TemptationinTartan (3 page)

Surprisingly, she found a tear in her eye, and even
Henrietta’s cheeks were moist. They didn’t hug—most improper—but Lydia hoped
the clasp of her hand told her mother how grateful she was and how much she’d
miss her.

“Tell George…tell George and Jane…”

She faltered and couldn’t continue. Clearing her throat, she
called upon centuries of breeding, saying formally, “Please convey to my
brother and his wife my best regards, and to their children also.”

She turned to her husband, who smiled at her and said, “It’s
time.” Taking her hand, he led her to the coach he’d hired.

He settled her in the forward-facing seat, taking care to
cover her bare arms with a carriage shawl for warmth. When she was comfortable,
he sat back and eyed her. “So, my lady wife. How are ye?”

She smiled, shrugged. “Well enough, I trow.” Truth be told,
the worms in her belly had transmuted into monsters out of a troubled child’s
nightmares.

His dark gaze swept her. “I missed ye these past days.”

“And I, you,” she said, grateful he’d admitted his longing
first—she hadn’t quite had the courage. “I was afraid that you’d… That we’d…”

“That the kisses we shared were only a dream, a fantasy born
of our cravings? Or p’raps that we were making a mistake?”

“Yes, exactly.” She was startled that he not only understood
her feelings, but that he shared them and discussed them openly.

“Besotted, we are.” His smile was rueful.

“Besotted and without reason. We don’t know each other.”

“We’ve a lifetime to learn, but I know quite a bit about
ye.”

She lifted her brows.

“The former Lady Lydia Swann–Williston, now Lady Lydia
Kilborn. Second child of General Lord Arthur Swann, deceased, and Lady
Henrietta, neé Davenport. Older brother George, married to Jane, two sons,
Andrew and Arthur.”

“How did you find out all this?”

He winked. “You came out at age fifteen and were presented
at court. You married The Honorable William Williston, a career officer, about
a year later and were widowed soon after when he died at Culloden Moor. No
issue of the marriage.”

“And you?”

“Kieran Kilborn. Age thirty. Son of Laird Carrick Kilborn
and Lady Robina. My mam was a Cameron. She died in childbirth when I was five.”
He sighed. “And ye know what happened to my father and brother.”

“Was your brother also educated?”

“Nay, Ranald didnae hold with book learning. He was to be
the brawn, I the brain. At least that was the plan.” His expression was
momentarily bleak.

She leaned forward and touched his hand. “I’m sorry. So now
you must be both.”

“Aye, but I have a deal of help.” He nodded at the window.
Outside, Dugald Kilborn rode a massive gray charger. “Dugald and his father,
auld Euan, who you’ll meet, are my seconds. They’re verra capable men at arms.
We maintain a permanent garrison of about three score men and patrol regularly.
And all the clansmen train.”

“How many did you lose in the uprising?”

“Not many, for few could be spared from their fields or
families. My da and brother went only because of our Cameron connection. When
the Cameron came out for Bonnie Prince Charlie, Clan Kilborn was obligated.”
His tone had turned hard and p’raps a little sarcastic.

He paused before saying, “And now ye know me.”

“Not at all,” she said.

“Enough for now, I believe.” The coach slowed, then stopped.
“Ah, we’re here.”

A footman opened the carriage door in front of an inn Lydia
didn’t recognize.

“My lodgings. Your maid should already be here unpacking.”

Despite the frantic thrumming of her heart, she controlled
her tension and set aside the carriage shawl, preparing for the next step in
her new life.

Chapter Four

Kieran ushered Lydia into the inn, then led her upstairs and
into the lodgings he’d selected. When she entered, she noted that the place was
neither ostentatious nor shabby, but clean and well-appointed. With a start,
she saw he’d bespoken only one bedroom.

Of course there’s only one bedroom, you ninny,
she
told herself. Though Kieran didn’t seem impoverished, he no doubt shared the
Scots’ legendary thriftiness and wouldn’t rent a room he didn’t plan to use.
And she was certain that her new husband didn’t intend her to sleep alone. He’d
made that quite clear.

