His Lass Wears Tartan (12 page)

“Why are men such different creatures? My head whirls from the pull of such very dissimilar men. One loves Scotland and animals, is comfortable with who he is in jeans and boots, while the other is used to caviar and champagne while flying from one country to another. I feel like I’m under a spell with Jonathan, coaxed into imagining a rich, colorful dream world. His dark looks and brooding manner are like an allurement for the bad boy, and then below that, there is a lonely, miserable, sad boy, I’m sure, who needs me.”

Her mind teeter-tottered between Jonathan and Bruce. The local business owner versus the literary jet-setter. Passports and champagne against high tea and rides on the moors. If only she could smush them together, making a Bronanthan, with muscles of Thor and the classiness of Rhett Butler.

She slipped under the covers and rolled to her side with visions of both men on her mind.  

Rogue lost count of the opened bottles of wine at their end of the table. Jonathan touched her constantly throughout the evening, brushing against her arm or fingers. Between courses, he plied her with incredible quotes from Shakespeare and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, themes of new found love and passion. She avoided a retort by lifting the never-ending wine glass to her lips.

Many times, he nudged her bare ankles, his stocking feet pressing against her under the table no matter how far she shifted in her chair, until her only thought was an abrupt escape. She stayed put to not appear rude to the other guests, though she’d barely had a chance to acknowledge their presence with Jonathan rambling on, monopolizing her attention. And she’d thought the man might be a lonely soul. He seemed quite an expert in manhandling a female dinner date. Did women find his physical touch romantic or sexy? 

The man’s cloying attention made it impossible to enjoy Putney’s fine dinner, so instead she drained the wine. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Jonathan kept refilling her glass; he seemed no noticeably different after consuming quite a bit of alcohol himself. His hand was steady with each new bottle.

Rogue finally excused herself from the Great Hall, hinting at a necessary trip to the ladies’ room. This apparently appeased Jonathan, and she carefully walked out of the room. She had no idea where she was going other than bolting from the
eejit
of a man for a moment.

In a wine-fogged daze, she found herself heading toward the kitchen, always a haven of security, and dropped her shoulders with relief. She stopped at the threshold and listened as laughter filled the room. Putney’s merriment made her smile, until her own intoxicated giggles slipped out, interrupting the frivolity.

Putney stepped to the side and Rogue took in a gorgeous sight of Bruce, the firelight from the blazing hearth bathing him in a golden glow. Her breath caught in her throat; in her lightheaded gaze, it seemed as if his hair blew in golden waves as he stood watch on a blustery night on the moors. She blinked and noticed the luscious, godlike man in front of her wore a kilt, his bare, ruddy knees showing underneath his clan colors. Had she ever seen him in a kilt? A fiery glow melted her body like a shot of single malt whiskey after a ride on the frozen fields with Dougal.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Rogue couldn’t take her eyes off Bruce, his stare splashing heat through her veins. And she smiled as delightful urges rushed through her body, unfettered and welcomed.

Putney whispered to Bruce before quietly exiting the kitchen, leaving them alone. Rogue took the cue and walked carefully in a not-so-straight path to within inches of Bruce, tilting her face upward toward his. Another wave of dizziness swept through her, and she didn’t know if it was the wine or being so close to him. “What, what did my dear cook say to you?” She put a hand on his chest, steadying her balance yet burning her hand with the heat from his body.

His eyes darkened as he leaned his face closer to hers. “
Carpe diem
, I believe were her words.” He closed his eyes and pressed his full lips against hers.

Melting into Bruce’s arms, Rogue absorbed his kiss with an unknown hunger. She tasted his mouth with the tip of her tongue and lost all sense of propriety. Her arms circled his neck of their own volition as she enjoyed another kiss more magical than the first.

Too soon, Bruce broke his lips from hers, whispering, “Aw, my wee drunken lass, maybe we should take a bit of a walk outside to clear yer beautiful, foolish head. I donna wish to be accused of taking advantage of yer heart by the staff or Cook.”

Giggling, Rogue focused on his face. “Yes, my lord, as you wish.”

