Courting an Angel (34 page)

Duncan looked from her to his father, and then announced, “I’m sittin’ with my mother. Are ye comin’, brother?”

Secure on his father’s lap, Gavin shook his head. Duncan gave him an irritated look and then walked around the campfire to sit with his mother.

Noting her husband’s grim expression, Rob touched his forearm and whispered, “Dinna fault the lad for bein’ loyal to his mother.”

Gordon nodded and visibly relaxed.

Rob began to feel more comfortable as mundane conversations swirled around her. True darkness had descended upon the gathering, the only light being the dancing, crackling flames. Rob loved this time of the day because mysterious night shrouded her imperfection.

“Hey, Gordy,” one of the men called. “Tell us the fairy banner story.”

“In ancient times there lived a Campbell laird,” Gordon began, his voice loud enough to be heard by all yet hushed as though he were divulging a secret. “One day in the forest, this Campbell laird met a beautiful woman and fell instantly in love with her. He brought her to Inverary Castle and married her, but there was one thing aboot his lady he didna know. His bride was actually a fairy.”

All the children gasped. The men and women smiled. “What happened, Da?” Gavin asked, turning his head to gaze at his father. “Did she cast a spell upon him?”

“No, son. The Campbell laird and his fairy bride lived happily for almost twenty years,” Gordon told them. “Unfortunately, fairies canna live forever in the world of men. On the eve of their twentieth wedding anniversary — Beltane Eve, as I recall — the woman told her husband who she really was and that she had to return to her own kind that verra night. She promised to love him forever and a day. Though it saddened him to do so, the Campbell laird understood and rode with her to Glen Aray. His fairy wife kissed him, gave him a banner she’d made for him, and then disappeared into the mist. No one ever saw her again. That banner was a magical legacy from the fairies, and ’tis the reason the Campbells are always on the winnin’ side in battle.”

Everyone, including Rob, clapped for her husband.

“Gawd, yer givin’ me the shivery creeps,” Gabby said.

“I’ll protect ye, hinny,” Dewey told her.

“Lady Rob, do ye know any stories?” Gabby asked.

Rob blushed at the attention and was thankful for me darkness that hid her discomfort. In a soft voice, she answered, “Aye, ’tis aboot my husband’s bravery.”

“Tell us,” several people called at the same time.

“When Gordy came to England to fetch me from my uncle’s,” Rob began, “we decided to tour the queen’s menagerie. ’Tis where the queen keeps wild beasts. We were peerin’ into the lion pit when hands pushed me from behind. I slipped, and one of my legs dangled into the pit. The beast was just aboot to grab me when Gordy yanked me to safety.”

Everyone around the campfire clapped for their laird’s son.

“’Twas well done of ye, Da,” Gavin said.

Gordon smiled. “Well, thank ye for the high praise.”

“Who pushed ye?” Gabby asked.

Rob shrugged. “We never discovered his identity.”

“Or hers.”

“What d’ye mean?”

Gabby cast a meaningful look in Kendra’s direction and answered, “The culprit could be a woman. Some women are particularly vicious.”

“Are ye talkin’ aboot me, Gabby?” Kendra demanded.

“Ah, go suck wind,” Gabby called.

“Ladies, let’s not ruin our gatherin’,” Gordon said, his lips twitching with the urge to laugh.

“She started it,” Kendra said.

“And I’m finishin’ it,” Gordon replied, his voice stern.

“I know another story aboot my husband,” Rob piped up, breaking the strained silence that followed their exchange. When expectant faces turned toward her, she said, “When I was a young girl of eight, Gordon traveled to Dunridge Castle to marry me. I told him aboot the frightenin’ monster who lived beneath my bed. Gordon took himself upstairs and slew the nasty monster, and I always enjoyed a peaceful sleep after that.”

“What happened in the room?” one of the children asked.

“What did the monster look like?” another wanted to know.

“’Tis late,” Gordon hedged, glancing sidelong at her. “I believe I’ll save that tale for another night.”

