The Highlander's Triumph (9 page)

Another gasp.
“My aren’t ye just—”

“Shh!”
interrupted the other maid.

Much to Mariana’s disappointment the maids stopped talking
about Brandon. They finished two braids, and then twisted them into a long rope down her back. The crackle of the fire no longer soothed her, given the way her mind whirled with the unabashed conversation. She kept conjuring up visions of Brandon with two women draped over him, under him, pressing him between them. What little she’d eaten quickly soured in her stomach.

“A pink ribbon to match your shift, my lady.”
The maid placed the thick, braided twist over her shoulder to show her the matching pink. “Pardon my saying so, but ye are so verra pretty, and any man who could see ye right now would be on their knees begging for your hand.”

Mariana pursed her lips. She didn’t want
just
any
man bending down on his knee for her. There was only one—and these two tramps were fighting over who was going to traipse through his door and into his bed. A place she most certainly wanted to be. She wanted to scratch their eyes out for simply thinking about it.

“
Thank you for the compliment.” Mariana stood, turned around and faced the two maids. Chin high, she looked one in the eye and then the other.

It was time to take control of this situation.
This was her only chance to savor a memory, to spend the night in the arms of a man she could pretend had feelings for her—feelings she herself was beginning to become painfully aware of.

A
fterward, she would make her escape from this place. From him. From a broken heart. She told herself it was to keep innocent people safe, but that was only a small part of it. Mariana wanted to keep herself safe too—safe from the feelings Brandon pulled forth.

“You will not be visiting Laird Sinclair this evening,” Mariana managed to say with authority, although her hands shook. She placed them on her hips to keep their tremble from showing.

Both maids looked at her with question, their brows knitted together, lips pursed.

“Let me be
more clear.” Mariana walked to where her purse had been set down. She’d been lucky to keep it tied around her waist beneath her gown, else she’d be penniless. She took out two silver coins and pressed one into each of their palms. “You will be quiet about this. You will tell Ronan one of you visited if he asks. But tonight, Laird Sinclair is mine.”

Chapter Nine

T
he pounding staccato bouncing off the darkened stone walls of the corridor was heard by none other than Mariana. It was in her ears, all around her, consuming her. Her heart beat so fast, booming within her, she was sure it was going to burst right through her ribs and bounce on the floor, mocking her.

But despite that, she didn’t still her pace, didn’t
run back to her room. She kept going toward what she deemed to be the right place. The right decision.

Brandon’s chamber
was on the level beneath hers. Or so she prayed. The maids had pouted when giving her directions and then with another coin, did as she bid and stayed in her chamber in case anyone happened by. She’d given them strict instructions to tell whomever it was that she was sick and could not be disturbed.

Mariana paused outside the
door, barely able to make out the grooves in the wood with only one torch lit several paces away. The iron handle drew her gaze. Once she stepped foot inside his chamber, there would be no turning back. No light escaped beneath the door, but that didn’t mean it was completely pitch black inside. Oh, but how she found herself praying it was. She could always run out unnoticed, if the fear burning its way up her throat choked her.

“Just open it,” she whispered.

Reaching out to grasp the handle, she barely brushed her fingertips on the cool metal when voices coming from the direction of the stairs, jarred her. Mariana jumped back, whirled in a circle, looking for a place to hide. An alcove near an arrow slit dipped darkly into the wall. Trying to remain silent, and with hurried steps, she leapt into the alcove, pressing herself against the wall, hoping the shadows covered her. To keep silent, she held her breath, too afraid her fearful pants would be heard by those who drew near.

The laughter grew louder. Two or maybe three guards, it was hard to decipher between the guffaws.
But then there was a pause and some whispering. Were they listening outside the laird’s door? Nay, they couldn’t be. Was it possible? Were they all aware of Ronan’s duty to find the laird a woman to bed? Were women nothing but a mere conquest? That was almost enough to make Mariana go back to her room. Almost. But not quite enough.

Suppressing a disgusted groan at herself, she waited for the men to finally saunter off, and then she waited a little longer just to be s
afe. Peeking around the corner, she looked up and down the corridor to make certain it was completely empty. Confident she was alone, she slid with her back against the wall all the way to Brandon’s door. This time, without hesitation, she turned the handle and pushed it open.

