Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (33 page)

He clamped his jaw shut as he channeled all his control into patience. Patience to explore this marvelous vessel that trembled with anticipation.

"And what of lower?" he asked, pressing her gently backward with an open palm.

Her legs unfolded slowly, revealing the core of her being to him, but he ignored that sweet source of pleasure as best he could, concentrating instead on mysteries higher up.

His tongue skimmed along the downward slope of one lovely breast. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but her lips were parted.

"Leith!" she cried again, but he shushed her like a patient schoolmaster just discovering a strange new phenomenon.

"Ah, love," he breathed, his gaze falling on the soft indentation of her navel. "What have we here?"

"Don't!" she pleaded, but his tongue had already dipped to that valley.

Every muscle in her body jumped, her hips actually leaving the bed as her fingers found his hair.

"Leith!" she panted. "I mean it! I'm trying to... to act demure."

He chuckled as his tongue dipped again. "And yer doing a hell of a job at it, lass."

"Leith." She wet her lips as her fingers tightened in his hair. "I fear you're a very bad influence on me."

"Indeed?" He slid upward, dragging his kisses along the midline of her body.

Heat spread from every point of contact, his lips, his nipples, his manhood as it was drawn slowly along her thigh.

"Indeed," she rasped in breathless agony, but he smiled into her eyes finally, his engorged shaft pressed firmly to the flaming mass of curls between her legs. "It used to be that I hardly ever ravaged anyone."

"Hardly
ever?" he asked, raising one brow.

"Well—never," she admitted, letting her eyes fall closed as his fingertips caressed her neck into shivers. "And now I cannot wait to ravage you again."

"But ye have to, lass," he crooned. "For just now I am ravaging ye."

"I cannot wait."

"Ye must." His lips caught hers for a momentary kiss. "For ye have kept me waiting in the past. Tormenting me." He kissed her again, moving his hips. "Torturing me."

"Please, Leith."

"Please what, lass?"

"Please," she panted, pressing her head back as he kissed her neck. "Please take..."

He sucked on her earlobe, sending frenzied excitement to her breasts and loins.

"Please take... ?" he mused with a devious scowl. "Please take... my time?" he guessed, sliding a hand down her side to cup her buttock and tilt her hips upward. "Please take... a moment... to talk?"

Her face was a picture of rapt concentration, with her sweet lower lip sucked between her teeth, her eyes squeezed shut as she writhed her hips against him.

"That's na it," he guessed, and slid his fingers so that the tips just bumped the moist, swollen flesh of her womanhood. "Lass," he admonished gently, "ye must tell me what ye want."

She planned to do just that but his finger slipped inside and she gasped.

"What is it ye want?" he asked, moving his finger slowly.

“Take me," she moaned, arching nearer.

"Ye are indeed demure, lass." Leith chuckled, fully appreciating her husky demands, and stepped from the bed to lift her into his arms.

His manhood throbbed against her buttocks, belying his casual attitude. His lips caught hers in a kiss so hungry it seemed to sear on contact. In another moment they were parted as he settled her into the warmth of her waiting bath.

Her hair floated on the water's surface, her breasts peeked above the waves, and though he wished to stand back and gaze at her beauty he found there was no hope, for he ached for her with a need so deep it shook his soul.

He joined her there. The water rose as he settled himself between her bent knees.

"Remember our last encounter at this tub?" he asked, moving forward to press his broad manhood to her belly. "Remember how ye fled at the last moment?" He nuzzled her breast, flicking his tongue over its puckered peak.

She drew in a ragged breath.

"I have ached for ye ever since, lass." He suckled her gently. Her fingers caught his hair again, her hips strained upward, as she felt the rounded tip of what she desired slip between her thighs.

" 'Twas only last night," she said reasonably, but knew her own impatience was hardly logical.

"Nay," he breathed, " 'twas a lifetime since I last loved ye."

"Aye," she sighed. "A lifetime."

"Then let us end the wait," Leith said, and in one movement buried himself to the hilt.

They closed their eyes in unison, and then the rhythm began, slowly at first and finally quicker.

Water splashed over the vat’s wooden sides, but the lovers failed to notice, for they were drowning in sweetest euphoria.

The tempo increased. Their breath rasped together in harsh tones.