“Lady Rob, what did the monster look like?” Gavin asked, speaking to her for the first time since that day in the garden when he’d called her a witch.

“The creature was verra hideous,” she answered. “He had one gleaming, red eye in the center of his forehead and two long, yellow fangs stickin’ out from between his lips. Isna that right, Gordy?”

“Aye, lass.” Gordon winked at her and then stood, saying, “’Tis time for sleepin’. Gavin, go on over to yer mother now, and I’ll see ye in the mornin’.”

The six-year-old hugged his father and then turned to her before heading around the campfire to his mother. “Good night. Lady Rob.”

Rob smiled. “Good night, Gavin.”

Gordon lifted Smooches out of Dewey’s arms and handed the pup to her. Before they left, Duncan hurried over to them and hugged his father.

* * *

“I had a wonderful time,” Rob said.

“The evenin’ is still young, angel.”

Peering at his wife, Gordon smiled inwardly when they walked into the lodge. Her gaze fixed on the bed as if it had suddenly turned into the monster she had so aptly described. The fierce lass who’d drawn her last resort on England’s secretary of state feared going to bed with him. Gordon realized he needed to go slowly, woo her into ecstasy. Only then would he truly attain his own satisfaction.

After setting the jug of whiskey on the table, Gordon started a fire in the hearth to chase the evening chill out of the lodge and then lifted the pup into his arms. “Smooches and I will check the horses while ye get ready,” he said, but paused at the door, “Do me a favor, angel. Dinna wear that nightgown of yers.”

His request surprised Rob. “Why not?” she asked.

“’Tis more innocent than springtime,” he told her. “I feel like I’m bedded down with a twelve-year-old.”

“Well, what am I to wear?” Rob asked, beginning to panic. “Nothin’?”

“Wear this,” Gordon said, tossing her one of his clean shirts. Then he walked outside.

She couldn’t go through with this, Rob thought in near desperation. She’d never be able to return to England if she bedded him.

You wanted this plenty at the stream today, an inner voice reminded her. Besides, you’ll never return to England whether you do it or not.

Paralyzed with indecision, Rob lifted her husband’s shirt to her face. The scent of mountain heather clung to it, and she inhaled deeply, wanting him. Again she felt his lips pressed to hers, his tongue sliding between her ups, the palm of his hand caressing her breasts, his thumb teasing her nipples.

That did it. Rob quickly undressed and pulled his shirt over her head. Its bottom edge fell to the middle of her thighs. Rolling the sleeves up, she stood near the chair and stared at the flames in the hearth.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open. Rob whirled around and asked in a quavering voice, “Are ye goin’ to futter me now?”

Chapter 12

Gordon stopped short, surprised by her words, and read the anxiety etched across her face. Rob was as pale as a person could get and still be breathing. She reminded him of a fledgling warrior in the midst of his first battle. Or a woman about to go to the gallows. Granted, some said that ecstasy was a little like dying, but he was no executioner. His innocent wife feared the unknown.

Stalling for time, Gordon closed the door behind him. He patted the pup and then set him on the floor. When Smooches curled up under the table, Gordon gave a silent prayer of thanks to Whomever. Getting his wife into bed was going to be a struggle, and he had no wish to fight to get the pup off the bed in order to get her there.

“Well?” Rob asked in a nervous, high-pitched voice.

Gordon looked from her pale face to her white-knuckled hand clutching the back of the chair. He dropped his gaze to her body, barely hidden beneath his shirt that only covered her to mid thigh. She looked so damned sexy. He suffered the urge to ravish her there on the floor but managed to control himself.

“Relax, angel,” Gordon said, giving her his most charming smile.

Turning his back, Gordon pulled his shirt over his head and hung it on the peg beside the door. Next, he yanked his boots and his stockings off. Getting Rob into bed would be easier if he needn’t stop what he was doing in order to remove any article of clothing. He’d enjoyed several women while he was wearing his boots, but his own wife deserved better than that.

