by Caroline Lee
The familiar pressure was building behind his bollocks, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Thinking he needed her to find her release soon, he thought to reach for her pearl to help her along, when she suddenly leaned forward.
With her hands braced on the mattress on either side of him, she took her weight off his pelvis, allowing him to do the thrusting. They were both sweating in the most wonderful way, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so erotic as her curls cascading down around them, as her tits bounced so near his mouth.
His grip on her hips tightened, and despite his intention to make sure she found her fulfillment ahead of him, his intention to let her set the pace, he couldn’t seem to make himself stop thrusting into her tight wetness.
And the fact she was moaning his name didn’t help.
He knew he was close.
“Mellie?” he gasped, forcing himself to freeze, to meet her eyes.
She was the one to finish the move, to sink down on him. She lowered herself until her chest was plastered against his, even as her hips made small movements over him.
Was she even aware of what she was doing?
“Please, Lachlan,” she whispered.
And when he met her eyes, he saw something there.
Desperation?
God’s Blood, he needed her to find release, and soon, because he was sorely lacking in control when it came to her!
Suddenly, he remembered what had triggered her release last time.
With her plastered against him this way, his cock buried deep inside her, he reached both hands up and around, resting on her arse cheeks.
Moaning, she closed her eyes, tilting her hips back so she glided along his cock, even as she thrust her bottom into his hands.
And when his fingers brushed against the puckered, sensitive entrance, she went frantic.
With a wild cry, she burst into motion, sliding back and forth on his cock. Trying to control his own breathing, and knowing he was failing, Lachlan used one finger to caress the puckered circle, then press ever so gently, ever so slightly, inside.
Her release exploded around his cock, as she stiffened and thrust her head back. With closed eyes, she screamed his name, as her wet, tight muscles spasmed around him.
And Lachlan gave up the fight.
With a roar to match her own, he spilled his seed against her womb, the sudden warmth making him feel both shame and a fierce sort of pride.
After, she collapsed in his arms, and he gently disentangled them. They didn’t speak, but she stretched out beside him and rested her head on his chest.
Her lips brushed against his skin as their breathing slowed, and he captured her hand in his.
God’s Wounds, but that was the most wonderful thing he’d ever done.
A better experience than he’d ever had with any other woman.
The verra best, she’d said.
As his eyes closed, Lachlan was smiling.
She was right.
Mellie’s hands shook as she placed the note on the table beside the candle which had long ago burnt out.
It’d been hours since she’d fallen asleep in Lachlan’s arms, but her rest had been brief. She’d gathered up the expensive robe, then had snuck from the room, as Lachlan continued to slumber.
Brigit had been waiting for her, and Mellie had quickly changed into her riding clothes. Court had been the one to teach her about the benefits of trewes, even under a gown, and Mellie had every intention of riding hard and fast.
The way she’d ridden Lachlan, only hours ago.
She flushed, her pulse quickening at the reminder of the incredible orgasm she’d experienced. The incredible pleasure he’d given her.
Given her.
No man had ever given her pleasure. No man had ever cared enough to learn what gave her pleasure, and then done it, no matter how unusual.
I love ye, Melisandre. How could I no’?
His words had echoed in her mind and her heart all evening. He loved her, as she loved him, and now she had to betray him.
Nay. Ye do this to protect him. He might never understand it as such, no’ after what Alice did to him, but ye will keep him safe.
Her letter said none of this.
My love,
You have given me more than I ever expected to find. When you spoke of my best parts, I know what you meant, and my heart will never be the same.
You hold it, Lachlan. No matter what happens, remember that.
Tell Simone I will always love her.
I am sorry.
M.
In the moonlight, he looked near angelic, his light brown hair glowing almost silver. Her palms itched to brush it out of his eyes, but she held back, not knowing how deep a sleeper he was.
She couldn’t afford to be stopped now.
Not when she was so close to forsaking her vows to the Queen—to her fellow angels—and staying here at An Torr with this man forever.
With a muffled sob, she whirled for the door.
If she didn’t leave now, she might never leave; might never be able to leave.
And Lachlan—and the Frasers of Lovat—depended on her to convince the Crown he was innocent of treason.
Although he’d never know her real reason for being assigned his betrothal, for coming to An Torr, for trying to seduce him, Mellie knew she was doing the right thing.
Even if she’d lost her heart along the way.
She closed the door to the laird’s chambers softly behind her, allowing her forehead to fall against the wood.
Sainte Vierge, pray for me!
Her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t allow her tears to fall. She had to slip into the nursery, to kiss Simone goodbye. Even if the lassie didn’t know, Mellie had to see her, touch her, one last time.
And then she had to ride for Scone.
She had to forsake her future with Lachlan.
She had to betray her heart.
Chapter 11
Life at An Torr became hell, and it was all thanks to its laird.
When Lachlan awoke the morning after the best sex of his life, he was disappointed to realize a naked Mellie was no longer curled up beside him. He didn’t think anyone—servants or nay—would begrudge the two of them what they’d done last night, since they were betrothed.
