A Highlander’s Homecoming (20 page)

When she slid her leg in between his, nudging his plaid up as she lifted her knee, he grabbed her arms.

“You dinna ken what yer doing, lass. You need to stop this. Right now.” His voice had gone gravelly and as dark as his eyes.

She pushed forward again, meeting no resistance, until her bared breasts met the heat of his chest.

He sucked in his breath and she pushed against him, rolling him to his back, straddling her leg over him as they turned.

She looked deep into his eyes, feeling as if she could see her future there, knowing everything in her life was about to change.

Whatever powers watched over them now, there would be no forgiveness for her this time. Unlike her spying on him at the pool, what she did now wasn’t accidental or beyond her control. What she did now was her choice.

“Isabella . . .” He spoke her name on a breathless moan.

Entirely her choice and entirely what she wanted.

She leaned down and lightly touched her mouth to his, feeling the heat of his breath on her face when she broke the touch.

“This is a very bad idea, Isa,” he whispered, though the grip he kept on her arms held her close.

She dipped her head, tracing his full lower lip with her tongue before she answered. “Then I must be a very bad woman, Robbie, for this is what I want and what I intend to have this night.”

“Yer no worse than me, love.” He lifted his head to gently kiss her mouth, a truly wicked smile curving his lips and lighting his eyes. “We’re two of kind in this.”

With one hand behind her head, he rolled, flipping her to her back before she even realized he was moving. He lay between her legs, his mouth moving across her cheek and slowly down her neck while his big hands massaged her aching breasts.

When he took her nipple into his mouth as if to suckle, the ball of heat that had pooled low in her belly felt as if it exploded, sending the fire of need lower, to the spot between her legs where he pressed his body against her.

His tongue, wet and warm, curved around her nipple as he sucked, then teased her with quick little flickers of motion that drove her wild. She arched her back, pushing up against him, and his hands slid down her sides, leaving a trail of fire and goose bumps in their path.

“This has got to go,” he muttered, raising his head from her breast and leaning back far enough to pull the nightdress down and off her legs. “And this.”

She had no idea a plaid could be unwrapped so quickly.

And then he was on her again. She spread her legs around him as he traced his hands along her body, blazing a path from her breasts across her stomach and down to the sensitive area between her legs.

He brushed his fingers over her mound of curls and she thought she heard him murmur something about her giving redheads a good name, but her ability to think at all disappeared as he gently thrust a finger inside her.

She bucked up against his hand and he found a whole new way to drive her insane, running his thumb over her most sensitive nub while inserting and withdrawing his fingers.

“Slow, love. We’ll just take it slow,” he whispered, his hands doing magic things to her body.

She lost track of time as he continued. Deep inside, a pressure built, growing and demanding more until at last it felt as if something shattered. Something so wonderful, so fantastic, it sparked out through her entire body, leaving her legs trembling and her body weak.

“Are you ready?” he asked, grasping her hips with his big hands and tilting them up.

There was more? Of course there was more. She knew what was supposed to happen. She’d just had no idea it could possibly make her feel like this.

She was the most beautiful thing Robert had ever held in his hands. And if the Faerie Magic took him tomorrow, he’d go to his hereafter a grateful man.

Grateful for the honor she bestowed on him, entrusting him with her body, and grateful she’d decided
to allow him to take her to MacQuarrie Keep, where he’d know she would be safe even after he was . . .

He pushed those thoughts away. What happened to him after tonight didn’t matter. He prayed only that the Fae allowed him to live long enough to get her safely into the arms of his family.

For now, he wanted nothing more than to enjoy these moments with Isa. To see to it that she enjoyed them as well.

He pulled her forward, entering her as gently, as slowly as he could manage. God, she was so tight! It took every bit of self-control he could dredge up not to surge into her and end this right now.

He covered her body with his, kissing her face, her neck, her beautiful lips. Her mouth opened to him with no effort and her tongue danced with his as if her body knew his, as if they’d done this a thousand times before.

It would be so easy to lose himself in her.

He forced himself to focus. Gradually, a little bit at a time, deeper and deeper, slowly, until at last she gasped and jerked in his arms and he was there, buried deep inside her.

His body throbbed with his need so he held himself very still, clutching her to him as he fought for control.

When he pulled out, she grabbed his hips, digging her fingers into his skin and lifting her hips, as if trying to keep him inside her.

“No,” she moaned.

He thrust back into her, slowly again, and she locked her ankles behind his back.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

Yes.

He repeated the action and she lifted her hips to meet him. Again and again. So good. She felt so damn good.

And then his control was gone. Hands clutched around her waist, he pulled her against him as he thrust into her, and his world shattered around him in what looked suspiciously like lightning arcing through the room.

When he could move again, he gathered her into his arms and rolled to his side. She kissed his chin and snuggled into his embrace, her breathing slowing within minutes to tell him she’d fallen asleep.

What they’d done might well have been very, very bad, but they’d sure as hell done it very, very well.

Chapter 17
 

Roland fingered the delicate earthenware cup before hurling it into the stone fireplace, sending sparks and pottery shards alike out onto the stone hearth.

He flung himself into the chair to wait, his fury seething with no outlet in sight.

That Agneys still valued her mother’s worthless trinket after all these years angered him.

Angered him, but didn’t surprise him in the least.

His daughter was so like the needy cow who had birthed her. Useless. And now, when at last she had some small part to play to finally,
finally,
be of some value to him, even now she couldn’t properly do what he’d asked of her.

