Pleasured (9 page)

Damon’s hand slid under the neckline and onto her breast, and his breath chuffed out in satisfaction. His fingers moved across her flesh, finding the buds of her nipples and teasing them to hardness. The wide neckline was easily shoved down, exposing her breasts. Meg was too lost in the delights of his mouth to feel embarrassment. When his mouth left hers to move to her breast, she could only gasp at the pleasure blossoming in her.

The gentle suction of his mouth seemed to pull all the way through her, tugging at the deep, dark heat pooling low in her abdomen. Clenching one fist in her skirt, he bunched it up, until finally his fingers found the bare skin of her thigh. Meg shuddered at the touch, and he smothered a low groan. His fingers traveled up her thigh, sliding onto the rounded curve of her buttocks, then, shockingly, stole between her legs.

“Ah,” he breathed, nuzzling into her neck. “You’re like the sun here, too, blazing hot.” Meg gasped at the unexpected touch of his fingers on such an intimate place. “Shh, now,” he soothed, pressing his lips to the tender flesh of her neck. His voice had a hint of a chuckle, a rich, ripe masculine smugness, as he went on, “Yes, heat in plenty, and sweetly wet, as well.” He nipped at the cord of her neck as he stroked her.

She dug her hands into his arms, rocked by the sensations flooding her. Feeling his fingers upon her there was
shocking, yet no disgust or repulsion rose in her, only a need to have more. She wanted to move, to grind herself against him, to part her legs and bring him flush against her. Her breath came raggedly, and she had to bite her lip to hold back a moan. His mouth returned to hers; his hands came up to yank down the neck of the loose dress so that it hung down around her arms, and her breasts were bared to him. He cupped his hand around them, thumbs stroking across the soft flesh.

A whistle sounded in the distance, sharp and distinctive. Meg jerked back, staring at him in frozen horror. A moment later there was a shout, faint but plain: “Meg!”

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “Coll!”

8

M
eg jumped back as if
she had been shot, hastily pulling her clothes back into order. Mardoun simply stood, staring at her dazedly. She darted to the window to peer out, retying her sash as she went.

“Coll?” Damon repeated. “What—who—” His brows rushed together. “Who the devil is Coll? The man I saw with you in the village?”

“What? No.” Meg turned back toward him, her voice a mixture of puzzlement and panic. “Get dressed. Quickly. He’ll be here any moment.”

“Who is Coll?” The heat was still in his voice, but from an entirely different source now. “Your lover?”

“What?” Meg gaped at him. “No! Get dressed, you fool!” She ran to the bed and grabbed up a blanket.

“Is that why you refused me the other day?” He took a long stride toward her. “Because you already have a lover?”

“Oh, yes! Of course! That had to be the reason I turned down someone as magnificent as you. Because I belonged
to another man.” She hurled the folded blanket at him. It would have hit him straight in the face if he had not reached up to grab it. “I don’t have a lover, and I turned down your ‘gracious’ offer to bed me because I did not want you!”

His eyebrows shot up. “I believe we just answered the question of whether you want me.” He gestured toward the spot in front of the fire where they had just stood. Jamming the blanket beneath his arm, he strode to the window, buttoning his shirt. “What in the—” He swung back to her, his dark eyes hard as slate now. “That’s not the man you were with in the village!” He started toward her. “How many men do you
have
dangling on a string?”

Meg planted her fists on her hips. “A hundred! A thousand! I cannot count the number!”

Before Damon could answer, the door swung open, and Coll stepped in, carrying a brace of pheasants in one hand. “Meg, what are you shout—” Coll halted abruptly, his mouth dropping open. His gaze went from Mardoun to Meg, then back to the man standing in Meg’s house, jacketless, shoeless, and damp. Coll dropped the birds and started forward, his hands bunching into fists. “Who the devil are you? What are you doing here?”

Unsurprisingly, the earl did not answer Coll’s questions, but merely assumed as haughty and disdainful an expression as Meg had ever seen. Mardoun shifted subtly into a wider stance, his hands curling into fists as Coll’s had done. “I might ask you the same question—but it’s obvious what you are about.” Mardoun nodded toward the birds Coll had dropped on the floor. “Poaching my game.”

His words checked Coll for an instant as his eyes widened
in understanding. “You’re the bloody earl!” Fury flooded his face. “It’s not your game. And neither is Meg!”

Coll charged Mardoun.

Meg sprang forward and planted herself between the two men, holding her hands out warningly toward each. “Stop! Coll!”

