One Night With the Laird (11 page)

“I said open your eyes.”

Nip. Harder. She almost came that time, but she did as she was told and opened her eyes. Her gaze was hazy with desire. She saw Jack’s cheek resting against her breast, his tawny hair brushing her skin, dark golden against her paleness. He held her gaze; he raised a hand and cupped her breast, holding it in his palm, and she knew he was claiming her body as his. His fingers toyed with her nipples as though she were his plaything, his possession. Pleasure tightened within her and shimmered. The tension inside her ratcheted tighter like a chain pulled unbearably taut.

“Don’t close your eyes.” He licked her nipple, tasting her like ice cream this time, a deliberate caress. She gasped, arched. He smiled and licked her again.

He took hold of the ragged shreds of the silk and tore it the rest of the way down, then pressed his lips to the curve of her belly and the hollow above her mound. His fingers were at her core and then they were inside her. Mairi could not think, could not hold back. One glorious stroke of his thumb over her nub, and a second, and she shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, so sweet and violent that she would have screamed had Jack not covered her mouth with his again.

She felt him shift above her, fumbling to release his shaft. He was shaking. She noticed it even through the tremors that still convulsed her body, even through the cascade of pleasure.

“Look at me.” Again the command came. He sounded less in control, though, closer to the edge. She felt a surge of power that made her smile. She kept her eyes closed.

His hands swept the length of her, from her shoulders, down over her breasts, her belly, claiming her again with his touch. The soft floating feeling of satiation within her faded. Sharp need snapped back. She could feel the tip of his shaft at her core and tried not to rise to meet him, tried not to beg for more. It was impossible. Instead she reached for him, spreading her legs wider to accommodate him between them, digging her fingers into his buttocks as she pulled him inside her. She heard his sharp catch of breath as her body clasped his.

“So hot. So tight.” His breath stirred the tendrils of hair that clung damply to her neck. His lips brushed her neck. “I’ve dreamed of this, dreamed of you.”

She thought he would take her hard and fast, showing that this time she was his to use. She would not have cared. Her excitement was already burning again, her body greedy for more. But he did not plunge into her. Instead he moved in long, slow strokes that took her earlier pleasure and stirred it up again, drawing it out, strengthening it by unhurried degrees until her body felt unbearably tight and wanting all over again. She opened her eyes and watched him; watched him as he made love to her, watched him as he bent his head again to tease her breasts, watched him as he slid his hands possessively over her hips, raising her to meet those long, deep thrusts. She was still watching when her body finally tipped over again into slow and blissful release and she tilted her head back and arched upward, taking Jack with her.

Gradually she became aware of her surroundings again, of the strengthening light streaming into the room and the birdsong beyond the window and the stir of the inn awakening around them. Her heart was still racing. She felt stunned by the discovery of a pleasure she had simply not known. It had felt different from the previous time. She struggled to try to understand why and realized that before she had craved only oblivion.

She felt a sliding sensation of fear. This time she had wanted Jack. She had thought of nothing but him. Her need for him had been overwhelming, and the difference it had made to her response had been overwhelming too.

Emotions swamped her, feelings she did not recognize.

“Jack,” she said. It was the first time that she had used his name, and even as she did so she realized that something of how she felt must have colored her voice because she felt him shift, drawing away from her. Cold air lapped about her and she realized that she was naked, lying tumbled on the bed, legs still spread apart, abandoned and satiated, while Jack still had all his clothes on.

“You need to return to your own chamber before your maid comes looking for you.” Jack’s voice was cool, emotionless. “We don’t want to cause further scandal.” He sat up and fastened his breeches. He did not look at her.

Mairi flinched. Her entire body flushed with embarrassment.

She felt like a whore. Except that a whore would expect nothing more than a fat purse of gold, whereas she had expected at the very least a modicum of respect. In a flash she saw her mistake. She had allowed herself to be seduced. She had forgotten that Jack had blackmailed her into becoming his mistress, that their relationship did nothing but demean her, that he had no respect for her at all.

In that moment she hated herself; she hated what she had done and how she had felt and she wanted to hate Jack as well, but she could not and that made her all the more upset. Jack had never made any secret of the fact that he had no use for intimacy. He wanted no emotional commitment to anyone. She had known and understood that, but in the heat of desire she had forgotten it. Jack had not lied to her or made false promises. He had made love to her because he desired her, and now that his lust was satisfied he wanted her gone.

