Devil in a Kilt

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Lust was what he felt for her.

  And all he meant to share with her.

  Lust. Pure and simple.

  Naught else.

  So why did his infernal knees go weak when she turned those gold-flecked eyes on him? Why had it been so hard to pull himself from her arms just now?

  Getting to his feet, he dusted the soot from his knees, brushed a few clinging sprigs of meadowsweet from his calves.

  Anything to prolong turning around.

  By all that’s holy, he’d only meant to fetch water and a cloth to cleanse the blood from her thighs, yet he’d found it nigh onto impossible to wrest himself from her side.

  Worse, and by far the most dangerous aspect, was his inclination to climb back into bed with her now and simply hold her. Not take his ease again, but gently draw her into his arms and await the dawn with her curled against him.

  Such desires could wreak more havoc than the strongest pull in a man’s loins, cause more trouble than bedding a dozen willing wenches.

  He wanted no part of such fool notions.

  Duncan drew in a long breath. Linnet MacDonnell was more than he’d bargained for.

  Much more.

  She left him no choice but to banish the stars from her eyes, convince her she felt naught for him but lust. He knew he must lie and make her believe what had happened between them, what he hoped ’twould oft happen, was only of the flesh.

  A need they shared and could reap much pleasure from, but one that had naught to do with love.

  Pouring water into a small basin, Duncan only wished it wasn’t so wretchedly difficult to convince himself. He set down the ewer. Scowling, he snatched up a few linen cloths, laid them over his arm, and steeled himself to face her.

  Then he turned around.

  His misgivings flew at him like a hoard of banshees the moment he saw her. She’d scooted up against the pillows, her naked skin gleaming, bathed by the soft glow of the rekindled fire.

  Her hair spilled over her shoulders, even more tangled by their lovemaking, the peaks of her breasts poking through the silken strands.

  Duncan’s loins tightened in immediate response. It was all he could do not to cast aside the basin and towels, dash across the chamber like an untried and overeager squire, and fall upon her once more.

  “By St. Columba’s holy staff, woman, did I not cover you?” he said gruffly. “Do you want to catch the ague?”

  “I dinna fall ill lightly,” she said, that soft, dreamy look still on her face.

  “Good. Then you willna take a chill when I wash you. And I would that we make haste about it, for ’tis weary I am and in need of sleep.” The words came out more abruptly than he’d intended and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “But… I thought… you said—”

  “I ken what I said, but ’tis only a night’s rest I desire now. I’m more tired than I realized.” He deliberately avoided her eyes. The hurt he’d seen burgeoning there would’ve smote his heart if he’d had one. “There will be other nights for passion. A marriage of practicality need not be void of physical fulfillment. We can satisfy ourselves however oft if it pleases you. Lust—”

  “Lust, sir, is the reason men seek out harlots,” Linnet informed him, drawing the coverlet over her breasts. “It should not be a basis for a marriage.”

  “And it is not,” Duncan countered, placing the basin on a small table next the bed. “Our union is based on my need for your sight as you well know.” He paused to dip a cloth into the water, then carefully wrung it out. “But it is nowhere writ we cannot partake of physical love. I’ve shown you I desire you. I believe you enjoyed our coupling as well?”

  She declined to answer him, and the injured look on her face dug into him like the tips of a thousand fire-heated daggers.

  But as if ridden by the devil himself, he went on, “It will not be an unpleasant arrangement. ’Tis well suited we are for one another.”

  “And how so, sirrah? In the same manner as the bawd who barters her wares to any man in rut?” she asked in a cold, toneless voice.

  Duncan swore beneath his breath. He’d extinguished the flame in her he’d so painstakingly kindled.

  And he’d cast himself into a roiling sea of regret somewhere between heaven and hell.

  In one short night, he’d coaxed her into her his arms, fair demanded a response from her, and when she gave it… what had he done?

  Tossed her trust and adoration right back at her.

  Even after she’d bestowed upon him the most precious gift a wife has to give, taken him closer to happiness than he’d e’er expected to go in this life.

  Made him realize how easily he could fall in love with her.