He smiled at her. “I’ll arrange supper and baths for the
morn.”

When he left, she examined her new quarters. The large
bedroom had wardrobes a-plenty, a dresser and a few other pieces of furniture,
but was dominated by a tester bed covered by a red velvet quilt. Heavy curtains
were tied around the posts, ready to be loosened to protect the occupants from
drafts.

When she beheld that big bed, Lydia’s throat went dry while
her quim dampened. Attempting to distract herself from thoughts of the night,
she busied herself directing Elsbeth to unpack and arrange her bits and
bobs—hairbrushes, scents, powders. Her clothing was already tucked into the
wardrobes alongside Kieran’s plain shirts and trews, from riding habits to warm
cloaks, plainer day sacques and a formal gown or two with panniers and
stomachers to discipline her curvy torso into the conical style long in favor.

Elsbeth took down Lydia’s hair and started to change her out
of her gown by removing the stomacher and loosening the stays. Then shoes
clattered on the hallway planks and her new husband entered, a dark, wickedly
seductive presence. Though she’d expected him, her heart stuttered.

What had he called her? Alluring? If that was so, he took
allure to a new place. Whenever she looked at him, even thought about him, her
quim fluttered and moistened, readying her for his…cock. She’d been in a
heightened nervous state since they’d met, and everything about the day had
added to that edginess. Now, with their wedding night upon them, she was almost
impossibly anxious and aroused, a quivery mass of feeling.

“Taking over my room, are ye?” His merry voice was a
contrast to his somber dress.

“Aye, milord, er…milaird. That is what happens when a man
marries.” She peeked at him through her lashes, hoping he’d enjoy that bit of
flirtation.

He smiled. “Dinnae get too cozy. We’ll be here only a few
more days, just enough time to purchase some provisions for the clan and
arrange for transport.”

“Well, I must unpack some clothing.”

His brows lifted. “I dinnae see why.”

Elsbeth giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth, turning
red.

“That will be all, Elsbeth,” Lydia said.

“Get yourself some supper.” Addressing the maid, Kieran
produced a few coins. “We won’t be needing ye agin tonight.”

Looking pleased, Elsbeth scooted out of the door.

“Where does your girl spend the night?” he asked.

“She has a room at home, of course. When we traveled, she
usually found a spot in front of the fire. She has a good quilt to wrap herself
in.” Lydia turned to Kieran. “Milaird, it’s kind of you to concern yourself
with my maid’s comfort.”

“Thank ye, but my motives are selfish. I dinnae want her
stepping into our room during an intimate moment.” Kieran’s dark eyes were intent.
“And to ye, my name is Kier or Kieran, not milaird.”

“Yes, my— Kieran.”

“My Kieran. I like the sound o’ that. And ye’re my Lydia,
always.” He moved toward her, sinuous as a cat, and ran a finger down the side
of her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone.

“That would be…all right.”

“Would you prefer…my sweetling?” The cool finger, which
somehow left a scorching trail, slid down her neck.

“That—that’s fine, too. I suppose.”

“Ye suppose, do ye?” That elegant, knowing finger delved
beneath her loosened stays, found her nipple, flicked it.

It jumped into a point. Lydia stood perfectly still before
him, trying not to quiver, wondering what she felt, what she should feel.

“Nice,” he said, and flicked the other, harder. “Verra
responsive, ye are.”

She sensed her face flushing, heat that spread down to her
chest. He tore away the laces and the stays dropped to the ground. He cupped
her breasts over her shift before pinching the tips. She moaned and he pushed
her back, back toward the bed, untying the tapes of her skirt.

Overskirt, underskirt, petticoat, panniers, another
petticoat…all slipped off her body and were left in jumbled disarray.

She was losing her breath, but managed to say, “You’re
very…good at this.”

“At what, my sweet wife?”

“Taking off a woman’s clothes.”

“Long practice.” He chuckled. “And it will be even easier
when we’re home. Ye won’t be needin’ your fancy gowns.”

“Not one?”

“Well…one, p’raps.”

