by Eliza Knight
“They sound more like criticisms than ideas if ye do no’ mind me saying.”
“They often were, aye.”
“But ye survived.”
“Oh.” Her face blanched, then quickly colored red. She reached over, her delicate fingers stroking his arm. “How can I ever think what happened to me was a hardship when ye have been through infinitely more.”
Lorne shifted his reins to one hand, captured her hand where she touched him, and brought it to his lips. “Och, love, we all experience hardships in our way, and I would never compare myself to ye, nor take away the validity of any pain ye might have felt. I’m only sorry I could no’ have been there to spare your feelings. I, for one, adore your independence, cleverness and mind for business.”
She grinned, squeezing his hand before returning to her reins. “Thank ye. And that is why I agreed to marry ye.” She cocked her head to the side, thoughtful. “I wonder if my mother’s way of parading us and berating us was one of the reasons Shanna felt the need to…find love elsewhere?”
“Ye mean to say it was no’ because of me?” He winged a doubtful brow.
“Oh, it was no’ your doing, Lorne. Else I would no’ have fallen in love with ye all those years ago. Ye possess many qualities that are attractive to a young lass, as well as a more mature one.”
Lorne slowed his horse, and Jaime followed suit, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“What is it?” she asked.
But his throat was tight with need, with emotion, and he didn’t know precisely how to convey himself in words. So Lorne seized her reins and eased their mounts closer until her knee brushed his, their thighs pressed together, and then he touched her chin and drew her in for a kiss. This was a much better way to express what he felt. Adoration, infatuation, happiness, desire. Saints, but he relished kissing her, the feel of her lips on his. The way she eagerly kissed him back. The little whimpers she made in the back of her throat reminded him of how she enthusiastically made love.
They broke apart when he was reaching for her hip to drag her on top of him, both of them panting, wanting. He couldn’t wait. Didn’t want to go back to the castle when they’d yet to reach the village. He needed her. Now. His wife—his love.
“Come here.” Lorne led her into a copse of trees and practically leapt off his horse. He lifted Jaime from her mount, holding her steady against him as he kissed her hard.
“What are we doing?” she murmured against his lips.
“I’m going to make love to my wife.”
“Here? In broad daylight?” Jaime pulled away to stare up at the sky and then around them as if assessing who might see.
“Damn right.” Lorne didn’t wait for her to ask any more questions; instead, he captured her mouth in another searing kiss. His blood fired with the enthusiasm in which she kissed him back. He was hard, hot, and utterly consumed by her.
Lorne laid out the plaid blanket he always kept rolled on his horse and settled his wife upon it, hovering over her, staring at the way the light that broke through the trees made little gold flecks sparkle in the brown irises of her eyes.
Jaime surprised him, however, when she pushed against his chest until he lifted and then promptly shoved him onto his back.
“I want to try it like this,” she said. “With me on top. It can be done, right?”
“Och, aye, lass.” How could he deny her? Or himself?
She lifted her skirts until they were bunched around her thighs and hips, the heat of her sex searing through his breeches. Lorne groaned and hurried to undo the front of his breeches. At last he was free, his engorged shaft pressing hotly to her slick heat.
“God, ye feel good,” he groaned.
With a hand on her hip and another on her breasts, Lorne thrust upward. Their bodies fit together as if they were made for each other. They both cried out, Jaime’s head falling back.
“Show me what to do,” she said.
“Ye already know.” He gripped her hips and encouraged her to ride him.
And oh, was his wife a quick learner. Jaime rolled her hips, undulating back and forth, driving him wild. Over and over. Her breasts bounced within the confines of her gown but free from the corsets she refused to wear. Lorne gripped her breast, tugged her bodice down enough to free her nipple, a beautiful pink in the sunlight. He lifted enough to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened, sweet flesh.
Jaime gasped and cried out, riding him faster. He was going to finish before she even got close at this rate. All the years of pent-up desire was to blame. Or else it was this beautiful nymph he’d married.
