The Heiress Bride (34 page)

“Why?”

“What the hell do you mean, why? You killed my
sister. You killed poor Dingle.”

“Oh no, Dingle was killed by another of your own men. As it happens, my son, Philip, witnessed the whole thing. It was a fight about a woman, naturally. Alfie killed him.”

Robert MacPherson shook his head and said in disgust, “That damned chit! I told them—” He broke off and jerked forward once more against the chains. They held firm. “All right, I will give you that one. Still, you murdered my sister.”

Sinjun opened her mouth, then closed it. This was up to Colin, and she realized that it was important that she keep still. MacPherson must know now that she loved her husband to distraction, must believe she'd lie for him without hesitation, all true naturally. It was difficult, but she kept quiet, and watched.

“Your sister died nearly eight months ago. Why didn't you act immediately against me?”

“I didn't believe you'd killed her then. My father was certain you were innocent and I believed him. But then I found out the truth.”

“Ah,” said Colin. “The truth. Could you tell me the source of this truth?”

MacPherson looked suddenly crafty. “Why should I? I have no reason to doubt the source. My father wouldn't either if he had an unconfused thought left in his pathetic brain.”

“Your father was quite clear in his thinking the last time I visited him,” Colin said. “Go back to Edinburgh and tell him. See if he agrees with you. My guess is that he will laugh at you. I think you're afraid to tell him, Robbie, afraid of his scorn at your damned credulity. Well? Answer me. No? I will tell you something else. I believe you prefer skulking about in the shadows, hiring your bully boys. I believe you prefer claiming your father is brain-soft
and that is only because he won't agree with you about me. Thus, you want to toss him out with the rubbish. Tell him, Robbie. He's the MacPherson laird. He's your father. Trust him, for God's sake. Now, who told you I killed your sister?”

“I won't tell you.”

“Then how can I allow you to leave here? I don't wish to die, nor do I wish to have to worry all the time about Joan's safety and my children's safety.”

MacPherson looked at the chafed flesh on his wrists. Chained to the bloody wall like a damned criminal, and all by that ridiculous little chit who sat on the floor, watching him with her wide blue eyes. She'd tricked him; she'd made a fool of him. He pulled his eyes away from her. He stared at Colin Kinross, a man he'd known all his life, a man who was tall and lean and trustworthy, with a man's strong features, not pretty as he was, a man women adored and sought out. The man Fiona had loved despite her insane jealousy. No one doubted Colin's virility; oh yes, he'd heard the silly girls giggling about him, his endowments, his skills as a lover. No one questioned that he was less than a man. He felt the jealousy grind into him and looked away. He said, his voice low, “If I promise I won't attempt to harm either this girl here or your children, will you release me? Good God, man, Philip and Dahling are my nephew and niece! They're Fiona's children; I wouldn't hurt them.”

“No, I believe that would be beyond even you, Robbie. However, that leaves Joan. She is my wife. She also has this unfortunate habit of trying to save me all the time. It's appealing when it isn't enraging.”

“She should be beaten. She's only a bloody woman.”

“I daresay you wouldn't feel that way were she
always on the lookout to keep you safe. Who told you I killed Fiona?”

“I won't harm her, damn you!”

“But you will keep trying to hurt Colin, won't you?” Sinjun was on her feet now. She felt no charitable leanings toward MacPherson. Were it up to her, she'd leave him chained here until he rotted.

Colin saw her feelings on her face and grinned at her. He said, “Sit down, Joan. Keep out of this.”

She subsided, but her brain was working furiously. Who had accused Colin of murder? Aunt Arleth? That seemed a distinct possibility. With him dead, she could do as she pleased. But it made no sense, not really. Aunt Arleth much appreciated the money Sinjun's dowry had brought to the laird. If I were dead, she would rejoice, Sinjun thought, but Colin? What if Aunt Arleth did hate him enough to want him dead, because she somehow believed he was responsible for his brother's death? Sinjun felt a headache begin to pound at her over her right temple. It was too much, all of it.

 

Colin jumped as a log rolled off, scattering embers out onto the hearth. He was pulled abruptly back from his memories of the afternoon with MacPherson. He hugged his wife closer as she said, nestling closer as she kissed her husband's throat yet again, “Do you believe him, Colin?” She kissed him again. He tasted warm and salty and utterly wonderful. She could kiss him until she cocked up her toes.

“I don't wish to speak of him anymore tonight.”

“But you let him go! I'm frightened!”

“You'll be safe. He swore on his father's name.”

