Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (18 page)

Keir held himself in check, fighting the near overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. Her wide-set eyes sparkled with a winsome humor. Her borrowed dress, the brilliant orange of marigolds, set off her rich ebony hair—for once, unbraided. She’d piled the thick tresses loosely on top of her head and secured them under her hat. A single curl had come loose and it fell over her shoulder.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, lass,” he quipped with a mocking grin.

They resumed their explorations, wandering through the arched stone walls and what appeared to be the remains of the main kitchen with parts of its enormous stone fireplace still intact.

“How do you suppose the monastery came into such disrepair?” she asked. “It looks as though it’s been abandoned for hundreds of years.”

Keir tipped his head back and looked up at the tall bell tower. “Long ago Viking ships sailed into the loch of Dùn Bheagain. Their raiders were looking for monasteries to vandalize, knowing there’d be gold chalices and candlesticks possibly adorned with precious jewels. When they reached the Abbey of Saint Finian, they found the monks had taken refuge in the chapel. After pillaging everything of worth, they lit fires around the buildings. Most of the place burned to the ground and its inhabitants with it.”

What Keir didn’t mention was that the blood of those pagan marauders ran through his veins. The Black Beast of Barra had proudly claimed descent from a Norse king.

“We certainly do have a bloody history,” Raine replied, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. “One of raiders and fugitives and traitors taken to Edinburgh for hanging.”

“Not much different than now, is it?” Keir said. He removed his riding gloves and shoved them into his sword belt. Placing his hand at the small of her back, he guided her through a maze of stones to the tower.

They climbed the narrow stairs that led to the top. An enormous bronze bell, engraved with Gaelic inscriptions and covered with dust, lay on the floor, cracked and missing its clapper. Along the curved inside wall, wide stone benches now covered with moss had once offered the bell-ringers a place to sit and pray while waiting to chime the angelus and matins.

Keir removed the claymore slung across his back and placed it on one of the stone benches as Raine stepped around the broken bell and moved to one of the narrow arched windows opening to the sky. Going to stand directly behind her, Keir placed one hand on the window’s edge and looked over the top of Raine’s feathered hat at the scene below. Above the canopy of trees, Castle Dùn Bheagain rose on the high bank across the loch.

“Keir,” Raine said softly, her head bent, “do you remember your father?”

He stiffened, his muscles tensing at the unexpected and volatile question. “Nay,” he said abruptly and offered nothing more. He hoped she would take the hint and choose another topic.

She failed to notice the undertone of warning in his answer, but continued in a faint, whispery voice. “ ’Tis said you look very like him.”

“So I’ve been told.” Keir waited for her to go on. He steeled himself, certain she’d speak of his father’s notorious reputation. Did she know that Keir had been called the Black Beast’s Spawn from his earliest years? Not that anyone had ever dared to use the epithet in front of him or his family.

Her next words came so soft and hesitant he could barely hear them, yet they struck him with the force of an eighteen-pounder fired at point-blank range. “Did you ever note how little I resemble Gideon Cameron—or anyone else in my family?”

“Nay, never,” Keir lied.

Every fiber in Keir’s body tightened with the need to protect her. He hoped to God that Raine hadn’t learned that her father had been killed in an argument with a Macdonald clansman who’d insulted Lady Nina’s honor. The violent and lethal disagreement had been based on those obvious familial differences. At the time of Gideon’s murder, all the adults at Archnacarry Manor had rallied together, determined to keep the reason behind his death from the thirteen-year-old Raine.

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” she scoffed in an attempt at bravado. “At least show me the respect of telling me the simple truth.”

“Such differences happen in life,” Keir replied, his words thick and choked with the dread of causing her any more pain. “Not everyone so closely resembles the family they’re born into as I.”

She turned and looked up at him, her huge expressive eyes filled with confusion. “And yet,” she said in a near whisper, “though you inherited the formidable build and dark hair of your father, you have the unmistakable green eyes of your maternal side. No one could dispute that Lady Emma is your mother, or Rory and Lachlan are your brothers. But who do I belong to, Laird MacNeil? Who am I, really?”

