Behind the Plaid (12 page)

Sat in a despondent heap pondering the various ways to end my miserable existence.
I shrugged.

“I dinna care what ye do. Be of a mind to stay within the walls. ’Tis dangerous outside, and I’ll not have ye impairing my day with having to chase after ye. Be in your chamber in time for the evening meal.”

“All right.” He was going to allow me to wander free? Do as I pleased? Not since before I was married had there been a day I could devote to myself.

Logan stepped closer, reached out and curled a length of my hair around his finger.
My body instinctively swayed toward his and I suppressed a shiver.

“Even having just woken, ye are beautiful.”

I smiled. How many times would he tell me that? How I craved hearing it.

“Eat though. Ye’ve a lovely body, but I could use a bit more flesh on your hips to grip.”

Logan had no idea the extent to which his words meant to me. He
wanted
me to eat. He
wanted
me to be fleshier. He wanted
me.

Picking up the slice of
ham on my tray, he pressed it to my lips. Obediently, I opened and took a bite. His fingers lingered as he outlined their shape, and I resisted the urge to lick them. As I chewed, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine. It was awkward, yet so sensual, and as graceless as I felt, the art of chewing became something I wanted to master. When I swallowed, he pulled away and gave me another bite. Again, once I’d bitten it, he kissed me. This time, he slid over my chin to my neck, flicking his tongue out to scorch my flesh.

I think I could stand like this all day—eating, while he kissed me.

Logan folded his arms around me, tugging me closer so that our bodies were flush. He was easily a foot taller and all sinew. Without thinking, I put my arms around him, kneading his back. He kissed my shoulder, skimmed my collarbone with his teeth, and I moaned.

“Ye need another bite.” He
touched the meat to my mouth, and this time while I chewed, he knelt before me.

“What are ye doing?”

“Tasting ye.” His voice was deep, sensual and my traitorous sex quivered with the thought. Lips slick with need.

He lifted the chemise over his head and buried his face between my thighs. My legs buckled and I almost choked on the meat. I chewed fast as his tongue slipped between my naked lips, scorching hot against my over-sensitized flesh.

With shaking fingers I gripped his shoulders for balance, swallowed hard, then cried out as he suckled that firing ball of nerves. Long, masculine fingers massaged up my thighs, gripping my ass, pressing me further against him. I could hardly believe it. I floated somewhere between reality and an erotic hallucination.

This man, for all his outward hardness, had dropped on his knees in front of me
. My entire body trembled, blood pounded in my ears and I moaned like some exotic creature I’d never even imagined I could be.

I was on the edge. So close… And just when I was sure an orgasm would rip through me, he slow
ed his movements, lapping at me like my sex was melted chocolate and he a greedy connoisseur.

“Logan,” I pleaded, digging my nails into his shoulders. “Please.”

He slid a finger inside me, massaging inside until he hit a spot that made me jump. It was exquisite, euphoric.

“Ye want to
soar?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Let it happen,” he demanded.

As if my body was already his to master, I did. I came so hard, I fell forward, gripping his back.

“Aye, that’s it…” he encouraged, pumping his finger inside me, licking me with enthusiasm.

I rode out the orgasm, if possible, stronger than the one
s he’d given me the night before. When the spasms subsided and I could move again, he kissed my inner thigh and leaned back on his heels. Glancing up at me, he smiled.

“Ye taste so good, I canna help myself.”

My throat tightened. “Thank you.”

Logan chuckled and stood. He leaned close. I could smell myself on him, but it didn’t
push me away. Wasn’t vulgar. In fact it turned me on, because I knew just what he did to get me all over his lips.

“Tonight, I’m going to show ye how to pleasure yourself,” he said.

“What?”

He grinned again and claimed my mouth in a hot, demanding, carnal kiss. I sank against him, boneless, my body begging for more of what he could give me. When he pulled back, he nipped my lower lip, growled and cupped my sex.

“This hot little cunny is mine. But ’tis also yours and I’m going to show ye how to use it.”

I swallowed hard. Unsure of myself.

“I…I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, ye can, and ye will.”

I was so eager to please him, a fault I had to rid myself of, that I nodded. I disgusted myself with how much I wanted his lesson right now.

“Finish your meal. Have a bath. Do whatever ’tis women do. I shall see ye when the sun sets.” This time when he walked away, I felt like I was being pulled with him.

I didn’t want him to leave, nearly said as much before clamping my mouth shut. There was no need for Logan to know the extent of my—obsession?—with him.

How the hell had he already made a claim on me? Dominated
me?

Moments later, Agatha returned with a slew of servants who set up the bath. The room was instantly warmer and steam rose from the heated water they poured into the tub.

Agatha set up a nice little table beside the tub with soaps, a square cloth for washing and a bottle of something else.

“What’s that?” I asked, coming to grasp the bottle.

“’Tis oil.”

“Oil?”

“Aye. Ye have such beautiful skin. Verra soft. But taking a bath will leach some of that softness from your skin. Ye dinna want to lose your softness do ye?”

I shook my head.

“When we finish your bath, I can massage the oil into your skin.”

