Ann Lethbridge

by Her Highland Protector

  Gratitude. It was her only reason for asking. And to refuse would indeed be churlish.

  Against everything he had sworn when deciding to stay to watch over her, he found his lips forming an acceptance. ‘Verra well. I am honoured to take a bite with you.’

  A smile lit her face. ‘Wonderful. I’ll go and lay out the food. I’ll call you when I’m ready.’

  He was looking forward to sitting down with her. To conversation, rather than orders and pleases and thank-yous.

  As she walked indoors he could not help but notice the spring in her step. Perhaps it wasn’t only gratitude that had made her invite him. Perhaps she still considered him a friend. If so, perhaps he could convince her to give up this madness. Each time she walked into one of those rooms he was sure something would come down on her head. Once Murray came, or Lord Carrick sent the carriage for her, he would never see her again. He’d failed to keep her inside the castle. He’d failed to keep her safe. He just hoped the mess he had made wouldn’t land at Ian’s door.

  He glanced down at himself. If he was going to be her guest, he had better wash up. Which meant a nice cold sluice under the pump in the courtyard.

  It brought to mind the dip they had taken together and the ever-present arousal pulsed at the recollection. Not something he should ever think about again. Thank God for the blood-chilling benefits of cold water.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She was so glad he’d said yes. Jenna put the cloth across one end of the long kitchen table. He’d worked so hard, she would have felt awful if he’d gone hungry while she ate the delicious meat pie prepared by Mrs Hughes’s cook. Not to mention the fresh crusty bread to go with the cheese and pickles. She put them out on the table and put the kettle over the fire Niall had built when they first arrived.

  She had enjoyed working with him today. The easy camaraderie they had was like nothing she had ever known before. He was a friend. More than a friend. She blushed, remembering how much more. Something inside her yearned for a repeat of that closeness, the carefree bliss she’d known with him in the gypsy cart.

  If only... But friendship wouldn’t help Braemuir. She needed a man with the financial wherewithal and the desire to put the estate in order. A faint pang twisted in the region of her heart. An echo of the pain of loss. A pain she never wanted to feel again.

  The estate would always be here. Houses did not die like people did. They could be restored. Rebuilt. They were permanent. People were not.

  She did not want to become attached to Niall. But she would enjoy the small amount of time they’d been granted.

  The kettle boiled, so she made the tea and put the teapot ready on the table and went outside to call him.

  He was standing at the pump, making himself presentable for her. She couldn’t keep from smiling at those lovely broad shoulders, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he rubbed his wet hair on what looked like a handkerchief. His physical beauty inspired her with awe, but he must have sensed her watching because he looked in her direction.

  Caught staring again. She waved. ‘The tea is ready.’

  He grabbed his shirt from the pump handle and pulled it over his head. ‘On my way,’ he called out.

  * * *

  ‘That was the best pie I have ever eaten.’

  ‘Mrs Hughes’s cook has a light hand with pastry.’

  ‘And the company made it taste even better.’

  Was he flirting with her? Or simply being kind? Likely the latter. She didn’t dare imagine it was anything else.

  ‘I don’t think we should do this any more,’ he said.

  ‘Eat together?’

  ‘No. You. Clearing out the house. It’s too dangerous. I can’t allow it. There is nothing we can do to make it look better in a week. I’m sorry.’

  It seemed that this conversation she had been leading up to had started before she was ready. ‘I know.’ She did know.

  ‘At last you are listening to reason.’

  ‘But no matter what happens, I am not leaving Braemuir. I need to be here. I cannot abandon it again.’

  ‘What if Murray doesn’t want to live here?’ His voice was calm, flat, as if he did not care one way or the other, but there was something else in his eyes, something that looked like pain, but he lowered his gaze to look at his hand clasped loosely on the table before she could be sure.

  ‘I sincerely doubt he will accept my conditions for the marriage. His family will advise against such a bad bargain.’

  ‘Not true, Jenna,’ he said sharply, looking at her again, a deep frown on his face. ‘You have a great deal to offer. And not just the title.’

