by Cait London
MacGregor shuddered, nuzzling her hair, and then kissed her forehead. He yawned and stretched, trapping her hand as it explored lower. “Unless you’re ready to play again, sweetheart....”
“Mmm. Since the damage is done....” Daringly she touched him, amazed with the sudden velvety strength flowing beneath her fingertips.
“You do that to me, sweetheart,” he murmured above her head. “Not another woman can stir me with a hot look or the slightest touch.”
Easing her soft limbs over MacGregor’s tall body, Regina allowed her hair to slide along his shoulders. “Did you mean that, MacGregor? Did you mean what you said about not having other women?” she whispered.
Running his fingertip across the hot peak of her breast, he nodded solemnly. “You’ve ruined me, ma’am. There’s not another woman who could tempt me—”
Dark in the shadows, her eyes welled with tears. A single warm drop scalded his chest. MacGregor’s hand swept the length of her back, caressing lower. Regina gasped as he boldly lifted her and slid, full bloom, into her depths. He tugged her closer, and they lay quietly joined, caressing each other, clinging to the tenderness before the heat.
Nipping his warm flesh with her teeth, Regina teased, “You lusty beast, ready to play when your baby tries to sleep.”
MacGregor chuckled, and she listened, amazed at the rich, genuine sound rolling in his chest. “With ripe, sweet fruits such as this”—he gently squeezed her full breasts and lifted her to suckle the peak— “I could feast several times a night and wake ready for more.”
Regina lifted up, staring at him with wide eyes. The moonlight skimmed down her body, providing him with a voluptuous view. “MacGregor, you’ve kissed the Blarney stone.”
Adjusting her over him, he stroked her soft inner thigh. “Don’t know what that is, but I’m dying for the taste of you again.”
The birds began chirping just before the dawn, and Regina stretched against MacGregor’s hard warmth. Her limbs tangled with his, his arms wrapping her tightly against the length of his body. In the night he’d covered them with another blanket.
Against her inner thigh his arousal began to shift, silky and hot, yet he slept on, holding her close. She whispered, smoothing back a wayward strand from his ear. “MacGregor....”
“Mmm? Come here,” his warm hand swept down her thigh, urging her nearer.
“MacGregor, you should be ashamed,” she teased and grinned. “You’ll be damaged for life—”
He fondled her warm breast leisurely. “Stay with me. We’ll hide out and make love all day.”
Sitting up and easing herself away from him, Regina searched for her cotton nightshift. Damp with dew, the gown was wrinkled and needed smoothing. Taking care, she held the blanket to her chest with one hand and straightened the gown with the other.
MacGregor lay sprawled amid the blankets and his clothing, enjoying the sight of her shy blush.
“We’ve seen each other before, sweetheart,” he teased, toying with her hair and running a finger between her breasts. “Surely you wouldn’t hide from me now.”
“You improper, horny beast. You’ve dallied all night, keeping me from sleep, fondling and kissing and....” A length of hair hid her flushed face.
He chuckled. “And....?” he prodded gently.
Regina’s eyes widened, brilliant amethyst in the scant light. “Cover yourself, MacGregor. You should be ashamed—”
“Ah, but I’m not. I’m waiting for you to warm me again, to hear those soft little hungry cries....” He slid his hand beneath the blanket to stroke her upper thigh.
Edging back, she eased into the gown. “You lusty blackguard. We can’t lie out here all day. And you can’t come back to the cabin. Neither one is proper.”
MacGregor studied a pert nipple shining beneath the damp gown, tracing it with the tip of his finger. “I’m coming to court you today, Violet MacGregor. You are my heart’s desire.”
He turned slightly; Violet gasped, viewing for the first time her teeth marks at his throat and shoulder, the long reddening scratches of her nails down his back.
“Oh, my ...” She lightly touched the marks and found herself drowning in MacGregor’s hot gaze.
He kissed her palm, then pressed it to his heart. “You’ll do, Mrs. MacGregor. My heart’s desire....”
“Oh, my—” she managed before he kissed her sweetly, reverently, prolonging the moment when their lips would part.
~**~
Chapter Seventeen
At dawn, Lilly hurried to answer the soft knock at the cabin door. MacGregor filled the doorway, holding a bucket of fresh milk in one hand and a bouquet of wild flowers in the other.
Lilly shielded her face with her small hand and giggled. “Miss Violet sleep late.”
She motioned him inside, signaling silence as she took the milk.
