Susana and the Scot

by Sabrina York

  He ignored her warble of protest—it was all she could manage at the moment—and flipped her over onto her belly. Confusion ripped through her and she glanced at him over her shoulder. His expression—hard, hot, intent, and savage—eviscerated her.

  God, he was a remarkable man.

  He took hold of her hips with hard fingers and levered her onto her knees and then, with no warning, took her from behind, plowing into her with a mind-bending plunge. The intensity of his incursion unhinged her. She lost all control and spun into some ethereal realm where bodies and souls were wreathed in heavenly light and song and absolute rapture.

  Her release seemed to inspire him. Though he continued moving, she could feel his tension mount. His groans and grunts twined with her moans. The slap of flesh against flesh rocketed around the room as he pummeled her. His cock swelled, his intensity peaked. And then he went stiff, around her and in her.

  A great surge of heat filled her. And another. And another. His cry was one of triumph but also, one of submission. He thrust again, and again, but each more gentle than the last until his movements were nothing more than the gentle rocking of his hips as he released his hold on heaven.

  He eased from her and collapsed by her side, pulling her along with him, cupping her with his body. He murmured something, something garbled that might have been her name, though it was difficult to tell through the pants of his breath. He took her breast, claiming it as his own, and pulled her closer.

  Susana nestled back, loving the feel of his body around hers, the lingering ripples of delight, the knowledge she had power over this powerful man. She felt so safe in his arms. So protected and adored. It was the most rapturous feeling she’d ever known.

  She probably should not have closed her eyes, because once she did, she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Andrew held Susana through the night, barely sleeping a wink. He couldn’t bear to miss a moment. She felt splendid in his arms, soft and sweet and fragrant. He loved the way she curled around him and nuzzled him and stroked his skin in her sleep. He loved the feel of her bare body melded to his.

  Aye, his passion rose again as he stroked her, exploring the curves and valleys of her body in the shadows of night, but he didn’t wake her. There was time for passion later. At the moment, this closeness, this intimacy, was far too sweet. Too raw. Too precious to shatter.

  He was still awake when dawn began to lighten the sky, lying on his back with Susana’s soft weight on his chest, reveling in her warmth, the huff of her breath, her delicate snores. Each one made him smile. Made his heart swell with some indefinable emotion. Tenderness for her, love perhaps, made his chest ache.

  As the sunlight stretched into the room, her body was lit in a soft pink glow. He couldn’t resist tracking the lines of her form again, studying her curves as they were revealed to him. He scudded a palm over her shoulder, down her arm, and to the enticing lift of her hip.

  God, she was exquisite.

  His hand froze as he spotted something on her thigh.

  He eased her from his chest and onto the pillow. She settled there with a sleepy snuffle but didn’t wake. He leaned closer to study it.

  It was a birthmark, almost a heart, with a wedge missing.

  His breath caught. His gut rippled. He’d seen this birthmark before.

  With a trembling finger he traced it, the mark he’d never forgotten, the mark he couldn’t thrust from his dreams. Mairi had had such a mark.

  It hit him hard and fast then. Why Susana reminded him of the young girl he’d once seduced, once loved and lost all those years ago. Why his heart pounded when he touched her. Why his soul sang when they kissed.

  Susana was Mairi.

  The realization stunned him. For six years he’d been tormented by the knowledge that Mairi had died—because of him. Or at least that was what Kirstie Gunn had told him. But here was proof that she had not died.

  He stared at Susana as the rising sun revealed her features. In her sleep, with all her usual tension banished, she looked younger, like the carefree girl he had so adored. One who had captured his heart with a kiss.

  How could he not have seen it? How could he not have known?

  Barely able to breathe, he eased back down beside her and lifted her into his arms again, staring at her in awe and trepidation. He pulled her closer, reveled in the fact that she nestled in. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her. She was a warm weight on his chest, one he’d yearned for, for far too long.

  Mairi.

  She was his Mairi. Here in his arms once again.

  He wanted to weep, but could not.

  It ate at him that, for some reason, she’d hidden her identity from him. For some reason, she hadn’t wanted him to know who she was.

  But he now did. Now everything had changed.

  Though he risked ruining all, he knew he had to confront her with his discovery. He needed to know … why.

  She stirred and he stilled. She glanced up at him, her eyes alight. Her lips tweaked.

  He couldn’t help kissing them. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Mmm.” She tucked her head against his shoulder once more. “Is it morning? Already?”

  He kissed her brow. “It is.” Mairi. Mairi.

  “I shouldna have stayed.”

  “I’m verra glad you did.” He stroked her, running his palm over the velvety skin of her back. “Last night was wonderful.”

  “Mmm.” Her fingers trickled over his chest, riffling through his hair, rousing his passion. He caught her hand and threaded his fingers in hers. Aye, he’d woken wanting her—it was rare when he wasn’t roused by her presence—but they had little time before they would have to rise for the day and he didn’t know when he would have such a moment alone with her again. As much as he would have loved to take her again, in the light of day, as much as he didn’t want to spoil this fragile intimacy, his curiosity consumed him.

  They needed to talk.

