Rogue of the Borders (14 page)

At the mention of his sisters, Shane seemed to become aware of the others still in the room. He straightened slowly and looked about. The footmen were sidling toward the door, but Kyla gave him an unabashed look. Abigail hoped the maid would not choose this time to defend herself. Shane looked anything but amiable.

His gaze settled on Shauna. “Ye are the least barmy of those present,” he said, “so mayhap ye can tell me why I come home to find near all my relatives here as well as half of Ian’s housemen?”

“’Tis
three
, nae half,” Kyla muttered.

Shane ignored her and folded his arms across his wide chest. “Well?”

“What does
barmy
mean?” Abigail asked.

“It means mad. Insane,” Kyla offered.

“Silence!”

Kyla lifted her chin and sniffed. “Well, it
does
,” she said cheekily before she swept out of the door.

“I am waiting,” Shane said to Shauna.

“You think I am mad?” Abigail asked.

“Nae now, lass.” Shane began to pace. “We will discuss your problem later.”

“My problem? What problem? I can assure you I am quite lucid.”

He stopped and raised one eyebrow questioningly, looking unconvinced. “We will discuss it
later,
lass.”

“She is actually nae a lass any longer,” Fiona said from where she stood near the hearth. “She is your wife, and that is why she is here.”

Abigail cringed. Although she had explained the annulment to all of them, she had not been specific about what went on—or did not go on—behind closed doors.

Shane turned his stormy gaze on Abigail, letting her know this conversation was not over, before he looked back to Shauna with a piercing glare. “What kind of stories did my
wife
spin to get Ian to agree to this lunacy?”

Shauna shrugged, apparently used to Highlanders’ tempers. “Ian was nae pleased with your idea to leave your wife at Glenfinnan when her home is here in Edinburgh.”

Shane folded his arms across his chest again. “And did my cousin decide he was tired of all of ye as well?”

“Ian was nae tired of us,” Fiona protested.

“Abigail felt your sisters should live with you,” Shauna said calmly, as though sparks were not flying from Shane’s eyes. “I offered to come along to oversee them until they adjusted to their new home.”

“And I wanted to see Edinburgh!” Fiona added.

“Of course ye did,” Shane answered, obviously making an effort to remain civil. “Who else is living here?”

“Just the footmen Ian sent along. All three are trained in weaponry,”

“And Kyla,” Fiona said, “although she was saying we probably need another maid. Maybe two. And a butler as well.”

“Kyla suggested that, did she?”

“It was just a suggestion,” Abigail intervened quickly, “but poor Janet is a bit overworked at the moment. However, we—I—refrained from making that decision until I had a chance to speak to you.”

Shane looked around the room, seeming to notice the changes in the décor for the first time. “It seems there were other matters ye took into your hands.”

“Do you not like it?”

“’Tis nae the point.” Shane ran a hand through his still-wet hair and walked to the door. “We will discuss all of this later. Right now, I am going to soak in the hot-water tub behind the stove and thaw out.”

“The tub has been moved,” Fionna said.

Shane stopped in the doorway. “
What?
Why would ye move a tub from behind the stove where it keeps the water warm?”

“Since we have footmen to carry the water, we thought it would be good to have hipbaths in each bedchamber,” Fiona replied. “It really has been heavenly.”

Shane sighed. “Fine. If the tub has been moved to the back room where I keep my clothes, I will go there.”

“Oh, your clothes are not there,” Fionna said, a dimple beginning to form. “They have been moved, along with the tub, to your bedchamber on the fourth floor.” Her smile widened. “It is the only chamber on that floor.”

Shane turned his head toward Abigail slowly. His eyes darkened, but she didn’t think she read anger in his gaze—it was more of a smoldering look—and then it was gone. He turned without a word and walked out the door.

It seemed every room on the third floor had been furnished as well. When had his conniving little wife had the time to do all this? She must not have wasted any time after he left for Edinburgh to convince Ian to go along with her mad plan.

Shane truly was going to plant Ian on his arse the next time he saw him. He thought he could count on his cousin. Had Ian not realized Abigail would be much safer at the old castle than in a city? Had Ian not understood the complications of a sham marriage? Had Ian not realized how much easier it was going to be to seek an annulment if Shane were not living with Abigail?

Shane swore as he reached the fourth floor. Ian
had
understood. He just had not agreed since he was besotted with Jillian. Shane didn’t blame him for that. Jillian was a wonderful woman. So was Abigail. But Abigail deserved someone who would be home, someone who would be a father to bairns, not a sea wanderer. Certainly not someone whose Templar background also put him in danger of being caught by factions who did not agree in restoring rightful kings to thrones.
That
was what Ian did not understand.

Opening the door to the bedchamber, Shane stopped half-way through and gaped. The room looked like a strange mix of stalwart hunting lodge and French boudoir. A solid oak table with two chairs was placed next to a window covered with corded draperies in deep-forest green. The rest of the furniture was heavy and solid too, done in black walnut, intricately carved with what looked like Celtic designs. Contrasting with masculine furniture was an ivory brocade chaise near the hearth that had a MacLeod tartan tossed over the back. But what completely held him transfixed was the massive four-poster bed with its red satin spread—and the picture of a half-naked Venus, breasts fully exposed, taking up most of the wall above the headboard.

Saints in Heaven. What had gotten into Abigail?

As if he’d summoned her, she slipped up behind him, giving a tiny shove that got them both through the door before she closed it.

“Do you like it?”

Shane opened his mouth, closed it and then made another effort to speak. “It is…different.”