  And for that transgression alone, he had to temper the wild-hearted romantic dreams he knew swirled through her even now. Unlike his wife, he knew the danger of such folly. It was his task to spare them both later grief. Even if doing so was far from painless.

  Saints, he’d become the heartless bastard the prattle-spreaders claimed him to be!

  Striving to avoid the anguish he knew followed quick on the heels of love was one thing… hurting his new bride was another entirely.

  He cursed himself for not having kept himself from her as he’d meant to do. But he hadn’t expected her to tempt him so, couldn’t have guessed she’d turn adoring gazes on him, thoroughly enchant him with her amber-colored eyes.

  And he certainly hadn’t thought himself capable of feeling so deeply.

  Nor had he known this ridiculous farce he’d begun, this pretending to be unaffected by her, save for her bodily charms, would disturb him so.

  Blood of Christ, but his conscience bothered him.

  “Linnet, I—”

  Lifting her hand, she made a quick, dismissive motion. “Please, sir, say no more. I believed you cared for me. Now I see exactly what it was you were after,” she said, her voice cold and hard. “How silly of me to have thought otherwise.”

  “You do not understand. It isna—”

  “You said you wished to bathe me for ’tis weary you are,” she cut him off, snatching the damp cloth from his hand. “Dinna overexert yourself. I can wash myself and would rather. If you’ll do me the kindness of turning around.”

  Duncan knew he should move away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was so beautiful.

  Holding the covers to her chin with one hand and clutching the washcloth with the other, she stared at him reproachfully. “I asked you to turn away.”

  Silently cursing himself, Duncan did as she bid and stood before the fire. Feeling more a bastard than his half brother, he stared in brooding silence at the flames.

  Behind him, he heard the soft sounds of Linnet cleansing the traces of her virginity from her thighs. He remained standing where he was long after silence filled the chamber. Only when he was certain his lady slept, did he turn around. She lay with her back to him, the coverlet pulled high.

  Duncan expelled a deep, ragged breath. On his life, he hadn’t meant this night to end thusly.

  But he had no one save himself to blame.

  Stifling a curse, he lowered himself into a chair. The same one in which he’d spent most of his illfated wedding night.

  12

  thunder rumbled in the distance, and the smell of rain seemed to seep through Eilean Creag’s thick stone walls, permeating the great hall, making the cavernous vaulted chamber even more dank and cold than usual. ’Twas just before the hour of prime, and many of Duncan’s men still slept soundly upon the rush-strewn floor.

  Flickering light from the few wall torches lit at this early hour helped Duncan make his way through the darkened hall. Carefully, he picked his path around, or over, his slumbering men and headed straight for the high table where Sir Marmaduke sat staring into a pewter chalice.

  Without uttering a word of greeting to the Sassunach knight, Duncan dragged back his chair and sat. Pointedly ignoring his friend, he tore off a chunk of bread, ate it, then washed it down with a hearty gulp of s
tale wine.

  “And a good morrow to you, too,” Sir Marmaduke said, lifting his chalice in mock salute. “’Twas worse than I predicted, eh?”

  Duncan took another sip of the flat wine, then wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. “Aye.”

  “Do you wish to speak of it?”

  “Nay.”

  Marmaduke ran a finger slowly around the rim of his chalice. “Shall I speak with her? Mayhap I can vouchsafe you. She heeded my words the morn of your wedding.”

  Duncan slammed down his wine goblet. “I’ve already suffered enough of your interfering, you great lout,” he said crossly. “’Tis the vilest of deeds I have done, and trying to make amends at present would bring naught but more ill feeling.”

  “Ill feeling I can see you stirring, for seldom has a man been less gifted with words than you. But vile deeds? Against your gentle lady wife?” Marmaduke shook his head. “Nay, I cannot believe it.”

  “And I am not asking you to believe me or nay, for I willna speak of it.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” Marmaduke chided, “you’ve no reason to be wroth with me.”

  “Many are my reasons to be wroth with you, and ’tis grateful to the saints you should be that I dinna haul your English arse outside for an ordeal to the death,” Duncan snarled. “Rain or nay, and not with blunted swords!”

