Devil in a Kilt

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Duncan stared after him, feeling soundly chastised. Faith, the all-knowing churl should’ve been a holy man, so good ’twas he at instilling guilt in the innocent.

  But, Duncan admitted with a dark scowl, he wasn’t an innocent.

  He was a bastard.

  Worse, he’d become a liar.

  The most despicable liar in the Highlands.

  Linnet woke to a dull ache between her thighs. Curling herself into a ball, she hugged her knees and shut her eyes, willing away the throbbing pain.

  But the ache persisted, and sleep would not return.

  Nor could she deny the weak bands of sunlight filtering through the shutter slats. ’Twas morn… the morning after she’d lost her maidenhood, her heart, and all hopes of ever winning her husband’s affection.

  Refusing to give heed to the urge to pull the covers back over her head and ignore the day, she quickly scanned the room, making certain he was truly gone and not lurking in some dark corner, waiting for her to awaken so he could continue his lecture on the glories of bodily lust.

  But the chamber was empty, she was indeed alone.

  Linnet shuddered, feeling utterly used and betrayed.

  Angry, too, because, despite everything, she couldn’t deny the sharp stab of disappointment she’d felt upon discovering he’d already slipped from the room.

  Stiffly, for it seemed every bone and muscle in her body ached, she climbed from bed and dressed as quickly as she could. With luck, she could pass unnoticed through the hall and spend the day in her herbarium.

  Or perhaps she’d try to sneak past the sentries at the gate so she could walk in peace along the shore?

  Naught would please her more than a pleasant stroll on the shingled banks of Loch Duich, where the towering castle walls would keep her well hidden from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

  But all plans for a day spent in blessed solitude vanished the moment she pulled open the bedchamber door, stepped out, and collided with him.

  “Saints, woman!” he exploded, trying to balance a large wooden tray of food. “Can you not watch where you’re going?”

  Linnet shrank back at his scowling countenance. “I vow, sir, I could not have known you’d be standing before the door.”

  Striding past her into the room, he set the heavy tray on a small table near the hearth. “I’ve brought victuals to break your fast. Oatcakes and a jug of fresh buttermilk.” He folded his arms over his chest and frowned when she remained by the door. “Are you not hungry?”

  “Aye,” she admitted, uncomfortable under his gaze. “But I could have eaten in the hall. There was no need for you to fetch my breakfast.”

  He made a gruff noise, then pulled out a chair for her. “The fare in the hall wasna fit for the alms dish,” he explained, obviously waiting for her to take her seat. “Besides, I… ah… thought you’d prefer to dine alone this morn.”

  Unsure of the motive for his gesture of courtesy, Linnet crossed the room. Mayhap he wanted to keep her from the hall? Hide her away as he did Robbie?

  Was he afeared his men would be able to read her expression and see aught was not well between them?

  More disturbing, could he see what troubled her?

  Was it writ upon her face that her heart was breaking? That he’d taken her to the dizzying heights of all her hopes and dreams, only to let her crash to the ground, her most secret desires scattered around her like shards of broken pottery?

  Avoiding his eyes, she sat and carefully poured herself a cup of buttermilk. “Thank you,” she said quietly, keeping her head down, purposely avoiding his stern scrutiny. “’Twas thoughtful of you.”

  “Nay,” he said, stepping forward and reaching toward her, then letting his hand drop, as if embarrassed he’d dare attempt to touch her. “’Tis as it should be and… and… not good enough. ’Tis more you deserve for what you gave me yestereve. I should have brought you a length of the finest cloth and a chest overflowing with jewels. I… ’tis… oh, by the saints, lady,” he blurted, yet another frown creasing his brow. “Can you not see I am not adept at fancy words?”

  “I’ve no need for fancy words.” She glanced up at last, surprised by the deep flush coloring her husband’s handsome face. “Noble gowns and glittering gemstones mean little to me.”

  He reached toward her again, this time smoothing the backs of his fingers down her hair. The light caress sent a sharp jolt through her and made her pulse quicken.