At a loss for words—for Keir had no answer to her gut-wrenching question—he pulled Raine to him. Wrapping his arms around her willowy form, he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Though his hardened sex responded to her nearness with feverish anticipation, Keir had himself well under control.

He would comfort Raine and show her how desirable she was.

Nothing more.

“Don’t fash yourself so, lass. You belong to the family who loves you,” he said, his words husky and filled with the tenderness welling up inside him. Nothing in his past carnal pleasures had prepared him for this overwhelming need to protect and to cherish. Her floral scent drifted up to entice him. Inhaling the sweet cloud, he bent his head and touched the tip of his tongue to the delicate pink shell of her ear.

Raine scrunched up her shoulder and gave a gasp of surprise. “What are you doing, Keir?” she demanded on a ripple of laughter.

“I’m breathing in paradise,” he murmured. He removed the snug archer’s cap now sitting askew on her head and tossed it onto one of the benches. Her hair, previously held in place by the feathered headpiece, tumbled around her shoulders in a magnificent wealth of shiny curls. Keir slid his fingers into the tumbled locks, mesmerized by the feel of silk swirling in the hollow at the nape of her neck. “You are a Celtic princess stepping out of a man’s dream,” he whispered hoarsely. “You belong to the ancient race of shanachies and warrior-kings and royal households.”

She immediately responded by sliding her arms around Keir’s neck and raising her face to his. Tears welled in her expressive eyes and her lower lip trembled. Like a healing balm, the trust reflected on her fine-boned features filled the deepest recesses of his parched soul. He would sacrifice anything, anything to keep her from suffering.

Keir bent his head and covered her lips with his open mouth. Without a moment’s hesitation, she met his questing tongue with her own. At the feel of her moist, welcoming softness, the image of Raine’s lithe naked body pinned beneath his hard strength lit a fire of lust inside him. Keir’s conscience shouted and carped in vain against the raging inferno that threatened to consume him.

He couldn’t take her.

By God, he knew that.

But he could teach Raine the ecstasy of female climax.

And his imprint on her sexual memory would last long after the moment and the passion had fled.

Keir swung Raine up in his arms and carried her to a moss-covered bench. He sank down on its soft green carpet and cradled her in his lap. Readjusting the handle of his broadsword, he pushed it back out of his way. The tangy smell of crushed lichen mingled with her intoxicating scent. Her firm buttocks pressed against his taut, rigid flesh, and the exquisite torment seemed equal parts heaven and hell. Pleasure and pain mixed together in a delicious torture.

Keir eased Raine against the crook of his arm till her head tipped back, exposing the delicate curve of her throat. He paused for a breathless moment as he took in her ethereal beauty. There had always been an indefinable quality about her, even as a youngster. The fragile loveliness of a butterfly mingled with the deadly grace of a falcon. Her power over him was indisputable. She’d proven that from the first day she’d stepped aboard the
Black Raven
.

Looking up at him, Raine’s dark eyes glowed with an unspoken invitation. He bent over her, kissing her forehead, her fluttering lids, the tip of her nose, and her delectable mouth. His practiced fingers found the lacing that fastened the outer bodice of her dress. Pulling on the gold cords, he freed her breasts from the stiffened fabric and bent to kiss the rosy aureoles visible through the gauzy shift.

“Trust me, Raine,” he urged. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” she answered on a breathy sigh.

The rays of the afternoon sun streaming through the bell tower’s high arched windows played across her heart-shaped face, revealing her flawless ivory complexion, her smooth cheeks blooming with desire. Her mass of raven curls fell in wild disarray around her shoulders. Framed by dark eyebrows and luxuriant lashes, her sloe eyes shone with an innocent curiosity and an undeniable invitation.

Keir loosened the tiny blue ribbon at the top of her smock and pulled the flimsy material down beneath her high, firm breasts. His heart thundered with the knowledge that he could take her at will, should he choose—but he held himself on a taut rein.

He brushed his open mouth over the perfect round globes. He suckled her velvety nipples till he felt the buds harden against his tongue, assuring him of her burgeoning arousal. Her entire body responded with a marvelously uninhibited eroticism. Giving a soft whimper of need, Raine arched her back, allowing him greater access.