"Leith," she cried, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

"Sweet..." He emptied himself in shuddering spurts and she pushed hard against his rod, peaking in flaming splendor. "Jesu!" he cried, dropping his head to her shoulder and hearing the frantic beat of her heart against his ear.

"Please," she whispered, her breath rapid against his hair.

Leith drew his head away with weary heaviness, bracing himself with one bulging arm against the tub's bottom.

"Nay, lass," he said in disbelief, the words coming between harsh intakes of air. "Dunna tell me ye want it again."

Rose grinned devilishly. "Nay, my laird," she crooned, glancing up through thick lashes. "I but wish for you to ease off me before I drown."

"Thank Jesu," he panted in mock relief, doing as she requested.

"I will give you several minutes," she said, putting her hand on his smooth, naked chest, "before I plead again."

"Ah, sweet babe." He sighed, kissing her gently. "Ye were made to be loved."

"Do you think so?" she asked softly, and in her eyes Leith saw the earnestness of her question.

So she was still at battle with her own purpose in life.

"Aye," he said firmly. "Our God wouldna have created ye with such fire had He na wanted ye to set something aflame." Drawing a wet line down her upper arm, he grinned mischievously. "And ye, wee lass, could ignite this verra water... if I were the kindling."

Rose raised her brows at him, feeling acutely responsive to his teasing. "And how is it that you know, my laird, that you alone could be the kindling? After all, I've spent all my adult life in an abbey, with no chance to test your theory. Mayhap any man could—"

Her words were interrupted as Leith gripped her arms in a firm clasp. His face was only inches from hers as he pressed closer to her slick body. "Because ye are what ye are, lass," he said, his voice low.

She stared at him, her breath stopped in her throat. "And what am I?" she whispered raggedly.

"Mine."

Chapter 25

Dermid moved silently through the MacAulay's woods. He had been this way before. Aye, many times. In fact, it had not been far from here that he'd first seen Eleanor Forbes and Owen MacAulay lying together in the heather.

He grinned, thinking of that time. Those had been good days. The couple had paid well for his silence, for Eleanor had been betrothed to another and well realized the scandal that would erupt should her sin become known.

Too bad she had refused to keep paying.

Dermid tightened his fists, remembering her threat to tell Leith the entire story—including Dermid's part in it. But she had never spoken.

He chuckled into the darkness, waiting, remembering how she had fought him, remembering how soft her throat had felt beneath his hands. She'd died quickly, and afterward he'd wished he had taken his time with her, had heard her whimper for mercy. As it was, he had been unable to keep her dead body close to hand as he had wished to do, for if his deed was found out, Leith would surely kill him.

It had been sheer inspiration to take her to the MacAulay's ridge and push her over the edge, watching as her body thudded to the jagged rocks below.

Owen's death had been neither so pleasant nor so simple.

"Dermid." Murial MacAulay's voice came clearly through the darkness.

"Aye." He stepped forward, squinting through the fog that lay heavy and thick in the valley.

"So ye have come again," she said, emerging from the mist, her slim body draped in a woolen tartan.

"Aye, me lady," he said with feigned respect. She could die as easily as Eleanor, he thought, despite her haughty ways, but for now she paid him well to spy on the Forbes. "I have come on this miserable night at yer request."

Murial remained silent, watching him, and he drew back a pace, hating the eerie way she stared at him. “'Twas said she could read a man's mind, and though he'd never believed such nonsense, she sometimes made his skin crawl.

"Did ye have need of me, me lady?" Dermid asked, eager to be paid and be off.

"Aye." She finally drew her gaze away and strode past him. "Have ye met the lass?"

So he was right. Murial had indeed called him there to discuss the laird's woman. "What lass might that be, me lady?" he asked, wanting to make her wait.

"The Forbes' lady," explained Murial irritably, coming to a quick halt. "The lass who claims to be the MacAulay's daughter."

"Ah, that lass." Dermid nodded, feeling some satisfaction at having riled her temper. "Aye, me lady, I have."

"As have I." Murial nodded. Her head was covered by the same plaid she had wrapped about her body. It shadowed her face, making it impossible for him to guess her thoughts. "But Dugald will na
cross the auld laird, and already half-believes the witch is his daughter in truth," she whispered. "It must be done soon. Verra soon. Before all of MacAulay Hold believes in her. But I canna do the deed meself."

