This Scot of Mine

by Sophie Jordan

  Clara was readying for bed when her chamber door opened and slammed shut. She spun around at the sound, the dressing robe she had just removed clutched to her chest.

  “Oh.” The breath rushed out of her. “You.”

  She knew she sounded surly, but she couldn’t help herself. Hunt’s grandmother did not like her. She had made that abundantly clear with each of their encounters. Nothing Clara said or did was going to alter that fact.

  She went about slipping on her dressing robe, bracing herself for whatever was to come in this encounter.

  It was rather freeing. Embracing her status as unwelcome, unwanted, reviled even. She was already at the bottom and she accepted there was no climbing up.

  “Aye. Me. You came back.” Nana crossed her arms in clear resentment.

  “Yes, I did. Your grandson insisted.”

  “Of course he did. You’ve bewitched him.”

  Clara laughed. “That is hardly the case.” Hunt was quite un-bewitchable. The majority of the time she could not tell what thoughts were playing behind those eyes of his.

  Nana shook her head with grim disapproval. “Ye need tae leave.”

  “I tried that already.”

  “Try harder.”

  “Do you really think me leaving will make any difference?” Clara pressed a hand over her stomach unthinkingly. “It is done already.”

  Nana’s gaze flew to her stomach. “Aye, but that can be undone, lass.”

  Clara sucked in a breath, perfectly aware of her meaning. Aware and horrified. Even so, she heard herself asking through lips that had gone numb, “What do you mean?”

  The old woman advanced until she reached Clara. She stopped before her, her expression almost serene as she threatened in a softly sinister voice, “I will no’ lose my grandson.”

  Clara nodded once, her body so tightly wound it could snap. “Understood.”

  And she did understand. Fully.

  She understood that she was face-to-face with a desperate woman who would do anything to protect her grandson.

  And that meant it fell to Clara to protect herself . . . and her unborn child.

  Hunt couldn’t sleep.

  In his bed, he stared in the dark, his hand resting limply on his stomach, wondering crossly what the hell he and his wife were doing in separate bedchambers.

  Wasting time we could be happily shagging.

  He knew they had reached a truce of sorts. She had agreed to come back home with him, after all, but there was still much hovering between them. Much unresolved—bitter words they had spoken the morning after their wedding when he had confronted the evidence of her maidenhead on the bedsheets.

  He had been the one to insist they would have an in-name-only marriage. That had been his decision.

  He was a jackass.

  He winced. He’d called her a problem. Damnation. He groaned and dragged a hand over his face, fervently wishing he could take those words back. He needed to woo her . . . to talk to her. Eat crow. Beg, if need be. That was if he wanted to resume conjugal relations. If he wanted to be close to his wife.

  His hand slid down his stomach to fondle his aching cock. God help him. He did. He ached for her. He wanted his wife again.

  And why not? The damage was done. She was already with child. The curse had already been activated.

  He tossed and turned, punching his pillow several times, trying to relieve some of his frustration. No good. He was still wide-awake and restless. It didn’t help that his cock was perpetually at half-mast. He was like a randy green lad ever since she’d come into his life.

  Somewhere in the distance, on the same floor, a door creaked. Someone was out of bed, and because he didn’t have anything better to do, he hopped from bed to go investigate, pausing to hastily don his trousers.

  He stealthily departed his room and peered up and down the hallway. The sconces glowed dimly, illuminating the empty corridor. No one was inside, nor could he determine which chamber door had opened. They all stood closed and silent in the dead of night.

  He turned, prepared to return to his bed and give another try at sleep. That was when he heard the creaking step. Someone was on the stairs.

  He whirled around and strode quickly in that direction.

  Hunt stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down, his gaze colliding on the backs of two women fleeing down the stairs.

  “Clara!”

  The women froze, but he only had eyes for one of them. Now at the bottom of the stairs, Clara turned slightly to look up at him. She lifted her chin proudly. “Hunt,” she greeted as though they were coming face-to-face in a drawing room.

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?” His gaze skipped to Marian, who had the sense to look a little shamefaced. She shrugged up at him.

  “I changed my mind.” Clara’s voice rang out. “I decided it would be a good idea to leave, after all.”

  “And this is the way you do it?” He descended the stairs, his feet moving quickly down the familiar steps. When he reached the bottom, his attention turned briefly to Marian again. “You may go tae bed now. There will be no trips this night.”

  Marian turned to look at her mistress. “Clara?” she asked gently, clearly seeking word from her on the matter.

  Clara nodded stiffly. “Do as he says, Marian. I will be fine.”

  With a brisk nod, Marian started up the steps, stopping for a moment and looking back down at him. “Mind yourself with her,” she warned, indifferent to the fact that he was now essentially her employer. Her loyalty was to Clara, and he admired her for that. He wanted Clara to have supportive friends in her life.

  “She will come tae no harm. Now tae bed with you, Marian.”

  With that reassurance from him, Marian ascended the stairs and left them alone.

  He repeated his earlier question. “You thought this was the best way tae leave me?”

  “Will there ever be a good way? An easy way?”

