The Intended (15 page)

“I know, my sweet. If I were looking to
produce a colt to be my heir, I would never come to you, lass. As a
filly, you were quick enough over short ground, but for a long
run...” His voice trailed off doubtfully.

“I ran you down every time, Malcolm MacLeod,
and you know it. And that was over
any
distance.”

“That was because I let you,” he answered
playfully.

“Let me?” she asked incredulously. “You used
to hide like a snake in a grass.”

“Aye. And I’ve always known you’d be as tasty
as some of those field rats that kept me company while I waited for
you to catch up.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in
before she began to giggle. “Quite a compliment!” she managed to
get out.

He waved his hand in the air. “Only the best
for you, lass!”

“I never guessed that a MacLeod could be so
refined in his wooing.” Jaime looked away from his grinning face
and stared straight ahead, trying to wipe the smile from her face.
The truth was, she hadn’t felt this happy in years. Simply to be
able to sit with him, to talk with him. Her smile disappeared
without a trace as she recalled that this moment could not last.
The reality of their situation lurked right outside this closed
door. Her tone was more restrained when she next spoke. “Where were
we?” she asked.

“I believe, lass, you were getting ready to
accept my offer.”

She frowned at him, but he laughed and
wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.
Tight against him, she could feel his warmth. Feel her own
excitement rising, pulsing through her blood. There was something
very familiar about being close to him. Something magical, like a
remembered dream. Like the smell of the oat field after the
harvest, or the indefinable smell of snow in the air.

“So then,” she asked, “you’re no longer angry
with me?”

“Nay, Jaime.” He shook his head. “But I
believe you are still angry with me.”

She hesitated a moment to answer. He poked
her in the side, making her laugh.

“Answer me, you vixen.”

“I cannot remain angry with you any longer,
Malcolm. Not for today, anyway.”

One large hand covered two smaller ones
flitting nervously in her lap. Her shining eyes, her cascading
waves of black satin hair, her sculpted lips; Malcolm was falling
for a woman he’d known all his life, but never known. Then her
words sank in, jolting him into a new awareness. As if stepping
through layers of a fog, he saw her clearly. All the teasing now
pushed aside, all the past torments forgotten, his own anger long
gone—he now saw Jaime.

His
Jaime. That’s how she’d always
referred to herself before. He knew now that he’d always taken her
for granted. Jaime was his, and that was a fact. It was all quite
clear now. What right had he to place blame on her for the events
of these days past. If anyone should shoulder the blame, it must be
Malcolm MacLeod, and no other. In his heart, he’d known from the
start that Jaime hadn’t betrayed him to these people—she was trying
to save his life. And all that, even after the pain he’d caused her
on his wedding day.

That was why she would forgive him only for
today. All the angry words, all the names—they were nothing
compared to the disappointment she must have endured entering the
church and seeing him with another.

She didn’t have to answer him, he knew the
truth. That had been no prank. She had worn that dress for the
purpose of marrying him on the Isle of Skye that day. She had
always thought of them as two bodies having one soul—intended for
each other. And, in truth, he’d never really tried to shake the
belief. He had let her go on, dreaming that he, too, had shared
that faith. Perhaps he, too, really
had
known it, tucking
the belief away in some dark recess of his mind. And he’d just
spent his life waiting for her.

But when she had gone to France, and he’d
faced the problems of the clans in Skye, fate had taken a hand.
Marriage to Flora—for the good of his people—was the appropriate
course. He was certain it would bring peace to the Isle of Skye and
the Hebrides. But he’d been wrong.

Malcolm reached up and let a strand of her
soft hair slide over his fingers. Jaime had come back into his life
a woman. A beautiful woman.

Their eyes met. Jaime knew something was
happening to her—to them. Her life’s love of him, shackled and
locked away for the past year, was breaking its bonds, escaping the
barred cell deep within her. She let her eyes explore his face. His
growth of beard. His sensual, unsmiling mouth.

His voice was soft. “Remember when you were
leaving for France—and you came looking for me across the
hills?”

She felt the burning redness creep into her
face, and let out a deep sigh. “Oh, please don’t remind me of my
wretched behavior. I have reminded myself of it too many times in
recent days and...”

