To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel

by Cameron, Collette

After tying his steed’s reins, he lifted Berget from her horse. He didn’t release her, but stood perfectly still, his eyes closed and a muscle ticking in his jaw as he struggled with his memories.

  Berget touched his granite-hard arm, almost flinching at the tension radiating from him. “Graeme?”

  His eyelids flickered open, the blue of his eyes like that after a winter’s squall. A tempest yet churned within their stormy depths, and a sickening feeling rose from her belly to her throat.

  “The subject clearly distresses you,” she said. “I went beyond the mark by asking. Please don’t feel the need to explain to me—”

  He put his rough forefinger to her lips. “’Tis no’ a pretty or romantic tale, Berget, but I’ll tell ye. If ye want to ken.”

  “I want to know everything about you. But only if you wish to tell me.” She clasped his hand between hers and pressed it to her chest.

  “I’ve no’ spoken of it, ever. No’ even to Sion or Marjorie. They ken bits and pieces, but no’ the whole sordid thing.” Jaw hard as steel, he gently withdrew his hand and stepped away.

  What awfulness had occurred to do this to him?

  She’d never known a braver, stronger man, but whatever he wanted to tell her made him hesitant and dread filtered into her veins.

  His hands behind him, he rested his spine against a nearby tree. “Neither of us wanted to wed. She had just seen her seventeenth birthday, and I was but twenty. Nevertheless, our fathers wished the union to strengthen our clans. As Sion was already married, as the second eldest son, the responsibility fell to me.”

  Berget knew full well what it was like to marry to please a parent. And she also was aware just how devastating such a match could be. Perhaps that was why Graeme had been gentle with her when he’d learned of her forced marriage and that she faced another despised match.

  He pointed his attention overhead, speaking in a dispassionate monotone. “From her sixth birthday, Nairna had been raised in a French convent. She’d wanted to take her vows and was livid at being forced to return to Scotland, much less to wed a stranger.”

  Poor girl.

  “I was young and angry at havin’ my hand forced. Nonetheless, I did my utmost to be patient and kind. Still, she loathed me.” He sighed, his mouth turning down as he traveled back in time in his mind. “Despised our…joinin’s even more.”

  A slight shudder ran through him.

  How could any woman despise coupling with this man?

  A maiden herself, Berget’s imagination had been working overtime since she’d arrived at the keep. More than one night had included a delicious, erotic dream with him. If the act was anything like the glorious sensations he’d previously ignited in her, she’d be hard put not to seek out his bed.

  He dipped his gaze to hers, and such agony reflected in his cloudy, tortured blue eyes, Berget gasped. She couldn’t help but rush to his side and clasp his arm, needing to offer him comfort since she’d been the one to waken these horrid memories.

  “Oh, Graeme, you needn’t tell me anything more. I can see it causes you great pain and, once again, I beg you to forgive me for prying.”

  She did understand. Truly she did.

  Just as speaking of Manifred always upset her when she’d much prefer to put that ugliness behind her and not dwell on the unchangeable past.

  A wry half-smile kicked Graeme’s mouth up on one side. He traced her jawline with his fingertip, and it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his broad chest. “Jo, ye’ve risked sharin’ dark secrets with me. Ye might as well ken the whole story. If anyone can understand, I believe it would be ye.”

  Then, as if reading her very thoughts, he drew her against him, and as he had last night, rested his chin upon the crown of her head.

  They fit together so perfectly, as if they were opposites sides of the same mold.

  Did he feel it, too? This undefinable pull, like magnets drawn together?

  Sighing, she snuggled closer. This felt so natural and good. As if the whole world could pass them by, and as long as they held each other, everything would be all right in the end.

  “I was overjoyed when Nairna told me she was expectin’, even though she made it clear she was no’ happy about her condition. She vowed she’d hate the child I’d given her.”

  Oh, God. How can anyone hate a bairn?

  His ragged sigh sent a jagged crack right down the center of Berget’s heart. Such anger welled in her, she pressed her lips into a tight line lest she say something unforgivable about an unhappy young woman she didn’t know.

