by Julia London
Her heart pulse was racing, her body craving him, her mind screaming its warning to her. “It’s so wrong.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “But the desire exists between us, and Diah, we’ll neither of us rest until we’ve put an end to it.”
“Go back to Balhaire and leave me be,” she pleaded with him. “That will end it.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “If only it would, I’d be gone a thousand times over. But you know as well as I it will no’ do anything but fan the flames.”
He was right. As much as Bernadette hated to admit it, he was right.
She pressed her hand against his chest. He covered it with his, and pulled it free, then stepped backward, tugging her along.
“What are you doing?”
He responded by turning to walk up the hill with her in tow. Bernadette let him lead her. Again. She had no power to resist him, the last of it having bled out of her when he kissed her.
He led her up the hill and into the trees near his horse. There was a small clearing there, and he let go of her hand, removed his cloak and spread it on the ground. He looked back at her and his eyes, which had once reminded her of storms, were full of hunger.
She couldn’t believe she was going through with this, but she stepped up to his cloak, unfastened the clasp of her own and let it slide from her body.
Rabbie drew her closer, helped her down onto his cloak.
Bernadette couldn’t breathe—it was if the air had been snatched from her. “Soirbh,” he murmured. “Easy, mo chridha,” he murmured and shifted his body over hers.
She smoothed hair back from his face and traced her fingers along his chin, feeling the stubble of his beard.
Rabbie lowered his head, freed her breast from the confines of the gown and took it in his mouth.
“I mean to tell her,” Bernadette said breathlessly as his mouth and tongue teased her. She grasped his head, her fingers raking through his hair. “I can’t bear to live with myself if I don’t.”
He didn’t care or he didn’t hear her. He rose up, his mouth on hers, one hand sweeping down her side, to her hip, then down her leg.
Bernadette turned her gaze to the patch of gray sky above them as he moved his lips over her chin, kissed the hollow of her throat, then down, to her breast again, as his hand slid higher up her leg.
Intensely physical sensations began to flow through her. She could feel his hardness, the strength of his legs surrounding hers. His kisses were deepening, turning wilder, and Bernadette’s response was turning wild, too. She pressed her breasts against him and explored him with her hands, moving over thick arms, across a muscled back, down a trim waist, and around, to the front of his plaid, and the hardness of his erection.
He moaned when she touched him and lifted his head as if he meant to speak, but when he gazed down at her, his lashes fluttered, and he shook his head. “Alainn,” he muttered.
She didn’t know what he said, but whatever it was, spoken in such intimate circumstances, caused a dam to burst in her, flooding every part of her with pleasure and desire and affection—intense, undeniable affection for him.
Rabbie kissed her neck as he slipped his arms behind her back and crushed her to him. “Diah, leannan,” he said.
He suddenly rolled onto his back, pulling Bernadette on top of him. She straddled his body, pulled her skirts free, then pushed his plaid up around his waist. She slid her hands over his legs. They were sinewy and hard, his skin dampened with perspiration. She wrapped her hands around his member and could feel his heartbeat beneath her hand, the steady, rapid rhythm of need.
She was terribly aroused and leaned down to kiss him as she moved her hand on him.
But Rabbie was too impatient. He put his arm around her and tossed her on her back, and moved between her legs. Something primal began to surge through Bernadette, ripping through her veins, drowning out all rational thought, submitting everything in her to the need to feel his body inside of hers.
Rabbie pressed the tip of his erection against her sex; she drew her leg up, locked her gaze with his, then reached between them and guided him into her body.
He slid agonizingly slow into her, his eyes piercing hers until she closed them and allowed the exquisite sensation of his body to wash over her. He moved with deliberation, his hand caressing her thigh, then caressing the wet folds of her sex as he moved.
She was lost. She grabbed at his cloak, curling her fingers into twin fists as she struggled for patience, to not rush along but luxuriate in this. He buried his face in her hair, lengthening his stroke, his hand between their joined bodies, bringing her to a moment of crisis.
Bernadette choked on a cry of release. It rained down on her, the dust and fragments of her life, the bits and pieces of what had been a thick wall of desire.
His strokes took on a new urgency now. “Hold me,” he whispered, and Bernadette slipped her arms around him, kissed his face, his neck, his forehead, as he rode his way to release inside her.
When she had floated down from the cloud of ecstasy they’d created in one another, she opened her eyes. The wind had picked up, and the clouds had moved closer to shore. And yet, bits of sunlight glittered through the tops of the trees, and it felt to Bernadette as if they were being showered by gold dust.
It had been magical.
But as their bodies cooled, and the sky grew darker, reality began to creep in. The moments of insanity had passed, and now Bernadette was caught again in a vise of deceit and betrayal so tight that she feared her chest might burst with it.
Rabbie rose and helped her to her feet. He helped her arrange herself in her gown, picked up her cloak and wrapped it around her.
She brushed a twig from his shoulder. “You can’t return to Balhaire like this,” she said, worried by the state of his appearance.
“Donna worry,” he said, and kissed the top her of head. He picked up her cloak and put it around her shoulders, fastening the clasp. “Go home, now, leannan. It will rain soon and I’ll no’ have you caught in it.”