  The thought that he wanted her to marry the other man gave her a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. And a pain in her chest, close to her heart. Which was nonsense. What had happened between them had been an interlude she could blame on gypsy magic. She just wished she could get it out of her mind. Stop the ache inside her for more of the same. Stop the feeling of loss, knowing he would soon depart. It was something she did not want to feel.

  He wanted her no more than she wanted him.

  Not true. She wanted Niall in the worst way possible. Carnally. And... She cut off the thought and poured the tea. ‘Let us hope Mr Murray sees it your way.’ She handed him his cup and saucer.

  ‘And if he doesn’t, then Lord and Lady Carrick will take you to Edinburgh next year for the Season,’ he said.

  ‘What if no one wants to put the house to rights? Now that I know how bad it is, I could never pretend otherwise.’

  ‘You put too much store in this building of yours.’

  ‘Unlike people, buildings are for ever. Or at least a long long time.’ She grimaced. ‘Or they are if cared for properly.’

  ‘And how do you plan to manage that if you do not have a husband?’ he asked, sounding unconvinced.

  ‘There is the income from renting the land. I’ll ask Carrick to make it over to me now I’m of age.’

  The doubt must have shown on his face, because her voice became fierce. ‘I’m just as capable as any man. Carrick will see it eventually.’

  ‘You can’t live here alone,’ he said in a low, dangerous voice. ‘It is not suitable for a woman of your station. And Carrick will not allow it, no matter how old you are. It isn’t safe.’

  As she opened her mouth to speak, he made a wide sweeping gesture. ‘Oh, it is fine enough now. But what happens in the winter, when the snow fills the glen? When you run out of fuel for the fire and your pantry is empty?’

  He meant when he was gone. Her heart dipped. ‘I will manage.’

  ‘You are not bred to this life.’

  Her hands shook a little as she poured herself another cup of tea. ‘I am not made of spun sugar.’

  He stood up, his chair scraping across the flagstones. ‘I won’t allow it.’

  The back of her neck bristled. Anger. And disappointment that she wasn’t prepared to examine right now. She faced him, across the table, only too aware of his height and his breadth and the flare of fury in his eyes. ‘It is none of your business, Niall Gilvry. None. I didn’t ask you to remain here. Indeed, I wish you would go.’ The longer he stayed, the harder it would be when he left.

  ‘If I leave, it will be with you. Back to Carrick Castle.’

  ‘By force, I suppose.’

  He rose, came around the table and stood toe to toe with her, looming over her, his expression fierce. ‘Yes. If you will not come willingly.’

  They stood there staring at each other, sparks of anger charging the air between them. Anger and desire. Opposite sides of the same coin she realised, as her body caught light.

  He caught her by the shoulders as if he would shake her, but instead hauled her hard against him. She lifted her face and he pressed his mouth to hers, hard, savage, searing, and she was no less savage in plundering his mouth with her tongue, tasting him, inhaling the clean smell of soap and a deeper masculine scent of warm man.

  Pressed hard against his c
hest she could feel every inhale and exhale and feel the heat of those deep unsteady breaths against her cheek as he delved the depths of her mouth. Her heart pounded, her breathing became laboured. Little thrills low in her belly made her arch into him and his thigh pressed deep between hers as his large hand cupped her bottom and drew her close.

  The same sensations she had felt that night in the gypsy wagon spiralled out of control. The deep need to shatter.

  Finally he broke away on a groan. ‘Jenna.’ The anger was gone. Now there was only hunger. A note in his voice that tugged at her centre, weakened her knees and left her arms feeling too heavy to cling to his shoulders.

  ‘Niall,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  His trembling fingers cradled her jaw, as he gazed down into her face, his throat working as he swallowed. ‘You don’t know how you tempt me, Jenna. I want you. More than I can say. But—’

  ‘I want you, too.’

  ‘I can’t promise to restrain myself, like before.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Say no, Jenna. Say it and I will walk you back to the vicarage.’

