by Amy Jarecki
“Then?” she asked breathlessly.
“Never mind.” His breath became labored as he set Mary on her feet and held her at arm’s length. “Forgive me. I would be no kind of gentleman if I didn’t first ask you if you would prefer for me to go.”
Mary’s throat constricted. “I…uh.” She glimpsed the bed, turned down by Hattie hours ago. Dear Lord, he couldn’t leave. Not when a fire smoldered deep inside her core. “Stay.”
His tongue slipped out and grazed his top lip. Pulling the sash from her robe, his hungry stare raked from her face down to her breasts. In one fluid motion, he pushed the dressing gown from her shoulders.
Heaven help her, she’d never felt so desired—and never felt so impassioned.
The man’s lips parted as he cupped her breasts in his hands. His breath grew labored.
A rush of moist heat radiated between Mary’s legs in the most sacred part of her entire being. Powerful longing took control of her body. Urgent need made her want to arch toward him while he untied the bow at her neckline.
“I’ve wanted to bare your breasts and suckle them ever since the day I wrestled you into my arms and realized you were a lass.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Bare?”
He looked up. “Aye.” Taking her wrists, he gently tugged her arms open. “Trust me.”
Nodding, Mary couldn’t speak. This man had ridden to her rescue and had taken her across the Highlands to ensure her safety. She would trust him with her life. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked.
He pulled her shift from one shoulder, then the next, sending the last garment of modesty cascading to the floor. Mary wanted to cross her arms, but he held them open, and stared, his gaze drinking her in as if he were assessing a masterpiece.
A low moan rumbled from his throat. “God in heaven, you are more beautiful than my wildest imaginings.”
He raked his gaze to her eyes and she smiled. “I...”
But his lips covered hers before she had a chance to refute his claims. The rush of longing grew stronger, begging for more as Mary wrapped her arms around him, kissing him with everything she had. Donald trailed kisses down her neck as gooseflesh pebbled across her skin. His hand again moved to her breast and kneaded.
Thrusting her hips forward, she craved friction as he ground his hard manhood against her. She nearly shattered when he moved to her side, his warm lips trailing lower until he covered her nipple with his mouth. Deft fingers swirled down to her navel, then to the triangle of red curls that thrummed with heat.
Oh God.
His finger slipped between her legs—lightly brushed the most intimate place on her body.
Mary’s thighs shuddered. “What…?”
“Open.”
“Here?”
“Aye, just a wee bit.”
As she slightly parted her legs, Sir Donald slid his finger back and forth along her slick womanhood. Holy fairies, how on earth this could feel so exquisitely good, she had no idea. His fingers had to be magical. Just when Mary thought she couldn’t possibly be more impassioned, he slipped a finger inside her—inside! The place where she craved for him to insert his manhood—to join with her as if they were husband and wife. Her entire body shuddered as her fingers grew a mind of her own and stroked him. Stroked the hard, long column of flesh that filled his breeches all the way up to his waistline.
In and out, his finger worked her into a writhing frenzy. “I cannot take anymore,” she blurted breathlessly.
“Och aye, you can and you will.” With a chuckle he straightened and lifted her onto the bed. “I want you.”
Oh, God, was this really happening? She should pull the bedclothes over her naked body and insist he go. But doing so would cast her asunder. “What about your clothes?”
He glanced down at his soot-stained shirt and breeches—looking entirely desirous, but nothing like the polished baronet from earlier that evening. Opening the neck, he pulled the shirt from his head.
Good Lord, the man’s abdomen and chest rippled with undulating muscles. His arms were nearly as big around as Mary’s thighs. Who knew a man’s body could be more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen in her life?
Her gaze dipped to his silk breeches. The tip of manhood now peeked above the thin fabric as if teasing her—a single eye winking at her. Licking her lips, she rubbed her finger across the tip. A deep moan rumbled from his throat. A moan filled with such longing, Mary knew he loved her. No matter what Sir Donald said or did, he loved her as much as she loved him.
