Seducing the Highlander (11 page)

It was close enough to the truth that Leanna said nothing despite her embarrassment as she watched the two men. It looked as if the line in front of the baron had split a little, Frankton’s men perhaps realizing that even their cowardly commander might take up the challenge. With Frankton’s foul temper, she began to pray he would snap and lunge at Ian, who was surely ready for such action.

Taking advantage of the fact that his opponent was no longer shielded by a wall of men, Ian urged his horse through the gap, his hand now resting on the hilt of his sword, his dark hair gleaming in the sun. Robbie still sat in front of the McCray clansmen, watching, his weapon drawn. Face-to-face with Frankton, within reach, Ian leaned forward. His lips moved, his voice saying something obviously meant for the baron’s ears only.

Whatever it was, it was amazingly effective. As Leanna watched, Frankton jerked furiously at his sword and attacked with rabid fury, his face contorted with hatred, his first swing narrowly missing Ian’s right shoulder. Stock-still and riveted, she saw the tall laird parry two more murderous blows before he neatly and gracefully turned his horse at the same time he plunged his sword into the baron’s throat. For a second, Frankton seemed more surprised than anything, and then a river of red poured down his shirt and he dropped his weapon, slumping forward.

Ian pulled his sword free and swung his mount around to face where she stood on the steps. He lifted the bloody weapon in a salute, smiling.

Next to her, Angus murmured, “That was well-done, wasn’t it? I wonder what the lad said to make the grasping rodent finally go over the edge.”

Leanna gave a choked laugh. “I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”

 

 

Considering the events of the day, he should have been weary, but Ian found his step was light as he climbed the stairs. Robbie was on his way to Newcastle with witnesses willing to testify to both Frankton’s death and his gloating admission that he’d lied about Thomas’s guilt. His uncle should be free in a few days. The English forces too were off McCray land without so much as a scratch to either side, which pleased him. Not terribly loyal to their now dead leader, they had quietly retreated without protest.

Leanna, if he could persuade her to stay, was his. Never having proposed marriage before, he was actually nervous about asking the question, and perhaps even more so over admitting he’d fallen in love with her. Not the kind of torrid, urgent, passionate love that Robbie claimed to feel for her, but something deeper. A need to have her by his side, not only in bed but all the time, a desire to see her smile, to picture her round and heavy with his child . . .

Love
. Not just passion, but . . . love.

With a pause at the door of his bedroom, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Arrested in the doorway, he stopped, able only to stare.

She obviously had wished to please him, but she had also had a long, distressing day, and it had taken its toll. She was asleep, breathing easily, her hair a golden, glorious mass against the linens. He took in the wine by the bed, two glasses ready, the soft light of a dozen lamps, the scent of perfume in the air. His gaze strayed back to the woman in his bed, and he drank in the sheer beauty of the sight.

Leanna was completely naked, her thighs parted, and he could see the soft, tempting darkness of her female cleft between her long, slender legs. Her breasts lifted slightly with every inhale, the pale mounds firm and high, and her face was serene, long lashes pillowed on her perfect cheekbones. Though he should probably let her sleep, he acknowledged wryly to himself that it wasn’t going to happen. He was already hard and heavy from standing there for just those few moments, the throb in his hungry cock matching the beat of his heart.

Undressing quickly and quietly, he joined her on the bed, his fingers finding that sweet softness between her parted legs, beginning to stroke her awake. He marveled at the beauty of her body, at the mystery of her feminine allure as his fingers explored her most private place, threading through her soft thatch, circling gently the small, enticing opening that would stretch to accommodate his need, finding the nub that was even now beginning to swell in sexual arousal.

Ian grinned as she moaned in her sleep and spread her legs further. Her eyelids fluttered as he slid a finger into her passage, and she breathed, “Ian.”