Listening to her muted sighs of pleasure, Keir smoothed his hand down the orange-gold skirt and under the hem of her voluminous white smock. Following the curve of her calf up the stocking, his searching fingertips found the garter just above her knee and the smooth bare skin beyond.

Keir drew the front of her dress and undergarment up to her hips, exposing her long slender legs clad in white stockings and blue garters. The open space at the juncture of her satin thighs revealed her dainty female mound. His heart slammed against his ribs. White-hot lust surged through his veins, nearly overcoming his tightly leashed control. Sexual hunger pounded through every inch of his large body, threatening to destroy all his chivalrous intentions to protect Raine, even from himself.

My God, she was so delicate and feminine. His hand shook as he reached down to touch her. He brushed his fingertips through the cluster of soft curls and stroked her fragile pink folds lightly and slowly. Placing a finger on either side of her inner petals, he rocked them gently till she grew moist and swollen beneath his practiced touch.

Keir whispered to her as he eased his finger inside her. “Don’t be afraid, darling lass. I’m just going to give you a wee bit of pleasure.”

She gasped in convulsive response to his unexpected invasion, then gave a low sigh of submission. She was unbelievably small and tight, too tight for more than one finger. A lump formed in his throat when her gaze locked with his as he continued to stroke her, careful not to bump too strongly against her maidenhead.

Her complete trust rocked him, for she’d certainly never experienced anything like this before—let alone with a man renowned for his violent nature and his love of battle. Did she realize he’d give his life for her without a second’s hesitation?

Raine felt a pulsating sensation unfolding inside her as Keir slid his finger in and out of her secret place. He gently played with her throbbing flesh with the pad of his thumb.

“Keir,” she whispered, “ it feels so . . .”

He smiled down at her, his eyes shining with tenderness. “I ken, lass,” he assured her. “Don’t fight it. Just allow the pleasure to happen.”

Her heart racing wildly, Raine drew in quick drafts of air. For an instant, she thought he was going to pull his hand away, and she reached down to grasp his forearm. “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Oh, please, not yet.”

“Nay, not yet,” he agreed, smiling down at her. “We’re in no hurry, whatsoever. We can do this as long as you want.”

At his words an overwhelming excitement shimmered through Raine, taking complete control of her body. Her heart pounded as though it might burst. With each penetrating stroke, the feeling of fullness inside—and the friction he built—sent wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure through the very core of her femininity. An exquisite pressure spiraled upward inside her, while an irresistible need for something unknown thrummed incessantly.

Keir seemed to know the moment when every rhythmic stroke brought mindless shafts of pleasure. “Let it happen, Rainey, love,” he crooned. “Let the feelings go deep, deep within and spread through your sweet female body. I’m only here to pleasure you, lass. Think of my touch and forget everything else.”

“Oh, Keir,” she sobbed in confusion.

Raine could feel her own wetness slicken her folds as he slid his finger in and out, playing with her engorged tissues all the while. Time seemed to stand still. Suddenly her body stiffened against his hand. Tremor after tremor of pure ecstasy pulsated through her. Catapulted into convulsions of bliss, her sobs became one long, drawn out sigh of female fulfillment.

Languid and dreamy in the afterglow of her release, Raine’s heartbeat and breathing gradually slowed to their normal pace. She curled against Keir’s broad chest, barely aware of her surroundings, content to be held in his strong arms. As he smoothed down her shift and skirt, Raine looked up at him with a feeling of wonder. How could this ferocious sea raider be so caring and gentle? Never in the past would she have believed The MacNeil was capable of showing such tenderness.

Their gazes met, and she reached up to touch his battle-scarred face. She followed the line of his straight black brows with her fingertip, drawing it down the bridge of his broken nose to the seam of his lips. When he opened them slightly, she brushed across the edge of his teeth and touched the tip of his tongue. He sucked gently on her finger, much as he’d suckled her nipples.

Raine caught one black side-braid in her hand and laced it through her fingers, holding him captive with the tenuous strength of a spider’s web. Searching his holly-green eyes, she smiled tremulously.

“Surely you must know by now that we are spellbound, Laird MacNeil?” she asked in a breathy whisper. She tugged him closer.