Bernadette nodded. She fastened her cloak and pulled the hood over her head. “This doesn’t change anything, Rabbie. It didn’t end it.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“You said we wouldn’t rest until we’d put an end to this thing between us. But it hasn’t ended for me. I can’t feel all this...esteem for you and prepare Avaline to marry you.”
He touched his fingers to her cheek.
“I don’t know what to do,” she pleaded with him.
“I would ease you if I could, leannan, but in this moment, I donna know what to do, either, aye? All I can do is promise you I will put it to rights.”
She wanted to believe him. She desperately, ardently, wanted to believe him.
He cupped her face. “You donna know what you mean to me,” he said. She nodded—he didn’t know what he meant to her, either. And she feared they would never have the opportunity to know.
His abruptly pulled her to him and kissed her again. When he let her go, he said, “Make haste.” He turned and walked quickly, his cloak billowing out behind him.
Bernadette waited until he’d gone, then started back to Killeaven, her body still vibrating from their lovemaking. But the closer she got to Killeaven, the colder she grew. Guilt began to choke out the desire.
There was nothing to be done for it. She’d fallen like a star fell from the sky, fast and hard, disappearing into nothing.
She would tell Avaline tonight.
How fitting the rain should start to fall.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AULAY MET RABBIE at the door of Balhaire.
“Where’ve you been, then?” he demanded as Rabbie wiped the rain from his shoulders.
Rabbie swallowed down a trifle of guilt. “I needed air,�
� he said, and pushed past his brother. He feared Aulay would detect Bernadette’s scent, so firmly set in his own nose. He feared the truth of where he’d been and what he’d been about could be read in his expression.
But Aulay caught his arm, wouldn’t let him pass. “Bloody hell you needed air,” he spat. “I know where you’ve been, lad. I know what you’re about, aye?”
Rabbie was almost relieved to have been caught. He wanted to confess that he had feelings—strong feelings—for the first time in years. Old, brittle feelings he’d thought long dead were cracking their shells and opening to new life.
“Donna do it again, do you understand? I’ve kept that cake-headed lass long enough in your stead, and I will no’ do it again. Bloody well tend to her yourself.”
Rabbie nodded, having no desire to antagonize Aulay any more than he’d already done. At least his secret was safe for the time being, until he could think what to do.
He followed Aulay into the great hall, where both families were gathered.
“There he is, our boy!” Lord Kent said loudly, and stood, swaying a bit on his feet and sloshing a tankard in Rabbie’s direction. “We thought perhaps you’d run away,” he said jovially. “God knows I wanted to escape before I was wed,” he added, and he and his brother laughed loudly.
Lady Kent sat quietly, her hands in her lap, her face blank.
“My apologies,” Rabbie said. “There was a matter I’d left unattended.” He couldn’t help but notice the glower his father exchanged with his mother. They clearly did not care for the Kents. And they most assuredly did not care for Rabbie’s behavior.
Miss Kent came to her feet and dipped a curtsy to him. “Good evening, Mr. Mackenzie.” She glanced away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him, but then cast a sunny smile at Aulay.
Rabbie’s father gestured for him to come forward, and Rabbie steadied himself. He walked to the dais and took a seat next to him.
“Where have you been?” his father asked curtly.
“I needed a wee bit of air,” Rabbie said.
His father leveled a look at him that clearly relayed his doubts. “Donna disappear again.”
Frang appeared, stepped behind the dais and whispered something in his mother’s ear. “At last,” she muttered and stood. “I beg your pardon, if I may? Supper is served.” She smiled and gestured toward the table set in the middle of the great hall. As everyone turned toward the table, she passed Rabbie with a dark look.
The two families dined in the great hall. Rabbie sat across from Avaline, who was seated between Catriona and Ellis. When she wasn’t whispering with Catriona, the two of them like a pair of wee thieves, Ellis engaged her with animated speech.
That suited Rabbie very well, for he was in no mood to speak with her. He could scarcely look at her—his heart and his thoughts were with Bernadette.
He couldn’t fathom how everything had happened so quickly, or even why it had. She’d despised him at first, and he’d been annoyed by her arrogance. But something had changed. It had started as an ember, had flamed with the wind off the sea at the cliff. He and Bernadette had just caught fire, that was what.
Lord Kent startled him with a loud guffaw, and Rabbie glanced in his direction. He was a man enslaved to drink. Rabbie had yet to pass an evening in his acquaintance when he did not fall into his cups, and his brother was no better. He glanced down at his meal, scarcely touched, his appetite consumed with thoughts of making love to Bernadette.
“By the by,” Lord Kent said loudly, and brought his whisky glass down on the table with a thud. He leaned forward to see down the table, and the tails of his lacy neck cloth dragged in the gravy on his plate. “With the help of my friend Buchanan, I’ve struck a bargain with the old man MacGregor. He’s agreed to a fair price for the land between our estates, my lord. Who, then, will build me a ship?”
Rabbie glanced at his father, but the laird’s expression was stoic. “What sort of ship would you like, then, my lord?”