I knew I was damned when I wished that Logan was the one to rub the oil
all
over me.

Chapter Nine

Emma

T
he bath was luxurious. I felt languid, spoiled. I wrapped the towel Agatha provided, around myself. It was woven wool, soft like cashmere. Picking up the bottle of oil, I sauntered to the bed and sat down. I’d dismissed Agatha, and before she’d left she opened the shutters and daylight streamed into the room, yellow golden streaks across the wooden floorboards and the bed.

I popped the cork on the bottle and dumped a little of the oil into my hands. The scent of mint and herbs wafted up toward my nose. Using a tiny amount, I massaged the oil onto my calf,
captivated by how it made my skin feel. I tingled, like my flesh was coming alive. It reminded me of Logan and his hands and mouth.

This was why it had been offered to me. Perhaps Agatha believed it was for my skin, but I knew better. Logan wanted me to think of him. Wanted me to remember his hot, velvet mouth and strong, massaging fingers as I rubbed this minty oil over my skin.

Well, he’d won. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I had to get out of this room. I needed fresh air. Everywhere I looked reminded me of him. I was too raw to fall for someone else. Was I falling for him?

I shook my head and corked the oil.

No. I couldn’t be falling for him already. We’d only just met. Sexuality aside, I didn’t know him
anymore than I knew the maids.

Someone knocked softly on the door. Was he back? I pulled the towel around myself. “Who is it?”

“Agatha, my lady.”

“Come in.”

Agatha entered the room with a bundle of fabrics in her arms. She shut the door then came toward the bed and began laying out the cloth. But they weren’t just materials.

A beautiful gown of ivory with gold embroidery around the hem, sleeves and collar. Another one the color of heather. And a third which made me blush. Even Agatha’s face had turned a little pink. The third gown was black—sheer black. I could see the coverlet beneath.

“What is all this?” I asked, wanting specifically to know about the black one.

“
His lairdship wished me to bring these to ye.”

Agatha unraveled another slip and some stockings.

“Which would ye like to wear today?” She eyed me wearily, and I wondered if she thought I might choose to wear the black one.

I had the urge to point to it just to tease her.
But I wasn’t the teasing type. Or at least I hadn’t been since marrying Steven. I couldn’t remember much of who I was before I met him—other than it wasn’t the way I was supposed to be.

“Purple,” I said.

Agatha visibly let out a breath.

“Let me assure you, that
one” —I pointed to the black negligee—“you will never have to dress me in.”

Agatha laughed nervously. “Come now, take off that towel.”

I pushed aside my anxiousness of being nude in front of her. I would just have to get used to it as long as I was here.

My gaze kept traveling back to the flimsy black gown. I was curious about it. Wanted to touch it. Imagined myself wearing it and seeing Logan’s eyes as they greedily took me in. He’d be able to see my nipples darkened against the sheer black, the strip of my pubic hair.

I swallowed hard. This was not where I wanted my mind to go.

“His lairdship didna want ye to wear a corset, and with these gowns ye won’t need one.”

Thank God. I’d worn a corset on my wedding day. It was heinous and I never wanted to wear one again.

“Where did he get the gowns?” I asked, wondering if there was a dressmaker with a shop in the little village. I wasn’t certain how that sort of thing worked, and since I had a day to myself, I wouldn’t mind doing a little window shopping.

There was a long pause before Agatha answered softly, “His lairdship has these sort of things.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I didn’t want her to know that her answer hurt.

He had these types of things? The gowns were much too small for him to dress up in. And that could only mean one thing—he had women. More than one. Perhaps more than a dozen. He was so good at giving pleasure…

Irritation
filled me. I was furious with myself for having allowed an unrealistic dream to take shape in my mind. Damn Logan. Why did he have to make me feel those things? Not only had he manipulated my body to his commands, but somehow my mind, too.

But then it fell back on me again. I was the one who let him.

I was starting to feel a little like I was going crazy. All these thoughts about Logan, sex… I hadn’t even had a chance to acclimate to where I was or this era. And I’d only just left my husband. Eight long years of verbal and emotional abuse couldn’t be wiped away overnight.

“Thank you, Agatha,” I said when she finished dressing me and braiding my hair.

“Here ye go, lass, have a look.”

She opened the large wardrobe and muscled out a floor length mirror.

“Haven’t had a guest in here for a while to make use of it.”

The mirror was beautiful. Etched, polished wood. The glass wasn’t as clear as what I was used to, but staring at my reflection
, I was stunned. Who was that staring back at me? I had a healthy glow to my cheeks. The purple in the gown brought out the color in my eyes, and my hair wasn’t all crazy.

I looked away. I was changing. I could feel it on the inside, but having seen it on the outside was unexpected. I’d thought that whatever was going on inside me was a figment of my imagination. But there it was—plain as glass—I looked…happier, healthier.

“What is it like outside?” I asked, the need to escape making my skin itch.

“’Tis
unusually pleasant today. Usually time of summer can be a little hot. ’Haps ’tis because ye have come to us.”

“I doubt that,” I murmured, refusing to believe the weather would change simply because I’d traveled through time.

“Do ye plan to go outside?”