Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (18 page)

Ian’s eyes followed the huge expanse of lawn that sloped downwards to the river that flowed tranquilly behind the house and then he looked back up at the window. “I would say that my ancestor was well-rewarded for his…work. Shall we go inside?”

The groomsmen who had been waiting silently nearby came forward to take their horses, and before Wesley could reach her, Ian was by Jillian’s side. She felt his big, strong hands encircle her waist and lift her from the saddle as though she weighed no more than a bag of feathers. As she slid down, his hands slid up beneath her jacket, ever so lightly brushing the sides of her breasts before he stepped back, an inscrutable look on his face. Had he touched her on purpose? Her breasts tingled where his fingers had skimmed across the thin fabric of her blouse. She took a deep breath.

“I’m sure the servants have been waiting to meet you,” she said and marched toward the door.

It swung open just as she reached the top step, and she could see the servants lined up on either side of the foyer with its checker-board pattern of black and white marble. Everything looked spotless, but she also sensed the tension in the butler’s face as he looked at Wesley standing behind her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smithers,” she said. “This is the new Earl of Newburn, Wesley Alton. And this—” she turned slightly as Ian stepped up on her other side, “—is the new Earl of Cantford, Ian Macleod.”

“’Tis honored I am to meet ye,” Ian said and held out his hand.

The butler’s eyes grew round at such informality, and behind him there was a rustle as the servants all turned slightly to look at their new lord.

Smithers frowned at them and they returned to their frozen positions, looking straight ahead. Jillian stifled a smile and hoped the very proper butler wouldn’t have an apoplexy getting used to Ian.

With a swish of skirts, a gray-haired woman stepped forward with a broad smile on her face. “I be the housekeeper, Mrs. Ferguson,” she said with a slight burr. “And it’s that happy I am to meet ye, my lord. ’Tis time we had a Scot in control around here.”

“You forget yourself, Mrs. Ferguson,” the butler said with a sniff.

“Nae, she doona,” Ian said with a smile. “I expect the place to be run efficiently, but I’ll nae have my people afraid to approach me. ’Tis clear?”

The footmen’s mouths gaped open while the maids twittered and cast sidelong glances at their new lord. Ian seemed not to notice.

“Perhaps we should talk, your lordship,” the butler said and lifted his nose higher.

Ian shrugged. “Aye. If ye wish, ye can join me for a glass of whisky. Ye do have some about, do ye nae?”

Smithers turned quite pale and grasped the edge of a small commode. “That wouldn’t be fitting, my lord.”

“Nae? Well, ye can watch and I’ll drink then.” He turned and winked at Mrs. Ferguson. “Surely there is a bottle of fine malt near?”

She beamed and ignored the gasping butler. “Aye, my lord, there is. Right this way, if ye please.”

Jillian watched them disappear down the hall and bit the inside of mouth to keep from laughing out loud. The servants were exchanging grins and poor Smithers looked as if he might swoon at any moment.

She had a feeling things were about to change.

Jillian was delighted the next morning to find that the maze beyond the gardens had been kept trimmed and well-preserved.

“What’s this?” Ian asked as they finished touring the gardens and came to the high hedge of the first wall.

“It’s a big puzzle,” she answered. “Once you enter, you have choices in which path to take, but the goal is to reach the center. As many times as I’ve gone through it, I still take a wrong turn sometimes.”

“Let’s try it then,” Ian said and held away the honeysuckle vine covering the entrance for her.

Jillian hesitated. Being alone with Ian in the cool, tunnel-like darkness was probably not a good idea, not when she could still recall his kiss so vividly.

“I wilna let ye get lost,” Ian said with a slow smile.

She looked into his eyes and wondered if she wasn’t already lost. Something had happened to her perspective over the past days. Ian ignited feelings in her she didn’t understand. When Rufus died, she had felt so free. Never would another man handle her again. Yet when Ian touched her, taking her arm or pressing his hand to the small of her back to guide her, she didn’t mind at all. She even looked forward to it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wesley appear on the terrace. She had managed to avoid him last night, pleading a slight headache and having dinner brought to her room. In another moment, he would see her. Quickly, she stepped past Ian and into the maze.

It smelled of damp earth and sweet nectar. The vines drooped into the narrow passageways and one caught at her sleeve, ripping it slightly before she had time to stop.

“Are ye sure ’tis worth the journey, lass?” he asked as he extracted the vine from the muslin.

Jillian tried not to think of the warmth of his fingers as he took care not to tear the garment further. “Yes, it is so peaceful at the center. You’ll see.”

He looked down at her gown, which already had several streaks of dirt on it from brushing up against dead-end hedges. “Ye are going to ruin your dress if we doona find it soon.”

It really wasn’t like her to make so many mistaken turns. She just needed to concentrate and not let Ian distract her. She sighed. His mere presence was a distraction. “It’s really close. I think just around this next turn…”

He gave her a little bow and she could see he was trying to hide a smile. He didn’t think she knew what she was doing. “Follow me,” she said and moved forward. A particularly long vine tripped her and she would have gone sprawling, except that he caught and steadied her.

He did grin then. “Perhaps I should carry ye the rest of the way?”

Furious with herself, she pushed away from him. When had she gotten so clumsy? “It’s quite unnecessary, my lord,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. From the near fall, she was sure. “This way.”

She almost held her breath, praying that she was right. She exhaled in relief when the narrow passageway opened onto a grassy circle with a small gazebo and bench at its center. Jillian waved her hand triumphantly. “There.”

The center was quiet and serene save for the droning of a few bees intent on savoring the bright orange blossoms. Ian looked up at the brilliant blue sky that seemed to form a dome over the leafy green walls.

“We have a place somewhat like this at my home,” Ian said, “but ’tis nae such a puzzle. There is only one path, but it be circular, giving a mon a chance to think as he walks it. ’Tis called a labyrinth.”