  “But even as a young mon, I ken I wanted children,” he murmured into her hair. “Throughout the pregnancy, despite the midwife’s reassurances, her fears about givin’ birth grew until when her time came, she was hysterical and inconsolable. I was much relieved when her labor was short, and overjoyed when she delivered a beautiful, wee lad.”

  She felt him swallow and glanced up to see tears shimmering in his eyes. One trickled from the corner, and he swiped it away.

  “Nairna refused to hold the bairn, wouldna even look at him. She swore I’d never touch her again, that couplin’ was the vilest of sins, and she wanted to vomit every time I came to her.” His voice a rasping whisper he went on. “She threw herself from the battlements that night.”

  Och, my God! My God!

  Tears seeped from Berget’s tightly-squeezed eyes, and she stuffed a fist to her mouth to keep from crying out in anguish. To stifle the horror spiraling around and around in her middle. Sickening. Appalling. Incomprehensible.

  “I vowed then I’d never marry again, and I’ve no’ touched a respectable woman since. Until ye.” His arms tightened around her as if he needed the comfort she provided him in that moment. “I named my son Andrew, but a mere week after enterin’ this world, my wee laddie died.” He uttered the strangled words as if he could barely get them off his tongue.

  Berget’s tears flowed freely now.

  He’d suffered mightily, too.

  No wonder he adored his nieces so much.

  “You should marry and have children, Graeme. It might help you heal.”

  “Och. Nae. I’ll never consider weddin’ again.” He gave a vehement shake of his head. “When a woman despises yer touch that much, it does somethin’ to ye. Makes somethin’ inside ye shrivel and wither. And die.”

  How could it not?

  He firmed his mouth into a taut line.

  “Besides, I dinna have to wed. Camden can inherit the lairdship.” Graeme bore that burden, too. “If he marries and has a son, our line will no’ die out.” He finally drew his gaze downward, regret and grief etched sharply on the sculpted planes of his face. “Nonetheless, I admit, Berget, mo chridhe, at times, I long for a child of my own.”

  His sweet. He’d called her his sweet.

  Hope, undeserved and unbidden, welled within her.

  “I do understand, Graeme, for I long for a child as well.”

  With all of my heart and soul.

  She spoke into his jacket, the fabric muffling her words. She turned her face upward, and cupped his cheek. “But I never suffered the loss of a son, so I shan’t even pretend to appreciate your pain.”

  With a harsh growl, he claimed her mouth.

  His previous kisses had been gentle and tentative, filled with sensual promise. This was a kiss of a wounded man desperate to find solace. To forget the memories haunting him. He gripped her buttocks, yanking her against the hardness of his groin as he ground his mouth over hers and ground his pelvis against her womanly softness.

  Rather than frighten or disgust her, his unfettered passion set loose an equally unrestrained carnal desire in her. Want flooded her, heating her veins and pooling between her legs. She stood on her tiptoes, desperate to get closer to him, to convey she desired him every bit as much as he did her.

  He rucked up her gown, the air whisking over her bare flesh, before he lifted her, wrapping her thighs around his waist
.

  She ought to be shocked and appalled, but she wasn’t. She ought to object to his scandalous overtures, but she reveled in them, hungry and eager for what he might do next.

  This wild, untamed scoundrel sparked an answering need in her. If he wanted to take her here, right now, beneath these rustling trees, she hadn’t the willpower to deny him.

  The squirrel still chattering its outrage would get an eyeful though.

  His hot lips abandoned her mouth, trailing kisses across her jaw, down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. His breath came ragged, uneven, and hoarse as he kneaded her buttocks with one large hand and caressed her aching, swollen breast with the other.

  “Och, lass. What ye do to me,” he groaned against the hollow of her throat. “Ye ken I want ye as I’ve never wanted another.”

  What he did to her. This thing was wild and wonderful, and she never wanted it to end.

  One of the horses snorted, stamping his feet, and Graeme went perfectly still.