She cuddled into his side as Bruce draped his jacket over her shoulders and led her out into the cool air, lush with freshness and earthy aromas. Darkness enveloped them, the only noticeable sound coming from the moat as the water slapped easily at its sides underneath them. Rogue turned in the middle of the bridge, nearly losing her balance, and leaned against the heat of his body. She lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his. More, she wanted more. A weak groan escaped from Bruce as their passion enflamed once again.

A shrill snort from the stables broke Rogue’s concentration. She grinned, taking his hand in hers and pulling him off the bridge. He followed, loosening her grip on his hand and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Aye, back to the scene of our first kiss,” he whispered.

Rogue led him into the stable, out of the twinkling, starry night and directly toward her old room. Bruce stopped in the doorway, and before he could say anything, she planted her lips back on his with a half dozen playful kisses. Their eyes locked, and Rogue leaned in with a kiss more demanding than before. Her head now crystal clear, she forced her tongue into the delicious taste of his mouth and relished the feel of his muscles surrendering. She slowly rubbed against his lower body, now thick with desire for her, causing him to moan.

“Now,” she whispered. Pressing herself against him with more force, she said, “I want you now.”

Bruce lifted her into his arms and smothered her face with rough kisses, moving down her bare neck, nuzzling his face into her warmth. “Aye, and I’ve wanted you since ya nearly tackled me in the mud months ago.”

She giggled, running her fingers through his hair, grasping handfuls. She caressed her lips against the collar of his shirt, nudging it aside, exposing his skin for a deep, lingering kiss.

In quick steps, he reached the small bed against the wall and tossed her onto the mattress, lowering his body on top of hers. His hands moved through her hair, extracting the decorative combs holding up the locks of hair. Her loose curls tumbled over the worn pillow as he kissed her again and again.

Reaching down, Rogue tugged on the edge of his kilt, reaching inside to find his chiseled thighs, running her fingers up and down the firmness of his legs until she found and cupped his bare, firm buttocks. Her heart already pounding, it nearly leaped from her chest at his nakedness under her hands. She brought her hands together over his skin and pressed him hard against her until he groaned.

With one hand, Bruce fumbled with the layers of her skirt under him, groping and pushing them up to her waist. Rogue relished his fingers investigating her thin, lacey underpants until, with one rip, they tore away from her body. A coolness caressed between her legs and she shivered. As Bruce lifted himself up by his arms, Rogue ran her hands under the kilt, taking his manliness in her hands. She squeezed her eyes closed, her breath panting from her soul. She barely heard the sounds of material moving and creaks from the slats under the bed over the loudness of her lust and wanting.

Bruce’s fingers brushed hers away as he maneuvered over her. “Lassie, you keep that up and I’ll no be able to control myself.”

Without warning, a tearing pain cut between her legs. She gasped before she realized he’d thrust himself inside her, moving, shoving a fullness she’d never experienced before. With her mouth still open, Bruce whispered, “Breathe, my tight lassie, come with me.”

As the pain eased, Rogue melted into the mattress and focused on holding him until he let out a low moaning noise sending shivers down her spine, and shuddered to a stop, laying the fullness of his body against hers.

With rapid blinks, she stared at the familiar dark ceiling above her. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought making love would hurt so much. In movies, the actors made it look effortless, pleasurable, and sweaty.

While her mind raced, Bruce lifted his head, his hair a shaggy curtain, and planted his lips on hers. Afraid of moving, she kept her body still, savoring the kiss until she forgot the burning below. His kiss wavered from gentle to demanding and back to gentle before he separated their lips.

“I can’t believe this night. You’re in my arms, making love to me. Aye, but I love ya, wee Rogue.” A smile pulled at the edge of her lips then he moved out of her, and she gasped at the rawness of her skin.

“Did I hurt ya, Rogue?” He lifted his body off and dropped heavily next to her. “I’m such a dunce, not waiting for you. You’re all I’ve dreamed of for so long, and when I had the chance to show you how much I’ve desired you, I couldn’t help myself ...”

