My Fierce Highlander (24 page)

He pushed her legs apart, but she resisted
and clenched them tightly together. He shouldn’t look at her
there!

“Gwyneth,” he breathed against her bent
knees. “Open for me.”

She opened her eyes and found him hovering
there, so gorgeous and scandalous, the stubble of his chin rasping
and stimulating the sensitive skin of her knees.

“I meant…open your thighs,” he said.

She burned from the inside out, embarrassed
more by her own curiosity and a desire to comply than the request
itself. “Oh, you are shameless.”

“That I am.” He grinned as if proud of that
fact.

And she was shameless too, for her gaze
dropped again to his shaft. She studied the thick, erotic shape and
sleek, velvety texture of him.

“If you will but open your legs, I shall show
you something you’ll never forget.”

“You already have.” Certainly she would never
forget how he’d made love to her yesterday.

“I wish to give you another pleasure.” He
straightened her legs and laid them flat on the bed. Determined to
hold onto a speck of decency, she kept them pressed together.

He kissed her abdomen, her stomach, flicked
his tongue into her navel. Tingles spread outward and the heat
intensified in her lower belly. He moved in that direction,
trailing his lips even into her hair.

“Oh, you cannot,” she gasped and covered her
face with her hands.

“I’m wanting to taste you, m’lady. ’Twould be
a great pleasure for me.”

He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her mound
and upper thighs.
Good lord, he did not mean—

When he nudged her thighs apart, she allowed
it. Keeping her eyes closed, she felt him crawl between her
legs.

The stimulation on her most sensitive flesh
was not anything she knew. She opened her eyes and found his head
between her legs. In truth, he was licking her. Good heavens! She
attempted to close her thighs but this merely locked his head in
place. He moaned. Oh, he had no modesty.

And neither did she, for she could not pull
away. Could not make him stop.

“You are sweeter and more delicious than pure
honey,” he whispered.

His tongue stroked flames of pleasure, such
as she’d never imagined, over her, throughout her entire body. She
could not break away from the sinful, divine burning, nor did she
want to.

With heavy-lidded eyes, he glanced up at her
just before he slid his tongue inside her. Blissful agony twisted
through her as her yearning for him magnified. His moan vibrated
against her. She couldn’t believe what he was doing…and apparently
enjoying it as much as she was. He then flicked his tongue briskly
against an especially sensitive spot, where the tingles focused and
flowed from.

That breathless, impending
something
she had experienced for the first time yesterday seized her again.
She grasped onto the bed linens and cried out when the overwhelming
sensation claimed her. Her body was not her own at that moment, but
possessed by Alasdair and some instinctive rapture that frightened
her. Yet at the same time, the spasm of delight was one she wanted
again and again.

When she opened her eyes, Alasdair rose onto
his knees between her legs, wiped his lips and gave her mischievous
smile. “Did you enjoy that?”

Though somewhat shocked at herself, she
nodded. Happiness germinated and flourished inside her. In that
moment, all she needed for completion was his smile, his gaze, his
touch. His lovemaking.

“’Twas one of the most enjoyable things I’ve
ever done.” He moved closer, positioning himself, and an eager
thrill spiraled through her. He paused, searching her gaze. “Are
you ready for more?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Mmm.” An impassioned frown crossed his
features. When he nudged into her, his jutting erection felt hard
as sun-warmed marble. A wild need for him rose up, and she thrust
her hips toward him. He lifted her feet to his shoulders and pulled
her closer. Slid deeper. She hungered for the long, thick shape of
him.

The fluid, slick rocking motion of his body
into hers and away was the most captivating sensation on earth.
Even better than the ecstasy that had crashed over her. She knew
she was making wanton noises, moans and little cries, but could not
quiet herself. He overwhelmed her.

He licked her ankle, first one, then the
other, his mouth, teeth and beard stubble grazing her skin. His
magnetic black gaze penetrated her defenses, reached into her soul
and made love to it. His eyes said he knew her, accepted her,
wanted her.

