concentrated on the man in her bed.

Boldly, she reached between them and stroked him, feeling him lengthen and harden even more.

He gasped and grabbed her hand. “Careful, lass. I cannae take much more.”

“Then don’t,” she said.

“Are ye sure ye’re ready?”

“Aye, I’m ready.”

He moved between her legs again and positioned himself at her entrance. He pressed in slightly and the image of him standing in front of Buttercup in the stable that day, legs spread, hips thrust forward, came to her mind. Her moisture flowed around his flesh as he pushed again. This time, she felt a slight pinching as her inner flesh stretched to accommodate his length and thickness—another comparison to her husband she could not avoid making. Although Edgar never failed to satisfy her when making love, he never filled her like this.

Angus misinterpreted her gasp of pleasure. “I’m sorry to hurt ye, Em, but if ye make me stop now, I shall die for sure.”

“Don’t stop. Please, Angus.” She was just as sure that she would die if he didn’t fully enter her soon.

He pulled back and thrust once more, then he was completely inside her. She cried out at the unexpected feeling. It was a little painful, a little frightening and…wonderful. She bit into his shoulder to quiet herself.

“Shh.” He smoothed the hair back from her cheek and whispered into her ear, “Hush, now. It’s done. It’s done.”

He stayed still while her breathing slowed and her grip on his arms relaxed. When she looked into his eyes, she was surprised to find an expression of concern that she had never seen before. “Are ye all right, Em?”

She nodded, but her mouth was too dry to speak.

“I have to move, lass, I’m sorry. I cannae hold back any longer.”

She remembered Edgar saying those words to her the first time she took him in her mouth.
I can’t hold back.
And Angus’ words,
It’s done, it’s done.
Aye, it was done now. This is what Edgar had wanted.

It was only now that Emily was beginning to realize just how much she had wanted it.

“I’m all right, Angus.” She raised her hips slightly and that was all the encouragement he needed. He began to move inside her and any thought of her husband was forgotten.

His thrusts were so strong, her breath was forced out with each stroke. She had never felt so full, so stretched. She felt another crisis coming on and raised her hips to press her sensitive nub against him.

Suddenly, he froze above her, braced on his arms and threw his head back. She felt his cock pulsing inside her and it sent her over the edge.

They peaked together, a climax so strong it left both of them drained and exhausted.

In the adjacent room, Edgar Callander sat with his ear pressed to the door. He heard his wife cry out—with pain or pleasure?—followed by a silence that worried him even more. Then he heard the sounds of her passion—and hoped he had not made a big mistake.

Chapter Fourteen

The chiming of the clock on the mantle woke Angus, then he heard it strike two. For a moment, he thought nothing had changed—that he was home again, tucked in a warm, soft bed with a warm, soft woman snugged against his side.

Then reality hit him like a punch in the gut.

The warm, soft bed and the warm, soft woman belonged to another man, the man to whom he was essentially enslaved for the next eleven years of his life. And tonight he was playing the stud for that man…and for the woman who should never have been Callander’s in the first place. Anger boiled up inside him so strongly he could hardly breathe.

He looked down at Emily Sinclair Armstrong, Countess of Callander, nestled sound asleep in the crook of his shoulder. She had seemed, in turns, so innocent and then so bold when he took her tonight. Was this a game she was playing with him? Well, he could play games too.

He shifted onto his side and grasped her chin in his hand.

She stirred and looked up at him, puzzled at first, then her expression softened as she too must have remembered where they were and what had transpired between them. “Angus,” she sighed and began to lazily stretch her arms above her head.

At that moment, he brought his mouth down hard on hers. She gasped in surprise and he captured her tongue, her lips, sucking, biting, bruising her soft flesh. He felt her beating at his shoulders and back with her small fists and trying to push him away, but her strength was nothing to his. His mouth left hers as he moved to her neck and her breasts, again biting and sucking, leaving his marks for her husband to see in the morning.

“Angus, stop it, please. What are you doing? What’s wrong?” she pleaded.

He grabbed a thick rope of her hair and wrapped it around his hand, forcing her head back. “I thought this was what you wanted, milady.”

“No,” she cried. “Not like this. Please let me go.”

