Seducing the Highlander (6 page)

“What brought you here so neck-or-nothing, lad?” Angus asked bluntly, impatience one of his trademark qualities. “What news do you have?”

Robbie, the son of Ian’s uncle who now languished in the Newcastle jail, sobered at once, losing his easy smile. “I petitioned officially to have my father released, as you wanted me to, Ian,” he said abruptly, “using the proper channels, jumping through their infernal English hoops. I proved that two of the accusations were false, but the magistrate has been purely bought, beyond question. A dismissal of the formal charges was denied and my father is still being held. Damn all, I
told
him to not bloody do business with the vermin English.”

“Held for murder,” Angus spat out, lifting his ale and drinking heartily. “It’s as ridiculous as asking Queen Anne to kiss my arse.”

“A man who uses a cane and can barely walk across the floor,” Robbie agreed, his fury evident in the set of his mouth. “The charges argue that he supposedly cut down a young, healthy buck with a sword thrust in the back. If the judge even bothered to see my father, he would realize it was a ludicrous accusation.”

“I am guessing Frankton didn’t do the evil deed himself, but hired some vicious killer.” Angus ventured, “Perhaps if we could put out the word that we would pay a tidy sum to the person who could give us information on this carefully planned scheme, we could gain the truth. The baron clearly wanted Thomas’s estate, as he is the one who approached with the offer to do trade and lured Thomas into his clutches. Never trust an English bastard, I say.”

“With Frankton as the only supposed eyewitness to the heinous crime, the charges cannot possibly be pressed forward once he is dead.” Ian’s voice was calm, his hand steady as he reached for his glass. But inside, his fury raged at the injustice, and he could feel his cousin’s fear for his frail father. As laird, it was Ian’s responsibility to care for his people, and this unjust imprisonment of a man he revered grated on his pride and nerves. The only thing Thomas had been guilty of was a failure to realize Frankton’s reputation was well deserved.

Robbie toyed with the handle on his cup for a moment; then he said heavily, “Any word that bastard has figured out you have the girl yet, cousin? He is keeping her abduction quiet, but he was in London when it happened, so it could be the news was delayed getting to him.”

“We were over a hundred strong. The baron probably knows already that a large party rode north, and to where. He will also realize it is a McCray he is trying to rob and ruin, and put the pieces together. Frankton is amoral and ruthless, and it will be no loss to this earth when I kill him, but he isn’t stupid.”

“In the meantime, my father sits in jail.”

Ian’s mouth thinned at the hotheaded open criticism, and he regarded his young cousin from across the table. “I cannot rush out and handle this in a fit of anger. Neither can I allow you to approach the baron. He’s too clever, and well guarded by his heavy purse, traveling with a hired force everywhere he goes. No, let him come here for his future bride and demand her release.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Robbie argued, the lines around his mouth showing his fatigue and resentment of his helplessness. “The world is full of comely lasses. He’ll simply find someone else to ease his lust. I know you are laird and I rarely doubt you, but I am not sure of your plan, Ian.”

As if on cue, Ian heard a soft, intimately familiar voice, followed by a melodic laugh. With a look toward the stairs that curved into the main hall where they sat, he saw that Leanna descended the steps, about halfway down. Rossie, at her side, was talking quickly, and both women, who seemed to have formed a swift friendship, were smiling.

“That’s her,” Angus stated in his forthright, gruff way. “Tell me, Robbie, lad, do you still think he won’t come to retrieve this particular prize?”

Robbie glanced at the stairwell, his cup suddenly arrested in the very act of being lifted to his mouth.

Ian couldn’t blame him. He caught his breath every time he saw her.

This evening Leanna wore soft blue, a dress that had once belonged to his younger sister—now married and living in Stirling—altered by the village seamstress to fit Leanna’s graceful, slender figure. Her shining golden hair, so lovely and unusual, was gathered softly away from her face, exposing her elegant bone structure and haunting dark blue eyes. It was more than her compelling beauty that attracted men, he’d decided in the past days—and nights—trying to analyze his own potent attraction to his English captive. It was her quiet femininity, the hidden passion under her demure, ladylike exterior, the refined way she moved and smiled.

“Jesus,” Robbie muttered. “Is she an angel?”

“Or a beautiful witch?” Angus replied dryly, with a sidelong look. “She apparently casts a powerful spell. Ask your laird, lad.”

It was true; Ian couldn’t deny it. He was in her arms every night, taking her over and over so that she slept half the day away from the exertions of their lovemaking, her pale thighs sticky with his semen, her body sated from his passion.

Robbie tore his gaze away from the young woman coming toward them. “Are you bedding her, Ian?”

Since it was common enough knowledge around the castle and probably the entire countryside, Ian merely lifted a brow.

Robbie’s gaze flew back. “Well, well,” he said softly, “if you tire of fucking her, let me know.”

“I won’t,” Ian replied, his curt lack of hesitation startling even him.

Angus shook his head in obvious resignation, dashing more ale into his cup. “Oh, my lad. I tried to warn you, Ian. I did. That busy cock of yours is currently head of this clan.”

Leanna sipped her wine and smiled, though she was more than a little uncomfortable. Having a tray delivered to her room was lonely, but dining at a table full of men was sometimes too much the opposite. Since Ian, as chief of the clan, was unmarried, she sat just to the left of the head of the table. Besides the barrel-chested Angus’s wife, she was the only female, and though she knew the men tried to do their best to remain polite, the conversation often became boisterous.

Ian’s cousin, the good-looking young man introduced as Robbie McCray, watched her with steady dark eyes, looking so much like a younger version of Ian that it was unsettling. It was Robbie’s father, Rossie had told her, whom Baron Frankton had accused unjustly of a crime, in an attempt to steal the man’s property. The older woman was a font of information, and her hand firmly ruled all the domestic aspects of the castle’s operation.