  Trouble was, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. He decided on a roundabout approach.

  “Susana?”

  “Aye?”

  “I was wondering…”

  “Aye?”

  “About your husband.”

  She stiffened in his arms. He caressed her neck, her shoulders, her arms, until she relaxed. “What about him?”

  “Did you love him?”

  Her glance was shadowed, hidden beneath her lashes. “Of course I loved him.”

  His stomach plummeted. Had he expected another answer?

  “He was a verra good man.”

  “I’m sorry you … lost him.” He knew the pain of losing a loved one to death. It was devastating. World ending. Soul crushing.

  She peeped up at him, frowned, and traced the lines on his face. He tried to release the tension in his features, but could not. The memory of that day, the day he’d learned his love had left the world, haunted him. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked.

  Ah, yes. The opening he needed. He hoped this revelation didn’t shatter their tender connection, but he couldn’t go on, pretending he didn’t know who she was. Still, he couldn’t meet her intense gaze. He set his chin on her hair, drew in her scent. “Once.”

  She stiffened again, and again, he soothed her.

  “I met her long ago, when I was a boy. At first look, I knew I had to have her. At first kiss, I knew I loved her.”

  She pulled back, forced him to meet her eye. “That seems verra impetuous.”

  “Do you no’ believe in love at first sight?”

  Her brow rumpled. “I used to.”

  “You fell in love at first sight?”

  “Once.”

  “Was it Gilley?”

  A flush rose on her cheeks. “Nae. It wasna Gilley.” She sighed. “It was long ago, when I was verra young.” Why she frowned at him, he didn’t know. “He broke my heart.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Mairi broke my heart as well.”

  This time when
she stiffened, he could not soothe her.

  “Mairi?” She studied him, nibbling on her lip. It was very distracting. But he waited to see her reaction, though the tension nearly killed him. “Tell me about her.”

  He let out his breath and tucked her back into his arms, although he was sure she did not want to be tucked.

  “She was perfect,” he said.

  Susana hmphed.

  He tried not to chuckle. “She had silken red hair and soft, alabaster skin.” His palm skated over her hair, her cheek. “Glorious green eyes.” He tipped up her chin and looked into those eyes. “Ripe, red lips.” He kissed those lips. “A tantalizing dent on her chin.” He kissed that, too. “And a birthmark.” His hand skated to her hip. “Here. The shape of a heart, split in two.”

  Her lashes fluttered. Her throat worked. What could have been a guilty expression flitted over her features. “What happened to her? This perfect girl? The girl you loved?”

  He cupped her face so she couldn’t turn away. “They told me she died.”

  Her eyes went wide. “She died?”

  “Killed in a carriage accident. That was what I was told. For years I mourned her. Years, Susana. I ached for her. Wept for her. And worse of all, I blamed myself for her death.”

  She pushed away and sat up, covering herself with the blanket. Making it a point to cover her hip. “Why would her death be your fault?”

  “Because she was running from me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why would she run from a valiant man like you?”

  “There was a misunderstanding … She thought I had betrayed her. But she was wrong.” His gaze bore into hers. She didn’t seem inclined to take the weight of it. She looked away.

  “That is a shame.”

  “It was a tragedy. I dinna realize at the time that we had both been lied to. But now,” he said, “I see.”

  Her head snapped up. Her frown became a glare.

  “When first I saw you, you reminded me of her.”

  “How flattering.”

  “Susana. We both know why. Do we no’?”

  She pressed her lips together mulishly.

  “You were in Perth six years ago, weren’t you?”

  Her shoulder lifted.

  “You canna deny it. You were that girl. You were my Mairi.”

  She flinched when he spoke her name.

  “When I kissed you, I knew I’d tasted you before. I was flooded with such joy, such redemption. Such relief. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.”

  She pushed away, levered off the bed, and hunted for her chemise. Without a word, she pulled it on. He understood her need to cover herself. He felt vulnerable as well. “Andrew … I doona want to talk about this.”

  He stood and grabbed her wrist as she reached for her discarded kirtle. “We have to, Susana. We need to.”

  Her eyes glimmered as she stared at him. “I am not that girl.”

  “You were.”

  She opened her mouth as though to respond, but she didn’t. She yanked her hand free and dressed quickly. “I need to go.”

  “Susana…”

  “Isobel will be looking for me.”

  “Susana…” Her frown silenced him and he stepped back, releasing all hold on her. His hope deflated, dried up, and gusted away on a whipping breeze.

  He should have said nothing. She didn’t want to face the truth of their past. She didn’t want to acknowledge what had happened between them, what had been. For some reason she was afraid.

  He wouldn’t press her. Not now.

  He would give her time to release the past, to come to her own decisions about the undeniable connection burning between them.

  He could only hope she would accept it for what it was. Accept him.

  He couldn’t bear losing her again.

  Especially now.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Susana stumbled as she made her way through the hall to her rooms.

  He knew who she was.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. The truth was, she needed some time—away from his distracting presence—to work through her emotions, so she’d fled. His expression had been too raw, her heart too tender.