  Marmaduke’s good eyebrow arched upward. “Pray share what transgression have I made to deserve your wrath?”

  Struggling to control his temper, Duncan said, “I told you I shall not discuss it.”

  “You were not averse to discussing it yestereve,” Marmaduke countered. “Not that I expect you will have taken a single word of my advice.”

  “Your advice was not needed, you blithering knave. The matter has naught to do with Cassandra and the painted boards bearing her infernal likeness,” Duncan snapped, ripping off another hunk of bread. “’Tis more grave than that.”

  “Then she wasn’t unduly bothered… having seen the painting?”

  “Of course, she was bothered!” Duncan replied heatedly, not caring if he disturbed those still sprawled upon the rushes. “’Tis mightily aggrieved she was.”

  Marmaduke peered at him queerly with his good eye. “You spout nonsense. A moment hence you declared the panel-painting had naught to do with your foul mood, yet now you pronounce it upset the lady greatly.” Leaning across the table, he rested his chin atop one hand. “Do you care to make your meaning more understandable?”

  Duncan leaned forward, too. “By the Rood, you would extract a confession from a dead man! If you must know, everything you professed would happen, happened. As it usually does.” Duncan paused to fix the Englishman with a withering glare. “My lady was sorely distraught, but I was able to console her.”

  Marmaduke sat back and folded his arms. “Indeed?”

  “Aye.”

  “So you did follow my advice?”

  “Nay, I did not,” Duncan said impatiently. “I used my own methods.”

  “And they worked?” Marmaduke sounded doubtful.

  “Too well.”

  “Too well?” Once more, Marmaduke quirked his one intact brow. “What do you mean too well?”

  His brother-in-law was e’er mimicking his words, and at the moment his patience was less than thin.

  “I mean I bedded her,” Duncan snarled.

  A lopsided grin lit Marmaduke’s ravaged features. “And that has cast you into such a black mood?”

  Standing, Duncan leaned across the table until he was mere inches from Marmaduke’s face. “She was a maid, you conniving whoreson! A virgin.”

  Marmaduke’s jaw dropped. “You mean you’ve only just claimed her?”

  “Would she have been a maid had I already taken my ease with her, you empty-headed varlet?” Duncan brought his face so close to Marmaduke’s their noses fair touched.

  “But—”

  “But you hoped locking me in her chamber whilst I was befuddled from hippocras, then parading a bloodied piece of linen before my men would convince me I had taken her!” Duncan seized Marmaduke by the neck of his tunic and hauled him from his chair. “And the ploy worked! I did believe I’d taken her. Still, I refrained from touching her again or so I thought since I obviously hadn’t taken her at all. Until last night.”

  Letting go of Marmaduke, Duncan slammed his fist against the hard planks of the table. “Blood of Christ, Strongbow, your interfering has wrought more grief than I can undo!”

  Straightening his tunic, Marmaduke regarded Duncan with consternation. “For the love of God, Duncan, ’tis pleased you should be to have a virtuous bride. I regret conspiring to push the two of you together prematurely, but my intentions were noble. Give me your sword, and I shall swear it upon the relic in its hilt.”

  Duncan sank back onto his chair. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “And ’tis indeed grateful I am for my wife’s virtue. Discovering it fair unmanned me.” He paused and pulled one hand down over his face. “You dinna understand.”

  “Nay, I do not.” Marmaduke refilled their chalices with wine as he spoke. That done, he narrowed his good eye, and asked, “Or did you take her so roughly you injured her?”

  Heat stole up Duncan’s neck at the Sassunach’s words. He’d come closer to the truth than Duncan cared to admit.

  Even to his most trusted friend.

  Leaning back in his chair, Marmaduke crossed his arms. “Ah-ha. In your… eh… haste, you shocked and frightened her and now she wants naught more to do with your, eh, passion?”

  Duncan pressed his lips together in a tight frown. If only his problems were so simple. ’Twould not be a hardship to spend his days and nights wooing his lady, teaching her the delights and rewards of love.

  But, alas, such was not the issue.