  “Have you naught what requires your attention?” she asked coolly, hoping he’d leave her be whilst at the same time wishing he’d touch her again.

  Faith and mercy, she wished he’d do more than simply run his hand o’er her tresses.

  A strange look entered his deep blue eyes. “Aye, there is a matter of importance I must tend to,” he said, taking the seat opposite her, his intense gaze holding her captive. “’Tis why I am here.”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a seductive smile. “A matter of utmost importance.”

  “I do not understand,” Linnet hedged, half-afraid to listen further. Tearing her gaze away, she turned her attention to the food before her.

  Anything but lose herself in the depths of his bone-melting gaze, anything but abandon her heart to the whim of a devil’s beguiling smile.

  But already, that warm, soft feeling was spreading through her limbs, pooling in her belly, and making her all too aware of the strange power he held over her.

  Worried he’d sense what she felt, and before she could regret the consequences, she blurted, “Be the ‘matter of importance’ that you wish to quench your bodily lust again? If so, I’ll disrobe and spread my legs at once… I ken ’tis my duty.”

  Duncan shot to his feet so fast he knocked over the jug of buttermilk. For a brief moment, he stared aghast at the thick liquid spilling over the table edge onto the rushes, then, with one great swipe of his arm, he sent the earthen jug and all else upon the table to the floor.

  Linnet jumped up, too. Extending her arms before her, she began backing away from him. But he caught up with her in two quick strides, seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her roughly against his chest.

  “Must you e’er vex me?” he railed, fair lifting her off her feet. “’Twas to apologize I came! To repay you—”

  “For what? My services?” Linnet countered, her voice a mere squeak, for he held her so tightly the neckline of her gown dug painfully into her throat. “The same as you’d pay for the favors of a stewhouse harlot?”

  “Nay! ’Tis my wife you are. Dinna twist my words. I’ve told you I’m not good at pretty speeches.” Letting go of her suddenly, he ran both hands through his hair, the gesture making him appear more desperate than angry. “You do not understand. I did not mean to hurt you. I—”

  With trembling fingers, Linnet tugged her gown into place. “You’re mistaken, sirrah. I do understand. ’Tis well I ken you did not mean to cause me undue pain.”

  “I—dinna—mean—that—kind—of—pain,” he bit out, emphasizing each word. “And I think you know it. I meant it wasn’t my intent to injure your feelings.”

  Linnet’s heart turned over at his awkward attempt at apologizing, and at the sincerity in his eyes. Even so, she didn’t dare make overmuch of aught he said or did.

  He’d expressed his true opinion of her, of their marriage, the night before.

  Squaring her shoulders, she fought to dispel the sweet sensations his nearness aroused in her. “I thought feelings held no interest for you?”

  Taking her firmly by the shoulders, Duncan said, “I do care for you, Linnet.”

  “So you said.” Waxing bolder than she would’ve thought she’d dare, she pressed on, “You care for me as a man cares for a finely honed sword or an obedient and worthy steed.”

  Duncan’s face suffused a deep scarlet. “By the Rood, wench, can you not see I am trying to make amends? Have a care lest you taunt me too much. My patience has already been sorely tested this day.”<
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  A sharp rap upon the closed door spared her having to reply. Without further acknowledging her, Duncan strode across the room and yanked the door wide. Three young pages entered, each carrying leather pails of water.

  A fourth, a wee lad no older than Robbie, carried a small wooden stool.

  Two squires followed, one with a large wooden cooper’s tub held before him, the other with a stack of folded linen toweling piled high in his arms.

  “I ordered a bath brought up for you,” Duncan said gruffly. Following the pages to the hearth, he dipped his hand in one of the buckets. “The water has been heated below, but ’tis not overly warm. I’ll stoke the fire so you do not overchill yourself.”

  Linnet refrained from giving vent to a bitter laugh. The only thing in the room capable of chilling her was the cold expression on her lord husband’s face.

  Arms folded across his chest, his jaw rigidly set, he silently watched the young servitors line the tub with a huge length of linen, place the tiny stool inside, and drape it, too, with a linen cloth, before they began pouring rose-scented water into the bath.