“Does it have a center,” Jillian asked, “such as this?”

He nodded. “’Tis a place for faerie magic.”

“There are no faeries here.”

He glanced down at her. “’Tis because ye doona believe in them.”

“And you do?” She smiled, having a hard time reconciling the big, strapping warrior who carried a claymore with a person who believed in children’s stories.

“Och, ye laugh, lass. Perhaps they doona come so far south as this.”

Her smile widened. “Have you actually seen one?”

Ian shrugged. “The Crone of the Hills is said to be fae.”

“Who?”

“The wise woman who councils our people,” Ian replied. “She has the kenning, ye see.”

“Kenning?”

“The knowing.” His brows knit in thought. “’Tis like when ye get a…feeling about something that makes no sense, but ye know it be true.”

“I’m afraid I’ve always been too practical for such things,” Jillian said.

“Aye, lass, ye are. And prim and proper too.” His eyes darkened and his hands slid round her waist. “’Tis time ye learned to have some fun.”

She splayed her hands across his massive chest to push him away, but he merely pulled her closer.

“Doona be afraid of me, lass.”

“I’m not—” she started to say and then his mouth captured hers.

Ian’s lips were smooth and warm as he pressed slow, easy, teasing kisses against hers. His hands caressed her back in long strokes until she relaxed against him, her hands winding around his neck. Jillian made a sound of contentment and he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance. She parted her lips, savoring the feel of his warm, velvety tongue invading her, exploring her mouth leisurely as though he had all the time in the world. Tentatively, she moved her own tongue over his and heard him growl. One hand pressed against her back, crushing her soft breasts against the hardness of his chest, while the other lowered to her buttocks and he brought her against the length of him, his shaft a thick, hard ridge against her belly.

The friction was unbelievable. A strange throbbing began between her legs and she felt herself grow wet. Her breasts felt heavy and achy with need. She rubbed against him, her nipples hardening and straining against the confines of her thin dress.

Ian groaned as his hands slid upward to cup and knead her breasts. He wedged his thigh between her legs as if he knew that she ached for him there too and began thrusting against her, inflaming the sensitive little nub that suddenly sprang to life. She gasped and twined her fingers through his hair, wanting more.

His thumbs flicked across her the taut peaks of her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress, sending shivers of heat spiraling directly to the pulsating center that his leg was torturing. She suddenly felt cool air fan her fiery skin and realized that Ian had slipped the torn sleeve of her gown over her shoulder, exposing her breast to him. Before she could even think to protest, he dipped his head and traced his tongue in wet circles around her areola, causing her knees to grow weak. He grasped her more firmly until she was actually riding his thigh.
Merciful heavens.
The sensation of what he was doing to her breast and to that throbbing bud she didn’t even know she had was causing something to build inside of her. Deep inside her belly, muscles began to contract and her breathing became harsh and shallow. Her body was dong strange things… She wanted to scream at Ian to stop and never to stop.

He glanced up at her once, his eyes black and smoldering, and then he covered her nipple with his mouth and began to suckle, drawing hard and deep. A mighty spasm took hold of Jillian and she shattered, a kaleidoscope of colors flashing before her eyes.

Slowly, she became aware of Ian’s breath, as rugged and harsh as her own. Miraculously, he was still holding her for her body felt limp and boneless.

“What…what happened?” she asked.

Ian laughed and set her on her feet, holding on to her until she had her balance.

“Ye behaved like a woman, ’tis all,” he said and reached over to cover her breast.

She felt herself flush, if that were possible, as overheated as her face already felt. Now that she could breathe again, she realized what she had done. She looked at the ground. “Please forgive me. I behaved like a wanton, I’m afraid.”

He sobered immediately and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Nae, lass. Ye did not. ’Tis what happens between a man and a woman…” He paused and traced her lips with his thumb. “Ye have never had that pleasure, my lady?”

Could she be any more mortified? She not only had never felt anything close to what she just experienced, but she didn’t even know she
could
feel that way. And Ian—experienced rogue that he was who had women swooning for him—was going to think she was totally naïve and stupid. She had been married after all. She should know about such things.

Jillian stepped back from him. “I should not have allowed such liberties, my lord. It will not happen again.”

He tilted his head slightly as he studied her. “I think it will, lass.”

She felt her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t force me…”

“Nae, lass. I wouldna.”

“Well, then,” she said as she turned to leave, “it will not happen again.”

His warm breath suddenly fanned her ear and she didn’t realize he had stepped so close. She inhaled sharply, her breasts rising, nipples hardening in spite of her words.

“Ye liked it too much not to want it again,” he murmured. “Besides, ’twas only a beginning. There’s so much more I want to do to pleasure ye.”

More
? Her stomach quivered and her knees turned weak. Just the thought of more… She shook her head. “I really don’t—”

“Shhh,” he said and put a finger across her mouth. “Ye must learn to feel with your heart, lass, and listen to what it has to say.”

She stared at him and then she turned and ran, hoping that her defenses were still very much intact.

Wesley could barely control his rage as they headed back toward London the next day. He had seen the damn Highlander taking liberties with Jillian when he’d followed them into the maze yesterday, liberties that only
he
should be taking. Cold fury filled him. Not only that, but the lands given to the Scot by King George had actually been part of Newburn. It wasn’t Wesley’s fault that his ancestor had royally angered the king enough to have some of his lands taken. The way he saw it, Cantford lands should be his. And he wanted them back.

The best way to do it? He’d sent Louis Tredeau to Glenfinnan to nose about and find out if any French renegades resided on Macleod land and indeed, there were some. Whether they were ex-patriots or still loyal to Napoleon didn’t really matter to him. He would spread the rumor that they were and that Macleod was harboring them.