She beamed. “I wanted something different.”

“I would say ye were successful then.”

“The merchant told me men liked heavy, dark furniture rather than Hepplewhite or Chippendale. He really was very helpful in explaining how the dark wood felt masculine. I wanted something you would be comfortable with.”

“Ah…thank ye for thinking about me, but—”

“Do you like her?” Abigail asked, looking pointedly at Venus.

“Ah…it is a rather unusual painting.”

“For the parlor maybe, but not for a bedchamber.”

“Did the shopkeeper sell ye that too?” Shane had a sudden image of the very
helpful
clerk conversing about bed play and found himself clenching a fist.

“Oh, no. I picked that out myself.”

“Where…where did ye find it?”

“In an art gallery, of course. It is a copy of something Canova did. They had others. I could get more.”

“Ah…no. I think one is quite enough.”

Abigail tilted her head, studying the reclining pose and then glanced at the ivory chase. The seeming trend of her thought sent a jolt through Shane, straight to his groin. Good heavens. She wasn’t thinking…

“I suppose you are right. Too many pictures and poses would be confusing. We should just keep things simple.”

“Simple?”

“Yes.” Abigail turned to him with a strange gleam in her eyes. He was truly beginning to wonder if she did have an affliction of some sort.

“What is it?” he asked cautiously.

“The footmen will be bringing the hot water almost any minute now. You should take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Your clothing. You cannot have a proper bath without removing your clothes.” Abigail said the words slowly, as if speaking to a dim-witted child, which Shane was beginning to think he was—at least, the dim-witted part. “I will take off my clothes once the water has arrived.”

“Well, all right.” Abigail moved to the dresser, picked up a washcloth along with bar of soap and seated herself by the window.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

She gave him a sympathetic look, as one might a simpleton. “I intend to give you your bath.”

“You
what
?” Merciful Christ, he
was
beginning to sound like a daft fool.

“Your bath,” Abigail said patiently. “Maids often do it, but we have a shortage of maids and I did not think you would want Kyla—”

“Great God! No.”

“Good. Then it is settled.”

Shane gave her a wary look. “Something about this whole conversation is verra
unsettling
, lass.”

Tilting her head slightly, she considered and then nodded. “I suppose it is. Well, then, we will just get to the heart of it. No need to tarry.”

Before Shane could ask what she meant by
that
, he found out. In a blur of movement, Abigail was in front of him, winding her arms around his neck. He felt the soft, round mounds of her breasts press against his chest and then she pulled his head down for a kiss. Her lips were warm and moist and pliant. He caught the light fragrance of her hair and the warm vanilla scent of her skin. He slipped his hands around her waist and his mouth covered hers, seeking more pressure. Abigail yielded immediately, parting her lips, inviting his tongue. With a sigh, he delved in to explore. She tasted slightly of ratifia and he wondered if she’d imbibed before coming to the bedchamber, and then rational thought left him as Abigail’s tongue darted into his mouth, challenging him for more. She moaned softly when he obliged. Without thinking, Shane slid his hands down, cupping her buttocks, pulling her closer until her every curve fit perfectly against him—

The knock on the door startled both of them. Shane quickly stepped back. By the Holy Rood! In another minute, he would have been grinding his aching cock against her, wanting more.

Abigail looked dazed and he hoped she wouldn’t swoon. She took a deep breath, seeming to recover and he went to the door.

Three grinning footmen stood there with six pails of hot water. The smirks quickly faded when Shane glared at them. “Fill the tub,” he said, “and then escort my wife downstairs.”

“But I—”

“Ye need to check on dinner. I find I am starving.”

Abigail frowned, clearly not sure how to interpret the sentence. Shane wasn’t sure either, but starving for Abigail was not what he needed to be thinking about doing. “Go on, lass.”

She didn’t look happy, but she left. Shane let out a shaky breath and leaned against the door. He had almost lost his iron-will control.

It must not happen again.

As Shane made quick work of the bath—he wasn’t really sure if Abigail would stay away and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if she didn’t—he realized what must be done.

He would take his meals here but sleep on the ship. That way, there would be no more temptation.

Perhaps it was best that Fiona and Shauna were here after all. They could attest to no conjugal relationships, which would make the annulment that much easier.

“I doona ken what is wrong with that man,” Kyla commented as she helped Abigail dress the next morning. “Ye would think the ship’s business could wait on his first night home with ye and the family.”

“He did say the office was shorthanded with the new person still learning the books,” Abigail replied, although she silently agreed with the maid. However, Abigail also knew the real reason Shane had left after dinner last night. From the kiss they’d shared—gracious, she could only gulp in air when he’d released her—she also suspected he might have
some
experience. With kissing anyway. And, though her facts were sadly limited to what biology books had to say on reproduction, she was fairly sure the rigid hardness pressed against her hipbone yesterday had something to do with desire. Therefore, the logical conclusion was that her husband did find her somewhat attractive.

The action had certainly stimulated a slow, pulsating, mushy warmth in her private parts, not to mention how heavy and full her breasts had felt against his solid expanse of his chest. She wanted more. Much more.

Her other logical conclusion was that Shane MacLeod was the most stubborn, hard-headed, strong-willed man she had ever met.

Her parents had accused her of those same traits.

Her husband was a bit more wily than she’d thought, but it only increased her determination to wear him down. Abigail didn’t give a flying fig about remaining
pure
—especially since she had no intention of allowing the marriage to be annulled.

In this human game of chess, she was the queen. And the queen ultimately determined who would win the game.