When at last she heard him bolting up the tower stairs, the pent-up tension she’d borne all day left her in a rush so powerful she sagged against the window. Not for a moment did she doubt the thundering footsteps were his, for a red cloud of rage preceded him, warning her, letting her feel his anger, long before he approached her chamber door.
Nor did she concern herself that his wrath could be directed at her. She’d done naught to rouse his ire. All beneath his roof would vouchsafe she’d spent hours working hard to assuage the damage caused by Kenneth and his raiding party.
But her confidence was challenged the moment Duncan burst into her room, slamming the door against the wall so violently she feared the heavy oaken timbers would splinter.
A daunting sight, he seemed to fill the open doorway. His powerful limbs were streaked with dirt, the plaid draped over one massive shoulder, bloodstained and torn, his dark mane of hair, wild and tangled about his unsmiling face.
“Thunder of heaven!” he roared, expelling his relief upon knowing her safe in the guise of a curse. “I thought I married a sensible lass?”
“And I, sirrah, thought I’d married a man who’d make me his wife,” she had the cheek to counter.
Bloodlust still thick in his veins, Duncan crossed the room with four swift strides, closing the distance between them before she could even think about letting loose another insult. Grasping her by the shoulders, he stared down at her, daring her by sheer power of will to vex him again.
“You are my wife and dinna e’er doubt it,” he seethed, already regretting he’d so impulsively grabbed hold of her. Her unbound hair flowed thick and smooth over her shoulders, and he’d thrust his fool hands right into the silken mass of it!
His traitorous loins tightened in response whilst his equally faithless imagination fair hummed with a hundred different things he’d like to do with her lustrous tresses. Erotic, arousing, lascivious acts, the very thought of which aroused him to near bursting. Her uncanny ability to bring him to his knees from sheer lusting for her also fanned the fury that’d sent him storming up to her chamber.
“Christ’s blood, woman,” he roared. “Do you know the danger you placed yourself in this day?”
“You are pulling my hair, Sir Duncan,” she said simply, the impertinent tilt of her chin giving lie to the calm tone of her voice. “Pray, release me.”
He did and immediately wished he hadn’t when she smoothed the flame-colored tresses off her shoulders, allowing the cascading mass to tumble down her back.
Thus freed of the shielding curtain of her hair, naught save the thinness of her night rail stood between him and the sweet mounds of her full breasts. Their tips pressing against the near-translucent fabric of her gown. The sight of them near robbed him of the last shreds of his waning self-control.
A brace of tallow candles burning on the room’s single table cast a flickering pattern of light and shadows over her lush form, the candleglow scant but sufficient for him to see the darker shadows of her intimate places. And what he saw made his mouth go dry with pure need.
No doubt brazenly following the direction of his gaze, she needled him again, “Did you come to chastise my foolishness this day, my husband, or are you here to try and peer through the cloth of my gown to peruse what lies beneath it?”
Duncan’s gaze flew from the shadowy apex of her sweet thighs to glare furiously into the depths of her amber-flecked eyes. “That tale-spinning graybeard, Fergus, and my entire household are singing your praises, milady,” he said, barely containing his ire. “I would know if it was your sharp-edged blade or your tongue that bested my half brother?”
“Both,” she said, her chin still tilted at an angle… an angle perfect for kissing. “And both served me well.”
Thunder of heaven, did she not comprehend how gravely she’d imperiled herself? Riled beyond reason, and not just with her, Duncan captured her hands and raised them above her head. Pure lust, base and raw, stormed through him. He burned to kiss her senseless, and to keep at it until he, too, was consumed by mindless and blissful release.
Saints, he ought do more than plunder her lips after having lived through this day. Naught else would better banish the loathsome images of the butchery at the Murchinsons’ cottage, unspeakable horrors what might have happened to her and Robbie had they not escaped Kenneth’s clutches.
Duncan blinked hard to rid himself of the images. Blessedly, they receded. But his desire raged on. Indeed, it would aid forgetfulness and help him ignore his screaming muscles if he could but sink himself into the silken heat of her woman’s sheath—an act his men seemed convinced he’d already indulged in. Not that he recalled the pleasure.
