Highland Spitfire (22 page)

“So Helen must suffer being naught but a captured woman?”

“She looked well enough.”

“How would ye feel if ye were prevented from seeing yer family?”

His expression softened. “Ye have a point there. I’ll talk to Marcus about making
sure the lass is wed, and then—”

“What if she does nae want to wed?” she demanded.

His eyes narrowed. “Ye ask too much. Me brother would no’ have brought her here without
good cause. I do nae need trouble with Symon. Helen will become a MacPherson. It’s
the only solution.”

“The only one that favors the MacPhersons.”

He didn’t answer her, but his silence was confirmation enough.

It hurt.

He was everything she’d been raised to believe he was. She shook her head, nauseated
by the stern stance he was taking. His expression softened.

“It has naught to do with us, Ailis. Our arrangement is proceeding well.”

She bit back what she wanted to say, because everything was churning inside her. His
words stirred up the passion that had been burning slowly inside her since they’d
been interrupted. The memory of the pleasure he’d introduced her to in the stable
tormented her too, but there was the ruthless look Marcus had given her that Bhaic
clearly approved of.

She turned her back on him, needing to sort out her feelings. Needing to shield her
emotions before he sliced them to the bone. She heard him grunt behind her.

“Yer kin would do no different, and Lye Rob would have raped ye.”

Both solid truths. Duncan would have his own retainers posted about Robertson Castle.
The knowledge made her feel less set upon, and at the same time, more overwhelmed
than ever before.

He cupped her shoulder and turned her to face him. His eyes flickered with hard intent.
“No Highlander can be weak, but I have chosen to be kind to ye.”

Why was she drawn to him? She felt the pull, her flesh yearning for his in spite of
her mental dilemma.

“Do I live in fear of the moment when ye decide ye have gained what ye wish with kindness?”
It was an honest question, but one that vexed him.

He stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Clearly ye need some time to think matters through.”

Overwhelmed was too meek a phrase to describe how she felt. Defeated was more fitting,
and she couldn’t seem to shake it even as she felt it rip at the last of her resolve
to remain hopeful.

“Clearly,” she muttered.

He nodded, obviously not pleased. But he turned and left. Something had torn between
them, simply rent in two. The damage so great, there would never be a hope of mending
it.

No hope at all.

* * *

“I am Elise.”

Ailis looked up at the girl who entered her chamber an hour later.

“Duana says I’m to see to ye now.” Elise set a tray down on the table. “Since ye missed
the meal below. I’ll be back to help ye dress for supper. Ye’re expected at the high
table by the laird and yer husband.”

Elise started to lower herself but stopped, uncertain how to proceed. She was facing
a dreaded Robertson, after all.

“Thank ye, Elise.”

Relief spread across her face a moment before she was gone through the chamber door
in a flutter of blue wool skirts.

Ailis would not cry.

No, she forbade herself.

She wasn’t a child.

But that left her noticing how silent the chamber was. She missed Helen’s companionship.
Well, better to know what would become of friendships she forged.

Aye, better, for all that much sooner to learn to embrace a solitary life.

* * *

“Bhaic,” Shamus called out. Dinner was not even halfway finished.

Not that Ailis was eating very much. She felt the weight of Marcus, Bhaic, and Shamus
too keenly for any true appetite.

The high table quieted down. Shamus looked down its length at his son. “Good night
to ye.”

There was more silence. The retainers behind Shamus started to pull on his chair.
“I am no’ going to bed. Me son and daughter-in-law are.”

Ailis’s chair started moving backward. She was fairly sure her face went up in flames.
A moment later, Angus was beating the tabletop as he laughed, and his amusement caught
like fire, running through the hall as the retainers actually tipped her out of her
chair. Her choice was to stand or be dumped onto the floor.

Bhaic ended up no better. They both stood there for a moment, surprise holding them
frozen.

Shamus looked at his son. “Enough uncertainty. Take yer bride to bed.”

The hall erupted again. Bhaic’s complexion actually darkened.

All Ailis felt was the noose tightening around her neck.

