Brigand (10 page)

When it was all over, he didn’t withdraw. He stayed seated
within her. A reminder to her. A declaration.

She belonged to him.

At long last, he eased out and flipped her over and covered
her again, possessed her again, this time with his mouth, dominating her with
his lips and tongue.

That her response matched his soothed his soul. At least a
bit.

He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “You are mine,”
he growled. “Mine.” He shook her. “Say it.”

“Y-yours.” Her voice trembled on the word. Her expression
was sated, soft. He loved the way she looked in the afterglow of passion. She
stole his sanity. Words escaped him. He pressed a kiss on her forehead, tasting
the sheen of sweat. Then another on her cheeks, her lashes, the tip of her
nose.

“Never run from me again,” he said, although this time it
was not a snarl. More of a plea. And then, bereft of all vigor, drained
absolutely dry, he collapsed at her side.

The desire to sleep teased at the ragged edges of his
consciousness but he didn’t succumb. He wasn’t stupid.

Before he drifted off, he went to the box where he kept his
hunting supplies and found a coil of rope.

And he tied her to the bed.

* * * * *

Violet was annoyed with herself. More than annoyed.

She shot a glance at Ewan from beneath her lashes as he led
her down the track in the woods…at the end of the rope.

She’d done it again. She’d succumbed to his charms. Granted,
she hadn’t had much of a choice. Not with him teasing her and tormenting her
until her passion would not be denied.

The feel of his palm on her bare bottom had shocked her. Her
reaction had shocked her more.

She’d been caned more than once as a girl. Her father had
been a proponent of a heavy hand and she had been rather defiant. But she’d never
enjoyed a whipping. Never felt that curl of anticipation and delight and heat
as she did when Ewan draped her over his lap and paddled her behind.

What kind of woman liked that?

She wasn’t sure. Also, she wasn’t sure what kind of woman a
craving like this made her. It had been all she could do to press her lips
closed and not beg, plead for more.

And the ecstasy that followed had been unlike anything she’d
ever experienced. The thrill of having Ewan take her from behind, control her
movements, force wave after wave of pleasure upon her, had been stupefying.

An apt word
, she snorted to herself.

Stupefying indeed.

She was an idiot. A love-sodden idiot.

Any woman with an ounce of self-respect would at least have
pretended to hate it. Would have protested a little more than she had.

But now he knew. He’d even said the words. She was his.
Completely. She would do anything and everything he asked. She was helpless to
resist.

And he knew it.

They rounded a curve and the shoreline of the river hove
into view. Violet’s heart hitched.

Well, so much for her attempt at escape.

He would never give her so much as the hint of an
opportunity again.

She wriggled her wrists, chafing against the harsh threads
of the rope. Did he really need to tie her up and lead her like a donkey?
Apparently he felt he did. She glared at him. He didn’t notice.

He hailed the men lounging on the shore, calling them to
ready the boat. As they approached, the men took in the sight of her bondage
and broad grins cracked their usually surly faces. Had she been free, she would
have scratched their eyes out.

She didn’t protest when Ewan lifted her into the boat. There
was no point. And they were halfway to the island before she realized she was
helpless, tied in a boat on a river, and there was not a flicker of panic in
her soul.

There was no room for old fears.

New fears had replaced them completely.

Because she was, without question, completely and utterly in
love with a brigand.

When they arrived back at the keep, Ewan took Violet
directly up to his solar, ignoring the greetings and catcalls from his men. She
decided to struggle on the landing so he picked her up, tossed her over his
shoulder and carried her the rest of the way.

The door slammed against the wall as he entered. He didn’t
care. He stormed to the bed and tossed her onto the downy mattress. “Stay.
There.” He untied the rope and yanked it from her wrists, forcing himself not
to look at the red marks it had left.

She glared at him. “I’m hungry.”

“Good,” he snapped. But he clomped down to the great room
and bellowed at Pip to take her something to eat and drink. “And don’t forget
to lock the door,” he barked. He was not losing her again.

Colin uncurled himself from the bench at the table and
slapped him on the shoulder. “How did it go?” he asked with a smirk. Ewan
wanted to plant him a facer. Just to wipe that sly grin from his face.

He reined in his annoyance and scrubbed his forehead with a
palm. “Fine. Thank you for your help.”

Colin nodded. “I’m glad we found her.” He nodded toward the
assemblage of men. “William’s here.”