A scrape sounded at the door and he was on his feet instantly, ready and waiting when she entered.

Her back to the room, she closed the door quietly, gasping when she turned and saw him there.

“Father! You frightened me. What are you doing in my bedchamber?”

“Waiting.” He purposely kept his words short and clipped. There was nothing to be gained in lulling the dull harlot into any sense of security. “Have you done yer duty this eve? Did you lie with him or has he rejected you again? Is that why yer here now?”

Her eyes darted around the room. He knew the instant they lit on what was left of the little cup he’d destroyed. Her lips tightened and thinned with her displeasure, and when she met his glare, her face took on that pathetic sniveling look he so detested in her. As he had in her mother.

“Well? I’m waiting. It’s an easy task. You’ve but to lie on yer back and open yer legs.”

He took a step toward her and she flinched away, as if she anticipated the back of his hand. Perhaps she wasn’t as stupid as he thought. She was, at the very least, trainable.

“I’ve done what I needed to do this night, Father. My laird sleeps now. He’s asked that my things be moved to his lady’s chamber, adjoining his, on the morrow.”

What was that he heard in her tone? A haughtiness? He was across the floor, towering over her in an instant, his fingers crushing into her chin as he drew her face to him.

“Dinna you think for a moment that wedding the laird raises yer station, lass. Yer nothing more than you were last night. You never will be anything but the vessel to carry the laird’s heir. My heir. And once we ken
for a fact you carry that babe, we’ll rid ourselves of the old man and I’ll be in charge.”

The dream of power, so close to reality now, energized him, thrilled him. He loosed his hold on Agneys, allowing her to stumble away from him, back to her bed, where she grasped the bedpost as if to hold herself upright.

“But . . . but what if the child is a girl?”

He turned on her, feeling the pulse in his head pound with his irritation. “It makes no matter. She will be the laird’s daughter and under my control.”

“And what of the laird’s proclamation this night? That if the babe is a girl all goes to Isabella?”

That
had certainly come as an unpleasant surprise. The old fool seemed determined to thwart his plans to the very end, even going so far as to clean up his half-witted granddaughter and try to pass her off as acceptable to his people.

But it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Isabella can’t very well inherit anything from beyond the grave, Daughter.”

Another of her annoying tremulous little gasps. “You couldn’t possibly mean to harm . . . not with yer own hands, Father.”

What a disappointment she was.

“I won’t need to. I’ve already dispatched a rider to find the MacDowylt and then I’ll go to him. We’ll lead him to Isabella, and in the struggle her guardian will no doubt put up, the laird’s precious granddaughter will be a casualty.”

“Neither her guardian nor MacDowylt will allow that to happen.”

Stupid cow. No ability to think ahead at all.

“Perhaps not. But a few of my own men, well placed, can see to it. If all goes as planned, they can see to the MacDowylt being a casualty as well.”

He wasted his time sharing his plans with her. She hadn’t the wit to appreciate his brilliance.

At the door he paused. “I await confirmation of what I announced as fact tonight.”

“Yes, Father. As soon as I can be sure, I’ll bring word.”

It would have to do.

Agneys stared at the door for several minutes after her father exited her room before going over to drop the bolt into place.

Madman
.

She hurried to the hearth, picking up the pieces that remained of the little cup she’d used earlier this evening and tossing them into the flames.

In one of his classic temper rages, her father had destroyed for her the very item she’d hurried here to dispose of herself.

“Never leave evidence behind,”
her grandmother had told her, and she had always followed that advice.

Though it was unlikely any could ever detect the traces of the dwale that little cup had held before she’d emptied it into old MacGahan’s whisky, it was one risk she was unwilling to take.

She slipped out of her gown and shift, letting them pool at her feet before slipping the heavy woolen nightdress down over her head.

The herbal potion her father’s mother had taught her to make had done its job well. The old laird had fallen into a deep sleep before he’d been able to do more than fondle her breast with his bony, wrinkled hands. Exactly as he had the first time.

As if she’d allow that old man to stuff his flaccid tarse into her body.

Something would have to be done soon, though. Her ingredients for the dwale were running low and it wasn’t likely the traders who sometimes visited the castle would carry opium and hemlock among their regular wares.

Perhaps she could convince her new husband to allow her a visit to Inverness. Once there, it should be simple enough to slip away to that little shop as she had before. The young merchant had been more than willing to barter for the items she’d wanted and he’d filled all her needs.

All
her needs.

Too bad the old laird didn’t look more like that merchant. It would have been exceedingly pleasant to have all those needs tended to this night.

Now the MacDowylt, he was another story altogether. There was a laird she’d welcome into her bed without hesitation. He had the look of a virile man, one who’d have no trouble planting his seed in her belly.

And not carrying a child would soon become an issue to be dealt with. The people expected it, and certainly the laird did.

Once again, her father’s thoughts for the future centered on making his life better, not hers. For too long he’d taken advantage of her for his own benefit. Underestimated her.

His thinking her the malleable fool would only make it easier for her to surprise him one day. For now she’d played the part he expected of her, following along with all his schemes, knowing a time would come when his plans would open a door of opportunity for her to walk through.

His rush to set his plans in motion, however, came as more than an untimely inconvenience. He’d pushed ahead so quickly, she hadn’t yet decided on a proper course of action.

She slipped into her small bed, pulling the covers up around her neck, her mind a whirl of possibilities.