And, by the Rood, now was not the time to refresh his memory.
Not with his lady wife all prickly and her tongue full of pepper.
Saints preserve him, he wanted her quivering in lust beneath him, her tongue sweet, eager, and doing delicious things to him.
He swallowed a groan as something raw and deeply elemental in its intensity broke and twisted within him. Bringing his face to within inches of hers, he stared fiercely into her eyes, trying, by force of sheer will, to vanquish whatever it was that made her seek to vex him at every turn.
But instead of sweeping aside her obvious distaste for him, he only seemed to upset her all the more. She matched his glare, her eyes snapping in fury, her stubbornness apparent with every agitated breath she took. After a long moment, she broke the stare and lifted her chin in a clear gesture of defiance. Turning her face away, she stared pointedly out the window.
“Mother of God, lass, cease bristling and listen to me.” He grasped her face with both hands and forced her to look at him. Leaning so close he could taste the sweetness of her breath, he said, “Never—I repeat never—leave these walls without my knowledge again.”
This time she nodded, and the motion caused the soft weight of her well-rounded breasts to rub against the sensitive skin on the inner side of his forearms. Desire, immediate and all-consuming, shot through him.
As if acutely aware and affected by the unexpected contact as he’d been, she squirmed against his hold on her. In one valiant attempt to break free, she twisted her head to the side, and her mouth, her tender lips caught half-opened, slid across the palm of his hand.
The sensation rocked him, the honey-soft sweetness of her lips on his skin shooting straight to his engorged shaft and unleashing a powerful need not only in his groin but also in the secret place he kept locked, barred, and buried.
He suspected she’d felt something, too, for a quizzical look flashed over her face. Then she began to tremble, but not from defiance, he could tell. He also recognized the softening of her features as she gazed at him. When she parted her lips, he knew his instincts hadn’t deceived him.
He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had looked at him thusly, but he did remember the look.
His lady wife wanted to be kissed.
And he burned to oblige her. But, might the raging fires of hell take his accursed soul, he didn’t want to want her! If he gave in to the temptation she offered, he’d be lost, for he wouldn’t settle for a mere kiss.
He’d carry her to the bed, disgrace himself by the urgency of his need, and promptly lose the heart he didn’t have to give.
His passions ran too rampant, went far beyond her innocent desire for a kiss. Duncan dug his fingers into her fiery hair and choked back an oath. He couldn’t fall upon her like a rutting beast, wouldn’t take her whilst lust raced uncontrolled through his blood.
If he e’er took his ease with her… and he had no intention of doing so… he must be gentle with her, show her mating is more than his unremembered claiming of her maidenhood. Nor is it the wild abandon he’d unleash upon her should he give in to his baser instincts and mount her this moment.
Nay, she deserved a slow and thorough pleasuring.
But he wasn’t sure he was capable of initiating her in the finer pleasures of lovemaking even if he wanted to. Too d
istant was the memory of the last time he’d seduced a woman with tenderness. In truth, mayhap he never had. And he didn’t intend to learn with his wife. Doing so would only cause them both grief.
Drawing a ragged breath, Duncan stepped back. He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders to keep her an arm’s length away from him.
A safe distance and far enough for her not to feel the hard swelling beneath his braies.
Steeling himself against the female scent of her and the intoxicating silkiness of her hair as it swirled freely over the backs of his hands, Duncan willed all emotion from his face save the darkest frown he could muster.
“I will have your word you’ll not venture forth alone again.”
The tip of her tongue appeared, to wet her still-parted lips, and the sight of it made his loins tighten to a painful degree. “But I wasna alone, milord,” she stated, disagreeing with him yet again.
“Lucifer’s knees!” Duncan exploded, fighting the urge to shake her so she’d comprehend the danger she’d put herself and the boy in. “You were accompanied by an old man, a crone, a mute lad, and a nigh ancient dog! Do you not ken what could’ve happened?
“Answer me!” he commanded when she remained silent. “Do you ken?”
