Lorne lay there, taut and trembling, deeply moved by what he had said. It was more, much more, than she had dared hope for. She closed her eyes so as not to see his face, but she heard him breathing hard, felt his warm breath on her cheek. And then he was kissing her once more, his lips firm with sexual dominance, and she felt all the old demons waking inside her, clamouring for release, creating wild, primitive sensations racing along her raw nerve endings.
‘Oh, no,’ she gasped, when she felt his hands exploring her body. ‘Iain, I beg of you—’
‘Beg what, my love?’ he murmured hoarsely, noting how her beauty was intensified by the way she was looking at him—her ardour and eagerness. ‘To stop—to go on?’
Lorne no longer had any idea what she wanted. Her thoughts were irrational, and the feelings slipping through her body made her melt inside. She shivered even though she was not cold, and she could not have moved even had she wanted to—and of that she was no longer sure. She would never remember how it happened, but suddenly they were both naked, and she didn’t even notice that she pressed against him and slipped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair and drawing his head down to hers.
And then the miracle happened. His proud heat slid into her and they were joined as one. Iain’s need for her became raw hunger, his body craving hers with a violence he could not believe, and as a result he did not love her tenderly that first time. Filling her again and again with masterly precision, straining to come closer still, he was no longer met with any resistance as he forced the beautiful, writhing creature beneath him to the edge of total surrender.
Lorne gave herself as never before. She forgot everything and allowed herself to be carried away ecstatically by this vastly superior power, expressing her love with every fibre of her being. And when it was over he began again, but gently now. The most tender of lovers, Iain led her along paths of sheer, exciting, incredible torment, as bitter-sweet as it was ecstatic, and she became lost in incoherent yearnings as their passion became all consuming.
Filled with a joy that effaced anything else, with a pulse that still throbbed deep within her, Lorne slept, exhausted, content in the knowledge that her body, heart and soul, belonged to no one but Iain Monroe.
Lorne stirred from a deep, contented sleep to find her head resting peacefully in the curve of Iain’s shoulder. With the heat of her naked body blending with the warmth of his, and glorying in the cosy comfort of the bed, she closed her eyes and nestled against his broad chest, wanting to enjoy their closeness while it lasted and contemplate the hours of the night when they had made love, and what a real marriage between them would mean. Her happiness was greater by far than anything she had previously experienced. She found herself even more deeply in love with Iain, and she was astounded when she remembered how her pride and prejudices had fought him last night in spite of her determination to make him love her, before she had finally surrendered to him.
Awake, Iain turned his head and inhaled the sweet fragrant hair that spilled about his shoulder. With his finger he lightly traced the shadow of a bruise on her collarbone, marring her skin, which was fragile and clear. ‘You look as if you’ve been in the wars, my love.’
‘You look a little rough around the edges yourself, my lord,’ she whispered, placing her lips against a scratch on his chest that he had acquired during their struggle.
Iain chuckled softly. ‘If you bed a vixen, you must expect damages,’ he murmured, nuzzling the warm hollow of her neck. He remembered the many nights he had laid alone in his bed when he had been unable to banish Lorne from his mind, from his dreams, knowing she was the catalyst that set his blood aflame until his desire for her seethed. Ever since she had left Norwood he had been a man burning with a single need to possess one woman, and that woman was in his arms. Now, his passion sated, he could only marvel at the contentment he felt.
Later, when the grey light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the heavy drapes, and Iain stirred again, it was to find Lorne absent from the bed. Propping himself up on his elbows, he scanned the room, but it was empty. Frowning, puzzled as to where she could be, he swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his breeches. Combing his fingers through his rumpled hair before thrusting his arms into his shirt sleeves, he was about to cross to the door when he heard a sound coming from the adjoining dressing room. So, she was in there. With a smile he moved towards the closed door, but then he froze. The noises coming from within were of someone being violently sick.
Oddly enough, Iain’s first fleeting thought was that she’d probably eaten something the previous day that had disagreed with her, but when he pushed the door open and he saw his wife’s scantily clad form heaving over a bowl, he was now inclined to believe it was something of a different, more serious nature entirely. A feeling of inexpressible dread surged through his body, pounding in his brain, and he shook his head as if to deny what his intellect was already beginning to suspect.
Sensing his presence, Lorne stiffened and raised her head, wiping her mouth on a small cloth. Her insides were churning and her face was a study of misery. It was like wax, her green eyes huge, hollow and lifeless. ‘Iain!’ she gasped. ‘I apologise if I woke you. I—you see—I—’
Iain raked his gaze over her trembling form with insulting thoroughness, narrow and assessing, seeing her belly already showing signs of swelling with the few ounces of humanity forming inside. When he raised his eyes to her face they glittered coldly. ‘You are with child,’ he stated, not even bothering to ask the question.
Lorne shrank, trembling beneath the blast of his gaze. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat with a terrifying dread as she sensed that her husband had seemingly withdrawn from her. His expression was one of controlled anger. It was as if the passion and tenderness they had shared had never existed. This was a stranger, a terrifying stranger, who filled her with fear. In answer to his question she nodded mutely, a look of humble pleading filling her eyes.