Then he climbed onto the bed, a knee pushing against hers. With the force of his movement, Mary had no choice but to open for him. Oh Lord, he kneeled between her legs.
Her head buried in the pillows, Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “Sir Donald?” Yes, she wanted him more than life itself, but he’d scarcely uttered a word since her shift had fallen to the floor.
“Close your eyes and let me take you to the stars.” For the love of holiness, such a voice could melt gold.
“But.”
Leaning over her, he tapped her lips with his finger. “Wheesht, mo leannan. I’ll not take your innocence, but I will show you passion.”
First his breath caressed her womanhood, making Mary pant with unfettered abandon. Then his tongue licked—kissed her with sizzling hot moisture. Stars crossed her vision. Her hips couldn’t stop rocking. She sank her fingers into his hair and worked her hips against him. “Donald, Donald, I want you so much.” As the words escaped her lips, a high-pitched cry followed with a throbbing burst of euphoria.
Chuckling, Donald smoothed feathery kisses up her body, making the tremors within her body shudder all the more. “How do you feel?” he asked, ending his trail of kisses with a warm caress of her lips.
“Unbelievable.”
“And your maidenhead is still intact.”
He grinned—a devilishly sinful grin. “I didn’t know it could be done—ah—with the mouth.”
“I suspect there are a great many things you don’t ken about love making.”
She liked that he used the word love.
As he rolled to her side, the hard column of his manhood pushed into her hip. Donald’s eyes rolled back with his groan.
Mary’s gaze meandered downward. Oh dear, the passion that had released only moments ago returned full-force. “But I haven’t given you pleasure.”
“I am content with your release,” he mumbled, nuzzling into her neck.
“Can I? Can the mouth be used similarly?”
Rising to his elbow, the man’s jaw dropped. “I—ah. I could never ask a lady to do such a thing.”
Mary grinned, her fingers trailing down his incredibly hard abdomen. “What of a Highland lass who pulls the stopper from the powder horn with her teeth?”
“But—”
She untied the cord securing his breeches and with that tug, he sprang forth in all his male glory. Goodness, he was hard and beautiful, and Mary couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around him and stroking.
“Good God, woman, have you done this before?”
“Never.” But no one need tell her what to do. She longed to taste him as he’d tasted her. She licked him. Donald’s thighs trembled. Grinning, she tested different things, memorizing the strokes and kisses that made him shudder and moan the most.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A satisfied sigh rumbled in Mary’s chest as she smoothed her hand over the bed linens. She could think of nothing more rapturous than spending this day abed and in Sir Donald’s arms.
Feeling nothing but cool cloth, her sleepy eyes peeked open.
Mayhap I need to reach a bit farther.
But Sir Donald’s warm body wasn’t there either. She sat up and surveyed her empty chamber. The last thing she’d remembered, she’d fallen asleep spooned against his body, toasty warm as his arm draped around her waist and cuddled her.
Mary dropped back to the pillows and stretched her arms ov
er her head. Though slightly disappointed not to wake to his bonny face, she knew Sir Donald would want an early start.
She closed her eyes and prayed all would go well for him this morrow. It simply had to. Most of the merchants in Glasgow would have been affected by the fire. And Sir Donald had saved his galley. Surely he would be able to renegotiate his terms.
Yes. He would weather this setback like any true Highlander.
And Mary would stand beside him doing everything she could to see to his success. Together, they would become the talk of Glasgow—mayhap eventually live in a grand manse like the Duke of Gordon’s. Donald had been cynical about his state of affairs last night, but this morning Mary could imagine a silver lining in last night’s dark clouds of smoke.
Her body felt like it was floating as she made her way to the bowl and ewer. As usual, Hattie must have been listening for her footsteps. No sooner had she washed her face and cleaned her teeth when the chambermaid came through the servant’s entrance. The same passageway Mary had used last eve.
Had Hattie been aware of that, too?
“Good morrow, Miss Mary,” Hattie said, picking up the tongs and adding a lump of coal to the fire.