  When they were done, he dismissed them with a stern nod.

  Heavens, but he appeared chiseled from granite! ’Twas no wonder the young pages scurried from the room, anxious to be gone, the older squires not far behind them.

  They’d surely sensed the tense atmosphere hanging in the air. ’Twas so thick Linnet could almost taste its bitterness on her lips. Sweet Mary have pity on her, even the brisk draught of damp morning air blowing in through the opened windows wasn’t as frigid as the look her husband wore.

  ’Twas a foul expression she’d no doubt put there with her artless manner and loose tongue.

  In all fairness, he had sought to appease her.

  Regret at her harsh words ate at her from within as she watched him test the bathwater once more, his smile of only moments before gone, in its place a grim expression that revealed nothing.

  “I told Fergus to have Cook add a few drops of rose oil. I trust that is to your liking?”

  “Thank you, milord,” Linnet said. “I favor roses.”

  A bit of the anger faded from Duncan’s face, replaced by a look Linnet couldn’t quite identify. “Have you forgotten I’d asked you to use my name?”

  “Thank you, Duncan… sir,” she said, sorely tempted to dive back into the bed and pull the bedcurtains to shield herself from the displeasure she could see thrumming through him.

  “Duncan. Just Duncan,” he said, his voice solemn. Coming to her side, he gently lifted a handful of her hair. “I am not an ogre, lady.”

  Letting the strands slip from his fingers, he cupped her chin. “I offended you last night, and I hereby ask you to accept my humblest apology.”

  Linnet gazed into his deep blue eyes, no longer dark and stormy, but now almost the same shade they’d been as he’d whispered tender endearments to her in the night.

  The vivid memory of all he’d said, and done, in the heat of his passion, sent a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling through her.

  Could he truly be sorry he’d hurt her feelings?

  Mayhap, but she still doubted he cared for her.

  At least not in the way she wanted him to care.

  She swallowed, for her throat had suddenly gone dry as cold ash. Let the angels have mercy on her, she wanted him to love her.

  Truly love her.

  With all his heart.

  Not merely desire her as a convenient vessel for his masculine needs.

  But was he capable of such emotions? And could he accept her feelings for him as well?

  Or must she learn to be content with the bits and pieces of tenderness he’d surely grant her whilst in his arms?

  Would such be enough?

  Linnet smothered a sigh. It’d never be enough. She wanted more, so very much more.

  “Well?” he prodded, yanking her from her dreams, back into the ice-cold present. When she didn’t answer immediately, he quirked a brow at her. “Will you accept my apology? Will you have me as I am?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “Aye,” she consented.

  Duncan smiled hopefully, then brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “You will not regret this, I promise. Tonight, I shall love you until you are fair limp from passion and beg me to cease.”

  Still clutching her hand in his, he added, “If it takes till first light, I shall repay you for the injury I caused last night.”

  Linnet stiffened at his lightly spoken words. “’Tis not payment I wish. What I want canna be bought with coin nor replaced by physical, ah,… fulfillment.”

  A shadow passed over Duncan’s face, and he seemed to withdraw from her even though he still held her hand. “Dinna wax sentimental on me, lady. I swear on all that’s holy, I will cherish and honor you all our days as man and wife. Pray let that satisfy you. Romantic love, as I believe you covet, does not exist.”

  Letting go of her hand, he knelt to rebuild the fire. Over his shoulder, he continued, “You must accept me as I am. If you cannot, tell me true and I shall hie myself from this chamber and ne’er cross the threshold again.”

  His task done, he got to his feet. “It is not my wish to cause you pain. I ask you again, will my affection be enough for you?”

  Resigning herself to the only option she had, Linnet nodded.

  He rewarded her lie with one of his beatific smiles.

  The rare kind she’d so seldom seen grace his lips.

  It warmed her heart and sent a fluttery sensation straight to her belly despite the chill emptiness of what he was asking of her.

  Looking pleased at her apparent acquiescence, he offered her his hand. “Then come, I will help you undress.”

