by Evie North
Dugald scoffed. The sound made her so angry. Swiftly the heat in her blood rose to boiling point and she knew her face was flushed and her eyes glittering.
“Do you really think I would allow such a thing to happen to her?” he said, moving in, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Is that the sort of man you think I am?”
“I don’t know you,” she blurted out, anything to stop his advance. She couldn’t look away from his eyes.
“Don’t you?” he mocked. Dugald had never spoken to her like this. Sometimes he had been bossy, it was true, but he had also been respectful and loving. This Dugald confused her, and her heartbeat ratcheted up even more. He reached out, his palm closing over the side of her face, his thumb under her chin, and his breath was warm against her lips as he swooped in. “Remember this?”
His mouth closed over hers. She lifted her hands to shove at him but then his tongue swept into her mouth, finding hers, rubbing against it, and when, despite herself, she followed, he sucked on her until she moaned. Her fingers tightened on the front of his jacket, clinging on now instead of pushing him away. His hand tangled in her hair, the other cupping the back of her head as he slanted her mouth to give him deeper access.
“Remember me now?” he groaned, stopping for a breath, before diving back in again.
Her fingers tugged at his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressed to his. She could feel his cock now, a hard length against her belly, and knew that the place between her thighs was wet as she ached for him. When he reached to lift her, her legs automatically closed around his waist, bringing him exactly where she wanted him.
He threw his head back, staring upwards, and groaned aloud. Rosina pulled his head back down, her mouth finding his again, beyond thought now. In an instant the whirling doubts in her brain had been drowned with desire and heat, and the need to take Dugald inside her. Nothing else seemed to matter.
He stumbled forward, clumsy for such a graceful man, and pressed her against the wall. There was a chair but he knocked it aside, making more room. His hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirts, and found bare flesh. “Please,” she begged, not sure what she wanted, only that it was more. More of him. More of this.
She palmed the bulge in his kilt, and then found the fastening to his belt, and a moment later the covering fell open. He shrugged it off. His bare flesh was against hers now, hot and desperate, and when the tip of his cock brushed through her wet folds, she thought she might faint.
He drew back, eyes on hers, and once again she found herself unable to look away. “Rosina,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he was in pain, and then he slid inside her, as deep as it was possible to be.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She clung to his shoulders, feeling the fine cloth beneath her fingertips, the hard wall behind her, the hair at the base of his cock abrading her own sensitive flesh. Heat was rising inside her, and a drumming in her blood, and then her climax came rushing at her. Unstoppable as a runaway horse.
He thrust hard and she cried out, pushing back, and as she came, so did he, clumsy again as his hips jerked in uneven strokes, his warm mouth against her throat, mumbling words that made no sense.
There was a long moment when neither of them could move. Her breath began to slow, her heart beat began to even out, and she realised she was crushed against Dugald Campbell, her cheek against his chest, her fingers clenched in the cloth of his jacket, her thighs still tight around him and the stickiness of his seed running down them.
“Oh God,” she whispered, suddenly panicked. She began to struggle against him, pushing away, and finally he seemed to come to his senses. He lowered her down to the floor, gently, and reached for his kilt. She was already smoothing down her skirts, attempting to push back her hair which had come loose from his fingers.
“Are you going to accuse me of forcing you now?” he demanded, suddenly eyeing her as if she might fly at him with fingers like talons.
Rosina took a breath and swallowed. “No. You didn’t force me,” she admitted. “I wanted it too.”
His mouth curved up and she wondered when his smile had started to make butterflies take flight in her belly.
“Good,” he said, “because this won’t be the last time, Rosina.”
Her eyes narrowed and she knew she was a moment away from beginning to shout at him, when the curtain behind him was pushed open.
Chapter 5
DUGALD
Dugald loved his brother Finlay but right now he would have preferred not to see his smirking face. He stepped in front of Rosina so at least she had some privacy. Finlay cleared his throat as if fighting laughter.
“Ewen has retired again,” he reported, with a wink. “Only been out of the bed chamber for a couple of hours and he’s back in it again.”
“Not alone, I gather,” Dugald said dryly. “Remember he has ten years to make up for. What do you want, Finlay?”
“Callum wondered if you fancied visiting the tavern in the village. He tells me the whiskey is passable and the lassies more than passable.” Callum and Finlay were twins but that was where their similarity ended. Callum had always been the one to throw himself life and soul into a party, whereas Finlay was usually more serious.
Finlay tried to see around Dugald, who shifted to prevent him getting more than a glimpse of Rosina.
“Tell Callum I’m busy.”
Finlay’s serious green eyes lit up with mischief. “I’m sure Rosina can spare you.”
That was when Rosina stepped around him, just as he feared she would. “I am more than happy to spare him,” she said. “We have finished here,” and she gave him a cold, narrowed look from her stormy grey eyes.
“For the moment,” Dugald reminded her.
She opened her mouth, glanced sideways at Finlay, and closed it again. A moment later she had slipped through the curtain and was gone.
“I see Rosina is as formidable as ever,” his brother said.