Robbie inquired pleasantly enough, “Lady Leanna, how do you like the Scottish countryside? Very often the English find it a bit . . . untamed.”

Worried that this man in particular would hate her, since her fiancé was responsible for his father’s plight, and because being put on the spot involved a dozen pairs of unrelenting male eyes upon her, Leanna took a compulsive gulp of wine before she replied. “I haven’t actually seen much besides what lies outside my window. I would agree it is very untamed . . . but also very lovely.”

“So are you,” Robbie countered, and slightly lifted his glass in a salute that seemed to mock and compliment at once.

Untamed, she wondered, or lovely? She murmured politely, “Thank you.”

“Ian needs to show you around more,” Robbie continued. He was tall and athletically built, his raven hair and face remarkably like his older cousin’s, the handsome stamp of the McCray features unmistakable. “But then again, he’s very busy. I am here for a few days. Perhaps I could oblige and introduce you to the beauty of the Highlands.”

Relieved that the young man didn’t seem to hold her accountable for the actions of her unwanted fiancé, she said sincerely, “That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Tomorrow?” he suggested, his ebony brows elevating. “What do you think, Ian, shall I show her Loch Cray?”

For the first time, Leanna glanced over and saw the laird’s expression, surprised to find it a mixture of annoyance and amusement. “I suppose,” he drawled. “Loch Cray is worth seeing, and Lady Leanna has been cooped up in this castle for over a week.”

“I’ll be happy,” Robbie answered in the same smooth, lazy tone, “to liberate her.”

“Not
too
happy, I hope,” Ian said curtly.

“I am simply being friendly.”

“I see.” Ian settled back in his chair, his fingers carelessly toying with his wineglass, his long legs extended. It took a moment, but he nodded. “Go well armed,” he said brusquely. “I trust your sword arm almost as much as I trust my own, Robbie.”

“In the morning, then, my lady?” the younger McCray asked her, his smile boyish and captivating with its charm.

Robbie McCray, Leanna decided then and there, was a rather dangerous young man.

She nodded and stood, and though they might be her Scottish captors, to their credit the men at the table all rose politely to their feet. “In the morning,” she murmured. “I look forward to it. If you’ll excuse me, it is getting late and I am not used to so much wine. Good night.” She smiled vaguely at the assembly and left the table, heading for the stairs. To her surprise, she had taken no more than a few steps when she found herself suddenly lifted up off her feet by large, masculine hands, and a small, startled gasp escaped her throat.

Ian held her firmly against his chest. “I wouldn’t want you to fatigue yourself by having to climb the stairs, my lady. Allow me to escort you to your—well,
my—
bedroom.”

Her arms circled reflexively around his strong neck. She was well aware that everyone in the dining hall had seen him sweep her up, and his destination was no doubt obvious. She flushed, saying in low protest, “My lord, must you be so . . . so open with your intentions?”

“They all know I want you; ’tis no secret.” He took the stairs quickly, two at a time.

She agreed; they most probably
did
know it, Leanna acknowledged to herself wryly. His smoldering regard had been unhidden throughout dinner, as his dark eyes watched her eat her meal and sip her wine, and took in every single movement. While it was pleasing to so interest her handsome captor, she was also not comfortable with the notion that the people around them were well aware how they spent their nights. Ian was different—she understood that. He cared very little if everyone knew he bedded her time and again; after all, he was laird, and a law unto himself. Even Rossie scolded and reprimanded him with familiarity, but still undeniably deferred to her former charge in any matters of importance.

Pushing open the door to his bedroom, Ian carried her inside and impatiently shoved it closed with a booted foot. He set her down, and his hands went swiftly to fastenings on her gown, slipping them loose and disrobing her in no time, leaving her naked for his overt perusal. Sitting down on the bed, still fully clothed, he pulled her onto his lap, kissing her mouth with fervor, and bent her back over his arm so he could taste her upraised bare breasts.

Not used to such impetuosity from him, Leanna gasped as he sucked on her exposed nipples, laving them with his tongue until they hardened and peaked in his mouth. One of his hands went to her hair, pulling loose the few pins she used in her chignon, letting the mass tumble free down her back. “I need you,” he said with command, his breathing slightly ragged as he looked down into her face. With little ceremony, he stood and almost tossed her on the bed, his hands going to his breeches, letting his erection free. He pushed her legs apart and settled between them, still fully clothed and booted, grasping her hips and entering her with such speed, she took in her breath sharply, her eyes shutting at his rash desire and invasion.

He hadn’t lied; their joining was tempestuous, and he possessed her as never before, not roughly but with such vigor that she gasped with every thrust. And in a purely physical response, her body answered the force of his passion, her sex softening and growing wet and welcoming, her thighs opening, her passage accommodating even such insistent ownership. She was so close to climax when he suddenly pushed all the way in, holding her hips ruthlessly still as he erupted in a scalding rush of release, that it sent her over the edge, her body gripping his pulsing cock, rippling around it long after he had gone still.

The fabric of his breeches felt strange against her sensitive inner thighs. She was a little dazed by his urgency. Even the usually self-possessed laird looked ruefully amused when he finally met her eyes. “That was not,” he admitted, “very gentlemanly.”

“No,” she agreed, sprawled backward on the bed, completely naked while he was still clothed, his manhood filling her, his powerful body wedged between her legs.

“Should I apologize?” he asked softly. “You seemed to enjoy it anyway.”

She
had
enjoyed it, even though it hadn’t been a gentle wooing but more of an exhibition of fierce desire. Did that make her a strumpet?

Leanna smiled up at him. “If you’ll go a little slower next time, I’ll forgive you.”