Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (42 page)

Well, if she were going mad, she might as well give in to it. “Take me away from here.”

“I canna. ’Tis not in my powers.” The girl smiled impishly. “I can alter time a wee bit though. Will that help?”

Time. If Jillian could stay safe until Ian got home… He would come. “Yes,” she said. “I need time for Ian to get here.”

The faerie’s silver eyes glowed. “Ye are the laird’s lady then? ’Twas spoken of in our land… Tell me what is happening.”

Quickly, Jillian filled her in, wondering if the hysterical bubble that was rising in her throat was her last link with sanity. The faerie seemed so real.

“Ye still doubt me?” the girl asked when she had finished her story. “’Tis simple. I will make this Wesley think I am Lorelei and he will follow me away from you.”

Jillian’s heart sank. “You don’t look anything like her. She looks like me.”

The faerie winked. “Ye need to have a wee bit of faith.”

The mist thickened, swirling now in iridescent colors, and when it cleared Jillian was looking at herself. Her mouth dropped. “How…?”

“’Tis glamour,” the faerie answered, “but I canna hold it for long. An hour, perhaps, in your time.” She raised her hands and the mist disappeared, bringing the room back into focus.

Wesley gaped and looked from Jillian to the faerie. “Lorelei?”

“Of course, my love,” she said with no trace of a burr. “I have only now escaped the prison that your mean father held me in. Am I too late?”

He stared dumbly at the faerie and Jillian prayed that whatever madness had taken Wesley, he would believe that Lorelei had returned.

“Too late?” he asked.

The faerie smiled. “I am back. You may let this woman go.”

A crafty look came over his face. “Not yet. It would serve my father right for me to have both of you.”

The faerie frowned at him. “I do not like to share. Have you forgotten, my love?”

He gave her a lecherous smile. “Not at all.”

She smiled at him, her hand moving seductively over his chest. “Then I suggest we go to another room.”

Jillian couldn’t believe her luck when Wesley followed the faerie out, but when she cautiously opened the door a few minutes later, she found a burly guard that she didn’t know in front of it. He leered at her and she shut the door quickly. She moved to the window, only to find another guard looking up at her.

She turned back, trying not to panic. The faerie had bought her an hour. She couldn’t waste that time. If there was no escape from this, then she needed to find a weapon with which to defend herself.

Frantically, she searched the room. She realized now that several things were missing. The poker for the fire was gone. So was the brass chamber pot that could have put a good dent in Wesley’s head. She started going through drawers only to find nothing, not even a whale bone from a stay.

Panic began to set in when she realized that her time must be almost up. She checked the door and window again, but the guards just grinned at her.

Moments later, she heard a muffled roar and then boots pounding on the steps. Wesley. The faerie’s glamour must have worn off. He would be furious.

Desperately, she smashed the china cup against the hearth, breaking it into pieces. She’d probably cut her hand when she tried to use it, but if she was lucky, one of the sharp edges would also leave a wide gash in Wesley’s throat.

She ran to the wall behind the door. There was the slight chance that when he opened it, he would think her gone. If not, the piece of china would have to do.

He was close. The guard muttered something and then the door knob turned.

Jillian held her breath and waited.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The door was opened slowly, cautiously.

“It wasn’t nice to fool me that way, Jillian,” Wesley said from the safety of the doorway. “I know you’re hiding behind the door. Come out.”

Jillian readied the broken china, praying it would work. Wesley stepped through, but outside of her reach, and then he slammed the door shut. Jillian lunged at him, slashing the air. He caught her arm and jerked it down with surprising strength. He pulled it behind her back, twisting it cruelly until she whimpered in pain.

He leaned close and she could smell liquor on this breath. She turned her head away but he just laughed. That laugh sounded surreal.

“You won’t get away from me this time, pet. I had thought to treat you well, but after tempting me with an imposter, I think you need to learn a lesson.” He lifted her bent arm a bit higher. “If you think this hurts, just wait.”

He threw her on the bed and straddled her. Jillian tried to fight him and then realized by the hardness of his erection and the mad gleam in his eye that her resistance was exciting him. She forced herself to lie still, hating the feel of him on top of her.

Wesley pulled out the rope, wrapped it around her wrist and bound it to the bedpost. She flailed at him with her other fist, but he backhanded her again and she saw stars as he quickly bound her other hand as well.

Helpless, she stared at him, willing herself to lie still and not show fear. If she could just get him talking again... “What did you mean by an imposter, Wesley? I saw no one. You just suddenly left the room.”

For a moment, he looked confused. “Lorelei returned. I had to talk to her.” His eyes went out of focus and his voice became childlike. “Then she left.”

“Perhaps she needed to visit the garderobe? She may be waiting for you. Why don’t you go look?”

He frowned. “I did look. She’s gone.” Then he gave Jillian a leering smile and moved off her to walk to the armoire.

She felt relief that his weight had lifted and he was away from the bed. Her relief was short-lived though as he dug through a shelf and pulled out a riding crop.

“I put an extra one in here for you when I bought the whip for that crazed horse,” he said as he came back to the bed. “There are all kinds of fun things I can do with this.”

Poor Gunnar
. Then her heart beat hard in her chest as she realized Wesley meant to use that whip on her. She closed her eyes, trying to squelch the panic that was rising inside her. From Rufus, she knew only too well how it would sting.

He bent over her. “I will teach you to like the pain.” He lightly ran the edge of the crop along her cheek. “Do you feel how soft it is? Just like your skin. If you’re good and do as I ask, it is all you will feel. But,” he said as he raised the crop, “if you do not obey me, or do not do it quickly enough, you will feel the sting…like this.” He made a sharp gesture with his wrist and the leather snapped against the bare skin of her arm, leaving a welt. “You can imagine how it will feel on more…ah,
sensitive
parts, can’t you?” He brushed the tip of the crop over her breast. “Shall we begin?”