Lorne reached between their bodies, finding her nub of pleasure and stroking as she rocked back and forth, up and down. She gasped, her thighs clamping hard against his hips, making him increase not only the pace of his fingers but the thrusts of his hips. Her cries of release were muffled as she bit her lip to keep from alerting all of the forest to their deeds. Watching her climax was one of the most stunning things he’d ever witnessed. The way her lips parted, how her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blinking open in surprise and then slamming closed as she release. He could watch her all day—wanted to watch her all the more—but already he’d held on longer than was humanly possible. Once he felt her body spasming around his, Lorne let go, flooding his seed inside her.
He collapsed back onto the blanket with a long, satisfied sigh.
“That was fun,” Jaime said, staring down at him with a wide grin.
“Ye are fun, lass.” He reached up and gave her nipple a light pinch before tucking her breast back into her bodice.
She laughed. “Now that is the first time I’ve ever heard someone say that.” And with that, she bent over him, her hair cocooning their kiss.
The only problem was they could not be cocooned forever, nor could they remain in the woods. Soon their traitorous siblings would descend upon Dunrobin, and Lorne was certain the bliss they’d found would be shattered. He hoped not forever.
Jaime had lain awake for what felt like hours before she finally climbed out of bed and headed down to the kitchens. Those in the village had been so excited to have their chief return and been nothing but kind to her. They seemed genuinely excited to have a mistress back at the castle and for Dunrobin to once again be in Sutherland hands. But there had still not been any word of Shanna or Gordie, and Jaime was growing more concerned by the day for her nephew’s welfare. She and Lorne had put plans in place, had a man following them, but still, she worried it wasn’t enough.
And so, rather than toss around in bed, she did what she often did when she couldn’t sleep. Jaime made a habit of baking. At midnight. Not only did it help to alleviate some of the nerves that barred her from sleeping, but it was often a surprise treat for the household to learn that she’d made them scones or biscuits, and they had one less chore to do in the morning.
A lady shouldn’t bake—at least that was what her mother told her. After all, a lady had servants to do such mundane tasks. But what if a lady enjoyed baking? Her mother had always waved off her words as if that were the silliest thing she’d ever heard. Fortunately, the staff had often indulged Jaime when her mother wasn’t around, and so at an early age, she’d gotten used to commandeering the kitchen in the middle of the night.
It took her some time to acquaint herself with the Dunrobin kitchens, which were much larger than any she’d ever been in before. The cook ran the kitchen in quite an orderly fashion, but eventually, she located the butter, flour, sugar and salt. The bowls and spoons. The rollers, the baking pans.
Jaime had dropped the last dollop of butter into a mixing bowl when she heard a noise outside the kitchen. She paused. As it was the middle of the night, she was in her nightgown and wrapper. She’d not expected any of the servants to wake, not at this hour. Nor to find her basically undressed.
But there it was again, the sound. And then the door to the kitchen whooshed open, and Lorne stood on the threshold, taking her in. She sighed in relief and
then in delight. He looked wickedly disheveled in the soft candlelight, hair tousled, no shirt, and his breeches barely done up. Jaime couldn’t help licking her lips as she took him in. A slow grin curled one side of his mouth as he watched her.
“Found ye. What are ye doing?” he asked.
Jaime cocked a nonchalant shoulder as if this were totally normal. “Making shortbread.”
“An interesting hour for such a task.” He stepped into the kitchen, letting the door shut behind him.
“Ye’ll get used to it.”
He grinned. “I wonder, do ye ever sleep?”
“Sometimes.” She laughed and then poured in the sugar and salt. “Want to stir?”
“Aye.”
He came around the wide preparation table and pressed a kiss on her mouth. His fingers spread over hers as he took the large wooden spoon and then effortlessly mixed the sugar and butter—a task that required a lot more exertion and time for her.