Ewan slanted a glance at the table, a frown puckering his
brow. “William?” William Winslett, Lord Wickham, was one of his partners.
Gentry, but a good sort for all that. He kept his ear to the ground in
Edinburgh and London, feeding Ewan information on business opportunities and
promising partners. “I thought he was in England. What’s he doing here?”

Colin shrugged. “Now that you’re back with…everything under
control, I’ll be taking my leave.”

Ewan nodded. “Again, thank you, Colin.”

“Anytime.” His friend grinned as he made his way from the
room.

William stood then and made his way over to Ewan.
Everything, from his dress to his swagger, proclaimed him Quality with a
capital Q.

Usually Ewan despised such men. They’d never caused him
anything but trouble. But he and William had been through a lot together over
the years. Ewan knew the true measure of the man. He liked him immensely.

“McCloud.” He nodded. A small smile graced his lips. It was
always there, that smile, no matter the circumstances. Ewan knew not to trust
it. Instead he gauged the hard glint in William’s eyes, the tightness of his
lips. He knew this was not a casual social visit.

“Shall we repair to my study?”

William chuckled. He was used to Ewan’s mockery of the
haute
ton
. “Indeed.”

They sat in his office and Ewan poured them each a dram of
whisky. It was not yet noon, but he felt in the course of the last few days
he’d earned a drink. Or seven. Regardless of the time of day.

“So. What brings you to the wilds of Scotland?”

William tossed back his drink with a grunt and leaned
forward. “I thought you should know. Word is out on the streets. There’s a
bounty on your head.”

Ewan nearly guffawed. There had been a bounty on his head
since he was eighteen. But due to the reputation he had worked very hard to
build and the fact that he never forgot a debt or failed to repay a
betrayal—not to mention that he’d had made everyone in league with him very, very
rich—no man with a brain in his head would turn on him. “And?”

“The man searching for you is, ahem, rather powerful. A
duke.”

A tiny chill crawled up his spine. Violet had mentioned a
duke the other night. A cousin. Who would be searching for her. He frowned.

“Word is he’s on his way to Scotland to reclaim something
you have of his.”

Ewan cleared his throat and refilled both their glasses. “I
appreciate the information.”

“There’s more.”

The bottle stilled. “What?” Fuck. He didn’t want to know.

“It’s the Duke of Moncrieff.”

Ewan’s heart stalled and then set up a rapid chatter in his
chest. A cold chill gripped his bowels. The Duke of Moncrieff?

Duke of Moncrieff was Violet’s cousin? How had he not known
this?

He hadn’t heard that name in years. He disliked hearing it
now. Especially in this context.

Of all the men to be searching for Violet, why did it have
to be the one to whom he owed his life?

He’d been a reckless idiot when he was young and had ended
up in a French prison, charged as a spy. He’d been housed in a cell crammed
with soldiers and heroes collected during the war.

Ewan had been neither a soldier nor a hero. He’d been
smuggling brandy—a very profitable trade upon which he’d built the foundations
of his empire. A French platoon had captured him on a beach and carted him off
to some ancient castle on the coast and tossed him into the dungeons. A real
dungeon, this. Fetid and dank and unspeakably foul. The captors had been cruel,
hard men who hated the British. And though Ewan was a Scot, they hadn’t seen
the difference.

He’d been beaten, starved and near worked to death.

He would have died there if a wealthy man hadn’t bribed the
guards to engineer an escape for his son. On one dark, moonless night, their
cell was left unlocked, allowing them—all fifty men—to melt into the shadows.
They’d been met in the woods by a band of privateers and escorted to a sleek
cutter anchored in the bay; the privateers had carried them all to England—and
safety.

The one word on every man’s broken lips was the name of their
savior. Moncrieff.

Fuck.

When he came, when he demanded Violet, Ewan would have to
comply. He would have to hand her over. He was honor-bound to do so.

But now…after what they had shared, he didn’t think he could
bear to let her go.

* * * * *

It was late by the time he and William finished their
conversation—catching up on all that had passed since they’d seen each other
last—so it was easy for Ewan to convince his friend to stay the night.

And truth be told, Ewan was in no hurry to return to his
solar.

Oh, he was anxious to hold her again, to bed her. But he
didn’t savor the prospect of looking in her eyes and seeing her hatred. He was
sick of that to the depths of his being.

He knew he wasn’t the man for her. He’d always known that,
even as a boy. But now it chafed, like chains binding his soul.

He had always been one to challenge authority, to taunt the
powers that be. For the first time in his life he regretted some of his
choices. He’d done what needed doing, to be sure. But he longed to step outside
his skin and become someone else. A man who could claim her. For real.