“No one else, my love.” He continued to arouse her, using his thumb and fingers, until he could feel she was wet and wide-awake. She watched him with half-closed eyes, her enjoyment of his touch unhidden. And when he moved over her, she opened for him, welcoming him as he pushed inside. Usually voracious, especially the first time, he exerted enormous control and loved her gently, with consummate skill, concentrating solely on her pleasure. When she wildly clutched his shoulders and he knew she was ready to peak, he whispered in her ear, “Will you marry me, Leanna?”

Her eyes flew open and she gasped. “That’s not fair. Oh, God, Ian, don’t stop, please.”

“Answer me first,” he demanded, holding back the thrust he knew would send her over the edge.

“Yes. Just . . . please . . .”

He obliged, smiling, sliding forward deeply so that he could feel the tremors in her womb and the undulation of her inner muscles as she climaxed. Luring her to that sensational crest twice more, he finally let himself find his own release: a burning, fiery burst of joy that shook his entire body and left him gasping.

“You beast” was the first thing she said indignantly, and she slapped him on the shoulder with surprising force for one so slender.

Laughing and opening his eyes, he feigned an innocent expression, looking into her lovely flushed face. “How am I a beast, may I ask?”

“Marriage proposals are not supposed to be made when . . . when . . .”

“The lass is about to experience a very loud, very intense climax?” he supplied, lifting a brow in arrogant amusement.

“Ian.” Her protest was muffled, her expression charmingly chagrined.

“It seemed like a good time,” he told her, lightly kissing her mouth. “I didn’t want to risk your refusing me.”

“Why would I? I love you.”

At last
. She said it at last.

The moment seared his soul.

When he could speak, he said hoarsely, “I kidnapped you and seduced you. That isn’t exactly a romantic courtship. I am . . . unaccustomed to what women want when it comes to marriage. I know you enjoy this”—he gestured at their intertwined bodies—“but are you sure you want to stay here, in Scotland, with me for the rest of your life?”

Leanna smiled, a curve of those soft, tempting lips. “Oh, yes.” Ian smiled back, elation making his voice thick. “Thank heavens, or else I am afraid I might have to abduct you again, my sweet hostage.”

M
oonlight slid along the walls and cobbled streets, giving the city a ghostly glow. A waist-high mist made the buildings appear like something out of a macabre fairy tale, as if Edinburgh floated on a supernatural cloud like a lost mythical kingdom. In the shadows, Julia Cameron shivered as she heard a creature scurry by, feeling something actually brush her skirts.

“A cat,” she told herself firmly, murmuring under her breath, stifling a surge of despair. She’d been waiting now for hours, and not only was it ill- advised for a woman to be out alone in the middle of the night even in a fashionable neighborhood such as this, but she was chilled and exhausted. Perhaps this had been a fool’s errand. . . . God knew the infamous McCray spent the night often enough in someone else’s bed, if all reports were accurate. He might not come home at all.

Was she really going to follow through with this rash, reckless plan?

Yes, you are
. She squared her shoulders resolutely.

Then, as if on cue, the sound of a horse approached, just as she was actually contemplating giving up. Within moments, a silhouette loomed above her, the tall rider and sleek black stallion emerging from the mist. The stables were behind the house, and he headed that way, coming within a few feet of where she stood in the shrouded alcove of an angled wall. Julia waited, knowing the man had spotted her when he started in surprise and gave a sudden low curse, his skittish horse dancing sideways in reaction, rearing up like an ancient statue.

As she stepped out into the moonlight, she cleared her throat, staring upward. “Robert McCray?”

“Whoa, Solomon.” Hooves clattered to the cobbles. Patting the neck of his animal to soothe it, the man astride said harshly, “Blood and thunder, what the devil are you trying to do, lass? Scare me out of my wits?”

It is him
, Julia thought, standing so close she could reach out and touch the muscled shoulders of the restive stallion. Even in the uncertain light, she could see the man’s legendary masculine good looks, the stories not exaggerated. Tousled dark hair brushed his wide shoulders, and his long, lean body looked powerful and athletic. Eyes as dark as midnight stared down at her with a startling vitality. Even though it had been years and she was little more than a young girl the last time she saw him, he was not a man one could forget.