Dugald bit off his protest. Rosina could be formidable but he would not have called her so a moment ago, while she was wrapped around him, moaning his name.
“Be careful,” Finlay warned him quietly. “You don’t want to find yourself in the same mess again. Jeanette Gordon will do everything in her power to keep you away from her daughter.”
“I am careful,” he said automatically, but Finlay wasn’t finished.
“You remember last time? That woman didn’t want her daughter wasted on a landless nobody when the chance of a grand marriage might come up in whatever fantasy world she was inhabiting. As if Tighe would ever have let her go! He was enjoying spending her money far too much.”
Dugald remembered treating Jeanette’s feelings as a bit of a joke at the time—now Finlay’s words made him wonder just how far the woman might have gone to take Rosina away from him. The scene ten years ago was still clear in his mind—himself and Rosina before the laird, and Jeanette glaring. Even, if he recalled, prompting Rosina when she stumbled in her renunciation of their union.
He had been so hurt and angry, so heartbroken that she thought so little of him that she would reject what was between them, he hadn’t taken proper notice. Perhaps the time had come to do so.
Finlay rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What should I tell Callum? Are you coming?”
“No,” Dugald shook his head. “Take our father. He needs a rest from Mistress Stewart.”
Finlay laughed. “She has him twisted around her little finger if you ask me.”
“He is only trying to do his job as her guardian,” Dugald replied, already walking toward the curtain. Finlay followed him out and then went to find Callum and his father, although it seemed unlikely Hamish Campbell would leave Mistress Stewart, even for a moment, without his full protection.
Dugald hadn’t admitted it before, but he was beginning to worry about his father. When had Hamish Campbell last been so serious about a woman? Certainly not since before their mother had died when Dugald was born. Hamish had dedicated
himself to his sons and his inheritance, the stronghold and lands of Auchiltie. And then, when the clan wars had driven them out, he had hoped to make a new life at Castle Tighe, a hope that was dashed when they were forced out again by the laird.
Dugald did not want his father to end up hurt, because everyone knew Mistress Stewart was destined for marriage to someone much higher than Hamish, probably one of the Scottish nobles. The fact that the duke had been planning to wed her to Ewen said a great deal about his trust in Dugald’s eldest brother, but once Ewen refused, they knew the duke would be looking toward greener pastures.
Ewen wasn’t the only one the duke had been planning nuptials for. He had made mention of a few prospects for Dugald too, and now the Campbells were on the rise a beneficial marriage could mean a great deal for his future ambitions. A bride might bring wealth and blood relatives and influence that would help Dugald’s rise in the world.
When he left for Tighe, Dugald had promised the duke he would consider three women whose names had been put to him. But that was before he saw Rosina again. Had he really forgotten how she affected him? It was as if he had only to meet her gaze and his cock went hard. He only had to see her soft lips and he was wanting to find a dark corner so that he could open her legs and thrust himself between them. It was embarrassing, and showed a serious lack of restraint. All the more disappointing when Dugald had worked hard to grow into the sort of man who considered his options carefully, rather than the impulsive boy who had once dived headlong into any sort of disastrous adventure.
After Rosina had told Dugald exactly what she thought of him, and their hand fasting had been dissolved by the laird, he had vowed never to see her again. He would do better; find a sweet biddable girl who was proud to be with him. Why now, ten years later, was he still panting after the one woman who had the power to break his heart?
And there was Mary, too. He wasn’t sure what to think of Mary. The girl was still a stranger, but he wanted to get to know her. She was his blood, a Campbell, and he would do his best for her, whatever her mother thought of him.
He paused on the turn in the stairs and looked out the narrow slit of window. Once upon a time arrows were fired through here and perhaps they would be again. Scotland was not a peaceful country, always seething with unrest, and rebellion was never far away. All the more reason to look after his own.
He leaned against the wall, feeling unsteady and wondering if he was coming down with something. He was a fit and strong man, but his body was still recovering from that powerful orgasm. He couldn’t remember feeling like that before. But no, he admitted that wasn’t exactly true. He had felt like that ten years ago. Rosina had always made him feel like this, raw and vulnerable and shaken off his axis.
Could he break through all those feelings she had held on to after he left? Could he persuade her to forgive him and to start again? And if he did, what would that mean for him and his aspirations in the duke’s household? Ewen had stubbornly declared he was marrying Elspit, and the duke had understood and forgiven him, but if Dugald also turned his back on the duke’s kindness, what then? Had he really worked this hard just to throw away his bright future for a woman who had hurt him once and may well do so again?
With a sigh he continued up the stairs to his room. He was confused. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would help him put matters into perspective. Tomorrow he would wake with a clear head and a clearer idea of where his future was headed.
Rowdy, drunken voices reached him, growing louder. He recognised Finlay and Callum, and that didn’t surprise him. His brothers, especially Callum, were inclined to enjoy themselves a little too much on occasion. But added to theirs was another voice, and this one was surprising.
His father had never, as far back as Dugald could remember, returned home drunk and roaring at the top of his voice. Not ever. And now here he was.