“Ha! He is a little weasel, pretty but deadly.”

“Hush, Joan. I want to kiss you now.” He gently shifted her in his arms and brought his mouth to
hers. He tasted of the sweet, darkly mysterious port he'd drunk with Ryder and Douglas after dinner. His mouth was firm and when his tongue came gently between her lips she felt a desire to lock her arms around his neck and never let him go. “That feels wonderful,” she said into his mouth. His tongue touched hers and she squirmed a bit.

He raised his head and looked at her. “I've missed you. Tonight, Joan, you'll learn pleasure. Will you trust me and cease your babble about my being too large for you?”

“But you're still as large as you were, Colin. That can't change. I still don't see how it can be at all wonderful for me when you have to come inside me.”

He just grinned down at her. “Trust me.”

“I suppose I must, since I want to see your beautiful face every day until I die. You're very important to me, Colin. You must take good care of yourself. All right?”

“Yes, and I'll also take good care of you.”

He kissed her again and yet again. He continued kissing her, lightly then more deeply, nipping at her lower lip, kissing her until she was gasping and pressing herself against him, her fingers wild in his hair and on his shoulders. He made no move to caress her breasts or touch her anywhere but her back and her arms. Kissing seemed to be the only thing on his mind. Sinjun was very happy about it, for about five minutes.

She wanted more. It was disconcerting, but she didn't mind at all. She felt that tugging sensation low in her belly, a sort of burning that was intense yet still vague and indistinct, but she knew there had to be more and she wanted it. She vaguely remembered those feelings now, oh yes, she'd had them before, but they'd vanished when he'd hurt
her. She grabbed his hand and pulled it to her stomach. She pressed his palm against her belly. “I feel very strange,” she said into his mouth, her breath warm, her voice hoarse. She began to kiss him wildly, without restraint, her hands in his hair, stroking his face and shoulders.

“Yes, I can feel that you do,” he said. His fingers didn't move for the longest time, merely rested lightly on her stomach. But he continued to kiss her until she moaned into his mouth. Then his fingers slipped slowly downward. Sinjun sucked in her breath, waiting. She felt frantic, and very very warm. She felt as if there was something wonderful waiting for her, and it was close now, very close.

“Colin,” she said, and moaned into his mouth.

“What would you like now, Joan?”

C
OLIN HAD A
strategy and he had no intention of allowing himself to forget it or modify it. No, he had no intention of losing his control. No, tonight he was going to make his wife want him desperately, then he would see.

She was getting close and he was both delighted and immensely relieved.

He continued to kiss her. She was warm and soft and urgent and he wanted very much to cover her with his fingers, to ease inside of her, to feel her around him, to feel the softness and warmth of her. But he held off. No, let it build within her, this passion he would continue to inflame, until she was moaning with it, then yelling. He closed his eyes, trying to picture her face when her pleasure took her.

“I want—” she began, then touched her tongue to his and gasped.

“Yes, I'll give you that,” he said, and deepened his kiss. His fingertips were lightly cupped over her, but not moving, not caressing her, just lying there.

Sinjun wondered what was happening. She remembered that he'd been a wild man before and he'd hurt her. She realized dimly that he was being very careful with her, very restrained. Did he believe her still weak from her illness?

No, he didn't want to scare her off again. She smiled against his wonderful mouth. She said quite without thought or hesitation, “I love you, Colin. I loved you from the first moment I saw you. I think you're the most remarkable man in Scotland.”

He jerked at her words. He felt something move deep inside him, something he'd never felt before in his life, something hot and frantic, yet strangely gentle and tender. It scared the hell out of him. At first. Then he eased, allowing the feelings into himself, and her words. Yes, her words. He would think about it later. He kissed her again, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, and kissed her three more times before saying, “Only Scotland?”

“All right, perhaps in all of Britain.”

“Kiss me, Joan.”

Her mouth was red and swollen with his kisses, and yet again she leaned up against him without an instant's hesitation, and he saw the need in her beautiful eyes, felt the slight trembling of her mouth as his tongue slid between her lips.

When her tongue was warm in his mouth, his fingers suddenly dipped lower. His middle fingers pressed inward, hot as the devil against the light lawn of her nightgown. She thought she'd leap from his lap.

“Let's get you out of this damned thing,” he said, feeling the soft material dampen beneath his fingers. He brought his fingers to her lips and gently pressed against them. “That's the taste of you, Joan. It's very nice, don't you think?”