“The same as you have,” he said, waving a beefy hand. “I like what you do here, Mackenzie. I rather think I ought to do the same.”
“What I do?” his father said, and smiled coldly. “Do you mean head a clan? Keep my people well fed and with occupation?”
“No, no,” he said irritably. “The trade, sir. Seems like a good venture to me. Wool is a dear commodity, and I intend to sell it by the ship-full in England.” He slapped his hand on the table and laughed loudly, as if the idea was so brilliant, so unique.
“Well, then, I donna know,” his father said evenly. “The MacDonalds were shipbuilders,” he said, nodding in Niall’s direction. “Alas they’ve been chased off of Skye.”
“Where’d they go?” Kent asked, leaning again, his neck cloth in the gravy again. “They can’t have gone far.” He looked at Niall.
“I canna rightly say,” the young man said, and shrugged. “Glasgow?”
Lord Kent snorted. “I’ll find someone who is willing to build me a ship, here, in the Highlands. You might even sail it, Mackenzie. You or one of your sons.”
“Perhaps,” his father said, and lifted his tot of whisky. “Frang, pour Lord Kent the Erbusaig whisky, aye? He’s no’ had the likes of it.”
“Yes, yes, let’s have some of that,” Lord Kent said greedily.
Rabbie’s father narrowed his eyes and fixed them menacingly on Kent. If Rabbie didn’t know his father, he would fear for Kent’s safety.
When the meal was done, the two families moved to the more intimate salon where Rabbie prayed his fiancée would not be commanded to sing. He was tormented enough as it was. Avaline had engaged Aulay in a corner. She was very animated, her countenance bright. Aulay looked as if he was fighting sleep.
He had to marry her. Was it not quite clear that he did? Kent had struck an agreement to buy the land that would give him access to the sea. At the very least, Rabbie had to marry the lass to control what Kent intended to do, or how the Buchanans meant to use him. If he was the man’s son-in-law, the Mackenzies might manage to balance his desire to sell wool with their own trade, might keep his flocks to the barest minimum so as not to lose their own limited grazing fields.
Rabbie had no choice.
And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of Bernadette. He couldn’t risk losing her.
He had to speak to Avaline. What he meant to do had no defendable justification and would threaten the welfare of his clan. Rabbie knew what he risked, but he couldn’t help himself—he couldn’t lose Bernadette, either, not after she’d brought him back from the brink. He walked across the room to his fiancée. “Miss Kent,” he said, said, interrupting the tale with which she had cornered Aulay.
She started. “Yes?”
He held out his hand to her. “A word, please.”
She looked at his hand, then at Aulay.
“Please,” he said.
“Yes, of course,” she said. But she made no effort to move.
“No’ here,” Rabbie said. “I would like a word in private.”
“Oh.” She glanced to her left. Rabbie followed her gaze. She was looking at her mother, who was watching them closely. “Diah, do you seek permission for everything that you do?” he muttered.
“What?” A blush rose in her cheeks. “I only... Where are we going?”
“Out of this room,” he said, and held out his palm again.
She very reluctantly slipped her hand into it and allowed him to lead her out of the room. He announced they needed a word in private and would return momentarily.
“By all means,” Lord Kent said, and laughed nastily.
If the man was not to be his future father-in-law, Rabbie might have put a fist in his gullet. He could scarcely contain his disgust.
He escorted Avaline to his father’s study. She stepped inside and turned around
to face him, her hands clasped tightly before her. She was anxious. She was always anxious in his company. How she must despise him—was he really so unsettling?
“I’ve something you ought to know,” he said. I made love to your maid. I didn’t seek the attraction, but it has happened. I can’t put her out of my mind for even a moment, even here and now. “You ought to know that we Mackenzies are free traders.”
She titled her head to one side. “Pardon?”
“Smugglers.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh. I see.” She looked to the window, unblinking, and her hand went to her throat, fluttering there.
He rather doubted she saw anything at all. “You are aware, are you no’, that smuggling is unlawful and immoral?”
“You mean to say that you smuggle,” she said, and turned her gaze back to him. “But not all of Mackenzies engage in this...practice,” she said carefully.
Was she referring to the entire clan? “No’ my mother or sisters, no. But the rest of us, aye.”
She nodded slowly, absorbing this information, then asked, “But Aulay doesn’t smuggle...does he?”
Was she truly as ignorant as this? Rabbie peered at her, trying to understand how she could misinterpret anything he’d said. “He is the captain of the ship we use to bring the cargo here.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t actually... I mean... He doesn’t...”
Why was she so concerned with Aulay? “Do you take my meaning, then, Avaline? You’re to marry a smuggler.”
She made a sound of alarm. And then she stared at him for a long moment, her lashes fluttering, her lips pursed as if she wanted to speak. “All right,” she said at last.
All right? That’s all she would say? “Diah, no, Avaline, it’s no’ all right, is it, then? Do you no’ want a good reason to end this engagement? I am giving it to you.” On a bloody platter, he wanted to add.
“No!” she said, and pressed a hand to her chest. “No, I don’t want to end this engagement, not like this!” She spoke as if the idea was abhorrent to her.