“Oh no. If it’s a stud ye’re wantin’, milady, it’s a stud ye’ll get.” He drove his knee between her legs, forcing them apart, and lay on top her. His cock was hard from anger…and from the taste of her mouth, the feel of her breasts, the musk of her sex that lingered from their first encounter.

He pushed himself inside her and began to move, all the while still nibbling her neck and smothering her protests with his kisses. His grasp on her hair eased and changed to a caress as he brought both hands up to cradle her head, taking his weight on his elbows.

He detected the exact moment that her cries and moans of resistance became cries and moans of passion. She began to move with him, thrusting her hips up to meet his. She pulled him closer, rather than trying to push him away and returned his kisses with an abandon she had not shown before.

They peaked together, but as he began to relax down onto her body, she summoned a strength he never knew she had and threw him off. Then she jumped out of bed, grabbed her nightgown and, holding it around her, headed for the adjoining bedroom.

His voice stopped her as she reached the door. “Where do ye think ye’re goin’?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh no, ye’re not.” He lay across the bed and braced himself on his elbows. “Ye said I had ye for the night. The night’s not over yet.”

“It is if ye’re goin’ to act like that!”

He smiled inwardly to see that he had riled her enough to bring out her brogue in full force. His eyes feasted on the sight of her still clutching her nightdress in front of her. He wondered if she really thought she was covering enough of her body to prevent enticing him. She wasn’t. The outer swell of her breasts and the curves of her hips peeked out from each side of the limply hanging garment. His cock began to stir again underneath him. “You enjoyed it and ye know it,
milady
. Admit it.”

“Ye hurt me and ye frightened me. Why, Angus?”

She wasn’t standing so far away and the room was not so dark that he couldn’t see the look of pure anguish and utter betrayal in her eyes. He wished then that he had extinguished all the lamps in the room when he had the chance.

“Ye said it yerself,” she continued, “I am yours for the night. There was nay need to do
that
. I would have let you.”

“Ye’re the one who chose me. Ye got what ye wished for.” Even to his own ears, his words sounded so cruel that he would have taken them back immediately if he could have.

“I chose ye because I trusted you,” she almost hissed at him in her anger. “I have given you my body this night, that should be my husband’s only. I thought ye would honor it. I didna think ye would use me that way.”

That undid him. “Oh Christ, lass, I’m sorry.” He rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes.

“Just tell me why, Angus.”

There was a moment of silence as he tried to speak past the lump in his throat. Finally, he said, “Ye were supposed to be mine.”

Then it was her turn to be silent, as if it was taking a while for his words to register in her mind. “What—what do you mean?”

Without looking at her, he reached out and patted the side of the bed. “Come and sit and I’ll tell ye.” When she hesitated, he said, “I promise I’ll no’ hurt ye or frighten ye again, Em.”

She padded softly to the bedside and sat down on the edge. His right arm lay palm up on the mattress, his left arm still covered his eyes. He hoped the next time he looked at her face that, instead of the raw pain he had just inflicted, he would see a little understanding. Not that he deserved it.

“Yer father and yer brothers and I fought together through most o’ the battles. It seems yer da took a likin’ to me and before Culloden, well,” his words came out in a rush, “he promised me yer hand in marriage when the war was over.”

“Oh Angus,” she sighed. He sensed her surprise, but he still could not face her. Too late he worried that telling her this would dredge up memories of her family and make her even more sad, but it was out in the open now and the truth had to be told.

“I assured him ye’d be well provided for and ye would have been, had things turned out differently. He seemed satisfied with that. Yer brothers—” He stopped when he realized he probably shouldn’t tell her exactly how her brothers felt about the arrangement.

But she wouldn’t let it pass. “My brothers…?”

He cleared his throat. “Yer brothers threatened to cut off my ballocks if I didna take good care of ye. If they knew what I’d just done, I’d be a gelding tomorrow.”

When he heard her muffled, sobbing noises, he thought,
Oh no, I’ve done it now.
But just as he started to lean over to try to console her, she threw her head back and fell over into the bed, rolling from side to side,
laughing
. Her head happened to land on his thigh and her silky curls tickled those same ballocks, which he was very glad he still had, and the attached part, which was now growing again. Before he lost control completely, he put his hand on her forehead to stop her movements. “What in God’s name is so funny?”