For a moment the humiliation held her quite still, and then she jumped from the bed, wincing at the cold of the bare boards against her feet, and grabbed her cloak as quickly as she could, wrapping it about her with hands that shook. Once it was tied and she felt vaguely decent again, she could look him in the eye. He, damn him, had already adjusted his clothes and was sitting waiting with ill-concealed impatience for her to be gone.

“Our betrothal is over,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” Jack raised one brow. She tried not to appreciate how handsome he looked, casually disheveled, so masculine. That was absolutely nothing to the purpose.

Mairi swallowed hard, gripping the cloak tightly, trying to find a dignity that was all too difficult when she was stark naked and could still feel the echo of Jack’s touch through her body.

“Our betrothal is over,” she repeated sharply. “It was a mistake. So was sleeping with you. I don’t require your help. I don’t want anything else from you and I will not be your mistress.”

She broke off. Jack had come to his feet and he was looking dangerously angry. He took a step toward her and took hold of her by the shoulders. Despite the anger in his eyes, his grip was gentle and warm, and it made the heat seep once again through her perfidious body. Mairi shivered and clutched the cloak even tighter to her.

“There is a limit to how many times you can make love with me,” Jack said softly, “and pretend that you don’t want to.” The gentle stroke of his hands over the velvet rubbed against her skin and made Mairi shiver all the more. He slipped one hand inside the cloak and found her breast, cupped it, rubbing his thumb over the nipple, which was already hard from the abrasion of the velvet. He leaned closer so that his lips were an inch from hers.

“You do want me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he said, and it was not a question. He already knew the answer.

Mairi fought the hot, sweet heaviness that filled her blood. “That is not in dispute.” She gasped as his stroking fingers tweaked and pulled on her nipple, drawing more of a response from her, making her knees weaken. In another second she would be back on the bed, flat on her back with him inside her again. She raised her chin, forced her mind to focus.

“I won’t be treated like a whore. I won’t be used and dismissed.”

She felt Jack stiffen. His hand fell.

“So now you know how I felt when I woke that morning after you left me,” he said. There was the glitter of anger in his eyes.

“Fine,” Mairi snapped. “Now that you have had your revenge, had me, perhaps you could forget it.” She pulled the cloak together again, ignoring the ache of lust in her belly, ignoring the deeper sting of hurt in her mind—the hurt that said it should not have been like this.

“I do not want your protection,” she said, “and I certainly do not want your company and when we reach Methven you will oblige me by keeping out of my way as much as possible.”

She fumbled with the door handle. She wanted nothing more than the privacy of her room, hot water and clean clothes. She could wash and refresh herself but she had a suspicion that it would not be so easy to dismiss the memory of Jack’s touch on her body. He was right. She still wanted him, wanted the pleasure he could give her, but there was no way she would give herself to him without respect.

She closed the door softly behind her.

He said not one word to call her back.

* * *

D
AMN
AND
DAMN
and damn. Jack could not remember the last time he had been in such a filthy mood. He stood by the window watching as Mairi’s servants loaded the traveling carriage. She stood waiting, impatience vivid in every tense line of her body. Frazer had a face like thunder. The grooms were scurrying around as though their shirttails were on fire. Evidently she had vented her fury with him on her staff, which was very out of character. But then, she had been very upset.

Jack knew he only had himself to blame. He had kicked Lady Mairi MacLeod out of his bed. He was a fool, and an ill-mannered one at that. Mairi was not a woman to accept that treatment from anyone. His only excuse—and it was no excuse at all—was that he had been so shaken and disturbed by what had happened between them that he had acted on instinct to distance himself from her.

He swallowed a curse. He had had no intention of treating Mairi like a whore out of revenge. Once he had started to make love to her, the thought had not even crossed his mind. He had forgotten that she had used him in the past. He had forgotten that he had wanted to exert his own mastery, make his own demands. He had been pushed beyond anything in his experience, dazed and bewildered by his response to her and the terrifying way that he had been at the mercy of his own emotions. He had meant to withdraw at the moment of climax too, but he had been so overwhelmed that he had not done so, which had been beyond irresponsible.

Scowling, he ran a hand through his hair. Good sex was nothing new to him. He had more than a passing acquaintance with great sex. But this had been different. This had been exceptional. He had felt a sense of connection with Mairi, a need that went beyond and beneath the physical. It had felt soul-deep. And since he had thought he did not have a soul or indeed a better nature of any sort, that was more than a little disturbing.