Well, there was no help for it. She lowered herself out of habit before moving past
Shamus. She ordered herself to pick up her feet.

Ye’re a Robertson. No’ a coward.

Somehow, she made it to the fourth floor without really realizing it. She paused for
only a moment before pushing the doors of Bhaic’s chambers open. The sound of Finley
and the rest of her escort filled the stairway, making it easier to step far into
the chamber. She ended up almost to the entryway to the bedchamber, facing the huge
bed.

“Must it be this way between us, Ailis?” He’d closed the door, but not before she
got a glimpse of Finley settling in on the landing. “It’s for sure we’ll disagree
sometimes.”

“Apparently, we’ve been put to bed. I’m sure the Earl of Morton would approve.” She
pinched out one of the candles, the light making her feel unbearably exposed. At least
in darkness, she might embrace the yearning her flesh had for his and be content in
the fact that his touch didn’t leave her cold.

It was more than some had.

She turned to look at him, searching for the man she’d so brazenly disrobed the day
before. Maybe he was in there. “Did ye take Helen away from me?”

His jaw tightened. “I agreed with the decision.”

Well, it seemed sure that he wasn’t going to be that playful man tonight.

“I need help with my laces.” She turned her back on him. Elise had returned and helped
her dress for supper, but this dress was one that laced in the back. She reached out
and extinguished another candle as she waited. She’d thought turning her back on him
would be easier. Instead, it heightened her awareness of him, of the time passing
and the way she was waiting for him to touch her.

Darkness was a balm for her wounded feelings, allowing her to hide how lonely she
felt. She took a step farther into the shadows of the bedchamber.

“Aye, I suppose darkness suits us both tonight.”

His voice was a raspy whisper. Part of her heard companionship in it, a hint of another
soul that was just as caught in the tangle of circumstances as she was.

Was he?

She clung to that idea, tilting her head to the side when he stroked her nape, sighing
as a ripple of sensation went across her skin.

She felt his fingers brush across her back, stopping when he found the lace holding
her dress closed. It tightened just a bit as he loosened the knot. The soft sound
of it being pulled free of the eyelets seemed to ring in her ears.

She worked at the cuffs of her sleeves. By the time he’d finished, her bodice and
sleeves slipped easily to the floor. He tugged on the tie that held her skirts closed,
and a moment later, they had fallen into a heap around her ankles. Her heart was racing,
her lungs trying to keep up. She hesitated, uncertain of the next move.

Bhaic settled the issue by kissing her neck. A soft pressing of his lips against her
flesh that sent her thoughts spinning. She bid them farewell happily, backing up and
digging her fingers into the pleats of his plaid. She wanted to find him. Just him.
She wanted everything else gone.

So she pulled the lace of her corset free. It was a relief to be free of the stiff
garment, her breasts feeling heavy and swollen.

“Christ, it seems like forever since I’ve seen these.” He was looking over her shoulder,
stroking his hands up her belly until he cupped her breasts.

His touch set off a pulsing between her legs. It was far from startling tonight. Instead,
she felt some part of her welcoming the rising hunger.

She turned around, seeking out satisfaction. His first belt pulled free as simply
as it had before. She went looking for the second one, but he cupped her chin and
raised her face. For one moment, their eyes met. She could see him contemplating her,
trying to think of something to say.

“Kiss me.” She didn’t want to talk. She reached for his shoulder and rose up to take
what she desired.

He drew in a stiff breath, and she captured it when she pressed her lips against his.
Her toes hurt from stretching to meet him.

“I can nae think when ye do that, Ailis.”

She had to sink back down, but she drew her hands along his chest, finding the buttons
on his shirt and opening them so she might touch his skin. “I do nae want to think.
I might just go mad if I do.”

He made a soft sound under his breath. “Aye. I suppose ye have a good idea at that.”

He backed away, working the second belt that secured his kilt. It dropped with a soft
sound as she took another step into the dark bedchamber. He followed slowly, opening
the cuffs of his shirt before he pulled it over his head.