Blinking, pushing his hair out of his eyes, Dugald climbed out of his bed and went to the door. Finlay was there, and gave him a wink, closing his eye far too long and then having trouble opening it again. “Father has been telling us how things were when he was a young lad,” he said, in a voice that was meant to be quiet but probably woke the entire castle.
His father was coming up the stairs and needed Callum’s support. Dugald’s eyes widened. Hamish was still a handsome man although now well into his forties, and his son could see that he must have been the apple of the ladies’ eyes when he was master of his own lands and leader of his own men. His wife dying so young was difficult and painful, and yet Hamish had brought up his sons in the manner he knew she would have approved of.
“Hamish?”
The voice was a mere whisper, and Dugald saw one of the other doors open a crack, and big blue eyes peeped out. Mistress Stewart. Those eyes widened even further when she saw the state of his father. Hamish, finally noticing he had an audience, took a shaky step toward her, saying, “Margarette …?” but Mistress Stewart had already snapped her door closed.
His father looked so downcast, so ashamed. A moment later, he had pushed past his youngest son and flung himself onto the bed, and before Dugald could speak a word, or protest, his father was asleep and snoring.
“Why don’t you take him?” he asked Callum. “You got him into this state.”
His brother grinned unrepentantly. “Nah, you look after him. You’re sober, after all.”
“Finlay?” He turned to the other twin, the more sensible one in his opinion, but Finlay just shrugged and walked away.
His father gave a particularly loud snore and Dugald sighed. Outside the shutters the dawn was breaking, and as it seemed unlikely he would be getting any more sleep, he decided he may as well get up. He would go for a ride, take a look at the Tighe lands for his brother, talk to some of the tenants. Right now Ewen deserved to lie in with his new wife, and it wasn’t as if Dugald had a warm armful to cuddle up to.
His thoughts flashed to Rosina but he put them aside. He hadn’t come to any decisions there, except to reiterate to himself how important it was he stick to his future plans and not make any rash decisions where she was concerned. Maybe a ride in the crisp morning air would do the trick of clearing his head.
Chapter 6
ROSINA
When Rosina’s father lost everything to the Laird of Tighe, including his life, her mother and Rosina were taken captive. At the time, the Gordons were scattered far and wide, and Rosina and Jeanette were forced to live in the victor’s house. Rosina had to play lady in waiting to his daughter Elspit—not that that was such a hardship, she admitted to herself, Elspit being such a sweet girl. Jeanette had secretly written letter after letter, begging for help from her husband’s important friends and relatives, but no one answered. Rosina suspected the letters never reached their destinations.
Clans were made up of relatives and others with a reason to want to cling close to the laird. That way they were safe, and by taking up arms when needed could offer safety to the clan as a whole. When her father died at Tighe’s hands, some of his people latched on to other clans, but a few loyal supporters came with Rosina and her mother to live at Tighe.
Kenny Gordon, who was one of her father’s most staunch clansmen, now resided in one of the cottages beyond Tighe castle, and was making a living as best he could. Rosina had always tried to make sure Kenny’s family were cared for, and that was why she was visiting now with a basket of food from the castle kitchens.
She had barely finished setting down the basket and asking how the family were, when the door was flung open.
Kenny jumped up and reached for his claymore, but it was too late. Next thing the point of a sword was pressed against his throat and a very large and aggressive Dugald Campbell was in his face.
Shocked, Rosina was speechless, and then quickly stepped in between the two men as best she could, shoving Dugald’s chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted.
His eyes slid sideways to hers. “I’m doing what you should be doing, looking o
ut for your welfare.”
“My welfare?” she repeated furiously.
Kenny, the sword still against his throat, swallowed. “He’s right, lass,” he said awkwardly. “I’ve told you before how dangerous it is to come beyond the castle walls in these times. The Laird of Tighe was hated, aye, but he still has his followers and they would like nothing better than to take revenge on his daughter’s lady in waiting.”
As he’d continued to speak Dugald had stepped back, lowering his weapon. He was frowning, and Rosina saw by the hard line of his mouth that he wasn’t happy.
“If I don’t come, who will bring you food when you need it?” she asked Kenny, her voice husky with emotion, because suddenly she felt very emotional. “And when your wife is sick, who will come then, if not for me?”
The man looked even more uncomfortable. “I thank you, my lady, for all you have done. But I would not put your life at risk for mine. Your father would turn over in his grave.”
“I will speak to my brother,” Dugald said. “He will make certain that all the Gordon men at Tighe are looked after. He probably would have done so earlier but he has been … distracted.”
The two men shared a guffaw which for some reason made Rosina furious. She opened the door and stalked out, slamming it behind her. She was already several yards away from the hovel, on the road back to the castle, when Dugald caught up with her.
He was leading his horse, and when he reached her he shortened his long strides to match hers. That made her angry too. As if he was treating her with care when he had no right to treat her anyway at all. Last night in the anteroom … Well, she had regretted her behaviour all night long, swore it would never happen again, and now the same heat was crawling over her skin, prickling it, making her clothing feel uncomfortable.