  “Shite, what am I doin’?” He slowly lowered her to the ground and pressed his forehead against hers. “Lass, I dinna ken what ye do to me, but I lose all self-restraint when ye are near. Ye’ve bewitched me, for certain. I swore after Nairna, I would control my lust. That never again would I impose myself on a gentle-bred woman.”

  She attempted a wobbly smile as she straightened her skirts, her knees more than a bit unsteady. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to, Graeme. I enjoyed everything you did to me.”

  He needed to know that.

  To know a respectable woman could crave his touch.

  His gaze probed hers, searching, earnest, and slightly puzzled. He raked his fingers through his hair, now hanging loosely about his shoulders. The ribbon holding the strawberry-blond strands back had come loose. He heaved a gusty sigh, reserve setting over his features once more as he took her by the elbow.

  Nae. Dinna shut me out.

  “We’d best get to the village,” he said stiffly. “We dinna want to keep Marjorie and the lasses waitin’.”

  Chapter Twelve

  As they traveled the remaining distance to the village, Graeme cursed himself for being a thousand kinds of arse. He’d treated Berget like a common whore. Mayhap because he hadn’t coupled with a respectable woman since his wife had killed herself.

  He snorted in self-disgust, and she cast him a puzzled look.

  Likely, she was completely confused by his hot and cold behavior, but he was struggling as much to understand himself as she, no doubt, was.

  When he bedded a woman now, it was to satisfy a physical need no different than eating, drinking, or sleeping. In fact, he’d remained celibate for two years after Nairna’s death. Until today, he’d told no one of the hateful things she’d hurled at him in the privacy of her bedchamber.

  Things that emasculated and wounded his soul.

  She’d convinced him no woman enjoyed sexual congress except for whores paid to do so.

  It wasn’t until after a rather personal and candid conversation with Sion, that he learned the marriage bed could be delightful. At least his brother vowed it was so and that Marjorie enjoyed the act as much as he.

  “Berget…?”

  Those lavender eyes of hers, so innocent and unpretentious met his. No judgement or condemnation glinted in their lovely depths. Only compassion and a hint of lingering arousal. “Yes?”

  The heat of a flush crept over his face, and he checked the urge to clutch at his neckcloth. And shift in the saddle for his manhood throbbed uncomfortably still. “I must beg yer forgiveness.”

  “Och, I dinna think so, Highlander.” The alluring half-smile she gifted him held a siren’s promise. “You’ll not be apologizing for introducing me to passion. ’Tis been a gift I never thought to experience.”

  Shaking his head, he released a relieved chuckle. He’d never met a woman like her, and she was fast becoming far too important. “Lass, ye havena begun to experience passion with me.”

  She arched those fine brows of hers, a challenge slightly narrowing her eyes. “And what if I want you to teach me all that there is to know about carnal desire and love making?” She captured her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze darting way for a second before she bravely brought it back to his. “I’m a widow without prospects. Should I never experience a man’s touch?”

  Introducin’ me to passion. Never experience a man’s touch?

  What the hell?

  He only now just realized what she’d said, and he sat a mite straighter as her previous words bludgeoned him with a cudgel’s force. “What do ye mean introducin’ ye to passion? Didna ye and yer husband ever…? What I mean is—”

  She held up her hand, her cheeks a fetching pink. “I know what you mean, and the answer is no. He couldn’t. I suspect he was only able to perform with those poor boys he abused.”

  Disgust for Jonston and self-recrimination vied for supremacy behind Graeme’s breastbone. He swore beneath his breath, not questioning her declaration of innocence, and that was all the more reason she was off-limits.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to teach me?” She crinkled her brow, turning down her mouth into a rueful frown. “But then, I could hardly stay on as a governess, could I?”

  “Nae, lass. I dinna dally with those under my protection. As delectable as ye are and as much as I’d like to…” His gaze sank to her bountiful breasts her riding habit concealed before he hauled it upward, his molars clenched tight enough to crack his face. “I canna.”

  Damn him for a fool, but he didn’t dare take what she innocently offered. Her virginity further complicated an already thorny situation. Even so, his cock throbbed unmercifully and called him every kind of idiot.