“I do now, aye, and so do all beneath your roof, for even the dead would hear such bellowing,” she pronounced, her expression as dark as he knew his own to be. “But for the sake of peace, you have my word, sir. It will not happen again.”
Duncan released her. “Faith, ’tis killed you could have been. And dinna tell me about your show of bravery… I’ve already heard. The whole castle speaks of naught else. But listen well to my words: my half brother was playing with you. Playing with you, do you hear?”
“Aye, that, too, I realize, milord.”
“Had he wanted, he could have carted you off before you’d even had a chance to think of pulling your dagger on him.” He scowled at her, hoping to drive in the gravity of his warning. “Do you understand me?”
“I do, sir.”
“Then come to me when you wish to ride out again, no matter where or for what reason. I shall see you are accompanied by my best guardsmen.” Wheeling around, Duncan stalked to the door lest he abandon his control totally and ravish her upon the bare rushes as he was sorely wont to do.
But before he left the chamber, he had one more issue to settle with her. ’Twas only a small thing, but of a sudden it mattered a great deal.
“Linnet?” he called, his voice husky despite his best effort to keep it neutral.
“Yes, milord?”
“My name is Duncan. Not ‘milord’ or ‘sir,’ but Duncan. Please use it.”
Then he left her alone before the foulness of his mood caused him to say more, to reveal feelings he hadn’t known he still possessed and certainly didn’t care to set free. The anguish he carried within was painful enough. Letting loose its poison upon his innocent bride, pepper-tongued or nay, would be a grievous act beyond pardon.
A burden he had no right to place upon her shoulders, regardless of her status as his wife. Besides, he was nowise certain she would e’er be willing to care for a man said to be so unblessed as he, much less endeavor to help him past the ache in his soul.
Much later, Duncan stood upon the battlements and scowled down at Loch Duich’s silent waters. After leaving his wife’s chamber, he’d paced the wall walk for hours, glaring holes into the dark night, seeking answers but finding none.
Save one.
He’d remembered something his king had once told him. A great secret he could use oft and well if he so ?desired, the Bruce had promised.
Women go weak in the knees at the sight of a battle-stained warrior.
Such was the most plausible reason his wife had appeared to want a kiss after her sweet lips had slid so temptingly over his palm.
At that moment, she’d indeed looked upon him with favor, albeit for a very fleeting instant. She’d gazed at him with the same moon-eyed adoration he’d seen upon the faces of young, and not so young, noblewomen at the tournaments he’d competed in years ago in France.
And he’d been too bewitched by the unexpected softening of her features to realize her look of veneration was not for him as a man, but for his warlike appearance and bloodied plaid.
He’d deceived himself, seeing naught but what he’d wanted to see.
But fool that he was, he’d harbored hope.
Hope that the unexpectedly enchanting lass he’d wed—sometimes defiant, sometimes proud, and definitely more desirable than he’d imagined a woman could e’er be—could come to care for him, could teach him to care again.
Heaven help him, he’d wanted to believe that she possessed enough bravery to not only face down his half brother but to stand against the demons that ravaged his soul and feasted on the remnants of his heart.
Hope she’d assure him Robbie was his true son, convince him his doubts had been for naught.
And, even if he admitted it only to himself, hope she’d somehow make him whole again.
But for now, he wanted nothing more than to retire to his bedchamber, alone, and lose himself in the deceptive oblivion of sleep.
Every fiber of his being longed to return to her chamber, seek her bed, and lose himself deep inside her heated softness. A near-overpowering urge to have her force him to admit his feelings consumed him, but Duncan crushed the unwanted sentiments as easily as if they were of no more substance than eggshells.
Pushing away from the stone merlon he’d been leaning against, he crossed the wall walk and let himself back inside the tower.
Then, as soundlessly as he could, he headed in the opposite direction from her quarters, making for his own chamber and the empty bed awaiting him there.
8
a naked man slept in his bed!
Duncan squeezed his eyes shut and ground his fists against his eyelids, certain the unclothed ox reposing upon his bed was a figment of his imagination, brought on by his extreme weariness. Or the shock of the icy water he’d just sluiced over his head.