The room was black, not even a
faint orange glow of embers in the hearth. Mariana was thankful for the darkness, and quietly closed the door behind her. Darkness meant she could escape. Darkness meant he might not even be there, and this harebrained idea could be completely forgotten as she went back to her own bedchamber.

“Took ye long enough,” he grumbled. The man hardly sounded like one about to be entertained
by a female.

In fact, he sounded downright ornery.
Mariana tried not to be taken aback. The thought had never occurred to her that Brandon might not enjoy pleasures of the flesh, with or without women. There had been a man the French king offered her to, who was thoroughly against the notion. He made her moan loudly while bouncing on the bed as he wrote letters at his desk, in order to trick anyone who listened outside the door.

Heat infused her face and she backed
away, prepared to leave. If he didn’t want any woman here, her own presence would only blacken any future moments they might have together.

“Well, lass, will ye stand by the door all
night?” Wood scraped across the floor, followed by the sound of his booted footsteps. She felt the faint breeze of his movements and an expectant chill skated over her skin.

Brandon
was growing closer. Her buttocks hit the door, and she reached back to grasp the handle, opening it just an inch before he pressed the door closed with his hand which must have lingered just above her head. They were mere inches apart. His breath fanned her cheek, smelling like ale and spice. Was he drunk? She suddenly prayed he was good and in his cups.

“Ye’re not going anywhere. The men think I need
ye, and I’ve a mind to see if I do.”

For a moment she thought he might know it was her, that they shared such an intense bond he could sense her even though he couldn’t see her. But then reality came back to slap her hard. He didn’t know who she was at all. Brandon only knew that Ronan was sending in a maid to ease whatever ache the men seemed to think he had.
’Haps they thought—

“Has been too long since I had a woman.”
His hand pressed hotly against her hip. “And I’ll never have the woman I want.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He loved another.
And was using her, or whoever he thought she was, to ease his heartache. Mariana knew a bit about that. Knew the pain she was experiencing now at hearing his words.

Brandon’s lips skimmed along the line of her jaw. “Ye smell like lemons.” His teeth grazed her lower lip, his warm whisky-laced breath mingling with her own rapid, but quiet, exhalations. “Why are ye so nervous?”

His voice had turned soft, coaxing. The moment she spoke, he would know who she was, and while he thought her someone else, anyone else, the draw of his sensual magic kept her rooted in place, unable to move as he nibbled at the column of her throat.

She shook her head
again.

“Not nervous?”

Again she shook her head. His hand slid over her hip to her buttocks, gripping one cheek in his hand, massaging the muscle until she thought she was going to fall to the floor.

“What about now?” he asked.

“Nay,” she whispered, hoping a lowered voice would disguise her accent. She waited for him to shout about her being an imposter, but he didn’t.

In fact, he pressed his warm lips to hers. Took possession of her mouth
just like he had the first time they kissed. His velvet-soft tongue swept inside to melt against hers, to swirl and tease, to conquer. With one hand still above her head and the other on her behind, he swayed into her, while pulling her closer. Their pelvises collided and sparks of intense need jolted from her groin outward, down her legs to her toes, through her arms to her fingertips. The hardness of his shaft found a welcome home in the crux of her thighs. She cradled that hardness, pressed her own firing nub against him, wanting more, demanding that he continue to entice her with such intense pleasure. Her nipples were hard, achingly so, and she desperately wanted him to touch them, suckle them. The thought shocked her, but only a little, as it was not something she’d previously cared for, but Brandon brought out a side of her she’d never known existed. Made her feel things she’d never dared explore.

And for tonight, he
would be hers.

A soft moan escaped her, quickly swallowed by Brandon’s kiss and answering growl.

Tentatively, she touched his waist, slowly circling her palm around the small of his back. His skin warmed the soft linen of his shirt. Beneath the fabric, taut muscles bunched beneath her fingertips. She pressed against his spine, running her fingers up and down the length, massaging him.