But apparently, Mellie hadn’t wanted to be found in his bed, and had snuck back to her own chambers without him realizing.
Still, he didn’t bother hiding his cheer that morning, to the point where Owen rolled his eyes, and said, “I retract my previous accusations. ‘Tis clear ye’ve only just now bedded the lass.”
Lachlan merely laughed.
He wanted to see her that morning—to hold her, to taste her again—but she hadn’t yet emerged from her room, and he didn’t want to wake her. There’d be plenty of future mornings where he could watch her sleep and kiss her awake.
The thought of mornings, days, years with Mellie had him grinning all morning.
It wasn’t until noon he realized something was wrong.
He was training with the men in the fields, and when he was through, found a worried-looking Simone waiting for him. Usually his daughter lacked the patience to stand around for so long, so he knew something was amiss.
Squatting before her, he offered a smile. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I cannae find Mellie,” Simone said bluntly. “I wanted to go fishing again—just from the shore this time—and went to see if she’d come with me. But she’s no’ in her room.”
Lachlan shrugged, as he stood once more and offered her his hand. “Mayhap she’s finally breaking her fast? She must’ve slept a long time.”
He managed to keep the pride from his tone, though just barely.
They were walking back to the keep, and he saw Simone shake her head, the frown still on her little lips. “Her maid isnae in her chambers either, but all of her trunks are packed.”
Lachlan’s grin faded. “Really?”
; When his daughter glanced up at him, he saw how serious her gray eyes were. “Aye.”
They both hurried their steps.
When Lachlan reached Mellie’s chamber, he pushed the door open without knocking. The maid wasn’t there, as Simone had said, and Mellie’s baggage was all carefully stacked along one wall.
As if she were readying to leave on a journey.
Readying to leave him.
“Go find Ella,” he commanded in a hoarse voice.
“But, Da—”
“Donae argue!” He realized he was taking out his worry on his daughter, and dragged his gaze away from the empty room and what he was afraid it represented. “I love ye, Simone, but I need ye in the nursery for a bit. Go, please.”
Her gray eyes were wide with her own worry, but she nodded solemnly and dropped his hand. She turned to walk away, but changed her mind and threw her arms around his middle, just briefly.
“I love ye too, Da,” she whispered, looking up at him. “And I love Mellie. Promise ye’ll find her?”
It should be a simple thing to swear, to find Mellie. But something about this room, something about the sinking feeling in his stomach, told Lachlan it wouldn’t be that easy.
Still, he cleared his throat as he patted his daughter’s shoulder.
“I promise,” he managed to say.
And he knew, in that moment, he would.
He’d waited his entire life for her, and no matter what it took, he’d find her.
And if she didn’t want a future with him—if everything they’d shared had been a complete lie, part of that first seduction, well then…
Lachlan slowly inhaled.
Well, he needed to know that too.
“Martin!” he bellowed, as he whirled away from the open door and stalked in the opposite direction. “Martin! Find Brigit! I would speak to her about her mistress!”
When the seneschal called out his acknowledgment, Lachlan headed for his chamber. ‘Twas the last place he’d seen her, and mayhap there was something there.
There was.
The letter was a small piece of parchment, folded in half and tucked under a cup, on his bedside table. Lachlan realized he was staring down at it, his hands curled into fists at his sides, a sense of dread slithering in his gut.
‘Tisnae an adder!
Then why was he afraid?
With a muttered curse, he reached for the letter and opened it.
It began with My love, and told him everything he’d been hoping and dreading.
Mellie loved him. That much was clear from her words; she hadn’t lied.
But she was gone, and didn’t say where she was going. Not only that, it sounded as if she expected it to be a permanent absence.
He was proud of how steady his hands were, as he folded the parchment once more and tucked it into the pouch at his belt.
He loved her.
He loved Mellie, and she claimed to still love him, which meant, whatever had taken her away from An Torr, was serious.
Taking a deep breath, Lachlan lifted his gaze out the window.
How long ago had she left?
It mattered not. He would find her.
“Martin!” he bellowed again, as he whirled away from the view.
They discovered Brigit hiding in the kitchens. She sat on the cook’s bed, in the little alcove behind the hearth, her knees drawn up to her chest. When she saw she’d been discovered—and looked into the face of Lachlan’s anger—she untangled herself and stood with a sigh.
The cheeky little maid placed one hand on her hip and cocked her head at him. “She went to Scone, to the Queen, milord.”
“How long?” he snapped, not entirely surprised.
“Before dawn. ‘Twas a full moon.”
Aye, he remembered.
“Did this have to do with the letter from her friend she received yesterday?”
Brigit shrugged. “ ’Tis likely.”
Which meant Mellie had already known she would be leaving when she’d come to Lachlan’s room last night.
He frowned, irritated at himself.
Of course she knew she’d be leaving. ‘Twas why she came!