Mary toweled off her face. “’Tis a wonderful morning, is it not?”
The chambermaid straightened and regarded her with a pinch to her brows. “I beg your pardon? Half the Glasgow waterfront succumbed to fire last eve and you’re bright as a peony in sunshine?”
Mary slapped the cloth on the table. “I do not believe my positivity is your concern.” Goodness, the maidservant had been growing more and more disrespectful with her offhanded comments and this one could not be allowed to slip.
The woman curtseyed. “Apologies. I must be overly distraught with the master’s state of affairs.”
Mary sighed. Perhaps she’d acted a bit too jovial. “I’m well aware of the gravity of Sir Donald’s situation. But I’m an optimist. We aren’t the only people affected by the fire, and if I were able to place a wager, I would bet on Sir Donald’s ability to overcome in the face of adversity.”
Hattie held up Mary’s stays and shook her head. “I wish I had an ounce of your confidence, miss. But I fear we’ll all see lean times ahead.”
“That we may.”
“But you shan’t worry. You’ll be able to return to your kin up north.”
Holding her stays against her ribcage, Mary turned away—more to hide the ire heating her face than for Hattie to tie her into the contraption. She hadn’t thought about returning to Dunscaith Castle in sennights. Surely Sir Donald would want her to stay. Especially after last eve. The glorious evening they’d spent in a cocoon of pleasure.
Wouldn’t he?
Blast the chambermaid for planting doubt into her thoughts.
Mary couldn’t dress fast enough and patter down to break her fast. She strode into the dining hall with a smile in place. She’d show Sir Donald that this was a new day—one they could face together and meet this setback head-on.
Stepping through the French doors, Mary’s face fell.
“Good morrow, Miss Mary,” said Sir Coll, standing with a bow.
Sir Kennan followed suit. “Ah, Miss Mary, I was wondering when you’d venture below stairs.”
Barbara regarded her over her shoulder. “Goodness, I cannot believe I awoke before you, Mary.”
She glanced to the mantel clock. At eight in the morning, Miss Barbara was usually still abed.
“And the baronet?” Mary asked, again searching the room, seeking the one face she wanted to see. “Has he already broken his fast?”
Sir Kennan grasped her hand and kissed it. “He and William have already left for the waterfront.” He grinned and then winced, gingerly touching his jaw with the tips of his fingers.
“Dear Lord,” said Mary, peering at a purple bruise swelling beneath his fingertips. “Whatever happened to you?”
“Compliments of our illustrious leader, I’m afraid.”
“Sir Donald hit you?”
“Aye.” Kennan shrugged and held the chair. “’Tis not a good idea to tell Sir Donald all is lost when…well, when all is truly lost.”
Mary sat. “”Tis that grave?”
“We should ken more once he and William return,” said Sir Coll.
Barbara spread jam over her toast. “There is not a cloud in the sky, yet I feel as if a tempest is roiling inside my breast.”
Coll’s gaze dipped to the maid’s ample bosoms, swelling perfectly above her bodice. The admiration in his eyes was unmistakable. And Mary didn’t need to be an experienced courtier to know the Highland laird was smitten.
Mary glanced to Sir Kennan. If he’d stolen a peek like Coll, he didn’t show it. He simply smiled at her and passed the platter of sausages. “Are you hungry?”
Mary selected two and set them on her plate. “Famished.”
“So, what do you two gentlemen have planned for the morning?” Barbara asked, clipping the smallest bit of toast with her teeth.
Sir Coll arched one eyebrow. “Mayhap I could accompany you on a stroll to the park whilst we await your brothers’ return.”
“That would be delightful. I imagine we wouldn’t appear to be overly happy if we stepped out for a bit of air.” Barbara glanced to Mary. “We’d need a chaperone.”
Mary would have rather stayed at the townhouse and awaited news of Sir Donald.
Before she could answer, Sir Kennan placed his hand on her forearm. “Come, Miss Mary. I’ll go, too.”
