The Lady and the Laird

by Maura Seger

  Katlin trembled against him. She could not prevent it. Earlier, he had introduced her to a small sampling of what such passion could mean. But now, in the secluded pool, her body leapt ahead as though it knew of its own accord what was possible between them.

  Her nipples hardened against the thin wet muslin, and between her thighs she felt the deep pulsing need that made her ache and want to cry out.

  His mouth covered hers, his tongue thrusting hard as though he sought to devour her. Gripped in his arms, pressed intimately against his arousal, she knew that she had to resist. But she could not muster the will to do so. Her mind seemed to have turned as treacherous as her body.

  When he carried her from the pool and laid her on the soft, moss-covered rocks, she murmured only a token protest. The sun was behind them, casting his hard body in shadows. He loomed, dark, powerful, overwhelming above her. Only his eyes glittered, shards torn from the sky, as they ran over her.

  "This shouldn't be," he said roughly. At the same moment, he reached for her again. His hands shook. She noticed that and she was strangely emboldened by it. There was some comfort in knowing that she wasn't the only one of them to be overwhelmed.

  A wanton daring filled her. She was no longer proper Miss Katlin Sinclair or even Katlin Sinclair, mistress of Innishffarin. She was a woman alone with a man she desired more than any other in a moment apart from all reality.

  She raised her arms, heedless of how that drew her breasts ever higher. His gaze fell to the ripe fullness almost fully revealed through the transparent camisole. One hand circled her wrists, drawing them together over her head. Slowly, the other drifted over her, down the valley between her breasts, over her flat belly to the soft tangle of curls between her legs. There he paused as she waited breathlessly, watching him through slitted eyes.

  This couldn't be happening; she shouldn't be allowing it. Every ounce of decency and common sense in her cried out against it. But she was lost to the thundering heat in her veins, to the light gleaming in his eyes, to the surging, undulating power that came from deep within herself.

  Lost.

  "Angus," she whispered, her voice thready. She arched her back, trying without success to break his hold on her wrists. She needed to touch him as he was touching her, but he wouldn't permit it.

  Indeed, he couldn't. Angus's hold on his self-control was too close to breaking. Had she touched him, even in the slightest, he knew that his restraint would snap. Before that happened, he had to be sure. Very, very sure. And for one simple reason. Afterward, he had to live with himself.

  He was at heart a decent man. Hard when he had to be, even ruthless when the occasion called for it. He had killed in his time and he would again if it came to that. But he had never willingly hurt anyone, least of all a woman. He would not begin now.

  That she had refused his offer of marriage was, to his way of thinking, a technicality. She belonged to him. He was about to make that stunningly clear. But first he had to be certain that she would be with him all the way.

  For that, she had to be as eager, as hot with need, as tightly sprung by passion as he was. While that seemed almost impossible, he remained confident of his ability to assure it.

  Smiling gently, he let his hand drift up, lingering for a brief moment on her breasts, first one and then the other. They were surprisingly large for a slender woman, full, with beautifully shaped aureoles and high, firm nipples.

  He ran his tongue over one of them through the thin muslin and watched as the nipple hardened yet further. Pleased, he did the same to the other before drawing it within his mouth and suckling lightly.

  Katlin moaned. She was engulfed in pleasure yet it wasn't enough. She wanted... needed ...

  "Angus, please." Her voice was soft and husky. She tried again to free herself, only to be thwarted.

  "Be still," he ordered as he moved his hand to the small, lacy bow that held the sides of the camisole together. With a single jerk, he undid it and parted the fabric.

  The sheer beauty of her took his breath away. For a moment, he thought that he could not possibly hold back. The temptation to take her quickly, savagely, to assuage the raging hunger in him was almost more than he could overcome. But overcome it he did, if only just.

  He sat up, drawing her with him, and put her arms around his neck before releasing her wrists. With her cradled against him, both of them sitting on the mossy rock, he cupped her breasts, teasing the nipples with his thumbs before drawing her into his mouth.