  The thought that he might go elsewhere to find his ease was a sharp knife between her ribs. She knew he wouldn’t stay at Braemuir much longer. The way he’d spoken of what would happen in the winter left her with a feeling of panic. The sense that she might never see him again, once he left here. ‘I want this,’ she said, smoothing his hair back from his face. ‘I want you.’

  Acceptance chased by intense desire crossed his face in quick succession. He swept her up in his arms and carried her up the narrow back stairs. At the landing he hesitated.

  ‘First door on the left,’ she said.

  He looked down at her, his face boyish, his beautifully sculpted lips curving in a smile. ‘You read my mind.’

  He stopped at the door and she turned the knob. The bedroom was the one she’d had as a child, but the bed was big enough for two and the mattress and pillows were covered with a dustsheet. She smiled up at him as he set her down gently on her feet. He dropped to his knees before her, encouraging her to lift one foot. She placed her hands flat on his shoulders and looked down on his lowered head and felt an unfamiliar clench in her heart. A tenderness. This was not about tenderness, it was about the fulfilment of desire. She would do well to remember it.

  He gently removed her shoes, then her garters. Skilfully, he rolled her stocking down over her knees and off. He sat back on his heels and ran a hand down first one shin, then the other, cupping her calf in his palm. He looked up, smiling, his eyes gleaming. ‘I love your legs. So shapely.’

  Her heart lurched. How strange to be so affected by admiration of her legs. She’d had compliments before, but none that meant quite so much.

  His hand caressed upwards, his fingers skimming behind her knees. She shivered.

  He leaped to his feet and tilted his head, looking at her gown.

  ‘Laces at the back,’ she managed to say, turning to face the bed, glad of the chance to hide her blushes. It didn’t take him long to pull the laces free, from both her gown and her stays. Kisses brushed across her nape and her shoulders as he eased the gown over her shoulders, arms and hips, until she stood in nothing but her chemise.

  Gently he turned her around. She looked up at him and there was no trace of anger or doubt. His face was pure seduction, heavy-lidded eyes, full lips parted, as his gaze ran down her scantily clad body. She ought to feel ashamed, but the look on his face gave her power and strength.

  He teased the skin at the edge of her chemise, running one finger beneath the lace, tracing the rise of her breasts and the dip between. Her breasts tightened, felt heavy and full. She moaned. He swooped down to kiss the top of her breast, easing the fabric down with his thumb, hot mouth kisses until his tongue laved and teased at her nipple, then suckled. Thrills shot to her deepest core. She dropped her head back, clinging on to his shoulders and shuddering with the sensation rippling outwards from her centre. She cried out softly when his mouth left her and he blew a little puff of air across the sensitised peak.

  He laughed quietly, a sound of delight, and moved to the other breast. The sensations started over again, only deeper, more resonant, and she could only moan and arch against him to ease her growing need for release from this wonderful torture.

  He brought his mouth to her lips again, plunging deep into her mouth while his hands caressed her hips and buttocks and she felt his hard male length against her stomach. He groaned deep in her mouth and drew back with tender little kisses on her mouth, her cheek, her eyelid.

  ‘I can’t wait, lass.’ He picked her up and lay her on the bed, the mattress giving beneath her weight. She lay back against the pillows, her arms above her head, her legs relaxed and open. A wanton offering.

  She watched from beneath heavy eyelids as he tore off his clothes, first struggling out of his coat, then discarding his waistcoat and ripping his shirt over his head, all the while his gaze roved her body with searing heat. He had to sit to remove his boots, which he did with frantic haste. Did he think she would change her mind?

  The thought made her smile a little. How could she? She had thought of nothing but this moment since he had brought her such shattering ecstasy in the wagon and had left himself unfulfilled. Despite the delicious bliss he had brought her, she had wanted more...closeness. A oneness, she had called it to herself.