She’d known she’d be leaving him, leaving An Torr, and she’d come to his room one last time, not to seduce him, but to make him understand her feelings. She’d told him of her past, had ripped herself open—as she’d described it—and bared her soul to him.
And in return, he’d loved her.
Unconsciously, his hand hovered over the pouch where he’d placed her letter.
You hold my heart.
By God’s Wounds, she held his heart, and he wasn’t going to let her escape with it.
His attention focused once more on Brigit, who still stood in front of him expectantly.
“What else?” he growled.
The little maid clucked her tongue. “She told me to prepare her luggage, but didnae forbid me to tell ye where she’s going.” The lass grinned. “Ye could still catch her.”
“Aye,” he agreed, as he whirled away from her. “Unpack yer mistress’s things. I’ll be bringing her back.”
It was his promise to himself, no matter what awaited him in Scone.
Easier said than done.
A fast horse would get him to Scone in three days. He wasn’t sure how hard Mellie was pushing her mount, but even if she were running from him, it wouldn’t be too hard to catch her. He rode into the night, only stopping when it became too dark to see, but was back up before dawn to continue on.
He might’ve caught her by Dunkeld, had his horse not gone lame.
Cursing himself for a fool, and a blasted idiot for pushing his mount so hard, Lachlan walked beside the limping animal to the nearest town…which took hours.
And the whole time, he pictured Mellie riding farther and farther away from him.
Of course, he had to admit it was possible she wasn’t running from him at all.
Brigit had said she was going to Scone Palace, to see the Queen. Not for the first time, on that lonely road, with the sun beating down, Lachlan wondered who she actually was.
Not in her heart, because he thought he knew that.
But what her role at court really was.
She clearly was a confidante to the Queen; not just as a lady-in-waiting, but also as a friend.
The Queen had specifically chosen Mellie to travel to An Torr as his betrothed.
Mellie purposefully pretended to be someone she wasn’t—cold and haughty—in order to color his opinion of her. And she not only tried to seduce him, but even hinted later it was something she was used to doing.
Had the Queen sent her to seduce him?
For what purpose?
And how was all this tied to the confrontation in the alleyway so many weeks ago, or to the turmoil at court, just before he’d left to return home?
Lachlan had to eventually admit he wouldn’t be able to answer these questions, at least not until he got to Scone or caught up with her along the way. And at the rate he was currently traveling, it would take much longer than he’d hoped.
Eventually, he reached a town where he could trade horses, and by pushing both himself and the new animal, then buying another one, he made good time. The lost hours—both on the morning before knowing she’d left, and the time he’d spent walking—might hurt him, but if she hadn’t been riding too hard, he might still have a chance.
Oh, he’d asked at each town and inn he’d stopped at, and some did remember seeing a beautiful golden-haired woman who rode like the very Devil was on her tail. Lachlan could imagine she’d be memorable, and the sightings indicated he was getting closer.
By the time he reached the outskirts of Scone, he calculated he was less than an hour behind her, and if she had slowed once she entered the city—which he did not—he might even catch her before she reached the Palace.
Of course, he knew where she was going, and knew who she’d see once she arrived. If he had to, he’d camp outside the Queen’s thr
one room, until the woman allowed him access to his betrothed, however long that would take.
The betrothed, who may or may not actually be his betrothed, depending on why the Queen sent her to An Torr in the first place.
Nay, I signed that contract, as did Her Majesty.
No matter the reason Mellie had been at An Torr, their betrothal was valid.
And he loved the woman, by God’s Wounds!
Which was why, mayhap, he could feel her ahead of him. As he impatiently nudged his way through the over-crowded streets, cursing and calling out to get people and carts to make way and let him through, he could swear she was just ahead of him, waiting.
They were connected somehow.
He knew it.
And it was that intuition, that connection, which grabbed him by the heart and shook him when he heard the shouts from up ahead, and realized the tide of people had turned and were heading away from the large square in front of him.
Somehow, he knew she was the cause. She was in the center of that panic, and that meant she was in trouble.
Knowing the mass of people blocking his path would make maneuvering more difficult, Lachlan prayed his horse didn’t knock down any innocent bystanders as he battled his way toward the source of the screams. Miraculously, a path opened ahead of him, and he reached for his sword.
The square loomed ahead, with the Palace looming even further in the distance, and he could see a tight knot of people struggling on the opposite side. And in the midst of it all, was a head of thick golden curls and a swirling skirt.
He kicked his horse into a gallop and drew his blade, bellowing her name.
Chapter 12
Mayhap she got complacent.
Mayhap she was simply so deeply distracted, her mind and heart miles away, back in An Torr.
All the saints in Heaven likely knew how little she’d wanted to leave An Torr; how little she’d wanted to leave Lachlan and Simone.
If Lachlan came after her—and she both feared and hoped for that, in equal parts—she doubted her ability to follow through with her mission.
All he’d have to do is take her in his arms, stare down at her with those too-understanding gray eyes, and say something kind and wonderful and loving.