  For six years she’d hated him and resented him and reviled him. He’d seduced her so callously and professed his love. She’d succumbed to his charms, only to find him in the arms of another woman. In a rage, she’d left. She’d been foolish enough to hope he would follow her when she fled Perth, but he had not. She’d assumed his disinclination to do so was a confirmation that he hadn’t meant a thing he’d said.

  But now, the revelation that he’d thought she’d died? That he had loved her?

  He’d said they’d both been lied to. He’d been told she perished. She’d been told he was faithless, that he and Kirstie were having an affair—the truth of which she’d seen with her own eyes. But what had she really seen? A boy and a girl in an embrace. A kiss. Then Kirstie’s expression when she’d glanced back at Susana’s stricken cry. It hadn’t been one of guilt or passion. It had been … triumph.

  Susana had known Kirstie wanted Andrew for herself. She just hadn’t realized how far her friend would go to win him. She shouldn’t have been so trusting.

  It could be true what he said. She owed him a chance to explain what had happened, from his point of view.

  Aside from that, now that she’d had him again, now that she’d been in his arms with nothing between them, she didn’t think she could bear to push him away.

  She rounded the corner and saw Rory leaning back on a chair set before Isobel’s room; the other chair was empty. His snore rumbled through the hall. Exasperation raked her. He was supposed to be guarding Isobel, not napping. She stormed to his side and kicked the legs of the chair and he tumbled to the ground with a yelp.

  She stood over him, arms akimbo, and glared. “What are you doing?” she growled.

  He scrambled to his feet and straightened his tunic. “I … I … I…”

  “Oh, bother.” She pushed past him into Isobel’s room and stopped, stock-still. The bed was rumpled … and empty. She ran to the sitting room and peered in, and then to the closet where Isobel sometimes hid. Empty as well. Dread soured her stomach. “Where is she?”

  Rory stood at the door, his eyes wide, his lips flapping. “I only closed my eyes for a moment. She was here. I swear she was.”

  “She’s not here now.” Her tone was acidic. Rory flinched.

  She rushed across the hall to her own rooms. Her panic rose when they were empty as well. She never should have left her daughter. She never should have gone.

  Sweat prickled on her brow. She whirled on Rory. “Who was sitting guard with you?”

  “M-Marcus,” he said. One of Andrew’s men. Her blood boiled. Her fists tightened. Had Keir been right? Was she wrong to trust the men from Dunnet after all? And had she paid a price too high?

  She set her teeth and gritted through them, “Gather the men. We will search the castle from top to bottom. And for God’s sake, find Marcus.” She fixed her gaze on the quaking boy. He was pale and trembling but there was no mercy in her heart. He was supposed to be guarding Isobel, keeping her safe, but he’d failed. “If we doona find her, at once, I shall skin you alive,” she bellowed, and then she stormed from the room.

  He skittered in her wake.

  God help him if anything had happened to Isobel.

  And God help her …

  * * *

  Andrew stared out the window of his chambers, seeing nothing.

  It had been hard as hell watching Susana leave him, especially with the unanswered questions plaguing him. He knew with absolute certainty that she was his Mairi, but for some reason she didn’t want to admit it.

  He wouldn’t understand women if he lived to be a hundred.

  Although, when he thought back to the last time he’d seen her … he thought he might understand what had happened, and what it had looked like to her. He’d been waiting for
Mairi in their usual spot in the woods when Kirstie had found him. They’d been chatting, Kirstie flirting more than usual and Andrew attempting to hold her off. And then, all of a sudden, she’d thrown herself into his arms and kissed him.

  He’d been stunned and perhaps a little flattered. And perhaps he hadn’t pushed her away as quickly as he should have.

  It was a mistake he would regret forever.

  Mairi’s cry still echoed in his soul. That moment was burned into his memory, when he’d glanced up and seen her expression. Eyes wide and filled with tears, limned with betrayal and heartbreak.

  Before he’d been able to untangle from Kirstie’s clinging limbs, Mairi had whirled away and disappeared. He’d tried to talk to her, to explain, but she’d refused to see him and then, the next day, she’d gone. And according to Kirstie, she’d never made it home.

  By then … well, by then it was far too late to explain anything.

  But her carriage hadn’t overturned. She hadn’t died.

  Now, miraculously, it wasn’t too late at all.

  He glanced at the bed, remembering the beauty of the night they’d shared and his mood lifted. He’d made progress with Susana. They’d created an undeniable bond. He knew, with time, she would soften. She would allow him to tell her his story. And perhaps, they would have a second chance at the love they’d once known.

  He dressed and made his way down the stairs, heading for the garden, where he was to meet Isobel for another fencing lesson. The little mite was coming along, picking up the basics like a man born with a sword in his hand.

  “Andrew!” Susana’s sharp tone cut through the foyer like a knife. His blood went cold. Had he really thought the night they’d shared had softened her?

  He turned to see her rushing through the front door, followed by a few of her men, all of whom wore concerned expressions.

  “Susana? What’s wrong?”

  She swept up to him, her expression hard. “Where is Marcus?”

  He blinked. “Marcus?”

  “He was supposed to be guarding Isobel. He’s not at his station. And she’s gone.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “She’s not in her room.”