Coll did as she said, but, his expression murderous, he started to slide around her as his eyes remained on the earl. “Get out of the way, Meg. You canna think I’ll stand by and let this lord make sport of you.”

“Move, Meg,” Mardoun said behind her, his voice ice to Coll’s fire, but no less deadly. “I’ve a mind to teach this oaf you do not belong to him.”

He, too, made to bypass her, but Meg moved with them, keeping her body between them. “Stop it! Both of you. I do not belong to either of you.” She shot the earl a furious glance, then turned the same angry gaze on her brother. “Coll, step back. I will not have you shaming me in my own house. I was on the beach, and the tide caught me on the rocks. The earl rescued me. He came into the sea after me when I fell in; he saved me from drowning. We had to come back by the caves. He is here to dry out a bit. That is all.”

Coll glowered, shooting a suspicious look at Mardoun, but he relaxed his fists and stood still.

Meg swung around. “And you! Coll is my
brother
. He is the gamekeeper for Baillannan, and what he brought me he has permission for from the Roses. You do not own everything here, me, least of all. Now . . .” She looked back and forth between them, giving them equal doses of her scorn. “Listen to me. I am my own woman and the property of no man, be he earl or brother. This is my house. And whomever
I choose to invite into it is no concern of either of you. Have I made myself clear?”

“Indeed.” Mardoun folded his arms, his voice as aloof as his expression.

“Good.” Meg looked at Coll inquiringly.

“Oh, aye, Meg.” He let out a gusty sigh and stepped back. “You always do.”

“Very well, then.” She swiveled back to Mardoun. “Thank you, my lord, for helping me. I imagine you are eager to be on your way home. Just take the path that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction from which Coll had come. “When you reach the standing stones, take the path to your left, and—”

“I am sure I can make my way home from there,” he told her stiffly. He snatched up his wet garments and boots, then inclined his head toward Meg. “Good day, Miss Munro.” His glance flickered toward Coll, but he said nothing, merely gave him a short nod before he strode out of the cabin.

Coll waited until Mardoun was gone before he swung back to his sister. “Now, would you mind telling me what that man was doing here?”

“I did so already. Did you think I was lying?”

“I’d like to see the day when
you
get caught by the tide.”

“Well, here it is, so I suggest you enjoy it.”

“Why were you on the beach with that villain anyway? And what were you doing to make you forget about the tide?”

“We were having a row, not that it’s any of your business.”

“And the tide washed you off the rocks?”

“No, of course not, I was on his horse and the thing
reared and sent me into the water. The undertow took me, and—”

“You were on his horse? What the devil were you doing on his horse?”

“Trying to escape the rising water, you fool!” Meg stamped her foot down hard, though since it was unshod, it failed to make her point. “What do you mean interrogating me like this? I am a grown woman and have been for many years. You have no reason to know every detail of my life, much less any right to it.”

“I know full well you’re an independent sort, and I dinna pry into your business,” Coll said loftily. Meg rolled her eyes. “Not as much as I’d like to, at any rate.” His face relaxed into a small smile, and Meg had to do the same.

“I can take care of myself, Coll. You know that.”

“Aye, I do.” He nodded and picked up the birds he had dropped, carrying them into the kitchen. “But this is the Earl of Mardoun we’re talking about.”

“Do you think I’ll be so dazzled by his fine name that I’ll lose all good sense and leap into his bed?”

“No, of course not. I know you care nothing for a title or wealth or any of that. But he’s a powerful man, and his sort is used to taking what they want. Just think what he’s doing to his crofters! That tells you what manner of man he is.”

“I know that full well. Do you think I’m daft? I have no interest in jumping into his bed.” That, she reflected, was a lie, so she added, “I won’t sleep with him.”

“And what if he doesn’t care what you want, only what he wants? He’s an English lord, and they’re accustomed to doing whatever, however, they please to the Highlands, and never being punished for it.”

“Och, Coll, you need not worry about that. The man is too used to crooking his finger and a woman running to him for him to chase a lass who’s unwilling.”

“Some men prefer a chase,” Coll told her darkly.

“I know how to discourage them.” Meg smiled and linked her arm through his. “Here, sit and talk with me. I was about to fix a cup of tea to warm me up. Will you have some?” As he nodded, she went on merrily, “And we can talk about what lass
you’re
chasing now.”

“Meg . . .”

“Hah! Now the shoe is on the other foot, eh?” She filled up the kettle with water and hung it over the fire to boil, then plopped the teapot onto the table and measured out the tea. “I hear you’ve been courting Dot Cromartie up the glen.”