“Shh.” A tear trickled out of the corner of her eyes. “Shh, it’s not you, Bruce. It’s me.” She hesitated at the confused look on his face. Moments clicked by, and she watched his eyes widen in confusion and what was probably horror. She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. Her mind more clear from the passionate heat a moment before, she bit her lip. This wasn’t how she’d imagined things. He said he loved her, and heaven help her, she wasn’t sure of anything herself right now. Too much was happening too fast. Her lust had burst through like a runaway horse, uncaring of the consequences, just needing to run at full speed. Nothing else had mattered, but then Bruce went and confessed he loved her. Now what? She couldn’t look at him.

With tender fingers, Bruce nudged her chin back toward him. His voice low and caring, he said, “I dinna know. Why dinna you say something, Rogue? I’m such a bum, taken so much for granted. You’ve never done this before, have ya?” She shook her head as another tear leaked out. “No, no, please don’t cry.” He scooped his arms around her, holding her close. “Aw, I hate that I’ve made you cry. Dinna ya know nothing about being a virgin? Did no one ever tell ya how things go between a man and a woman the first time?” He tripped over his next words. “I mean, I know you know ... how male and female parts work.”

Grasping the back of his shirt in her hands, she shook her head against his chest. She could hear his heart thumping as intensely as her own. He squeezed his arms tighter, and she relaxed in the embrace, a strange feeling of coming home enveloped her. Aye, she was a virgin no longer, and the tone of his voice soothed her nerves. A safe, magical feeling of belonging with this man exploded in her heart.

“Are ya mad at me?”

Bruce’s voice cracked with ardor. “I canna think how I’d ever be mad at ya, least of all for giving yourself to me. I’m such an idiot around you, I rushed everything like an animal instead of the passion you deserve. Forgive me. It will be easier next time, I swear. If ya’ll let me.” He took a breath. “I love you, Rogue. Could ya ever, maybe, learn to love me someday?”

“Ya sodden oaf,” she whispered. Searching his face, his eyes asked the question of her heart’s pledge. Did she love him? A freeway of speeding thoughts and questions flew through her mind. Was this how Aunt Baillie felt for Uncle Kai? Losing her parents when an infant, she’d never had motherly advice about love and emotions. Rafael and T-Cup’s tête-à-têtes made sex sound like an exhilarating romp you enjoyed then brushed off until another time.

What her heart told her was that this was much more with Bruce, a persuasive sensation of belonging well beyond the magic of his touches. Was that love? She’d heard how the powerful adoration between her parents defied the wrath of different warring clans, their families, by running away and making a new life together. A modern
Romeo and Juliet
love story, creating her before they were killed in a car accident.

“Rogue?”

Staring into the wells of his emerald eyes, she whispered, “Well, I have longed for ya something fierce, Bruce MacKenzie. But ...” His forehead wrinkled, and a pensive expression came to his face. “Is a sense of longing considered real love? I don’t know how I feel right now. I donna want to lie and give an answer to make you happy if I’m not sure.”

Crushing her in his arms, they laid still, absorbing their very different confessions. Snuggling close, they talked in soft, comfortable tones between sweet, indelible kisses, drinking in their emotions together. Her hand caressed the side of his face and traced the muscles of his chest.

Clearing his throat, Bruce whispered in her ear. “I want ya again, Rogue. I want to be inside you with all my being, but I, I apologize for rushing ya to bed. I can’t apologize for saying what’s in my heart, and I must say I’m a little disappointed in your answer. Ya can’t blame me. Ya just made me crazy kissing me like that. I couldna help myself. I’ll wait ’til you’re ready for me.”

She slid herself under him and, putting her hands behind his head, pressed her mouth hard on his in answer.

Bruce pulled away and lifted up on his elbow. “Whoa, lassie, I’ll not be able to stop ravaging you again if you keep that up. And ya need to get back to the castle before your aunt or Putney fears you missing.”

She hated to let him go, but she would be hard pressed explaining the time away if she didn’t make an appearance and say goodnight. Bruce rolled off the bed and helped her carefully to her feet. Turning her head sideways, pulling the yards of skirt from the bed, she noticed a slight wet bloodstain on the covers where she’d lain, a testament to their actions. Her heart fluttered. Leaning into his arms, she savored his kiss, craving the taste of his lips. The lusty animal smells wrapped around her heart.

“Hmm, why don’t you go first, and once I hear the van leave, I’ll walk back to the castle. I’m always hiding out here with Dougal; I donna fear any questions.”