Jillian tried her best to stem the hysteria that was threatening to erupt. Wesley was even more depraved than his father. Adoptive father. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something glimmer near the door, but she dared not look. Had the faerie returned? Could she help? Jillian tried to focus on Wesley. “I can hardly do anything tied up like this.”

He laughed. “For what I have in mind, you will do just fine.” He reached for the buckle of his trews. “You can pleasure me with your mouth.”

The door broke open and Ian burst through, his claymore in hand.

Wesley whirled. “Cantford! You have no right to be on my property.”

“I have every right,” Ian snarled and advanced on him, sword point at Wesley’s throat. “I’ve come to take my woman.” He nudged the tip up and drew a drop of blood. “Stand back before I pin ye to the wall with this.”

“You won’t kill an unarmed man.”

“Nae? Are ye sure?” Ian asked and drew a second drop of blood. Wesley blanched. “Your servants, such as they are, are being held by Jamie and some of my men. ’Tis no one to help ye.” He pulled a dirk from its sheath with his other hand and slashed one of Jillian’s ropes, freeing an arm. He handed her the dirk. “Use this if ye need it.”

He waited until Jillian had freed her other hand and scampered against the headboard. Then he tossed the claymore aside. “It’s just ye and me, Newburn. Let’s see if ye can make it to the door.”

Wesley cast a furtive eye to the hallway where the guard lay unconscious. He took a step toward the door. Then another one. Ian stalked him. Wesley turned and then suddenly pulled a knife from a pocket and jabbed at Ian. Ian spun and the blade slashed his shirt sleeve.

“Unarmed, were ye?” Ian said as Wesley lunged again. This time, Ian grabbed his wrist and, using Wesley’s own momentum, pulled him through the motion and threw him to the floor. Wesley’s head hit the armoire with a resounding crack and he lay still.

“Is he dead?” Jillian asked from the bed.

Ian gave him a kick and he groaned. “Nae. Do ye want me to finish the deed?”

“No! I just want to get out of here.” She started to shake uncontrollably.

Ian was beside her immediately and gathered her into his arms, holding her tight against him. He covered her mouth with his, his tongue seeking entrance, and he deepened the kiss as her lips parted for him, claiming her. Slowly, her trembling stopped and she nuzzled her head under his chin.

“I don’t know what I would have done—”

“Shhh,” he said as he smoothed her hair. “It’s over, lass. Newburn will never hurt ye again.”

Jillian’s breath caught as Ian spread her legs wide and eased himself gently into her. His thick length stretched her, filling her completely, letting her know she was safe. He thrust slowly, leisurely, just as he had taken his time with the rest of her body once they were home and he had bathed the reminder of Wesley off of her. Her lips were swollen from his long kisses, her breasts still heavy and full from the easy pressure of his hands kneading them while his tongue circled her nipples. Even his suckling had been soft until she had literally begged him to suck hard.

Her hips flexed, urging him on. He quickened the pace and she felt the crescendo building. She was so close…and then he used the pad of his thumb to massage the little nub between her folds and she exploded, taking him with her.

“That was beautiful,” she said when she could catch her breath.

He lay on his side facing her, their legs entwined. “Aye. I wanted to make sure ye erased any thoughts of pain with the act. I love ye.”

She brushed several strands of his black hair from his face. What Wesley had intended to do hadn’t needed an explanation, but on the ride home, she’d broken down and told Ian about Rufus too. What she hadn’t told him was that Wesley still had that special license.

He rose up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow. “What is it, lass? This is where ye say ye love me too.”

She gave him a small smile. “You know I love you. It’s just… Well, there is a problem…about our marriage.”

Ian frowned. “The banns will be read tomorrow for the first time. Newburn canna stop it.”

“Actually, he can.”

Ian sat up. “What? How? Did ye rape ye? I will kill him—”

“No, he didn’t rape me. You saved me from that. But…” She hesitated, not wanting to say the words, not wanting to acknowledge the fact. She took a deep breath. “Wesley has obtained a special license from the prince to marry me.”

“’Tis no good,” Ian said promptly. “We are already hand-fasted.”

“It’s not as easy as that. If the prince decrees it…” She shrugged helplessly and put her face in her hands. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He pulled her toward him and rocked her. “Doona fash. Tomorrow we have the banns read as we agreed. Then Monday, we go to London and see the prince.”

Jillian tucked her arms around his neck. “You can’t just go call on the prince. You have to go through the courtiers and wait for the prince to summon you.”

Ian snorted and pulled her closer. “Mayhap the prince needs to learn how to deal with a Highland warrior instead of those dandies who prance around in silk and satin.”

Jillian smiled in spite of the tears that welled up in her eyes. “You can’t just walk in there in full Highland dress with your claymore across your back. You’ll be arrested.”

“I doona think so,” Ian answered. “Perhaps it’s time he learn of the Macleod war cry then.”

She thought of the motto hung in his great hall. “Hold fast?” she asked.

“Aye,” Ian said and then grinned. “But when ye say it, it gives me whole different ideas.”

She pretended not to understand. “Like what?”

Ian rolled over, pinning her beneath him. “Ye’ll see, lass. Ye’ll see.”

Ian looked around the gilded room in the Pavilion as he waited his turn to see the prince. The prince had not been in residence at Carlton House and they’d had to travel to Brighton. From the outside, the Pavilion’s onion-shaped domes and many spires reminded him of a story his mother had told him when he was a bairn about a magic lamp and a boy named Aladdin. But the inside was equally astounding. The salon boasted drapes of silk and velvet and furniture from the Far East with dragon and lotus chandeliers. Ian craned his neck to look up at the painted dome ceiling.

“’Tis a strange place.”