  She didn’t seem perturbed or offended by his denial. Surely he ought to terminate her at once for her disgraceful suggestion. This wasn’t the sort of woman he wanted his nieces spending hours a day with. Was it?

  Her coy smile and the pointed look she directed to the tenting of his kilt, sent sparks of scorching lust sluicing along his veins. She leaned forward, a hint of mischief in those gorgeous pansy-toned eyes. “Unless you plan on dismissing me, we’ll be sleeping under the same roof every night. Think on that in your lonely bed.”

  As if he needed reminding.

  “If I didn’t need my position, I might actually consider seducing you,” she murmured.

  Christ and all the saints.

  She gave him a cheeky grin and an even saucier wink.

  He laughed then, unrestrained and delighted.

  She’d done that on purpose, to take his mind off Nairna. “Ye’re the most unique, outrageous woman I’ve ever met.”

  Most remarkable and unforgettable, too, and the thought of her ever leaving Killeaggian churned his stomach and left a hollowness he couldn’t explain.

  He hadn’t quite brought his tumultuous emotions under control when they halted before The Stag and Hound. Swiftly perusing the area, he pulled his brows together, having expected Marjorie and the girls to be waiting nearby.

  They weren’t, however. Likely they were already seated inside.

  A young boy collected the horses’ reins, and Graeme slid to the ground to assist Berget. Several inquisitive villagers openly stared at the beautiful woman with their laird, and he lifted a hand as he nodded at them. “I hope we’ll see ye at the cèilidh.”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  “We’re lookin’ forward to the celebration.”

  “Wouldna miss it, Laird.”

  “The villagers love and respect you, too,” she murmured beneath her breath, her gaze darting here and there as she took in the tidy township.

  “Aye. I’ve always believed in treatin’ others well and hope they’d do the same for me.”

  “I suppose.”

  He caught her troubled glance. Experience had taught them both that wasn’t always the case. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, he guided her inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the a
lehouse’s darker interior.

  Melvin Watson hurried to greet him, a pristine apron tied around his slim middle. His eyes widened upon taking in Berget on Graeme’s arm. “My laird, what an honor it is to have ye dinin’ with us this afternoon. Lady Marjorie and the wee lasses are already seated in the private parlor.” He swept his hand to the side. “If ye’ll follow me.”

  An amiable and relaxed hour passed. Graeme did, indeed, feel lighter for having shared with Berget about his failed marriage and the loss of his son.

  She and Marjorie chatted like old friends, and Marjorie even conceded to implement a couple of Berget’s suggestions for the celebration. On their best behavior, Cora and Elena dabbed their lips with their napkins, and only once did Cora use her fingers to pop a morsel of food into her mouth.

  Not once did a finger up her nose precede a bite either.

  Giving them a proud smile, he winked. “What have ye lasses done with my beloved nieces?” He pretended to search under the table. “Yer manners are much too refined to be those vixens. Confess what ye’ve done with them, or I’ll toss ye in my dungeon. I’ll have nae interlopers at my keep.”

  The girls erupted into giggles, but Berget darted him a distressed glance. Too late, he realized what his last words must sound like to her.

  “The outdoors agrees with you, Miss Jonston,” Marjorie suddenly said. “There’s a healthy glow in your cheeks that wasn’t there this morning.”

  “I’ve found the Highlands to be very ah…invigorating,” Berget demurred, casting Graeme a covert glance.

  Minx. Invigorating his arse.

  “Indeed,” his sister-in-law remarked, rather too smoothly.

  He didn’t miss the considering look Marjorie sent him.

  Was she attempting to play matchmaker now?

  He checked the upward bend of his mouth, though the notion didn’t displease him as it once would have. However, things were complicated enough with Berget under his protection and also an employee.

  And an untried maid.

  There was the additional inconvenience that she was promised to someone else. He doubted that even if a settlement agreement had been signed by her father and Warrington, the claim would hold up in court. She was of age and couldn’t be compelled to marry against her wishes unless by a royal decree.