Iain’s entire body stiffened and he stared at her with incredulity, before his face hardened into a mask of freezing rage. ‘And when were you going to tell me?’ he demanded in a fury. When she didn’t reply he placed both his fists on the table and leaned forward slightly, pinning her with his hard gaze. ‘I am awaiting your explanation—if you have one to offer.’
‘I—I was waiting for the right moment.’
‘The right moment? Confound it, Lorne! You’ve had all night to tell me.’
Lorne felt her heart contract with pain and unbidden tears filled her eyes. ‘I meant to tell you—I swear I did.’
‘And did you agree to marry me to get yourself a father for Kilpatrick’s brat?’ Iain asked with brutal force, violence emanating from every pore.
Stunned, Lorne’s eyes widened, her soft lips parting in shocked disbelief. When it finally sank in that he believed she had lain with Captain Kilpatrick, that the child was his, tears of hurt and outrage sprang into her eyes. Drawing herself up with painful dignity, two high spots of indignation highlighted her pale cheeks. ‘How dare you say that? Hasn’t it occurred to you that the child just might be yours?’ she retaliated furiously.
‘Might? You bitch! You deceitful, conniving, bitch.’
Lorne checked herself abruptly, realising that in her distraught state it had come out all wrong. Iain had read into her words exactly what he wanted to read.
‘No wonder your grandmother lost no time in presenting her case to the King. Unable to bear the disgrace of having her granddaughter present her with a bastard, to allay suspicion and to cover the shame, it would be more convenient if she were to take her Scottish kidnapper for a husband than none at all. What did she do—offer to wave the charge of abduction if I agreed to marriage?’ he seethed. ‘If you honestly think an old lady could frighten me witless into wedlock, then you are mistaken.’
‘Then why did you agree to marry me?’
‘Because between them, your esteemed grandmother and the King left me with no alternati
ve. Did you tell her about Kilpatrick?’
‘No.’
‘And she believes the child is mine?’
‘Of course she does—and no matter what you believe, the child is yours,’ Lorne cried fiercely, scalding tears beginning to run unchecked down her ashen cheeks, the pain so great she could hardly speak. ‘I have never lain with anyone else—which must have disappointed you when you first came to my bed, when you believed I was a woman who had already dragged herself through the beds of half the gentlemen in London.’
‘A touching tale,’ Iain scorned drily, wanting to thrust her trembling form further away from him, just as much as he wanted to gather her into his arms. ‘Do you mean to say you expect me to believe this?’
‘You must believe what you will, but I have never lied to you.’
‘Then just once in our misbegotten lives together, tell me the truth. I should like to know precisely what it was that did happen between you and Kilpatrick in that damned Tollbooth.’
Lorne’s heart contracted. She tried not to think of what had happened at Inveraray, of how she had seduced the odious Captain Kilpatrick. Thank God she’d managed to administer the narcotic to his wine and he’d passed out before he became too amorous. It had been a dreadful time, fraught with danger and fear. She still had nightmares about it, but she did not regret what she had done.
‘Must we go through all that again? I have already told you the circumstances of our meeting.’
‘You have,’ Iain replied, beginning to pace the carpet with impatient strides in the small room. ‘But your confidences did not extend to the most intriguing parts. You can understand why it is this that interests me.’
‘It is hardly worth the telling,’ she uttered, wiping her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands. ‘Captain Kilpatrick was guarding my father. The plan was to distract him enough to secure his escape. That is more or less what happened.’
Iain threw her a scathing glance. ‘More or less? I do not care for more or less. What else is there?’
‘I—had with me a bottle of drugged wine. Captain Kilpatrick drank it and it quickly took effect.’
‘An easy tale. And if the drug had not taken effect? What then?’ he demanded harshly, continuing to pace up and down. ‘How far were you prepared to go with Kilpatrick to get your father out of the Tollbooth? Would you have allowed him to ravish you?’
‘No—no, I would not,’ she gasped, deeply hurt that he could think this of her. ‘Robert and James were close at hand at all times and would have stepped in to prevent that happening. They were stronger than Captain Kilpatrick.’
‘If that is so, why did they use you? Why did they not simply storm the Tollbooth?’
‘Because to use force would have attracted attention. The whole town was swarming with redcoats. To do what you suggest would have been suicidal. Robert believed that stealth and cunning would succeed over force. In that he was proved right.’
Iain gave her a mocking, contemptuous laugh. ‘And was it worth the risk?’
‘Yes, it was. At least, I think so. Although I confess that at the time I was scared to death,’ she added touchingly.
‘As long as you do not expect me to applaud what you have done,’ Iain snapped. He turned from her and strode into the bedroom. Pulling back the heavy curtains from the window, he stood looking out, his body taut, his face grim.
Sick and weak, Lorne followed him. Seizing her robe from a chair, she shrugged into it, forcing herself to keep calm.
‘So, during the time you were alone with Kilpatrick, just what did you do together? Did he touch you? Did he?’ Iain demanded at length, firing the questions at her.
Lorne gulped and nodded miserably.
He turned and threw her a glance loaded with suspicion. ‘And more?’