  The moment she placed her hand in his, his smile turned wicked, stealing her breath. “Mayhap I shall help you bathe as well,” he suggested, massaging her palm with his thumb.

  And each round of his circling thumb stirred the cauldron of resistance bubbling deep inside her.

  It would appear he believed he need only gift her with a smile and a spot of tenderness and she’d crumple to his feet, eager to do his bidding.

  “Your bath awaits you, my lady,” he said with a meaningful glance at the wooden tub. “Do we not want to discard your clothes before yon water grows cold?”

  ’Tis I who have grown cold, milord seduce-me-not. Linnet kept the sharp retort to herself. In truth, she wasn’t sure she could resist him. Already his deft fingers had maneuvered her out of her gown! But when he sought to remove her only remaining garment, her thin chemise, the words of protest poised on her tongue could no longer be contained.

  “Is this some new form of crude entertainment, sirrah? Stripping me naked and watching me bathe?” She curled her fingers around his wrists in a vain attempt to dislodge his hands from her undergown. “Did I not make clear last night that I prefer to be unobserved whilst making my ablutions?”

  “God’s wounds!” As quickly as the sharply spoken oath left her husband’s lips, so did he break free of her grasp and have done with her chemise. Indeed, he divested her of its scant protection with such speed, she scarce noticed he’d drawn it over her head until she stood naked before him.

  And as every time she’d done so before, it was a glorious feeling. Heady, potent, and much more powerful than the streak of rebellion that still glowed hot with fervor somewhere deep inside her.

  Then he put his hands on her shoulders and began a slow and tender exploration of her body. Barely touching her, he smoothed his hands down her sides and up again, brought them around behind her and traced the length of her back, then cupped and felt along the curves of her lower buttocks. With the lightest of barely there strokes, he slipped his hands between her thighs and caressed her there as well.

  The mastery of his touch made her womanhood throb with a pulsing need, and her heart forget every shred of resistance she’d meant to display.

  Unable to resist, she gave herself up to the sensations he stirred in
her. As if he sensed the exact moment of her capitulation, he pulled her close and, gladly, she slid her arms around him in return.

  ’Twas bliss beyond words simply being held in his embrace, close to his heart.

  A heart she was determined to win.

  Despite her pretense of accepting a life together on his loveless terms.

  “Saints, but you tempt me,” he murmured into her hair as he gathered her into his arms, lifting her off her feet. Gently, he lowered her into the silky warm waters of the bath. “Ne’er in my life have I desired a woman more.”

  Without taking his eyes off her, he lowered himself to his knees beside the tub. Tenderly holding her face between his hands, he leaned forward and softly brushed his lips back and forth over hers.

  Lulled into contentment by the sheer magic of his kisses and the soothing warmth of her bath, Linnet felt herself melting, her limbs turning as liquid as the scented water. She sighed, and her breath mingled with his… a heady sensation that made her woman’s flesh pulse with an intensely pleasurable feeling of warmth. Parting her lips, she begged him without words to deepen the kiss.

  Duncan obliged, crushing her mouth beneath his, his lips and tongue taking heated possession of hers. When he let his hands glide down over her shoulders to caress her breasts, she could do naught but give in to the feverish desires building inside her.

  A tiny voice deep inside scolded her for being a wanton fool. A brazen piece willing to barter her pride for a man’s sensual touch, for the feel of his lips melding with hers, his hands moving so exquisitely over her breasts, and the earth-shattering release she’d found with him last night.

  A shiver, unpleasant this time, rippled down her spine. In truth, she’d sunk lower than the cheapest whore.

  Abandoned her morals for the thrill of a few moments in the arms of a man who’d boldly stated he’d never love her.

  “Duncan, wait,” she pleaded the moment he broke their kiss to feather lighter ones down the curve of her neck. “Please, I cannot do this after all.”

  “Shhh,” he urged, “of course you can. Hush, dinna speak.” He placed two fingers over her lips, silencing her. “Just feel. Let me pleasure you, show you how much I desire you, love you until you are weak from our joining and beg for mercy.”