She said with remarkable composure, considering her nervousness, “It was not my intention to startle you, but I need to speak with you. It’s . . . urgent.”

“So urgent you lurk in the dark like some brigand?” McCray retorted, holding the reins in one long-fingered hand, staring down at her. “Have we met?”

He was at a disadvantage, since from his height on the huge horse, he couldn’t see her clearly. Julia nodded. “We’ve met. It has been quite a while, but we have met. I am Julia Cameron. My father counted your father as one of his closest friends.”

How much the weight of that friendship would hold would be tested this evening if the infamous McCray would just hear her out.

His attention sharpened. She could see it in the thin moonlight. “Laird Cameron’s daughter?”

“The same,” she acquiesced.

“But she is a child.”

Apparently he could see a little of her, enough to notice she was
not
a child. She smiled in a tremulous effort. “I am almost twenty. The years pass quickly.” After a deep breath, she added, “And I need your help. I’ve traveled from Hawick by public coach to see you, arriving after dusk, but was told you were not home. I decided to wait.”

“You traveled by yourself and waited here in the dark, alone? Are you daft, lass?” He sounded both astounded and disapproving.

She lifted her chin, the sting of tears pricking her eyes from both fatigue and the awful stress of the past year. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into fists. “Perhaps. But when one is desperate, there are often few choices. I just need a moment of your time, McCray.”

“Why?”

Julia hesitated. “It is . . . complicated.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered. “I’ve just spent the evening drinking and gaming. I am not certain I am up for complicated conversations with desperate young ladies. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

She couldn’t help the edge of bitter urgency that crept into her voice. “No. Please, McCray—”

“Call me Robbie,” he muttered abruptly, before she could finish her plea. “And I suppose for the daughter of an old friend of my father’s, I can spare a few moments, even at this unorthodox hour. Let’s go inside.”

 

 

The fire in his study took the chill from the autumn air. Robbie McCray poured himself a brandy; then, taking a look at the pale features of the girl who claimed to be Julia Cameron, he poured a small second glass and handed it to her. “Drink this. You look like you might need it.”

She accepted it with hands that trembled visibly and sank down in one of the chairs by the fire. Old Rufus’s daughter, he saw now that she wasn’t just some dim form lurking in the shadows, was indeed a grown woman, and a beautiful one at that. The thin, quiet child he remembered vaguely had blossomed into a stunning young woman with hair so dark it gleamed like ebony in the firelight, a striking contrast to her creamy, flawless ivory skin. Her features were delicately fair in her oval face: a straight, small nose, soft coral lips, high cheekbones, and long- lashed eyes an unusual greenish color, almost the same shade as the depths of Loch Cray. In fact, he considered himself—and was considered by most of Scotland, if his reputation was any indication—a connoisseur of lovely women, and he was not certain whether he had ever seen such perfect female beauty. Her body too, when she slipped out of her damp cloak, was revealed to be both lush and slender, though her gown was modestly cut and the drab color indicated her mourning. That she would travel anywhere alone was unthinkable.

“I am sorry about your father’s death,” he said truthfully. She was correct: There was a time when his father and Rufus Cameron had fought side by side against the English and stood firm together against the inner dissention that seemed to constantly plague Scotland and weaken its defenses. Standing by the hearth, he propped his shoulder against the mantel and watched his unexpected guest, openly curious about her presence.

The young woman’s eyes glittered with tears suddenly. “He was murdered.”

“I heard there was an accident and he drowned.” Robbie frowned and took a sip of his brandy.

“When a man is found floating in shallow water with ligature marks around his neck, it is murder,” Miss Cameron declared in a flat, unemotional tone, though her eyes still looked suspiciously luminous in the firelight. “And the detail that my older brother disappeared three months later is even more damning.”

That got his attention. Vaguely Robbie remembered hearing of the missing young man, but he hadn’t been entirely sober for about twelve hours now, and the facts were a little fuzzy in his memory. “He still hasn’t been found?”