Glancing down at Sir Kennan’s much-too-familiar hand, she waited until he removed it.
“Yes, two couples would be ideal,” Barbara said.
Brushing off her arm, Mary tried to smile. “As long as we won’t be away long. I’m sure Sir Donald will be anxious when he returns.”
Sir Kennan clapped his hands together. “Splendid.”
Good heavens, Mary certainly hoped the Cameron heir wasn’t flirting.
***
Sitting across the table from Mr. Smith, Don’s cravat nearly choked him. “You mean to tell me the fire provided no setback for you in the slightest?” He ran his fingers around his collar, shooting an exasperated expression to William seated beside him.
“Obviously there have been setbacks, but Glasgow’s merchants have more goods than my ships can hold,” said Smith, his plump jowls jiggling beneath his robust periwig. “Thank God my two galleons are moored in the Firth of Clyde. And mark me, they will be sailing as planned.”
“You honestly believe you’ll replace your entire cargo within a sennight?” William asked.
The merchant scooped a bit of snuff with his fingernail and snorted it. “I reckon so, or very shortly thereafter. And I do need your packing salt—if you can have it to me in a sennight.” Devil’s breath, the gold snuff box on the table probably cost as much as Don’s ship.
“My men are repairing my galley as we speak. We’ll be able to set sail for the salt mine on the morrow. I cannot promise delivery within a sennight, but tack on a couple of days, and we’ll have your salt here. On that I can give my word.”
The man sneezed across the table. “I can allow you seven days. If you need longer, I’m afraid I must take my business elsewhere. My ship will sail in a sennight with or without your packing salt.”
“Your cargo will sour in a fortnight without proper packing,” said William.
“My cargo is my concern. My deadline is fixed.” Smith shook his finger. “There happens to be a line of merchants waiting outside this door and if you cannot supply me what I need, there are plenty others to take your place.”
Don swiped his brow with the heel of his hand. I am ruined. “Very well. We’ll do our best to meet your terms.”
William gasped. “But—”
Slicing his hand through the air, Don stifled his brother’s retort. “What, pray tell, is your offering on future shipments?”
Mr. Smith ran his fingers down his lapels and stood. “I can offer no guarantees.”
Rising to his feet, Don held out his hand. “You can count on the MacDonald Clan. There are no better sailors on the western seaboard of Scotland.”
“So you say.” Mr. Smith took Don’s hand with a limp handshake—one that expressed no faith whatsoever in Don’s ability to deliver. “Next time, might I suggest you store your wares in my warehouse in Newtown?”
Straightening his sword belt, Don gave the man a questioning look. “Why did you not tell me of this warehouse before?”
Smith shrugged. “’Tis not yet completed—but it shall be before the end of autumn.”
“Stone walls?” William asked.
“Wood, though far away from the riffraff skulking around this pitiful town.” Smith smirked. “What, pray tell, happened to your face?”
Don wondered when that question would arise. At least the rigors of last eve could easily explain a pair of black eyes. “A firefighting incident.” Bowing, Don and his brother took their leave, pushing their way through the sea of merchants who, indeed, had gathered in Mr. Smith’s antechamber.
Once outside, William inclined his head toward Don’s ear. “Are you mad, promising him a delivery in a sennight?”
“We sail on the morrow. It is August—the finest month of the year. We’ve a better chance of making Smith’s deadline now than ever. I expect you to see the repairs completed today. Work the men through the night if necessary.”
“I don’t know. It’ll be tight.”
Don stopped and grasped his brother’s shoulders. “We have no choice. Replace the mast first. That’s the only thing we cannot sail without.”
“Very well. But do not blame me if we don’t make Smith’s ridiculous deadline.”
“Have I ever blamed you for something beyond your control?”
“Plenty of times, just like you blamed Kennan for the fire last eve.”
Don’s face burned as he clenched his fists. He shouldn’t have struck the lad, but he’d been so incensed. And Kennan needed to learn to hold his tongue. “We’ll not fail, brother. Mark me.”