He pushed himself away from the windowsill and turned his back on the departing carriage. He was making far too much of it. He should forget it if only because he was never going to have the opportunity to make love to Lady Mairi MacLeod again and he was damned if he was going to torture himself by dwelling on everything he could not have. He would have to forget the satin-smoothness of her skin and the tight, hot clasp of her body about his. He would have to forget the sounds she had made as he had driven her toward her climax and the deep slumberous blue of her eyes as she had held his gaze and slipped over the edge into pleasure.

He was rock-hard again. If this was forgetting, he had better not try to remember. Mairi had severed all connection to him. He was fortunate she had not severed anything else in the process given her skill with a dirk. And he should be glad, because it meant no tedious pretence of being her fiancé and no tiresome obligation to take Lord MacLeod’s commission to protect her. It meant no ties, no responsibilities and no commitment, which was exactly what he had always wanted.

He expected to feel relieved. He waited to feel relieved.

Nothing happened.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HE
ROAD
TO
Torridon was notoriously bad, a long, steep and stony track that skirted the great gray flank of Beinn Eighe—a forbidding mountain that looked like a huge fortress. There were few trees to break the barrenness of the bare rock. Waterfalls tumbled over the scree and splashed down into little lochans that reflected the blue of the sky. It was a majestic landscape but a lonely one, and Mairi far preferred the softer green rolling hills of the south.

With a sigh she turned away from the view out of the window. She wanted to sleep but she could not. Her mind was too active. Every time she closed her eyes she saw images of Jack, his body, strong and golden brown, poised over hers, their limbs entangled. She felt the brush of his skin against hers, heard his breathing, felt his warmth. It was as though she could feel the echo of his touch on her body, beneath the skin. She felt it in the beat of her heart and could not escape it.

She could not dismiss this time as a mistake. Jack had given her a choice right from the start. When he had proposed his devil’s bargain, she had agreed despite all her reservations because she had wanted to taste passion again. She had been taken, seduced. And then she had been turned out, callously, with calculated coldness.

There were many reasons why she should not have an affair with Jack Rutherford, of which that was the best one. She valued herself too highly to give herself to a man who could not wait for the sheets to cool before he evicted her from his bed.

Besides, it was too dangerous. She was fortunate that her courses were very regular and that it was a safe time for her, or so she understood it. She had not even thought of that when she had been in Jack’s bed, and that was downright foolish.

She shivered, though there was a hot brick at her feet and a warm rug over her lap. The cold was inside her, not without. She had longed for a child for many barren years, and seeing Lucy’s growing family was so hard for her. She wanted a baby but not like this.

One thought nagged at her mind and it was a persistent one. She had no idea now how she might counteract Michael Innes’s threats. In rejecting Jack’s help she had made herself vulnerable again, but she told herself that she would manage to find a way. She always managed alone. The price of Jack’s protection had been her self-respect, and that was a price that was too high.

She must have dozed off because the next thing she noticed was the carriage slowing, jolting her awake as it rattled over a particularly deep pothole in the road. It jolted again, violently, throwing her from her seat. There was the sound of a shot, then another closer at hand. Mairi made a grab for the carriage pistol, reaching for the pouch that held it, but the coach slewed, throwing her off balance again. There was shouting and more shots, and the coach creaked to an abrupt halt, throwing her to the floor in a tumbled heap.

With a sick lurch of the heart Mairi realized that she had been so wrapped up in what had happened with Jack that she had forgotten entirely to warn Frazer and his sons about the potential danger from Wilfred Cardross. She had not really believed that Wilfred would attack them. He had no real quarrel with her and it seemed a foolhardy thing to do so close to Methven.

The door was wrenched open and a figure blotted out the light. It was Cardross, but not as Mairi had ever seen him before. Gone was the elegant beau of the Edinburgh ballrooms. His hair was unkempt and his jacket dirty and ragged. There was a pistol in his hand and a rather unpleasant sneer on his face. Behind him Mairi could see a melee in progress as fierce fighting erupted between her servants and the scruffy bunch of men Wilfred seemed to have brought with him.

“Surprised to see me, coz?” Wilfred drawled, motioning with the pistol that she should stay sprawled on her hands and knees on the floor. She knew he meant to humiliate her and it just made her fury burn all the stronger. The sick smile on his face churned her stomach. At the first chance she got she was going to kill him.

“Yes,” Mairi said. “Shouldn’t you be in jail?”