“I may have danced with her once or twice at Danny’s and Flora’s
réiteach
.”

“Walked her home, was the way it was told to me.”

“That, too. She is a bonnie lass.”

“She is.”

Coll heaved a great sigh. “But the fact is, you might as well talk to a stump. Better, really, for at least a stump disnae giggle and say, ‘Oh, ye’re so clever, Coll!’ ”

“Some men like a bit of admiration, I understand,” Meg told him drily.

“As do I, but it disnae mean much coming from one who knows so little.”

Meg laughed. “I could not see you being content with her. You’ve always had a liking for bluestockings. As I recall, you were quite smitten with Isobel’s governess.”

“Aw, Meg . . .” His voice turned plaintive as a dull flush rose up his neck.

“You used to bring her nosegays, I mind. The gardener was furious with you for snipping off the roses.”

“I was twelve at the time.”

“And so earnest.”

“I am glad I was able to afford you so much amusement,” he told her sourly.

“And Isobel, too.” She reached out and patted his hand, saying more soberly, “Sometimes I think it was not fair to you for us to be taught with Isobel and Andrew and Greg. I don’t know how you’ll find any woman around here who can converse with you about your books and such.”

He shrugged. “I’d rather have the knowledge. You’d have the same problem, I think.”

“I am not as fond of books as you.”

“A bonnie face can make up for not loving books.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“All I ask is more curiosity and intelligence than Dot Cromartie.”

“That’s setting a low standard.” Meg grinned, and stood up as the kettle whistled.

When she returned from the kitchen and poured the water into the pot, Coll changed the subject. “Alan McGee is back in the glen.”

“Da’s home?” Meg smiled and returned the kettle to its place. “Have you seen him?”

“No. He will pay me a visit as soon as he needs something.”

“Ah, Coll.” Meg made a little clicking noise with her tongue. “Don’t we all come to you when we need something? Me? Isobel? Half the glen, in fact. You are too hard on him.”

“
You
are too easy on him, and so was Ma. I cannot fathom why women are always so foolish about the man.”

Meg chuckled. “Look in the mirror and maybe you’ll understand. He’s a fine-looking man, our father, and charming, as well.”

“And rootless. And feckless. It scarcely makes me proud that I resemble him.”

“Still, he is your father. And we’ve little enough family.” Meg’s voice turned a little wistful. “We never met out grandmother. Ma did not even know her father’s name. And Ma herself died far too soon.”

“We have each other. And growing up as we did, the Roses are almost family.”

“Almost. But that’s not the same. I love Isobel, you know that, and yes, we are close as sisters—closer than many I’ve seen. But Baillannan is not our home. And their past is not our past. Did you not ever feel, growing up there, that we did not truly belong? That we were always different . . . apart . . .”

“Aye, they’re not our family by blood. And we
are
different—from everyone, really. The Munros always have been.” Coll frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re saying, Meg. Do you—do you wish you were something other than a Munro?”

“No! Oh, no, never that.” Meg reached out and took his hand. “I’m proud of our family, and I would never have wanted anything other than the life we have had. I don’t want any brother but you—or sisters or cousins, either. I just wish . . . wouldn’t you like to know more about us? About the Munros who came before us? For all that was handed down throughout the years through generations—the remedies, the cottage, the way we live—we really don’t know about the
people
. Our grandmother, for one. Do you know aught but that her name was Faye and she died giving birth
to Ma? I don’t. What was she like? How did she look? Who did she love? Wouldn’t you like to know who our grandfather was? Sometimes I think there may be people somewhere about here, people I’ve walked past all my life, and we’ve got the same blood running through our veins, but I’ll never know.”

Coll looked at her, considering. “Truth is, I’ve never thought about it. I suppose I’d like to know who our grandfather was, but it does not trouble me. Most like, he was another such as our father.” Coll shrugged. “Here and then gone. Never there when he was needed.”

Meg’s eyes softened, and she reached over and laid her hand upon Coll’s. “But
you
are. Da is a will-o’-the-wisp, and I take him for what he is—loving the music and laughter in him and expecting naught else. You are my rock and always have been. Never think I dinna treasure that.”

“Even when I poke my nose into your business?” Coll quirked an eyebrow at her, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Even then.” She laughed. “But I’ll still ring a peal over your head when you do.”

What a bloody irritating female! Damon started down the path, pulling on his boots as he went, half hopping along. He was too furious, too in need of movement, to stop and pull them on rationally, though he had little doubt that he looked like a buffoon. But then, he had looked like a buffoon with this woman at every turn.