  Ratlin's head fell back. She moaned softly as sensation thundered through her. Clinging to him, she felt him lift her so that she was straddling his thighs. Through his wet breeches and her thin drawers, his arousal pressed against her.

  She moaned again and squirmed, trying to get even closer to him. The movement made him squeeze his eyes tightly shut for a moment as he fought desperately for control. Inexperienced she was, he had no doubt about that, but her instincts were impeccable.

  "Easy," he murmured thickly.

  "I can't... I must..."

  He moved a hand between her thighs, feeling the hot wetness, and breathed a sigh of relief. She did want him, there was no concealing that. Later, perhaps, she would have regrets, but he was confident of his ability to deal with them.

  Swiftly, he undid the tie at her waist and slid his hands inside her drawers. Raising her, he stroked her buttocks, sliding his fingers between her soft inner thighs.

  Katlin gasped. Her fingers dug into his broad, smooth shoulders. She moved her hips in response to the way he was touching her.

  Angus gritted his teeth. His erection was enormous, the need for release growing more intense by the moment. Quickly, he lifted her and stripped the drawers off first one long, slender leg then the other. As swiftly, he lifted the camisole over her head and disposed of it.

  He lay her on her back and lowered himself on top of her. The hair-roughed skin of his chest abraded the swollen tips of her breasts. She cried out softly and put her arms around him.

  In what was certainly record time, he undid the buttons of his breeches. His manhood sprang free. It pressed hot and heavy against the soft flesh of Ratlin's belly. She gasped, trembling beneath him as he pushed a knee between her legs, parting them.

  The powerful muscles of his arms bulged as they took his weight. Holding himself above her, he stared into her face.

  "Tell me," he demanded tightly. "Say you want this."

  She hesitated, dazed by passion but also still with some faint, lurking resistance to revealing so much of herself.

  His erection pressed more firmly against her, touching lightly between the hot, wet folds of her womanhood. She moaned, her head tossing from side to side.

  "Angus, please..."

  Still, he hesitated. His features were taut, his eyes darkening like the sky sliding toward midnight. He moved again, the slightest bit, and she moaned.

  "Say it," he demanded.

  "I want you," she sobbed, almost shouting the words even as her arms closed around him and her legs bent, locking on his hips. "Damn you," she said and then again, "I want you."

  Angus smiled grimly. It wasn't the most touching declaration he had ever heard but it sufficed to the purpose. Miss Katlin Sinclair was proud, determined and above all full of surprises. But she was also his, right now, this instant.

  A groan of triumph burst from his lips as he drove within her. In a single, overwhelming thrust, he broke the barrier of her virginity and thrust deep. She cried out, as he knew she must. Embedded within her, he held himself still as he dropped soft, tantalizing kisses at the corners of her mouth, along her cheek, over her forehead.

  "It's all right, sweetling," he murmured. "The pain's over. Relax... let me..."

  He moved again, feeling her tense around him, but after a moment, the tension changed, became less resistance than building anticipation. Her body changed, molding itself to him, as powerful inner muscles flexed.

  He gasped and moved again, pulling almost all the
way out before slowly reentering her. His intent was to spare her any further hurt, but the effect was to drive her all but mad with need. His slow thrusting in and out, the soft abrasion of his body rubbing against hers, the utter solitude and splendor of the rock pool, set her senses spiraling out of control.

  Her hips rose and fell to the rhythm he set. His thrusts became swifter, deeper. She could feel him growing even more huge within her.

  He moved slightly, reaching a hand down to stroke the sensitive nub of flesh hidden within the thick tangles of honeyed curls. His thumb circled it, pressing lightly.

  Her back arched, her fingers digging into him. He felt the deep shudders convulsing her at the same instant that his own climax seized him, throwing them both into the pulsing, heat-soaked heart of life itself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Much later, Katlin stirred in Angus's arms. She was lazily content, replete as she had never been before. The sun-warmed rock, the soft, fragrant moss, the tranquil sky all filled her senses. As did the hard, heated body of the man who held her with consummate tenderness.