“You make a verra good scullion,” Jaime teased, poking him in the ribs and then thinking better of that gesture in favor of running her hands over his naked skin.
“I never knew baking was done in so…sensual a way,” he teased as she trailed her fingers down his ribs, sliding over to his hip.
“Aye.” Baking, she was certain, was never going to be the same again. Jaime circled to her husband’s back and pressed her lips to his spine. A little shiver made his body tremble beneath her touch. She wrapped her arms around his middle and splayed on his taut abdomen. “And even better when ye are making sweets.”
“Och, lass, if ye keep this up, I’ll no’ finish the task. Tell me what is next, I beg of ye.”
“Now the flour.” She reluctantly moved away from him to measure the exact amounts and then poured them into the sweetened butter mixture. “And stir again, duke, while I continue my exploration.”
Suddenly, Jaime felt extremely adventurous—not to mention wicked. She sank to her knees and nudged Lorne back from the table enough that she could edge in front of him, her mouth level with his quickly expanding breeches. She glanced up at him, finding his gaze hungry for what she wanted.
“Och, lass, this is no’ how Cook does it.” He was trying to jest, but his voice was heavy with desire.
“Thank God,” she teased, then tugged open the front of his breeches. She took his rigid shaft in hand, and kissed the very tip, lapping at him the way he liked, a trick she’d learned on their wedding night when he’d taught her how to pleasure him with her mouth.
She tormented him, growing bolder, swirling her tongue around the salty crown. Licking him from base to tip, and she then took him into her mouth, sliding her lips down. Lorne groaned, stiffening in pleasure.
Jaime stopped. “Do no’ halt your stirring, duke, else I can no’ continue.”
“Och, nay, do no’ stop.” He stirred with renewed vigor.
She smiled around his eager erection and then took him deeper into her mouth. There was no way she was going to stop now. Not when the fun was just beginning. Up and down, slowly, she worked him into a frenzy until pieces of dough flicked onto her head as he stirred faster, in rhythm with the way his hips rocked into her mouth.
But before he found release, Lorne leapt backward and hauled her to her feet, then higher still as he sat her in a pile of flour on the preparation table, spread her thighs wide and thrust home.
She clung to him, a gasp of pleasure and a little laugh at his eagerness.
“Ye’re a naughty duchess,” he murmured against her ear.
“And this is how ye’ll punish me.”
“Aye, over and over.”
And if by sending her body into one rollicking spasm after another was what he meant by punishment, Jaime took it with relish.
18
Lorne held Jaime’s hand as they walked along the beach, their bare toes sinking into the sand, and the gentle laps of the North Sea washing over their feet. The day had been uneventful, to which they’d both been grateful as they’d spent the majority of it in pleasant company with each other, basking in newlywed bliss. Knowing that the peace of it was going to come crashing down on them soon seemed to make them both eager to soak it up.
Jaime let go of his hand as she bent to pick up a shell.
“As a wedding present, I think I shall build ye a bigger pier, my duchess. Perhaps even a dozen, so ye can bring every one of your ships to Dunrobin if ye choose.” Lorne paused, looking out at the ocean, then turned back to his wife. “What say ye, sweetling?”
Jaime smiled up at him, lips parting to speak when above her head he saw the flag waving frantically from the top of the garden steps. The very one he’d asked Mungo to use as a signal if riders were approaching.
“We need to go. Now.” Lorne gripped Jaime’s hand and started to run, with her keeping stride beside him.
The delirious bubble of newly wedded bliss was effectively popped.
They hurried through the garden, both of their boots forgotten at the beach as they rushed to the castle before they were seen. Everyone knew the plan was to make it seem as though the castle was nearly deserted. They rushed up the stairs and through the door of the kitchens. The staff was in an uproar over the approach of a single rider.
That was interesting. Not a carriage or a trio. But a single. Had to be Jaime’s investigator.