Wilfred grinned. It was neither a pretty nor a reassuring sight. “You can spring any trap with the right amount of bait,” he said.

“A metaphor involving vermin,” Mairi said coldly. “How appropriate. What do you want, Wilfred?”

“You,” Wilfred said. “I have a friend who has an interest.”

“Most people call on me rather than kidnap me,” Mairi said. “I don’t like your friend’s methods. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

She tried to scramble up from the floor, making another grab for the pistol in its pocket to the side of the door, but Wilfred was too quick for her. He brought his fist crashing down, catching her a glancing blow on her temple and sending her toppling back into the seat. Her head spun in sickening waves and she lay there for a second, winded and nauseated.

“Let’s see what my friend will be getting, eh?” she heard Wilfred say. He put out a hand and casually tore open her jacket, pulling down the neck of her gown, trying to expose her breasts.

“You’re disgusting,” Mairi snapped. She scrambled to cover herself but froze as the pistol touched her cheek in a murderous caress.

“Oh no, coz,” Wilfred said. “Let’s see the goods. I hear you’ve been a whore spreading yourself around, so you shouldn’t mind, should you?”

A jerk of the pistol directed her to pull the jacket farther apart, but Mairi turned her head sharply away and refused to move. After a second Wilfred laughed and reached forward again to do it himself, only to be brought up sharp by a furious bellow from outside the carriage.

“Cardross!”

It was Jack, sword in hand. For a moment his eyes met Mairi’s. They were dark with concentrated ferocity. Wilfred whipped around, raising the pistol, and Mairi took her chance, kicking out at his shins and making him swear long and virulently. He made another grab for her and she realized he intended to use her as a hostage. She bit his hand hard and he gave a howl of pain and the gun went spinning away.

Jack caught Wilfred by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back; he went down with another oath. Mairi dragged her gown and jacket together and crawled to the door.

There was mayhem outside the carriage. Wilfred’s ragged outlaws were fighting like men possessed, but against the strength and training of Mairi’s men they were hopelessly outmaneuvered. Three of them were engaging with Jack in an attempt to give Wilfred the chance to escape and grab her again, but their efforts were hopeless because Jack was simply too good for them. He had discarded his jacket, and the sweat-damp shirt clung to his shoulders and back. He was fast and he fought with formidable concentration, a natural swordsman. Mairi had never seen anyone with so much innate skill. He sent one man’s sword sailing into the heather and dealt another a slice to the forearm that had him howling in pain. As he parried, swayed, crouched and sprang, Mairi found that she was feeling a little faint and not just from Wilfred’s blow to her head.

Jack dispatched another man and turned on Wilfred now. Her cousin took one look and scrabbled up onto the back of a shabby pony. Abandoned, his men let out a collective roar of fury and fell back, running for the sparse tree cover on the upper slopes.

Mairi hauled herself to her feet, grabbing the pistol that Wilfred had dropped. He was already fifty yards away and hauling himself into the saddle, but she was sure she could bring him down from that distance. She spun around, and almost immediately was knocked to the floor again, all the breath squashed from her body as Jack landed on top of her. A split second later a shot whistled past her ear so close she felt the air ripple.

“Stay down!”

Mairi had little option. Jack’s body held her pinned to the floor of the carriage while beyond the door there was the sound of more shouts, muffled blows and then silence.

She was not sure how long they lay there with his body covering hers. It was no more than seconds, in all probability; seconds in which she was aware of nothing but the pounding of her heart, the sound of his breathing in her ear and the press of Jack’s body on hers. She opened her eyes. His elegant shirt had a rip a foot long down the sleeve that had clearly been made by a sword. She could smell the sweat of exertion on him, an earthy smell that tugged at her senses. The strong brown column of his throat was only inches from her lips. He bent his head and his hair brushed her cheek. She could feel the elemental burn of the fight still coursing through his blood. It was in the touch of his hands on her and the strength of his arms, bands of steel holding her close.

He had rescued her. Suddenly she felt shaky, close to tears and far too vulnerable and she had no intention of allowing all that to show.

“You spoiled my line of sight,” she said crossly, shoving ineffectually at his chest. “I could have brought Wilfred down.”

“And been shot in the process,” Jack said. He rolled off her. “I saved your life,” he added. “A little gratitude would not go amiss.”

“Thank you,” Mairi said, “but I told you I didn’t want your protection.”

Jack looked deeply annoyed. “Well, you’ve bloody well got it,” he said through gritted teeth, “so get used to it.”