She was naked but for her stockings, and those bid fair to
be lost, for her garters had loosened when her skirts fell. Her shoes were
likewise hidden in the mass of fabric on the floor. Kieran was still clothed,
eyes glittering like onyx stars. The air seemed charged with a mysterious
energy, prickling her bare skin. He caressed her belly and eased her back onto
the bed. Standing between her spread legs, he skittered light fingertips around
her breasts and down her sides before fondling the tender folds between her
legs.

She tried to cover herself from his lusty gaze, but he
stopped her, seizing her hands in a firm grasp.

“I’m just lookin’ at ye, lassie.”

“It’s…it’s indecent.” Not even William had studied her in
the intent, wicked, sinful way Kieran did now. Her first husband had come to
her in the dark of night, forced himself on her and left.

She struggled for a moment, and he said, “
Kylyrra
, do
I have to tie ye up?”

She stared at him, struck mute.

“Aye, I think so. It might be easier for ye.” Still holding
her wrists, he used his body to sprawl her flat on the bed. He untied his black
cravat with his free hand and used it to secure her wrists to one of the
bedposts.

Binding her hadn’t taken him more than a moment.

With her snugly fastened, he smiled down at her. She was
still speechless, shaking with outrage and more than a little fear. William had
hurt her in bed without tying her up. What would Kieran do?

She remembered his reputation and scooted back, as far away
as she could go, drawing her legs beneath her. He wasn’t even a civilized
English gentleman but a wild Highlander, descendant of the Viking warriors
who’d struck England’s coasts again and again, burning villages, butchering the
men and raping the women.

But their descendant didn’t seem to be following his
ancestors’ lead. The summer night was finally falling, and as gloom descended,
Kieran went from lamp to lamp, candle to candle, lighting each until the room
glowed. The space was redolent of beeswax, her rose scent and his midnight
aura.

Then he toed off his shoes and removed his jacket and
waistcoat. Without his cravat, his collar hung open, and Lydia thought that she
could see a hint of his broad chest beneath the half-open shirt.

Soon he would be naked, and then he’d… “What—what are you
going to do?”

He stopped undressing to turn and look at her, smiling. “I’m
going to love ye better than anyone ever has.” He pulled off his shirt and
tossed it onto a nearby chair.

She’d rarely seen William naked, and she remembered he’d
been thin and wiry, with small tufts of pale brown hair. Kieran was completely
different—tall and broad, with pale skin smooth over ridges of solid bone and
muscle. Black, masculine hair curled over a chest that seemed fashioned of
polished white marble.

She’d ignored her fear in favor of examining her husband and
now anticipation tingled along her skin, lifting the tiny hairs. She squeezed
her thighs together to control the odd ache that had possessed her quim.
However, the press of her flesh heightened her desire. She wanted him, and
wanted to trust him, but feared the inevitable pain and shame.

“Now I can truly look at ye, my bonnie wife.” His voice was
husky as he approached her. He leaned over the bed and took her ankles. She
drew in a nervous breath as he stretched her out flat to look his fill.

Each time his gaze passed up and down her body, it was as
though he stroked her with his big, strong hands. Her flesh twitched, every
cell shifting, her body moistening, readying for him. She could see her left
breast bounce with the pounding of her heart. Moisture oozed from her quim. She
wanted to touch herself, to touch him, and jerked against the bonds.

“Aye, ye’re beautiful bound.” Kieran spread her knees wide
apart and knelt between them. His satin pantaloons slid cool and slick against
her thighs.

She found herself thrusting against him to get relief for
her pulsing, aching core. “Please…” She didn’t recognize the husky voice as
hers.

What was she doing? What was she becoming?

“I don’t know what to do,” she choked out in a whisper.

He laughed softly, but without any meanness, just joy.
“Whatever ye wish, lassie. Let go. Let me in.” Leaning forward, he kissed her
open, panting mouth, using his tongue and teeth on her.

She allowed the invasion and pushed her body against his.
Her breasts pressed against his solid chest and a bolt of pure want stabbed
through her. She wanted more, but he pulled away to test the tightness of the
cravat around her wrists. He nodded, evidently pleased, then scrabbled with
gentle fingernails down her arms to her breasts.