A man who could engender and hold her love.

Life would be a dismal drudge without her.

When he finally made his way up to the tower room, she was
sleeping. She was so peaceful and sweet it made his heart ache. He didn’t have
the heart to wake her. So he nestled in beside her and held her. Just held her,
savoring her every murmur, her every breath.

When he awoke in the morning—much later than he’d
intended—she was still there. He stifled the annoying flare of relief. Of
course she was still there. He’d locked the door.

He levered up on his arm and stared down at her, studying
her face, glorying in the sooty arch of her lashes on her cheeks, her rosy
glow, the plump pout of her sleeping lips. He dipped his head and kissed her
neck. She muttered something and rolled over into his embrace.

God, she was adorable. Tiny and curvy and warm. He kissed
her awake. His heart flared when she responded. When her lips moved under his.
When her tongue dabbed at his.

His cock surged. He growled deep in his throat and shifted
on top of her. Her thighs spread. Not far, as she was still wearing her dress,
but far enough for him to wedge against her. He rubbed her with his hardness,
showing her his need.

She looked at him, her eyes soft with sleep, welcoming. Her
lips parted and a sigh slipped out. A delicious sound.

He couldn’t help but nuzzle her neck, nibble and nip and
taste the essence of Violet.

Ah. She should know better. She should know better than to
wriggle against him so. He shot her a smile and reached for her hem.

A knock rattled the door.

He dropped his head on her shoulder and groaned. “What?” he
bellowed.

No response. Just the knock again.

Fuck.

He rose from the bed and made his way across the chamber,
opening the door a crack. Alasdair stood on the landing, a flummoxed expression
on his face.

“What the fuck is it?”

“You have visitors. A man. And a woman.” Thank God he had
the sense to whisper. Still, Ewan’s heart seized.

“A woman?” Was it Kaitlin? Had she come? Hell. So soon?

“Aye, and demanding to see you. She’s…rather adamant.”

Ewan relaxed. Well, it couldn’t be Kaitlin. Kaitlin wasn’t
adamant. Not ever. She was as timid as a church mouse.

“You’d better come.”

Ewan glanced over his shoulder at the bundle of fragrant
woman curled in his bed. She stretched, giving him a blinding view of her
breasts. Even encased in that wretched dress, they made his mouth water. He
didn’t want to leave her—he really wanted to make love to her, and now—but he could
deal with whatever this was quickly and return. Then he’d make love to her all
day.

He stormed down the stairs, yanking on his shirt, but his
step faltered at the sight of his men scurrying about, scrubbing flagstones and
tidying up rancid dishes. “What the—”

“Ewan McCloud,” a shrill female voice bellowed. The sound
rang off the walls.

His gaze snapped to the entryway. Callum MacAllister stood
there with a small woman by his side. Ewan blanched as he recognized his
betrothed, but in a fine fury—unlike he’d ever seen her. Her hair was down and
wild and she stood with legs apart, hands fisted on her hips like a general on
the verge of a bloody battle.

Which he suddenly suspected it might be.

Their marriage, that was.

“Kaitlin? W-what are you doing here?”

She advanced on him, her fury preceding her. “What the hell
do you think I’m doing here? You kidnapped Violet.”

He took a step back. “I didn’t kidnap Violet. He did.” He
pointed at Callum, who flinched.

“I only did it because Kaitlin ran away.” This, the little
ass whined.

She glared at them both in turn. “I am here to marry you.”

He attempted a cocky grin. “You don’t need to sound so happy
about it.”

“What the hell did you expect?” she snarled. “Forcing me to
marry you. Kidnapping my best friend—”

“That was not I.”

“Making my brother do it then. Holding his debt over his
head.” With each accusation she stepped closer, and with each of her advances
he retreated until he was flat against the wall. “You, sir,” she poked him in
the chest with a sharp finger, “are a brigand.”

He blinked. “Hardly a brigand.” This, he said in a tiny voice.

She crossed her arms. “I have delivered myself into your
clutches. Release Violet at once.” The silence in the hall following her demand
settled in. She spun around and glared at the thunderstruck men. “And you lot,
get back to work or I will have your guts for garters.”

A rather frenetic activity resumed.

Holy hell. Ewan stared down at the tiny and fierce creature
he had promised to marry, a skirl of dread skating through his bowels. “Kaitlin
MacAllister, you, I fear, are something of a termagant.” He raked his hair and
muttered, “Small wonder you and Violet are friends.”