She could but stare at him. Slowly, she nodded. He straightened her and pulled the gown over her head. He sat her there on his thighs, the firelight glowing behind her, her breasts in profile to him and her narrow waist and her flat belly. He'd never in his life seen a more beautifully made woman.
And she was all his. His hands trembled and he flattened them to his thighs. No, he would hold control. He wouldn't frighten her, ever again. He would hold to his plan, but it was difficult, damned difficult.

He leaned his head against the chair back. The old leather creaked comfortably under the pressure. “What would you like me to do, Joan?”

“I want you to kiss me some more.”

“Where?”

He heard her breath suck in sharply. “My breasts,” she said, lightly stroking her fingers over his chin. “You're still clothed, Colin. That isn't fair.”

“Forget fairness for the moment,” he said, gently clasping her arms and pulling her against him. He wasn't about to let her see him naked. It would probably make her forget her passion. It would probably scare her out of her mind.

“I think your breasts can wait a bit,” he said, and, still careful not to touch her anywhere that would make her tremble and shudder, he kissed her mouth, and again and then once more, his hands cupping her face, his fingers sliding through her hair, holding her head still for him. When she was squirming against his thighs, very lightly he cupped her left breast in his warm palm.

“Oh!”

“You're quite nice.” His knuckles were rubbing lightly over her nipple. “Lie back against my arm.”

She did, staring up at him. She watched him lean down even as his arm brought her upward, and when his mouth closed over her, she nearly yelled with the power of it. He smiled, tasting her sweet flesh, quivering himself, but experienced enough to keep it from her. His sex was hard as a stone and he wanted her very much, so much that he considered briefly just carrying her to the bed,
and coming into her. Surely she was ready for him now. But no, he was a fool even to consider it for a moment.

He stopped himself and kissed her breast, fondling her with his fingers and his tongue until he knew she was very ready for him. His hand flattened on her belly and he felt the muscles tighten. “Now, I want you to close your eyes, sweetheart, and just picture in that lively mind of yours what my fingers are doing.”

He didn't hold back now. His fingers found her quickly and he began a rhythm that was at once deep and gentle, light and urgent. She had no chance to object, no chance to feel embarrassed. All she could do was feel how her body was jerking, her legs clenching, then opening to him, and he saw those feelings clearly on her expressive face. She stared up at him, her eyes vague and bewildered. “Colin,” she whispered and ran her tongue over her lower lip.

“Come along now, Joan. I want you to think about what my fingers are doing to you. I'm going to kiss you and I want you to let yourself go and cry out in my mouth.”

At that moment, he eased his middle finger into her and nearly cried out himself at the wondrous feeling of her. He kissed her as if he would die without her and he wondered vaguely in those moments if it wasn't true. His fingers were on her swelled flesh again, stroking her, caressing her until she stiffened and pulled back. He looked at her face and smiled at her, painfully. “Yes, sweetheart. Come to me now.”

She did, from one moment to the next, she was gasping, her legs stiff, such sensations pulsing through her that she couldn't begin to understand what was happening to her. Whatever it was, she
prayed it would never stop. It was so strong and so deep and he was there, staring down at her, that smile in his eyes, and he was saying again and again, “Come to me, come to me . . .”

The feelings crested, flinging her into a world that was fresh and magical, a world that held her now and would never release her. She quieted. His fingers quieted, soothing her now, no longer inflaming her.

“Oh goodness,” she whispered. “Oh goodness, Colin. That was wonderful.”

“Yes,” he said and there was both pain and immense pleasure in his voice and he never stopped looking at her, and now he leaned down and kissed her, softly, lightly. Ah, the bewilderment in her Sherbrooke blue eyes, and the vagueness and the excitement. It pleased him, pleased him to his soul.

Sinjun drew a deep breath. His pleasure, she thought. He hadn't received any pleasure from her. Would he hurt her now? Oh no, he wouldn't ever hurt her again. But his pleasure . . . Her heart slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed. To Colin's chagrin and amusement, she was asleep in the next moment.

He held her for a very long time in front of the warm fire, looking down at her, then into the dying flames, and wondering what this woman had done to him.

 

When Sinjun awoke the following morning, she was smiling. A silly smile, one that was absurdly content, one that held only one thought, and that thought was of her husband. Of Colin. God, she loved him. Suddenly she stilled and the smile slid off her face. She'd told him she loved him, loved him from the first moment she ever saw him, and he hadn't
replied. But he'd given her such pleasure that she'd wondered even as she prayed it would never end if she would die from it.

She'd told him she loved him and he'd said naught.