But when he looked again, the lout was still there.
Appearing more comfortable than a man had a right to be, Sir Marmaduke lolled on his back atop the covers, limbs akimbo, his misformed mouth slack and emitting loud snores.
“Damnation!” Duncan thundered. “Awaken and explain yourself, lest I haul your arse onto the floor!”
Just as he reached the bed Marmaduke pushed himself up on his elbows and yawned. Duncan leaned forward, his anger barely contained. “Be you too drunken to know where you’ve laid yourself to rest, or do you seek to deliberately rile me?”
Marmaduke yawned once more and peered groggily at Duncan with his good eye. “Rile you? ’Tis not I bursting into another man’s bedchamber and stealing his sleep.”
“Have a care, Englishman, for I tire of the riddles you speak of late,” Duncan countered tersely. “’Tis my chamber and my bed in which you find yourself.”
“Indeed?” Marmaduke drawled, no longer drowsy-looking, but alert, his one intact brow arching upward. “Mayhap ’tis you who’s partaken of too much wine?”
“Dinna speak to me of spirits, you bold whoreson, for I have not yet forgotten how you persisted in replenishing my hippocras at the wedding feast.” Duncan planted his hands on his hips. “I’ve had not a drop of ale or wine this eve though I now regret it. A befuddled state would have eased the offending sight of your nakedness sprawled across my bed.”
“Think you I find your appearance any more pleasing? Here I seek naught but a well-deserved night’s rest and awaken to find a wild-eyed, raving hulk, clothed in a bloodied plaid and torn braies, charging my bedside.” Marmaduke drew himself into a sitting position and slung the bedcovers over his lower body. “Nay, ’twas not a pleasant sight, my friend.”
Duncan raked his fingers through his damp hair. “Has the world gone mad? I came to my chamber desiring scarce more than to wash the grime from my body, then sleep in my own bed. Yet I find it o
ccupied by you.” He paused to glare at the Sassunach. “And you dare to spout nonsense rather than hie yourself out of here.”
“I beseech you to cease bellowing. When you have, I shall gladly remind you of that which today’s turmoil has apparently caused you to forget.”
Duncan folded his arms. “Pray speak.”
“The explanation is simple.” Marmaduke spoke as if placating the village idiot. “During the feast, you generously granted me use of your chamber now that you are gainfully and blissfully rewed. Do you not remember?”
“Nay, I do not!” Duncan stormed. “Further, ’tis not wed I feel… gainfully, blissfully, or otherwise.”
“Then perhaps you should seek your lady wife’s bed and attempt to address that… er… failing?”
“By the Rood!” Duncan grabbed Marmaduke’s arm and yanked him to his feet. “The only failing I have is suffering the madness that’s overtaken this household since the MacDonnell wench set foot in it!”
“Tsk, tsk,” Marmaduke chided, shaking his head. “You should have taken better heed of the way Robert Bruce charms the womenfolk. You’ll never win your lady’s favor if you think of her thusly, milord.”
“Plague take her favor, I do not want it,” Duncan raged, his temper close to boiling. “I want my bed and now! Take yourself to your own good chamber afore I toss you over my shoulder and carry you there myself.”
“You know I’ve not slept there since Arabella’s death. From that day forth, the chamber only houses my arms and, on occasion, serves as a training room for your so—… er… the lad, Robbie’s, instruction in handling a sword. Otherwise, I strive to avoid setting foot there.” He paused, a look of feigned perplexity on his scarred face. “Have you forgotten that as well?”
“I’ve forgotten naught except why I call you my most trusted friend,” Duncan exploded, his throat becoming painfully hoarse from hollering. “Be you wise, I sorely suggest you join the men sleeping on the floor rushes below, as we both ken you’re usually wont to do, because you are not staying here.” His patience at an end, Duncan propelled Marmaduke toward the door. “Better still, steel your backbone against the ghosts what haunt you and reclaim your old quarters. ’Tis a fine chamber and shouldn’t be empty.”
Devil in a Kilt Page 13