He extended a hand to help her up on to the seat. For some reason his solicitude irritated her, as though she were some maiden aunt who could not care for herself. His gaze went to her ripped jacket and she saw his scowl deepen.

“I saw what he did to you, the bastard.” He bit the words out; they were a contrast to the gentleness of his hands as he drew the ragged panels of her jacket together and fastened the buttons with great care.

“It’s all right—” Mairi started to say, only to be silenced by his glare.

“No,” he said. His voice was thick, charged with anger. “It is
not.
” Then: “I’ll kill him for this.”

His hand came up, turning her face to the light, again with such tenderness she could have cried. His fingers stirred her hair, a light touch, but still it hurt. They came away with blood on them and for the first time Mairi felt the hot stickiness of it and the sting of the cut. When Jack spoke his voice had changed again. It was gentle but there was something in it that made her terrified.

“Cardross did this to you too?”

The look on his face frightened her now. Her heart bumped her ribs. Suddenly there was such fury in his eyes, such tension in his touch, light as it was as he pressed a folded handkerchief to the graze.

“He was trying to abduct me,” Mairi said, shaken by the anger she saw in him. “He didn’t like it when I objected.” She was shivering, her teeth chattering together. She heard Jack curse. He grabbed her cloak and slipped it about her shoulders. Mairi grasped the folds to her, realizing that she wanted to tell him that it was the comfort of his arms she needed to steady her. She craved his warmth and the scent of his skin. She shivered again. Wilfred’s attack had made her too vulnerable. She did not want to need Jack Rutherford. She was still livid with him for the way he had treated her earlier. Just because he had saved her life did not mean she had forgotten it—though it felt odd simultaneously to want to slap him and kiss him.

Jack was scanning the carriage. “Do you carry brandy in here as well as a pistol?”

“Of course,” Mairi said. “It is in the cupboard beneath the seat if you require it.”

“It’s for you,” Jack said, “not for me.”

“I hate brandy,” Mairi said. She knew she sounded spoiled and petulant and hated herself for it.

Jack gave her a look that told her quite plainly to do as she was told and put the brandy flask in her hand. She was surprised to find she was trembling. After a moment he said:

“Drink it or I’ll tip it down your throat myself.”

“Your reputation for charm is overrated,” Mairi said, but she raised the flask to her lips and took a long swallow. The brandy burned her throat, almost choking her and reminding her why she disliked it, but almost immediately it spun a warm lassitude through her blood and she felt calmer and more steady.

Frazer stuck his head around the door. “Madam?”

“She’s fine,” Jack said tersely. “Shaken but largely unhurt.”

Mairi saw Frazer’s gaze go to the bloodstained handkerchief in her hand. His lips tightened. “Damn his soul....”

“I could have shot him,” Mairi said, “had Mr. Rutherford not chosen that moment to save my life.”

Frazer laughed. “You’re a bonny fighter, sir,” he said to Jack. “We’re glad to have you on our side. The boys would like some training when you can spare a moment.”

“The boys did a good enough job on their own,” Jack said, grinning, “but I’d be glad to.”

“Are any of them hurt?” Mairi said.

“Against that rabble?” Frazer sounded as though he would take it as a personal insult if a single one of his sons had come to harm. “No, ma’am, barely a scratch.”

“And Jessie?” Mairi said. Her maid had been traveling in the second carriage with the portmanteaux. Mairi felt guilty now for banishing her. She had not wanted Jessie’s chatter that morning.

“Jessie kicked one of them in the balls,” Frazer said with evident satisfaction. “You could hear his howling in the next glen.” He nodded to Jack. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, ma’am. I’ll get us sorted out to head to Methven.”

“Send a couple of the boys ahead to tell my cousin what’s happened,” Jack said. “He’ll send men out to escort the carriages.”

Mairi looked from one to the other. “I give the orders here,” she said. “One blow to the head does not render me incapable of decision-making.”

Jack raised an eyebrow; Frazer smothered a grin. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Do as Mr. Rutherford suggests,” Mairi said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Frazer saluted and stood down.

Jack gave her a smile. “Thank you for that,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Mairi said. “It would be foolish to gainsay you. Frazer and his sons already think you walk on water.”

“You don’t do so badly yourself,” Jack said. He sat back on the seat, surveying her lazily. The turbulent anger she had seen in him earlier appeared to have gone, and yet Mairi was not so sure. She would not want to be in Wilfred Cardross’s boots when Jack caught up with him.