Well, she'd been a fool, but she didn't care. It seemed ridiculous to her now that she would hold back anything from him. He cared for her, she knew that. Now he knew that she loved him. If it gave him power over her, then so be it. If he used the power to hurt her, so be that as well.

She was herself. She couldn't change. She was a wife, Colin's wife. God had given him to her; she would never hold back from him. He was, quite simply, the most important person in her life.

Still, when she entered the Laird's Inbetween Room some forty-five minutes later for her breakfast, she felt flushed and nervous and embarrassed. Colin was there, seated at his ease at the head of the table, a cup of coffee in his hand, a bowl of porridge in front of him, a curl of heat rising from it. The bowl sat on a beautiful white linen tablecloth she'd bought in Kinross.

Her brothers weren't there. Neither of the wives was there. The children weren't there. Neither Aunt Arleth nor Serena was there. There was a bloody castle full of people and they were alone.

“Everyone finished thirty minutes ago. I've been waiting for you to come down. I didn't think you would appreciate a full table.”

Was that ever the truth, she thought, pinned a smile to her mouth, and walked in, head up.

He grinned at her like a wicked potentate. “I thought perhaps you'd want to speak to me about how I made you feel last night. In private, naturally. I thought perhaps you'd be disappointed because
I only brought you to pleasure one time. I'm very sorry you fell asleep, Joan, but I was too much the gentleman to wake you and force you to climax yet again. You've been ill, after all, and I didn't want you to have to feel too much like a wife all at once.”

“You're very kind, Colin,” she said. She met his eyes and she flushed. He spoke as boldly as did her damned brothers. She never colored up like a silly chit when they were outrageous. She willed her tongue into action; her chin went up. “I'm not disappointed, husband, but I did worry about you. You were too kind. I told you, I would be your wife, but you didn't allow me to give you any respite.”

“ ‘Respite,' ” he repeated. “What a gloomy word to use for screaming, thumping sexual pleasure. ‘Respite.' I must mention that to my friends and see what they think.”

“I would that you not do that. It is a rather private matter. Very well, I will take back ‘respite' and be more like my brothers. I'm sorry you didn't have any sexual screaming, Colin.”

“That's better. What makes you think there was no pleasure for me? I watched you climax, Joan. I watched your eyes get bluer, if that's possible, then grow dim and vague and it was quite charming. Indeed, I felt your pleasure, for you were trembling beneath my fingers and moaning and when you made those cries in my mouth I assure you I wanted to howl with masculine pleasure. Along with you.”

“But you didn't,” she said, slipping into her chair.

He gave her a look that was completely unreadable to her and said as matter-of-factly as a fifty-year husband, “Should you like some porridge?”

“Just toast, I think.”

He nodded and rose to serve her. “No, remain seated. I want you strong again.”

He poured her coffee and set her toast in front of her. Then, without warning, he grasped her chin in his hand and lifted her face. He kissed her, long and hard, then very gently. When he released her, her eyes were vague and dazzled and she was leaning against him, her arms loose at her sides.

“Philip told me he would forgive you for lying to him if you asked him nicely,” he said, and walked back to the end of the table. “It appears he understands you very well. He said that you would walk through fire to save me, thus a lie was nothing if it served your cause in serving me.”

She stared at him. Philip was a smart boy. She continued to stare at Colin, at his mouth. A word of affection would have been nice, she thought. Perhaps an endearment. Perhaps an acknowledgment that he was touched that she loved him. She tasted him on her own mouth. She just looked at him helplessly, all that she felt on her face.

He gave her a pained smile that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Eat, Joan.” His expression remained unreadable, the sod.

She chewed on her toast, wondering why God, in his infinite wisdom, had created men to be so very different from women.

“I also wished to tell you that I intend to question Aunt Arleth this morning. If she was the source Robert MacPherson claims told him I killed Fiona, then I will get the truth out of her.”

“Somehow I can't believe it was her. But she does cherish an amazing dislike for you. But then again, she heartily disliked Fiona. It was only your father and your brother she loved, if I understand what worked its way out of her mouth. Actually, Aunt Arleth makes little sense at the best of times.
Remember all her talk about a kelpie being your father? She's very strange.”

“It doesn't matter. Once I've either confirmed or rejected her part in this, she's leaving Vere Castle, her strangeness with her.”

“She has no money, Colin.”

“As I told you, she has family and I've already sent her brother a message. He and his family live near Pitlochry, in the central Highlands. They have no choice but to provide her a home. I'm sorry she behaved as she did toward you.”