His gliding movements accelerated and the
excitement that swept through her was something she could not get
enough of.

After placing her feet on the bed, he lowered
himself over her and whispered in her ear. “How does that
feel?”

He expected her to describe it? There were no
words. “Wondrous.” It was the only word that came to mind.

“Aye.” He took her mouth in a devouring kiss
that touched her deepest level. She feared he would taste and feel
her adoration—something she wished she could hide. But he lured it
from her so effortlessly.

He pounded himself into her with primal male
power, his wet hair brushing her face. His chest hair rasped her
nipples, stimulating them to hard pebbles. His harsh breathing and
rough Gaelic murmurs in her ear were an arousing accompaniment. She
reveled in each moment, each second his body worshiped hers.

With a growl, he slowed and lifted up
slightly. She was surprised when he slipped his hand between their
bodies and stroked her. Sparks seemed to jump from his fingertips,
igniting that obsessed fire within her. It flamed higher and again
consumed her. He took her mouth in a deep kiss before she could cry
out at the burst of pleasure.

Finally, her breathing resumed and she opened
her eyes. His were closed, seemingly in bliss. He hardened his jaw,
drove to the hilt and, with a loud groan, shot his seed deep within
her.

Watching him, experiencing him, sent joy
bubbling up inside her. Never had she met or imagined a man such as
him.

“By the saints,” Alasdair gasped and drew in
a chest-full of much-needed air after his explosive and maddening
climax. Gwyneth’s soft, wet woman’s body astounded him. The power
she held over him—damnation! He might well give his soul to lie
with her every night.

He collapsed beside her, let his breathing
calm and cradled her against his chest. She slipped an arm around
his waist and caressed his back with her fingertips. Mmm, she fit
into his arms perfectly, and felt just right. He had not
experienced such satisfaction or contentment in many a year. Her
presence soothed him, made him feel peace and happiness might be
attainable. When he found his release with her, it seemed he
released all the worrisome, painful things inside him as well.

“Gwyneth, I don’t think I can get enough of
you,” he said, already craving her again.

“I know I shouldn’t say so, but I feel the
same,” she confessed in a whisper.

He smiled, gratified and elated. He loved it
when she told the truth. It was so much more refreshing than the
lies she told herself and him when trying to be good and ignore
what she truly wanted.

She threw herself onto her back away from
him. “Oh, what am I doing? I should not have done that.”

In a rare moment, he let dangerous,
vulnerable emotion wash over him. “To appease your conscience,
there is but one solution, then.” His heartbeat thumped like a
drum.

“What?”

“Marry me.” There, he’d said it. He
grinned.

She jerked back and stared at him with a
wide-eyed frown, as if he’d suggested she kill him.

“Or we could hand-fast in the Highland way if
you prefer,” he rushed to say. Though he had no idea why he’d
thought in that moment of madness hand-fasting would be more
appealing. A legal marriage was far more secure.

She leapt from the bed, found her smock and
yanked it on.

He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“It is cruel to jest with me so.”

“’Tis no jest. I wish to marry you, Lady
Gwyneth. Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?” She would
say no, he knew, somehow. Despite the impending disappointment, he
could not help but make his wishes known.

Her eyes searched his. “Alasdair, you cannot
mean it. You’re a laird, an earl for heaven’s sake, and I’m…” She
covered her mouth.

“A lovely, sweet lady who happens to be a
widow and mother. This would be a good arrangement, I’m thinking.
’Tis beyond clear we enjoy each other in bed. I would provide you
with anything you should want or need, including protection. You
would provide me with an heir. You’ve already admitted to being an
earl’s daughter, which means we are of the same social
station.”

She pressed her eyes closed. “I cannot.”

“Why?” He wanted to shout the word, but
managed to restrain himself.

She opened her eyes and observed him with a
stricken look. “What about Rory?”

“I would treat him as mine own.”

She shook her head vehemently. “You said
yourself, you make sure all the lads are trained for battle. I
cannot allow Rory to be trained to such barbaric violence. I must
take him from the Highlands to some place safe where he’ll never
have a chance to fight and get killed.”