Her breath caught, shyness overcoming her. But that didn’t stop her from looking at
him and letting her attention slip down from his chest to the taunt muscles of his
belly, and farther still until she was looking at his groin. Her cheeks heated, but
she reached out, wanting to be bold instead of submissive.

She couldn’t bear being submissive tonight.

He stiffened where she touched his length. It was hot, but the skin incredibly soft.
She stroked him, hearing his breath rasp between his teeth. She looked up, catching
sight of his jaw being clenched.

“Aye, yer touch drives me near insane.”

He reached out and tugged her chemise up and off. It fluttered toward the floor like
a ghost in the darkened room.

“I want to do the same to ye.” He cupped her breast, and she gasped.

He chuckled softly. She closed her hand around his member, enjoying the way he ended
up sucking in a harsh breath.

Her body was hot, their lack of clothing bothering her not at all. In fact, she was
enjoying being bare. There was a wicked sense of pleasure weaving its way through
her, one that overrode every lecture she’d ever heard on propriety and modesty.

His neck was corded, his eyes narrowing. She would have sworn she felt his control
growing thin, just as her own was.

She wasn’t sure who moved first. All that mattered was that he gathered her up against
him, and he gave her his kiss at last.

She craved it. Felt as if she was starving for it.

Bhaic seemed to be as well.

He captured the back of her head and held her still as his mouth ravished hers. It
was a hungry merging, his lips claiming hers and pushing her mouth open so he could
boldly thrust his tongue inside. She moaned and tried to stroke his tongue with her
own in return. Her body twisted against his, seeking a deeper connection.

He suddenly broke off; she made a half sound of distress before he was lifting her
off her feet and carrying her around the footboard of the bed. The ropes groaned as
he bore her up onto the bed. They were both straining, crawling into the center of
the huge mattress. And at last, he covered her, sending a jolt of delight through
her from the contact.

He pressed her thighs wide, settling between them. A dim thought surfaced, one she’d
contemplated when she first learned what a man and woman did in bed together. But
there was nothing awkward about the position.

It felt right.

Almost perfect, in fact.

Still, something was missing.

She lifted her hips, seeking out that last thing she craved. At last, there was trust
between them.

Bhaic didn’t disappoint her. He reached between them, teasing her slit and drawing
the fluid pooling at the entrance of her passage through her folds. He stroked over
that throbbing nub at the top of her sex, sending her arching and gasping with delight.
He toyed with it, rubbing it as her insides clenched and twisted.

But she felt empty.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her. “That is nae enough.”

His lips curved. “Nay, lass, it is nae.”

He left off teasing her and guided his member to her open sex. The first touch made
her tremble. He pressed forward, sinking inside as her body stretched.

He pulled free, waiting for her to draw in a breath. He smoothed the hair back from
her face.

“Again,” she said, her voice more sultry than she’d ever imagined it might be.

“There’s the lass who stood up to Morton and me on our wedding night.” His expression
tightened as he thrust forward. “Ye are fearless, Ailis.”

His words pleased her, but not as much as the hard flesh pushing deeper inside her.
She let her eyes close because she was only interested in feeling. His hardness pleased
her in ways she’d never suspected possible. There was pain, but what she really wanted
to know was how good would it feel when he was sheathed completely?

She lifted her hips, eager for that connection.

“Let me—”

He didn’t get to finish his warning. Her body gave under the pressure he’d been using
and her own motions, something tearing inside her before he penetrated to the hilt.
She gasped, caught between a moment of white-hot pain and intense enjoyment.

“Christ, Ailis…I did nae mean to hurt ye…”

He was petting her, smoothing her hair back from her face. She opened her eyes. “I
do nae think there was a way to avoid it.”

His expression changed. For a moment, she witnessed the respect he’d mentioned on
that night that seemed so long ago. But his eyes began to narrow, his lips thinning
as he started moving. Need shimmered in his eyes, making her breath catch.

He was holding himself back, moving in and out of her with slow thrusts. The effort
cost him, the muscles along his neck drawing tight. She lifted for him, gasping when
his length slid along that pulsing pleasure point at the top of her sex.