Gordon paused a long moment before turning around to face her. Clad only in his plaid, he knew he looked the part of the wild, marauding Highlander. Yes, she’d seen him naked at the stream, but this night was entirely different. It was special. They both knew what was going to happen between them in a few minutes.

“Well, lass,” Gordon said, casting her a boyish smile as he turned to face her. “I believe I’d like a mug of whiskey and a chance to talk with ye.”

“Ye want to talk?” Rob echoed, her emerald gaze fixed on the mat of brown hair covering his chest. Her expression cleared, and color began to return to her cheeks.

Gordon nodded. She needn’t sound so damned relieved. She was behaving as though he were the monster who lived beneath her bed instead of the hero who’d slain it.

Sauntering to the table, Gordon flicked a sidelong glance at her and then filled a mug with whiskey. He turned around slowly, lifted the mug in a toast to her, and downed a healthy swig. Bolstered by the liquid burning a path to his stomach, he started to cross the chamber toward her. The frantic expression on her face made him feel like laughing; he knew she would have backed away if the chair hadn’t blocked her escape.

“Come, angel,” Gordon said, holding his hand out in invitation. “Sit with me. We’ve somethin’ important to discuss.”

Rob shifted her gaze from his face to the chair and then back again. “There’s room for only one,” she told him.

“There’s room for two if ye sit on my lap,” he replied. “Please?” That one word please worked a miracle because it meant he was asking, not ordering.

Rob flicked the tip of her tongue out and wet her lips, gone dry from nervous apprehension, and Gordon almost groaned aloud at the incredibly sensual gesture performed in innocence. When she reached toward him with a badly shaking hand, Gordon firmly grasped it in his and sat in the chair, gently drawing her down on his lap.

Staring into the hearth’s flames, Rob sat statue-still and rigidly erect. Was she afraid even to look at him?

“Relax, angel,” Gordon soothed her, his left hand stroking the slender column of her back. “I amna goin’ to bite ye.”

Rob gave him a wary, sidelong glance. Her look told him that she knew exactly what he intended to do to her.

“Take a sip,” he said, offering her the mug.

Rob shook her head.

“Please, do it for me,” he coaxed with a smile, looking very much like his younger son.

Rob took the mug out of his hand. She pinched her nostrils together with her left hand and swallowed a healthy swig of the whiskey. She shuddered as it burned a path to her stomach and then handed him the mug.

Gordon smiled at her reaction. “Angel, ye are na supposed to hold yer nose while ye drink.”

“It tastes better that way,” she told him.

Gordon sipped the whiskey and then set the mug on the floor beside the chair. Gently, he drew her down to recline against his naked chest, and her head rested against his shoulder.

From beneath the thick fringe of her ebony lashes, Rob gazed up at him and waited for him to speak.

“Are ye comfortable, angel?”

“Yes.”

“Now, what ye said about futterin’ a few minutes ago wasna correct,” Gordon told her, dropping his gaze to her emerald eyes staring so intently at him. “Animals futter because they dinna have feelin’s, only urges. Men and women make love together. ’Tis a sharin’ of their bodies and their emotions. Ye ken?”

“I think so,” she replied, her doubtful expression telling him otherwise.

“There’s nothin’ to fear. And have I ever lied to ye?” Gordon grinned ruefully at his own question and said, “Forget I asked ye that. Let me put it to ye this way. Do ye believe that I’d ever hurt ye?”

Rob shook her head. “Ye saved my life at the lions’ pit and helped me escape from the queen’s men,” she answered. “Besides that, ye slew the monster livin’ beneath my bed.”

“’Tis settled then,” Gordon said, pleased with his powers of persuasion. “Do ye have any questions aboot it?”

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Rob dropped her gaze, and a becoming blush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks. “What does it feel like?” she asked.

“Ah, lass. What happens between a man and a woman in bed feels like warm sunshine, sweet flowers, and lovin’ smiles,” he told her.

That seemed to perk her interest, but a moment later her expression became skeptical. “How can I be sure ye are na sayin’ that just to get me into yer bed?” she asked.