  He stripped off his breeches and revealed his naked glorious arousal. At dusk by the burn he had been impressive, what she could see of him, large and very male. In the warm light from the window, he was gorgeous. The muscles of his chest and arms were clearly defined. His skin gleamed golden, emphasising the triangle of dark crisp curls across his chest that continued in a narrow trail down to meet those around his rampant male member. Rampantly demanding.

  She wanted that glorious body against her, skin to skin, as she had not that first time. She wriggled the chemise up over her hips and pulled it off.

  Startled, he stared at her, his gaze drifting down her body and back up to her face.

  Had she gone too far?

  ‘My God,’ he said. ‘You are more lovely than I remember. Take your hair down.’

  She took out the pins and let it fall around her shoulders to her waist.

  ‘I love your hair. It looks like fire, yet feels like cool silk against my skin.’

  She smiled and opened her arms and he fell into them with a soft groan. He lay at her side, breathing hard, his lips nuzzling at her neck below her ear, his hand warm, gently kneading one breast, one heavy thigh between her legs, his hips flexing against her flank. ‘Jenna,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘You are a virgin, still. But if we continue, you will not be. Now is the time to change your mind, sweeting. But quickly.’

  Sweeting. Not since she was a child had she heard such a tender endearment. It thrilled her as much as his caresses.

  ‘Jenna,’ he said, his voice sounding strangled against her throat.

  She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. ‘I want this. I want you, Niall. I won’t change my mind, I promise.’

  He muttered something under his breath that sounded like thank you, then he raised up on one elbow and took her mouth in a ravishing kiss, and the slow burn inside her flared bright behind her eyes, and scorched through her veins like hot smoke and she hugged him tight against her and kissed him back.

  * * *

  Permission. Savage lust surged through Niall. Control. Don’t lose control. A shred of civilisation dragged him back from the edge. He hauled in a deep breath. He would not disgrace himself. ‘Jenna,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. ‘Be sure.’

  ‘Please, Niall,’ she whispered, dragging on his shoulders, moving beneath him, opening to him.

  He came over her, sank into the soft cradle of her hips, felt her widen her thighs to accommodate his body. Not a surrender. Never that with Jenna. An impatient urging. A demand. One that he had no intention of denying as the blood roared in his ears with t
he sound of waves crashing on shore. A hard pounding rhythm in time with his heartbeat. Yet he held himself back, determined to make it as good as it could be, this first time.

  He wooed her mouth, stroking the soft flesh behind her lips, tasting her tongue, exploring the hot sweet depths of her mouth before slowly retreating. To his delight, she aggressively followed his lead, scraping his tongue with her teeth and then sucking.

  His shaft hardened unbearably as he surrendered to the pleasure. And then she was kissing him as if she could not get enough of his taste, his mouth, and their tongues mingled and danced for a lifetime until they had no breath left and they broke apart by mutual accord.

  He moved lower, trailing kisses down her throat, the rise of her small but bounteous breasts, rising up on one hand so he could shape each velvety peak in turn with his palm and closing his lips around the tightly furled buds, teasing them with his tongue and teeth until she squirmed and gasped and cried out.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders and his back. More pain to go along with the ache in his shaft—it was delicious torture.

  Raising his head, he captured her demanding cries in his mouth and slid his hand down her body to her hot liquid centre. Ready, thank the heavens. So very ready.

  His shaft pulsed a demand and every part of his being wanted to pound into her, to take her and claim her. No. No. She was... She hadn’t... He took deep steadying breaths, clung to what little reason he had and took himself in hand, guiding his throbbing flesh against her entrance, carefully parting the slick folds. So small. So tight. His muscles bunched and strained to be let loose, but he held back the terrible urge to plunge deep.

  Instead, he flexed his hips, a tiny movement that sent searing heat to his brain as the head of his shaft encountered the hot wet flesh that slowly gave way. Holding himself above her on his hands, he gazed into her flushed face and sensually pouting lips. Never had a woman looked more beautiful or more trusting than she did at that moment. ‘This is going to hurt,’ he managed to say through teeth gritted to hold himself back.