Dermid leaned closer, intrigued by her words. "What is that ye say?"

Murial abruptly drew her back into a straight line, as if he had disrupted her thoughts.

The night was silent, muffled by the fog.

"I want ye to kill her," Murial said.

Dermid drew back, forcing an expression of feigned shock to his face. "Kill the laird's lady? But surely ye must be—"

"Dunna pretend such shock with me, Dermid, for I know yer soul is black, though I dunna see what darkens it the most."

"Nay, me lady, I am—"

"Ye will kill her," Murial said quietly. "Just as Forbes kilt me brother."

Dermid remained silent. 'Twas a funny thing that he should now be paid to vindicate a death he himself had caused. "Aye," he said softly. "Owen's death must be avenged, but I canna do the deed, for I am a simple sheepherder who—"

"Yer refusal willna raise the price, Dermid. Ye hate the Forbes just as I do. 'Twill cause ye na loss of sleep to do him ill."

"Aye. Ye are right," admitted Dermid, raising his hands palms up, before him. "But to kill his bride-to-be ..." He shook his head, already anticipating the murder. "It will cost ye a great deal."

"Me brother's life was worth a great deal," whispered Murial.

"Me laird," said Alpin, standing before Leith's carved chair, "the lone wolf has attacked again."

Leith did his best to put aside the worries that besieged him. For two days he had struggled to learn the truth of Rose's accident by the brook. Had Harlow attempted to harm her, or had she simply imagined some evil, as she had said? And if she had truly imagined the danger, could it not be that the sight was forewarning her?

He'd searched the hillock for some clue that might help him sort out the puzzle, but had found no evidence.

"Did ye hear me, me laird?" questioned Alpin.

"Nay," said Leith, clearing his mind to face his captain of the guard. "What did ye say?"

"I said the wolf has attacked again."

"The beast that ravaged Roman's hound?"

"Aye. Tis thought to be the same. A great black beast that shows no fear. Rory of Sengal Glen bears the proof of his boldness."

"He attacked Rory?" queried Leith, his grip tightening on the chair's arms.

"Aye, me laird," said Alpin. "He left the calves to challenge a man fully grown."

"Nay."

"Aye," countered the soldier, his feet braced far apart and his brow furrowed. "Some say he is more than a mere wolf."

Leith's expression hardened. "More?"

"Some say he is Owen MacAulay, come back from the dead to seek his revenge," he said, nodding slowly.

"Owen is dead," Leith reminded him darkly. "But not by me hand."

"Then mayhap it is his spirit wandering in darkness," suggested Alpin. "For it is said he took his own life."

Leith's knuckles were white from his grip on the chair. "Nay, Alpin," he murmured. "For he loved Eleanor. He would na punish her people."

The elder man paused a moment but nodded finally, his stance relaxing a bit. "It is sorry I am, me laird, to draw blood from an auld wound. But I thought ye'd wish to know what is being said."

Leith drew a hard breath. He had vowed to guard Rose carefully, but she was not one to stay safely inside the castle walls, and so he would see to the wolf himself, lest his failure to do so cause her harm. "Ye were right to tell me, Alpin," he said, "for I need to know the thoughts of me people. I also need to prove them wrong.

"Ready me horse," he commanded. "We shall bring home the hide of a black wolf this day."

"Me lady." Roderic strode across the hall and seated himself before Rose. "Leith has ridden on a hunt and did na wish to waken ye. He has asked me to see to yer needs in his absence."

"See to my needs?" she asked, grinning a little. She'd found herself as adept at teasing as these Scotsmen were. Who would have thought it? "What horrid crime did you commit that you have been kept from the hunt and shackled to my side like some poor lady's maid?"

Roderic sighed, reminding her vividly of his twin's roguish charm and somewhat of Leith's more overwhelming masculinity. "Tis true," he admitted. "Would that I could risk me hide, riding all day with a bunch of sweating men, rather than entertain the most bonny lass in all of Scotland. Indeed." He sighed again. "Life is na fair."

Rose laughed at his melodramatic performance, for it had taken her no time at all to realize the young rogue's silver tongue. "How is it, Roderic," she asked, "that some bright maid has not bound you to her long ago?"