As they made their way to the great hall at the moment the single rider came through the gate, they learned it was indeed Mr. Bell. Jaime rushed to greet him, tugging him inside. There was a measure of relief at the wayward siblings not yet arriving, yet a heightened level of nerves.
“They will be here within a few hours, maybe less,” the man said. “I passed them on the road to get here to warn ye.”
“Thank ye, Mr. Bell. We are grateful for your devoted service,” Jaime said. “We’ve had a room made up for ye and will send up a plate. Ye must be exhausted.”
“I am grateful to Your Graces for your hospitality.”
“’Tis us who are grateful,” Lorne said. “Ye’ve been extremely instrumental in this whole affair.”
“I am glad to be of service.”
Mrs. Blair ushered the investigator up the stairs toward his guestroom.
When they were alone in Lorne’s study, Jaime said, “There was a part of me that hoped none of this was true. That we’d find out we were wrong.”
Lorne nodded grimly, pouring them each a small glass of whisky. “I know, lass, ’twas the same for me. I still can no’ believe that my brother would do this. After all that I gave him, did for him.”
Jaime linked her hand around his when he handed her the cup. “I verra much feel the same way.”
The minutes ticked by like hours. They tried a game of chess, reading aloud from The Iliad, and when those distractions didn’t take, they made love on his desk. At last, they were warned of an approaching carriage.
“He’d better have our ancestor’s sword with him,” Lorne muttered.
“What?”
Lorne glanced down at his beautiful bride. “He stole it when he left. A sword used by our ancestor, who fought alongside William Wallace in the War of Independence.”
“My goodness. Why would he take that?” She wrinkled her nose.
“I have no idea.”
Less than a minute later, voices were heard in the entryway as Mungo and Mrs. Blair greeted the newcomers. The voices of Gille and Shanna were distinctive, pinging painfully in his memory. He had a sudden realization that he’d heard the two of them talking, recognizing their voices before he’d entered that study to find them all those years ago. His mind had blocked out Gille’s voice even then. But hearing them muffled together now, rather than seeing them, brought the memory swiftly and painfully back. Lorne gritted his teeth, and Jaime squeezed his hand.
“’Tis lucky for us that they chose betrayal,” she said. “Else that would be your wife, and ye and I could never have been together.”
“I’d never thought of it that way.” He glanced down at
her and smiled. “What a relief it is no’ so. This is why I love ye. But I still will no’ be easy to forgive.”
As planned, the trio was ushered into the great hall, the main door blocked, and upon entry, they did not see Lorne and Jaime by the hearth, but the young lad did.
Gordie shrieked, “Aunt Jaime!” and rushed toward her, arms outstretched and a massive smile on his face.
Jaime knelt to catch him while Lorne stared, stunned at seeing a mirror image of himself. He did a double take, raking his memory for any moment he could have fathered the child. But he never made love to Shanna. Never so much as kissed the ungrateful, conniving wench. So how was it possible that the lad could bear such a resemblance?
Lorne returned his gaze to the couple by the door who stood equally stunned, faces pale at the sight of them, not having expected to find them there. At least their ruse had worked. The lad favored Gille. Before now, Lorne had not realized how much he and his half-brother were alike, always believing his brother to favor his stepmother rather than their shared father.
“Glad ye could finally join us,” Lorne drawled out.
“Ye’re alive.” Gille’s words sounded like an accusation. “And here.”
“Clearly,” Lorne said dryly. “And the two of ye have been scheming, it seems, for quite a long time.” He glanced down pointedly at the child, then back up at them, the expression on his face as blank as he could make it, though he felt fire in his chest. A rage that wanted to be expressed through pounding fists.
“Well, ye can no’ have it all, brother,” Gille said. “Prodigal heir, favorite of the clan. I was tired of playing second fiddle, and so I fiddled with what was yours.”
Shanna had the good sense to look appalled at that statement, but Lorne didn’t react at all, even though his first instinct was to pummel Gille into the ground. Even now, the thorny blackguard showed no remorse for his actions.