Between gasps of laughter, she said, “I just have this image of Da sitting in Purgatory, laughing his arse off at how we managed to meet each other, when the odds were so against it.”

Seeing her point, Angus began to laugh too. “What about yer brothers?”

“Oh I’m sure they passed by Purgatory and went straight to Hell.” She was laughing so hard, she could hardly get out her next words. “And I doubt there’s too much to laugh about down there!”

He pulled her up in the bed and wrapped his arms around her. A strip of material came between them. “Get this out of here,” he growled, flinging the nightgown onto the floor again. “I want to feel you.”

She was still hiccoughing with laughter but gradually grew serious as he continued to hold her and smooth the damp hair back from her temples.

“Forgive me?”

“Aye.” They settled back into each others’ arms to sleep, but after a moment she said, “
Hmph
.”

“What is it?”

“I was just wondering if it’s still considered adultery when yer husband gives ye permission.”

The next time Angus awoke, the room was dark. The wicks of the lamps on each side of the bed had burned down, but he could still the outline of the furnishings around him…and the woman sleeping next to him. He raised his head and looked toward the window. His fear was confirmed.

The patch of sky outlined by the window was a dull gray, rather than the pitch black he had hoped to see. His time with Em was almost over. He knew it was to be only one night—if she conceived—and a night only lasted so many hours. So why then was the thought of having to leave this bed—and Em—creating such a pain in his chest?

Was it anger? They had used him, after all—but he had let them.

He tried to tell himself it was just that he hadn’t been with a woman in so long and he hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of a soft mattress and linen sheets in so long. It was cruel, really, to give him a taste of his old life, then snatch it away from him until the next time he was needed to stand stud—if there was to be a next time.

But if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that Em hadn’t taken advantage of the situation. She had treated him with more respect than he had shown her, in truth. And she really was as sweet as she tasted. His usual morning erection stiffened even more at the memory of her kisses…and the honey between her legs.
Callander is lucky to have her
, he thought.

Aye, Callander is lucky to have her, but for tonight, she’s mine.

And there it was. The reason he hated and feared the oncoming dawn. He loved her. She was meant to be his. Here in his arms is where she belonged, but he had to give her back to her husband. The lump growing in his throat threatened to cut off his breath.

He glanced at the window again and that slight movement was enough to awaken her. She stretched her arm across his chest and snuggled closer.

“’Tis almost dawn,” he said.

“
No
,” she sighed softly, rising to look at the window. Then she said, “Oh,” and caught her bottom lip in her teeth, as if she realized she should not have had that reaction. She lay back down and put her head on his shoulder.

They were both silent for a time, then she said, “Angus?”

“Aye?”

They spoke quietly as if afraid to shatter the stillness of the night that remained.

“Thank you.”

What was he to say to that? To say
it was nothing
would belittle the honor she had given him.
The pleasure was mine
sounded a bit lecherous, even though it had been. In the end, he simply said, “Ye’re welcome, lass.”

There was another period of silence. Angus knew he should get up and leave, but he just couldn’t do it, not yet. The light from the window was a lighter shade of gray now. “Em?” he said, somewhat surprised by the tone of desperation in his voice.

“Aye?”

“One more time? Can ye bear it?”

She didn’t answer right away and it felt as if his heart stopped beating. Then she whispered, “Aye, Angus, I can bear it,” and moved her fingers to lightly stroke his nipple.

He was instantly, painfully hard. With no foreplay, he moved on top of her. His time was running out and he needed her
now
. She was still wet from their previous couplings and he slipped easily inside her. He brought his mouth down on hers, caressing, sucking, devouring, engulfing her as she took his cock deeper than she ever had. He felt the head butting up against her womb and the shaft scraping the walls of her cunny. She had to be sore, but he was past caring.

When she wrapped her legs around his waist and rose up to meet him, he knew he could hold back no longer. Over his own grunting noises, he became aware of her cries—not cries of pain or the soft, whimpering sounds she had made earlier, but deep, guttural moans that signaled her approaching crisis. It was then that he realized he had not given her the kind of climax that he should have. He had certainly taken his, but not paid attention to her.

He sat back on his knees and pulled her up onto his thighs, thrusting into her until her dark blonde fleece met his own.