  His lady already possessed more passion than any female he’d ever known.

  “Well?” Marmaduke pestered when Duncan remained silent.

  “Well, what?” Duncan groused.

  “Shall I give you lessons in properly courting a lady?”

  Duncan emptied his goblet in one gulp. Just barely, he resisted the urge to fling the empty wine cup into the nearby hearth. “I am not a fumbling youth nor am I ill-bred. I ken how to woo a lady and…” He paused, leaning forward. “I dinna need instruction in how to awaken my wife’s ardor. I’d wager my soul she’s more passionate than any lass you’ve e’er had the pleasure to sample.”

  Falling back in his chair, Duncan crossed his arms. “Nay, that is not the problem.”

  “Let us see,” Marmaduke said, holding up one hand and counting off fingers as he spoke. “The lady was pure, is possessed of heated blood, and is far comelier than she believes. On my honor, MacKenzie, I cannot see wherein lies the problem.” Pausing, he began tapping his forefinger against his chin. “’Tis a riddle. Lest… lest you’ve fallen in love with her?”

  “Love?” Duncan scoffed. “Such is only good for troubadours’ tales on long and cold wintry nights. ’Tis lust I feel for Linnet, naught else.”

  “Think you?”

  “Aye!” Duncan snapped, furious over the heat creeping into his cheeks at the Sassunach’s insistent probing. “She fires my blood.”

  “And that is all?”

  “Christ’s bones! ’Tis enough! What man would not weaken at the sight of a fetching lass bare-bottomed and inviting upon his bed?”

  The English knight took a slow sip of his wine, carefully studying Duncan across the pewter chalice as he drank.

  Duncan squirmed under his friend’s sharp perusal. Saints, the man could unnerve him!

  Setting down his chalice as carefully as he’d partaken of his wine, Marmaduke asked, “And does she not stir your emotions as well?”

  “By the Rood!” Duncan jumped to his feet. For a long moment he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. When he looked back at Marmaduke, the lout wore one of his knowing grins. “I dinna have emotions, so wipe that cunning smirk off your ugly face. ’Tis her body I desire. Such urges are natur
al and have naught to do with love.”

  Marmaduke’s smile faded. “And did you tell her that?”

  Duncan withheld the answer. Instead he drew a long, frustrated breath, then lowered himself into his chair. The accuracy of the Sassunach’s words had hit him as if he’d been dealt a blow.

  Aye, the truth stung.

  “So that’s the way of it.”

  Although it vexed him to admit it, Duncan locked his gaze with his friend’s and nodded.

  “Do you wish to talk about it?” Marmaduke asked, and Duncan heard the sincerity of his concern. “Mayhap, together, we can find a way to undo the damage you’ve wrought.”

  “You are a dreamer, English. Do you not realize what I’m saying?” Lowering his voice lest anyone else hear, Duncan said, “I robbed her of her maidenhead, initiated her in the pleasures of carnal desire, then, when she turned those damned eyes of hers on me—all soft and adoring—I panicked and told her I wanted naught but an occasional dip into the woman’s flesh betwixt her thighs!”

  “Pray tell me you did not use those words?”

  “Not exactly, but I injured her feelings all the same.” Duncan pressed his fingers against his temples. Just thinking of the callous way he’d treated her made his head ache. “She turned her back on me, Strongbow. I killed something inside her, do you understand?”

  “Then you have no choice but to make amends… convince her you did not mean what you said. Show her you do care.”

  “But I do not,” Duncan argued, feeling the weight of the cold, damp air pressing against his chest, curling around his neck as if to suffocate him, steal his very breath. “It is only taking my ease with her I care about. I canna tell her I love her when I do not. To do so would be a lie.”

  Marmaduke said nothing.

  “I willna lie to her,” Duncan insisted.

  “Mayhap not,” Marmaduke conceded, the look in his single eye, penetrating and wise. “But there are other things as ignoble.”

  “Such as?” Duncan asked, knowing he’d regret the answer.

  “Lying to oneself.”

  With that, the English knight stood. He took a last draught of his wine, wiped his mouth, then strode from the hall without a backward glance.