He pinched the nipples, which had beaded as hard as pink
pearls. “Palest rose. Beautiful.” He looked her in the eyes. “And a bonnie
blush.”

That heat had spread to her entire being, but she was beyond
embarrassment, writhing now with desire, thrusting her breasts up into his
hands.

He continued speaking in a conversational tone. “They’ll turn
dark when you bear our bairns. Did ye know that, Lydia?”

“N-no,” she managed to say, though her lips and tongue were
thickened with passion.

“Aye, they will. Beautiful either way.” He leaned down again
and set his mouth on her breast, sucking hard. His unbound hair stroked her
belly.

Emitting a small scream, she jerked up her knees and
frantically shoved herself against him. He allowed her to struggle and thrash,
undulating beneath him and yanking on the cravat while he enjoyed her breasts.
Each tug and pull of his lips drew forth a corresponding chord of passion that
resounded through her. She found herself moaning, little incoherent cries of
lust she hadn’t known she could utter.

“Aye, lassie. Wrap your legs around me.” He reached down to
help, and the position angled her quim against his body. He banged his body
against her repeatedly, setting up a rhythm, and she responded. Her frantic
thrashing became more disciplined and he murmured, “Aye, like that.”

He gave her one last suck and a nip so hard that pain mixed
with passion before releasing her nipple. Wet and hard, it glowed red in the
mellow lamplight. He kissed away a tiny rivulet of blood that wept from the
tip.

She panted, wordless except for, “Please, please, please…”

He smiled slowly. “Aye,
kylyrra
. I’ll give ye what ye
need. What ye want.”

Down her body he went until his eager gaze feasted on her
wet, open quim. She tried to close her legs, but he wouldn’t let her, instead
holding her knees high and wide.

She resisted and he slapped her thigh. “Nay, lady. Ye’re
mine to enjoy any way I choose. And I choose this.”

She drew in a shocked breath, for the spank had stung. Then
the little pain settled into her quim, adding an unexpected layer of heated
passion. She was wet, so wet that her juices flowed along her folds and
creases, a tickly feeling that increased her bewildered embarrassment.

Her shock increased when he bent his dark head and lapped at
her pearl. Closing her eyes, she saw dark flares of brilliance flash against
her shuttered lids with every flick and push of his tongue. Oh, it was wicked
and wanton, but so good that she opened her legs wider and pressed herself onto
his mouth. She remembered he’d said, “Many lassies say it’s their favorite.”
Now she knew why.

As he licked her, he reached up and tweaked her breasts
again, igniting twin fires in the tips. She was aflame with a desire she had
never known she could feel. She was panting with the exertion, with want,
struggling toward a fulfillment that eluded her.

He rubbed his tongue hard against her bump and slid first
one finger then another inside her, but that wasn’t enough. She blinked,
writhed, wanted, pulling against her bonds.

He raised his head, his midnight eyes bright. “
Kylyrra
,
I think I understand what ye need. Close your eyes again and trust me.”

She sucked in a deep, desperate breath and obeyed him. Then
something wet entered her bum, where William had violated and hurt her.
This—Kieran’s finger?—didn’t hurt, but it was wrong, so perverted that she
squirmed and cried out with despair because it felt so good. Every quiver of
her body, every gentle swirl of Kieran’s finger inside her backside took her
higher until she leaped over the edge into oblivion.

She tensed then released, glittering stars shining behind
her closed lids, but sobbed, “No!”

“It’s all right,
kylyrra
, whatever you feel is all
right.” Kieran’s voice was soothing. When her trembling stopped, he slowly
removed his finger and crawled up her body, covering her with his strength, his
tenderness. He untied the cravat and took her into his arms.

Lydia was weeping. “I d-don’t understand!”

He held her tight and murmured softly and sweetly into her
ear, words in his strange language that she didn’t comprehend but that
nevertheless comforted her. When she’d calmed, he said softly, “’Tis simple,
love. Your first experience in bed was with your husband using your backside.
Though it hurt, it also stirred your blood, didnae it?”