Malcolm ran a gentle hand across her lips to
silence her concern.

“Do you remember, Jaime, how the heather
spread up to the crests of the hills and down to the very banks of
the River Spey?”

She nodded slowly and lowered her eyes to her
lap. “I had no thoughts of the heather that day, Malcolm.”

His fingers gently took hold of her chin and
lifted it until their eyes met again. “I know, lass. You wanted
something from me that I couldn’t give.”

She felt herself being swept away in the
swirling depths of his dark eyes. She was once again that young
lass, desperately hoping to be kissed by this man. Her very
existence depended on that one touch of his lips to hers.

“I remember that day all too well,” she
whispered finally.

If he felt any pain, his face never showed it
as his strong hands turned her on the bed until they were lying
face to face. A delicious shudder shot through her as he raised his
hand and touched her face. Her skin tingled, the rushing blood in
her head matching the pounding in her chest. As he ran the tips of
his fingers over her skin, she leaned her face into his touch. He
traced the arch of her brow, the length of her nose—he ran his
thumb over her parted lips. Each place, in turn, was left scorched
by his touch.

“Do you remember what you wanted from me
then?”

She nodded.

“Ask me, Jaime!” he said huskily, raising
both hands and threading them into her black tresses. “My bonnie
Jaime! Ask me now.”

Their eyes connected and a lightning bolt of
desire filled the space between them.

“Kiss me, Malcolm.”

His lips claimed hers in a kiss that shook
her with passion. He wrapped her in his arms. Like a
drought-stricken flower feeling the first droplets of rain, she
reached, she tasted, she straightened, and opened her petals for
more. She had waited so long. Clutching at his hair and returning
his kiss, she thrilled in the joy of his embrace.

“My bonnie, bonnie Jaime,” he whispered,
drawing back slightly and then taking her with him as he lay back
on the bed. “How did I ever let you go?”

She pulled herself to his side, avoiding his
wounds. “I thought I’d lost you forever. How could this be?” she
whispered, bringing her face close and brushing her lips against
his. “This can only be a dream.”

“This is no dream.” He turned his body to
face her. They lay side by side. Facing each other. Drinking from
each other’s lips. Lost in the abundance of feelings that were
pouring from their souls.

Jaime had never been held the way Malcolm was
holding her now. Her fingers combed caressingly through his long,
brown hair. She traced the soft ridges of his ear, the line of his
whiskered jaw. His eyes were focused on hers, and she could see
tenderness as well as desire in them.

His hand smoothed the material of her
dress—now stroking her back, now her side, now touching the curve
of her hip, the rounded flair of her buttock. Jaime drew in her
breath as his hand moved slowly upward, fondling the side of her
breast as their lips continued their passionate feast.

“You’ve grown so bonnie...so womanly,” he
growled. “Worthy of a better man than I.”

“Kiss me, Malcolm,” she whispered against his
lips. “Kiss this woman.”

The Highlander’s blood, already roaring in
his head, surged at the huskiness in her voice. Desire seemed to
take on a life of its own, and pushed him to the edge of his
control. He rolled toward her, crushing her to him.

“I want you, Jaime. I want you badly.” His
mouth descended in a kiss, demanding and hard.

His mouth was hot, possessive, carnal.
Jaime’s eyes widened as Malcolm’s tongue darted across her full,
moist lips, searching for entry and finding access. Before she
could fight his invasion, a raw passion exploded within her. Her
restraint disappeared in an instant. His thrusting tongue rubbed
boldly against hers, daring her to follow.

It was madness and Malcolm knew it, but he
couldn’t stop. She pressing against him, arching her back as he
moved from her mouth and trailed his lips downward over her chin
and over the skin of her throat. By the Rood, he wanted her. And he
would take her, here, in this bed. Her fingers were stroking his
bare back with their tips. It didn’t matter that someone else had
taken her before him. It hadn’t been her fault. She had thought him
lost to her then. He’d been responsible for that, himself.

Softly, his fingers caressed her ivory skin
from her throat down to the round fullness of her breasts. He could
feel the warmth of her body, the firm flesh, the trembling shudders
that his touch brought on. A moan of pleasure deep in her throat
filled him with certainty.