Had she gone daft? He frowned. “That’s your
reason for refusing me?”

Her hands turned to fists. “It’s important to
me. Rory is the most precious person in my life. When I had nothing
else, I had him. He was all I had to live for. And if he were to
die…” Tears sparkling in her eyes, she pressed a fist to her
mouth.

“Och, I would protect Rory with my life, as I
would you. How can you doubt it?” Did she have absolutely no
confidence in him?

“That’s not going to stop him from fighting
alongside your men one day,” she said. “You know how he is drawn to
the sword.”

“If that is the case, it won’t matter where
you take him. When he’s old enough, he will join the king’s
army.”

“He will not!” She looked determined enough
to take on the king’s army herself.

Alasdair wanted to seal her mouth and make
her understand. “M’lady—”

“No, I will not hear it. I could not live
with myself if he rode out and got himself killed like that young
boy, Campbell, when first I arrived. What a waste of precious life.
He had not even begun to live. I cannot withstand that
nightmare.”

Trying his best to reason with her, he
softened his voice. “Gwyneth, at the very least you must realize
I’ve compromised you. And that you may be already carrying my
bairn.”

Her face reddened. She touched a hand to her
flat belly, and he wanted to do the same, for he hoped it was so.
More than anything, he yearned for her to have his child.

“But I may not be.” Her look of defiance
raised his ire.

He shoved himself from the bed. “Very well
then. Do what you must.”
Damnable woman.
He snatched up his
long shirt, yanked it on and flung his plaid and belt over his
shoulder. “But if you’re carrying my bairn, you won’t be leaving!”
He stalked out, slamming the door in his wake.

Chapter Eleven

Dear God in Heaven, what had Alasdair meant?
Gwyneth trod a path from the bed to the door and back again. He
wouldn’t let her leave if she was already carrying his child. She
would be trapped again. Because of her thoughtless, wanton actions
she would again have a man telling her where she could or could not
go.

“I’m a widow, free to do as I wish,” she
muttered. “I do not have to stay here and be ordered about by him.
If I but had a position….”
Could I find one myself?
Maybe
she wouldn’t need Alasdair’s nor any man’s help in becoming a
governess.

She would swallow her fears and write to her
eldest sister. Margaret might be persuaded to inquire in Cornwall,
near her and her husband’s summer estate.

I’ll be an embarrassment to her.

Especially if Gwyneth now carried Alasdair’s
babe. If that was the case, she’d raise it on her own, the way she
had Rory. It would be possible if she could move to an area which
was both peaceful and no one knew her, save her sister. None of
them need know how long she’d been a widow. She would earn wages
and support her child or children that way. They wouldn’t have
much, but they could survive as they had for the last six
years.

If she could leave soon, Alasdair would never
learn whether she carried his child or not. Unless he searched her
out. Then he’d surely take the babe from her.

Goodness, why am I thinking this way? I am
not with child.

Disheartened, she slumped onto the chair.
Months would pass before she’d receive a response from Margaret, if
at all. If she did carry Alasdair’s child, he’d find out by then.
Perhaps Lachlan would return with good news sooner.

But what would she do in the meantime?

***

The next evening, Gwyneth dragged herself up
the stone steps leading to her bedchamber. With all the
preparations for the upcoming Midsummer celebration, and guests
arriving, she had not seen Alasdair all day. She and the women had
gathered herbs and flowers, created colorful, scented garlands to
decorate the great hall, and cooked special dishes in the
kitchen.

Along the dimly lit corridor, she passed the
open doorway to Alasdair’s chamber. He was likely in the library
talking and drinking sack with the loyal neighboring clan
chieftains who had arrived that day.

“M’lady.”

She jerked back and glared at the darkness of
the doorway.

The lone sconce further down the corridor
provided little illumination. Alasdair stuck his head out, glanced
about, then locked his gaze on her. “I’ve something I’m wanting to
give you.”

Surely he did not mean a kiss. She felt giddy
and flushed of a sudden.