Again she nodded. ‘Yes—but I have told you not in the way—’
‘Enough.’ Iain’s face was white, his expression one of contemptuous scorn. ‘You have said enough. Damn you for a reckless, harebrained fool,’ he exclaimed violently. ‘You really can be very stupid at times. And tell me, where was Galbraith when you were flaunting your assets before Kilpatrick like a whore?’
Lorne’s stomach clenched, knowing this particular issue could no longer be avoided. Although she knew, that at this particular moment, what she had to tell him about her old suitor would only serve to further infuriate this volatile husband of hers. ‘Duncan wasn’t there. He left us and returned to Kinlochalen. When Robert learned of my aversion to the betrothal, he agreed it would be a mistake for us to wed.’
Iain was surprised. ‘As easily as that?’
‘Yes. For reasons of his own, Robert no longer considered a union between us suitable.’
Iain looked at her hard before turning and moving away from her in angry silence. When he turned once more his voice was quiet, each word carefully enunciated, and the eyes that met hers were as cold and hard as steel.
‘You have betrayed me in the vilest way possible. And last night—I salute you. That was an incredible, convincing performance from you,’ he said, with deliberate cruelty.
Lorne’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief that he could think that. ‘It was not a performance, and I am heartily tired of being cross-questioned, Iain. Nor will I bear my child in shame while you accuse it of being a bastard. Why should you be so outraged to realise I am with child? You must have known there was a possibility of such a thing happening when we made love together.’ When she looked at her husband’s rigid form, seeing his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to bring his fury under control, she wrapped her arms round her waist as if to protect the baby inside her from his wrath. ‘I don’t need this now, Iain. I can’t stand it. Maybe this marriage is a mistake—’
‘Aye, a mistake that cannot be set aside,’ he growled.
Lorne stood erect, as if carved from stone. ‘If that is indeed how you feel, then there is little hope for us.’
She was quivering visibly, struggling against nausea. Suddenly she looked so frail, so fragile. The light fell softly on her face, which was like a tragic mask. The pitiful sight found a chink in Iain’s armour and for a moment he weakened and almost went to her, longing to snatch her into his arms and pretend for a little while longer that she was still his alluring, passionate young countess of the night. But he couldn’t, because he couldn’t dispel the tormenting image of her and Kilpatrick embracing while she was coldly planning how to dispose of him to aid her father’s escape.
‘I should have kept you with me and put you in irons in my deepest dungeon when I rode to Stirling that day. It has been my hell to pay since.’
Lorne glared at him through her tears. ‘Then I won’t be your hell any more. Am—am I to understand that you do not want this child?’
‘Damn it, Lorne—do I have a choice? It’s an encumbrance I can do without just now.’
The angry words hit Lorne like a blow, bringing another rush of tears to her eyes. Looking away, she stared blindly at the door, clenching her teeth to try to stem their flow.
When Iain glanced at her, he cursed softly, realising what he’d said. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he ground out, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘I have no excuse to lash out at you.’
Lorne swallowed down her tears. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered.
‘Of course it matters.’ Going to her, he placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face. ‘Look at me,’ he said when her eyes remained downcast. Slowly she raised them to his and his stomach clenched at the pain and sadness he saw staring out at him. ‘I don’t mean to put you through this—truly. It was a stupid, childish thing for me to say. Of course I want children. I like them well enough—I just never had time for them, so it will take some getting used to. Do you accept my apology?’
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, even though his words still smote her heart. Suddenly the ordeal was proving too much for her. She felt ill. Her sorrow rose in her throat until she felt she would suffocate, and
her brain became so clouded that she could no longer dwell on what they had been saying. Once again her head began to swim with nausea.
‘Will you please go? I—I’m going to be sick.’ Running back into the dressing room, she fell to her knees and vomited between her sobs into the bowl. She was drained and humiliated, broken and terrified by the fright that Iain didn’t want her or their baby, and it was almost too much to endure.
In the other room Iain remained motionless, listening to the chaotic pounding of his heart. The fingers he combed through his hair were trembling slightly. Listening to the sounds coming from the dressing room he walked towards it, pausing in the doorway and looking down at the young woman on her knees, huddled over a bowl into which she had just been sick. She was drawing breath in deep gulps to stop herself fainting, and at that pitiful sight the demon anger and jealousy relaxed its grip at last. Going to her, he gently picked her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Placing her on the rumpled sheets, he drew the quilt over her before tenderly wiping her face with a damp cloth.
Scarcely conscious, her eyes flickered open and she looked up at him.
‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, backing away from the bed. ‘I’m a brute, I know, but I cannot bear the thought of another man touching you. I’ll leave you now and fetch your maid to attend you. I’ll also arrange for a physician to examine you.’
Lorne stared up at him. His mood had become unfathomable. There was no smile or softness on his face, only a seriousness. She wanted to say something to make him come to her, to reach out, but something in the expression of his eyes, seen for just a moment, made her remain silent. She searched their depths with eager tenderness, trying to find something there, something left of the passion they had so recently shared. But they only looked back, watching her without emotion. He was thinking of her with Captain Kilpatrick, she knew he was, and there was not a thing she could do about it.
Traitor Or Temptress Page 21