Now! This moment! This is the time that
matters most, he cried silently. And what happens from this moment
on! And this point hence, Malcolm vowed, she would be his. Forever
into eternity, she’d belong to him.

He drew down the neckline of her dress until
her breasts sprang free. His lips locked on the nipple rising erect
at the center of the rose-colored aureole. He heard her gasp and
felt her bloom beneath him. Her hands tugged at his hair, pressing
his face even tighter to her breast. Then, as he continued to
suckle, moving from one nipple to the other, he felt her knee rise
instinctively and take possession of his thigh.

The rush of heat scorching through her body
lit Jaime’s senses with explosive energy. Her mind whirled with
confusion at these newfound sensations, while her body screamed for
more. She arched her back as his tongue laved her breasts, and she
lost the ability to breathe as his hand pulled her skirt up over
her legs. She gasped with shock and pleasure as his fingers stroked
the skin of her legs above her hose. When his hand found the
juncture of her thighs, Jaime reveled in the waves of white heat
that shot through her and threatened to obliterate all reason.

As he lifted his head from her breasts and
looked deeply into her eyes, she slid her hand downward over his
buttock and his hip. Jaime could feel his arousal, thick and hot,
pressing against her thigh. She didn’t care if he thought of her as
wanton. This moment, this passion—created by the touch of their
bodies—was ever so different from the aversion she felt at Edward’s
treatment of her. Nay, she thought through the fiery mist within
her, everything with Malcolm seemed so right. So perfect.

Fighting for control, the Highlander gazed
down at the beauty in his arms, knowing that he would certainly die
if he did not take Jaime now. More than anything else, he wanted to
bury himself deep within her, bring her to heights of unimaginable
pleasure, and pour his seed into her. His eyes took in her swollen
lips, her heaving breasts, reddened in spots from his rough,
unshaven face. He hooked his thumb inside her undergarment.

“Tell me to stop if you like, Jaime,” he said
raggedly, using the last of his strength. “Tell me if you want to
stop this now, for I won’t be waiting much longer.”

His body was rigid, every muscle tensed and
hard as steel. His lips hung only a breath away from hers. But his
eyes never left her, sweeping over her features, continuing their
soft caress of her face. Jaime paused for only the briefest of
instants and then lifted her mouth to his.

He growled deep in his chest as he tore away
the cloth.

“Have you seen your mistress?” Mary asked
sharply, having come up quietly from behind.

Startled, Caddy whirled, causing the tray she
was carrying to bang hard against the frame of the oak door. Food
and drink showered down the wall and scattered a good distance
across the corridor floor. One of the two soldiers standing nearby
began to chuckle but choked it back, perceiving the fierce looks
the two women shot at him.

“Oh, look at what I’ve done!” Caddy muttered
to herself, squatting and beginning to pick up some pieces of a
broken, stoneware pitcher.

“Caddy,” Mary repeated, putting a wooden bowl
onto the tray.

“Now I’ll have to go back to Cook for more
food.” The older woman’s face tightened in a troubled frown. “Oh,
the tongue in that man’s head.”

“Caddy!”

Caddy straightened her back and looked up
into the young woman’s serious face. “Aye, mistress?”

“Where is Mistress Jaime?”

“Where, mistress?” Caddy looked about
confusedly. A dark splotch of small beer marked the closed
door.

Mary followed her gaze. “Is she in there with
the Scot?” Mary inquired impatiently.

“Is she not, mistress?” Alarm lit up Caddy’s
face. She glanced accusingly at the guards. “I left her there,
Mistress Mary.”

“Is she in there alone with the man?” Mary
stood, towering over the kneeling woman. She shook her blond head
slightly and eyed the men guarding the hall. As she did, two more
soldiers appeared, coming down the hallway.

“What harm is there in it, mistress?” Caddy
asked, again perplexed. “Though he’s recovered the use of his
tongue quick enough, the man’s hardly able to lift a limb off’n his
bed. Mistress Jaime sent me to the kitchen. Aye, that was no more
than it took me to go there and back. She was dressing the wounds
about his head. She’s only been alone in there...well, nary a
moment or two, mistress.”