Mariana was by no means a woman of virtue, or an innocent. More men than she cared to remember had planted themselves inside her. But the difference
s between those experiences and this one, were keen.

Choice.

Mariana had made the choice to come to Brandon. Chose to offer herself up to him. Wanted him. Longed for him. Desire coursed through her, filled her, made her knees weak and every inch of her skin tingle. Her heart kept doing little flutters, breath catching and stomach twisting. This was new to her. She was coming to Brandon in fresh form, new to a world where passion could be something she chose to enjoy rather than something she endured.

She eagerly kissed him back, rocked her hips in time with the sway of his. This was passion.
Utterly unrestrained.

“Och, lass…” he whispered against her kiss-swollen lips. “Ye are so filled with passion. Ye remind me of…”

Brandon trailed off, kissing her with all the more vigor. Removing his hand from the door he pressed it to her other hip, massaging as he worked his fingers against her nightrail, slowly lifting the fabric, exposing her legs to the chill air. When he touched the bare skin of her thigh, her gown bunched up around her hips, Mariana sucked in a hard breath. He slid his hands over the naked expanse of her buttocks, trailing a path of kisses down her neck.

“Ye have such soft skin and your arse… Lord, lass, I want to feast of
f it.”

He lifted her into the air, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She felt weightless in his embrace. Circling her arms around his neck, she threaded her fingers through his hair.

Pitched in darkness, she could be herself, who she truly wanted to be—and with a man she’d grown so fond of.
Brandon didn’t appear to be holding anything back, and Mariana wasn’t going to either. She pressed her lips to the column of his neck, trailed her tongue over his salty flesh down to the crook of his shoulder. He shuddered at her touch, a low moan in the back of his throat.

“What’s your name, lass?” he asked.

She couldn’t give him that. Couldn’t give him a fake one either. At an impasse, she pressed her lips back to his throat, gave a little nip and then trailed her mouth up to his chin.

“Tell me,” he said, pressing her back against the wall.

Passion ignited within her. Never had she been held like this. Not once had she been pressed up against a wall by a man seemingly desperate for her—or at least she could pretend he was. His shaft arched up against her sex, sending spirals of pleasure galloping throughout her body.

“I want to know who I’m touching, kissing… Whose arse is so soft and
full.”

Oh, Lord
help her… His words were sweet sin, made her want to shout out her name, beg him to take her up against the wall like a man driven wild with his passion for her.

Of all the words she’d heard during a liaison, his were the most potent. No wonder the maids were arguing over w
ho graced his bed. Mariana might have to jump into that fray.

“Shh…” She licked a teasing path to his ear and lightly nipped the lobe. She kept her voice low, disguising her accent. “Tonight my name is
Desire.”

Brandon stiffened a moment, pulled away, but in the darkness, she couldn’t see his face.
Panic swelled around her heart. Had he recognized her? The stillness in the room grew into a palpable tension. This was a mistake.

“I’m going to make love to ye, Des
ire.” His voice was low, tight and throaty as though he were filled to the brim with need for her.

Mariana nodded,
then realized he couldn’t see her. She whispered, “Aye,” using the Scottish tongue.

Brandon pulled her away from the wall and carried her through the dark. She wondered if he could see through the blackness, because he didn’t run into any furniture
nor trip on a rug or discarded object. He made straight for the bed, and sat her down upon it. His mattress was firm yet soft, and she sank back against it.

“Wait, lass, not yet.” Brandon slid his fingers down her arms to her hands, and gently pulled her to stand. “I want to make love to ye naked.”

Mariana’s breath caught. He wasn’t going to simply toss up her skirts and have his way with her. The image of their flesh pressed hotly together only increased her desire. Her nipples were hard aching buds and between her thighs was slick with dew. No man had ever made her feel like this. Wanted, needed, and considerate of her response. Brandon expected her to find as much pleasure in their union as he did.

Thick, coarse fingers trailed along the neckline of her gown, skimming over the ribbons, and then taking hold. Brandon tugged lightly, letting the knot slip undone.

“Ye came to me dressed so prim and proper… In your nightrail, lass. Did ye think to do that for me?”

What could she say? He was right—a maid would have arrived in the gown she’d worn that day.