  She raised her head to look at him. His heart was still beating rapidly, she could feel it beneath her hand. His eyes were closed, but a purely male smile softened his mouth.

  Daring greatly, she brushed her lips over his and was rewarded when his smile deepened.

  "All right?" he murmured, opening his eyes. They were still a smoky blue with the lingering resonance of passion.

  "Hmm, better than that. You?"

  The question surprised him. He was, after all, the man. And yet, it wasn't totally out of place. Although he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, he had never felt anything like what he had found with Katlin. Experienced as he was, worldly, sophisticated, there had been an untouched part of him. He felt suddenly almost as innocent as Katlin when confronted by the quality of feeling that was as frightening as it was enticing.

  He turned on his side and ran a hand lightly down her arm. "You are exquisite," he murmured.

  It wasn't an answer, but she really didn't think about that then. At his touch, new tremors raced through her. Her susceptibility to him still astounded her. He had only to look at her, to brush his fingertips over her skin, and she responded instantly.

  Belatedly, modesty assailed her. She reached for the clothes discarded nearby and drew them over herself. Angus's dark brows rose quizzically.

  Katlin rolled to one side, sat up and began dressing. She didn't mean to be rude, but the situation overwhelmed her. Besides, she had never been instructed in what was proper etiquette for such circumstances.

  Angus watched her, frowning. When she had the drawers and camisole on, she stood, glanced around to orient herself and, spying her riding habit, went to get it. As she struggled with the heavy skirt, he stood and went to help her.

  "What's the matter?" he asked quietly.

  She swallowed with some difficulty and shook her head. How could she possibly explain to him the stark reality crashing through her? She had surrendered to the same man she had refused to marry. And in so doing, she had created an insurmountable problem in her relationship with Charles. In all good conscience, she could no longer hope to wed the baron. Yet if she failed to do that, how was she to save Innishffarin?

  By marrying Angus, of course, as she guessed he expected her to. As he had intended when he followed her to the secluded pool.

  Her cheeks flushed. Hastily, she did up the buttons of her riding jacket. Without looking at him, she murmured, "I have to get back."

  Angus reached for his shirt. He slipped it on as he studied her. She looked confused, almost frightened—as he would expect under the circumstances— but beneath that was something very different, the steely Sinclair pride.

  He bit back an expletive. All the years he'd known Isaiah, all the times he had tried to convince the stubborn old coot to sell Innishffarin to him, and always he'd been met by the same stubborn resistance, the refusal to bend before even the harshest reality. It didn't make a good deal of sense, but then neither did his own family's refusal to give up Innishffarin once and for all. They were both—Wyndhams and Sinclairs alike—locked in a generations-old struggle in which pride was the chief, if not the only, weapon.

  It was a pity he hadn't thought of that sooner. From the look of it, by making love to her he had managed to assure her continued resistance.

  "Well done, Angus, old boy," he murmured to himself.

  Katlin didn't hear him. She had turned away and was mounting her mare. As she took the reins, her eyes met his.

  "Angus, I..."

  He came close enough to lay his hand on the mare's side. "Yes?"

  "This was a mistake."

  She waited, as though hoping he would agree. When he said nothing, she added, "I will never give up Innishffarin."

  "Marry me and you won't have to."

  A soft, sad laugh broke from her. "That's funny."

  His brows drew together. "Why?"

  "Because, to be frank, I had always expected to marry a man for his wealth. Oh, to be sure, I wanted someone I could be fond of, but I always presumed I would make a sensible, logical choice, whereas he..."

  "He what? He would wed you out of giddy infatuation and be your willing slave forever?"

  The color in her cheeks fled before his mockery. Her hands tightened on the reins. "He would care for me, that's all. I would know that because he would wed me not for wealth or position but simply for myself. That would have been the case with Charles—"

  Angus's mood took a sharp turn upward. Would have? That boded well, at least.