  “Why?” he pressed, desperate to comprehend. “I thought we had reached an understanding. What has changed?”

  “I just can’t . . .” She shook her head, tension humming from her body.

  “You can’t tell me.” That was the truth of it. Can’t. Won’t. He could see it in her evasion, in the way her voice wobbled and she shifted on her feet. He could look at her even in the gloom and know this. He was coming to know his wife and her habits. She wasn’t being coy. She was . . . frightened.

  The air left him in an angry rush. Why was she scared? Scared of him? He wouldn’t have it. The idea that she could be frightened of him twisted his stomach. Clearly he had failed somewhere along the way if his wife was afraid of him.

  “You have to let me go.” Her dark eyes were like endless lochs.

  Frustration welled up inside him . . . and a sharp blade of panic. He could not lose her. However much time he had left, he wanted to spend it with her, getting lost in her, gorging himself on this woman that he had given up everything for. Feasting on her until he was satisfied and hungry no more.

  “You ask the impossible.”

  Her head dipped as though she was gathering something from deep inside herself. “I know I said I would stay, but that was before . . . before . . .”

  “Before what? What happened?” What could possibly have happened since dinner?

  She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but your grandmother . . . She’s obviously upset at this marriage, at me . . . at the prospect of this child.”

  “What are you saying, Clara? You’re afraid of my grandmother?”

  “There’s more at stake here than your life now.” In the dim light, he noticed her hand move down to hold her belly as if seeking to protect the life there.

  He sucked in a short breath. “You’re afraid of Nana? You think she might do something to make you lose the babe?”

  “It would break the curse . . . and save you.” She gave a hard nod.

  “She threatened you? She threatened the babe?” he press
ed, seeking confirmation because it was so very unbelievable that his grandmother would betray him in such a way. His anger edged into fear. Fear for Clara and their child. Our child. He had not thought in those terms before but now he had and he could not stop.

  “Not in so many words, but yes. She reminded me that something could happen to prevent me from having this child.”

  He stepped forward and took hold of her, his hands locking on her arms. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His gaze flickered down and then came back up to her face. “I won’t let anything happen to either one of you.”

  She sighed softly. “Me staying here . . . there’s so much risk in it.”

  “The risk is worth it. You’re worth it tae me, Clara. I will handle my grandmother. Aye, she is upset, but I will no’ let her harm ye or this child. You have tae trust me.” His hands flexed on her arms, trying to convey his sincerity. “Stay.” It was a single word, but he put everything into it. Everything he was feeling. All his desperation. All of his need for her.

  She took her time replying, and when she did her voice was small and dejected. “Hunt,” she began, and he already knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

  She wasn’t going to stay. He had not convinced her.

  Fueled by desperation, he hauled her against him and kissed her. Circled her neck with his hand and held her in place for his feasting mouth.

  There was nothing soft or tender about it. He claimed her, his teeth tugging her bottom lip down. She opened for him with a moan and it was all the invitation he needed.

  He picked her up, his hands guiding her legs around his waist as if she weighed nothing at all.

  A few short strides and they were in the drawing room. On the sofa. He fell over her and yanked at her skirts, shoving them to her hips with rough movements. Her hands were there, trying to assist them.

  Everything happened fast. His heart pounded, blood rushing to his cock.

  His mouth fused hotly to hers, not even coming up for air as he worked to free himself from his trousers. Once his engorged member was free, he seized her hand to close around him. “Touch me,” he pleaded in a hoarse voice.

  Her fingers circled his hardness, her thumb dragging over the swollen tip of him, experimenting, rubbing his juice into the taut skin of his cock.

  “Damn, lass,” he muttered.

  He broke away long enough to shove his trousers all the way down his hips.

  He spread her thighs wide and reached down to tear the seam in her drawers wider for him so he could see all of her pretty quim. The rent of fabric on the air only inflamed his arousal.

  It excited her, too. Her breathing quickened and her eyes dilated, glowing black in the firelight.

  He touched her, running a finger over her folds. She was already wet for him. She cried out when he found the pleasure button at the top of her womanhood. He pressed down and massaged it in a firm, circular motion.

  “Hunt,” she gasped, arching up off the sofa. “Please.”

  Propping one elbow on the back of the sofa, he slid his other hand into her hair, his fingers locking in the silken mass.

  And then he was driving into her, pushing deep.

  She surged against the fullness of him, her head dropping back with an exultant moan as he sank himself to the hilt.

  The sensation of her, so hot and tight, milking his cock, undid him. He didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. He couldn’t. He had to move. He pumped inside her, his desire for her savage as he worked to his own release. She clutched his biceps, as though needing something to hang on to as he pounded out his need.

  Sharp little yips escaped her in conjunction with his every thrust and it only spurred him on.

  Need drove him. Animal instinct. He flipped her over so that her back was to him, and he guided her to grip the back of the sofa.

  He ripped her drawers in half, exposing her so that he could palm her lovely bum. Her cheeks were smooth and round and a curse of appreciation escaped him.

  Adjusting her position on her knees to his liking, he slid into her quim from behind, the angle deeper, tighter, and they groaned in unison.

  His hands gripped her ass, fingers digging into the sweet flesh as he dragged in a breath. He dropped his head to the back of her neck, his face burying in sweet-smelling hair. For a moment, his vision darkened. The pleasure twisted near to pain, it was so intense.

  He pulled out almost fully and then drove back inside her. A rush of wetness met the thrust of his cock, and it was the final straw.

  He took her fast and rough, spurred on by her pants and pleas and moans. Her sex clenched around his sliding cock. Her hands pushed against the back of the couch, and she pressed into him, meeting his thrusts in her own frenzied need.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him and the sight of her heavy-lidded eyes, her expression that of a woman well-fucked, stripped away the last of his restraint. Turned him feral. He pounded into her. When her knees started to shake, he seized her hips, holding her upright. He leaned over her, his chest curving over her back. One of his hands slid around her hip and dove straight to the core of her, finding the sweet little nub, swollen at the top of her sex. He pressed down and rolled it deftly.

  She came apart, jerking and convulsing, releasing a keening cry.

  Still, he continued, hammering into her desperately, barreling toward his own release over the sounds of her gasps.

  He found her ear and sank his teeth down into the lobe. And just like that she shuddered all over again, her body vibrating and humming as her sex squeezed around him.

  He groaned. “That’s it. Come again for me, Clara.”

  Then he reached his own climax, thrusting and releasing his seed deep inside her, shuddering into her own contracting body.

  She turned her face to the side, still gasping under him. He held himself lodged inside her, bracing his hands on either side of her on the back of the sofa, keeping his weight from fully crushing her. His harsh breath fluttered the hairs at her neck. She brushed her fingers there as though it tickled.

  He breathed into her ear, “Now you have tae stay . . . so we can keep doing this.”

  She chuckled lightly.

  His chest expanded at the sound of it. In that laughter, he heard yes. He heard more than yes. She was his. And he was hers. She felt that, too, even if she didn’t say it.

  He flipped onto his back on the sofa, lifting his body off her. Even though they were still side by side, he felt the sudden loss. Was it mad that he wanted to be back inside her again?

  She collapsed beside him. Both their chests lifted from exertion.

  “Is it like that for everyone, you think?” she whispered over the sound of the crackling fireplace.

  “No,” he answered quickly. “It’s not. This is . . . special.” Just for us.

  He held his breath, waiting for her to say something, to promise they could continue like this.

  He rolled his face on the back of the sofa to look at her.

  She had turned to study him. “You’ll talk to your grandmother?” she at last asked.

  “I’ll send her away, if need be,” he promised, meaning it. Nothing would pose a threat to Clara or the babe. No one.

  Her expression turned solemn and she nodded slowly. “I’ll stay.”

  Chapter 19

  Naturally, Nana was asleep when Hunt entered her bedchamber, but he didn’t care. He’d have an understanding with her this very night or she would be gone first thing in the morning. It was not the kind of thing that could wait.

  He shook her awake, interrupting her snoring.

  “Hunt?” she queried groggily, rubbing at her eyes. “Och.” Her nose wrinkled. “You smell of her. I dinna need tae ask where you have been, now do I?”

  “That’s right,” he said unapologetically. “That’s because she’s my wife and you best accept that and vow tae no’ harm her.”

  Nana shook her head. “You damn fool.”
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  “Indeed, I may be a fool. But it’s my life.” He took a menacing step forward. “Hear me now, nothing will befall Clara. Not her or the babe, understand me? That child is mine . . . and your kin, too.” He pounded his chest. “My heir. The future Laird MacLarin. Does that no’ mean something tae you?”

  Nana slapped her hand through the air. “Pah! Course it does. I will no’ harm the girl or the babe. I was just trying tae scare her off. Mayhap I was a bit scared, too.” She lifted a single bony shoulder in a shrug, as though hating revealing such vulnerability. “That child is a part of me. A part of this place. I would no’ do anything tae hurt one of my own.”

  Hunt looked at her steadily, intently. “Clara is my own . . . and that also makes her your own now. Think on that.”

  Nana let out a gust of breath, her shoulders slumping. “Aye. I see that now. Verra well. Ye have made yer choice. I will no’ interfere anymore. I will do my part, and I will be of assistance whenever I can.”

  Hunt leaned over and embraced the old woman, patting her on the back lightly. She was so frail he worried he might break a bone. “There, there, Nana. All will be well.”

  She sniffled against his chest. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “This time it will be true.” Hunt wasn’t sure if he believed that or not, but Nana needed to hear it. He was at peace, content . . . anxious to get back to his wife.

  Exchanging good nights, he left Nana to return to her sleep and made his way toward his bedchamber. He peeked inside, verifying that his wife was not there.

  With a grunt of dissatisfaction, he ventured to her room. He strode inside without knocking, finding her in her bed.

  He sank down onto the mattress. “Hello there, I think you’re in the wrong bed.”

  She lifted her head drowsily. “Am I? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if you—”

  He silenced her with a kiss, following her back down on the bed, coming over her. It was several moments before he broke away to say against her lips, “From now on you sleep in my room, wife. We share a bed.” His hand moved to her breast. “We share everything.”