  "But with you," she added, "it is altogether different. All you want is Innishffarin. That's all you care about."

  It should have been true. He had lived his life with the conviction that he would be the Wyndham to regain what had been lost. But now...

  Now everything was changed.

  He wanted to tell her that, to pull her from the mare, lay her on the ground and show her beyond any doubt exactly how he felt. In the old days, his ancestors had not hesitated to claim their brides in just that manner. Some had been taken for wealth, that was the reality, but others, the vast majority, had been taken to wife because they made the proud blood of Wyndham lords roar in their veins even as his was roaring now.

  But before he could act, Katlin dug her heels into the mare's sides and disappeared into the trees.

  She did not go to the manor but followed the forest path to the main road and from there went to Innishffarin. Not until the castle rose before her did she breathe a small sigh of relief. She was honest enough with herself to know that she could not run away from the situation, but simply to be within the thick stone walls made her feel safer somehow.

  Sarah met her as she entered. One look at her mistress was enough to make her face fall.

  "Miss, are you all right? Did you get hurt?"

  Only mortally, Katlin thought, but immediately pushed the notion aside. It was melodramatic and not at all in keeping with the relentless determination coursing through her. She could not give herself, more than she already had, to a man who wanted her only for her property. But neither was she about to slink away in defeat. She would prevail—she just hadn't figured out yet how to do so.

  "I'm fine, Sarah," she said, stretching the truth. "But I would like a bath."

  She would begin by washing the memory of Angus's possession from herself. Then she would decide where to go from there.

  "Of course, miss, I'll tell them in the kitchen. How was the hunt?"

  Katlin looked at her blankly. She had forgotten all about it. "The hunt? Oh, it was fine, I suppose. I'll be upstairs."

  As quickly as she could, she climbed the winding stone steps to the tower. Once there, she stripped off her riding habit and wrapped herself in a soft robe while she waited for her bath to arrive.

  When the tub was filled, she dismissed the maids, removed her robe and sank gratefully into the heated water. As the steam rose around her, she tilted
her head back against the edge and let her eyes close.

  The excitement and tension of the morning had left her drained. Without her being aware of it, she drifted into sleep.

  Only to awaken a short time later to the unmistakable sensation that someone was watching her.

  Her eyes shot open even as her head snapped up. "Who-"

  Big brown eyes, bigger and browner by far than her own, looked at her solemnly. "Baa."

  The ewe, one of the black-faced variety Isaiah had favored, appeared perfectly at home in the tower room. She had entered through the door, which had been shut but not locked. As though to show how she had accomplished it, the ewe lowered her head and butted the tub gently.

  "Stop that," Katlin said.

  The ewe gave her a wounded look—at least it seemed that way—sniffed delicately at the bathwater, then turned and waddled off. Katlin could hear her hooves striking the stone steps as she made her way down.

  Sighing, Katlin got out of the tub and dried herself. She dressed in a simple day gown, left her hair down and followed the ewe. On the lower landing, where the tower adjoined the castle's upper story, she paused. It was suddenly very cold. With her arms wrapped around herself, she called softly, "Laird Wyndham?"

  Nothing, only the coldness moving away from her down the stairs. Instinctively, she followed. Under her breath, she murmured, "This is silly. I know you can appear if you want to. Why wouldn't you let Angus see you?"

  Still nothing, other than a definite sense of displeasure that washed over Katlin like a wave of clammy air, chillier even than the surrounding cold.

  "I was right, wasn't I? You don't want to face another Wyndham."

  The air made a faint, angry sound. They had come to the bottom of the stairs where the back passageway of the castle began. Katlin looked around slowly.

  "What is it about this place? Why are you most often here?"

  Her breath caught in her throat as, in response, the face of Francis Wyndham materialized in front of her. Only the face and only dimly at that. She could see through him more clearly than the last time.

  "Damn you," he murmured.