“Da!” Jack yelled from his willow crib, raising his arms to be held. “Da!”
Regina’s sleepy voice slid across the shadows. “Hush, sweetheart. Mama’s sleeping.”
“Da!” Jack persisted as MacGregor picked him up. Taking his father’s head in chubby hands, Jack surprised MacGregor with a moist kiss. “Da! Jack eat.”
MacGregor cuddled his son, who kissed him again. Jack smoothed his father’s freshly shaved jaw with his small hand and studied him with wide, unblinking eyes. Just then Regina murmured sleepily, “Jack, come sleep with Mama for a time.”
Jack squirmed instantly, and MacGregor placed him on his feet. The baby toddled at a fast run toward the blanket shielding Regina’s bed. When MacGregor eased the blanket aside, he found Jack curled against Regina’s small body. Without opening her eyes she nestled him closer and kissed his head.
MacGregor’s heart pounded unevenly as he crouched by the bed. Regina’s long curls swept around her flushed face and draped across her shoulders, spreading across the white pillowcase to snare MacGregor’s hand.
He toyed with a silky tendril as it coiled around his finger, enchanted by the beauty spread before him. The reminders of their love-making, the graze of his beard and the soft swell of her lips, enchanted him. Regina’s scent, sweet and spicy and erotic, lingered in the shadowy nook.
She nuzzled Jack’s glossy black hair sleepily. “Mama’s little man... sweetheart.” She sighed as Jack toyed with her ruby eardrop. Catching the chubby hand, she kissed his fingers. “Mama loves Jack.”
The baby grinned up at his father and squirmed. The movement caught Regina’s gauze shift, pinning it against her tightly to reveal the rounded shape of her stomach.
Snuggling closely with his son, his child nestling within her womb, Regina was the most beautiful sight of MacGregor’s lifetime. He swallowed suddenly, fighting his fear and his joy.
He’d bound her against her will; she’d sworn not to “bear his bastards.” Fear curled around him like icy fingers, tearing at his heart, for Regina’s narrow hips cradled a life he had placed there.
The unborn infant stirred within his nest, and MacGregor’s breath caught, his heart pounding. The babe repeated the tiny movement, and MacGregor placed his hand over it lightly, his fingers trembling. Suddenly MacGregor’s eyes filled with tears, startling him.
Regina had snared his heart as surely as the dew clung to the meadow’s lush grass.
Sensing his father’s deep mood, Jack snared MacGregor’s finger and held it tightly. “Da.”
Regina’s soft lips curled whimsically.
“Mmm, yes. Quite,” she whispered sleepily. “Your father is a beautiful man. He’ll have two lovely children now.”
Her expression slid into a drowsy sensuality as the tip of her tongue moistened her slightly swollen bottom lip. “MacGregor, beast that he is, is a beautifully formed, lovely mountain knight. You’ll be just as handsome when you grow up. Yes....”
She smiled dreamily. “Quite... breathtaking at times, my lad. Quite fascinating.”
“Am I now?” MacGregor whispered huskily, scattering the wild flowers around her
body. He grinned when her purple eyes opened suddenly.
“Egad, MacGregor,” she whispered unevenly, brushing back a long curl from her cheek and throat. “What are you doing hovering about?”
“Da!” Jack announced firmly, grabbing a handful of bluebells and scooting off the bed. He ran toward Lilly, who was walking out the open door.
MacGregor bent to kiss Regina, inhaling the morning scents clinging to her. He nuzzled her throat, holding her to the bed easily as she tried to sit up. “You’re a beautiful woman, Violet MacGregor... especially in the morning,” he whispered against her flushed cheek.
She thrust at his chest, finding the hair covering it with her fingers and foraging slowly. “Gads, MacGregor. You can’t just appear at dawn....”
He kissed her breasts, then carefully lay his cheek over their child. A tiny limb thrust against him, and he kissed it reverently.
Regina inhaled suddenly, breathing quietly as MacGregor smoothed the small mound. He probed gently, then carefully lifted her gown away.
In the shadows of dawn his hard face softened with tender emotion. Eyes black and fierce in anger, now glistened with tears. His palm rested on the baby, caressing it. A teardrop clung to his lashes, soon slashed away by trembling fingers.
Lying quietly, Regina smoothed his cool, thick hair. Vulnerable now, MacGregor fought his emotions. The muscles of his throat contracted as he swallowed deeply. His heart raced beneath her palm as she waited for him to speak.
Another teardrop shimmered on his lashes, and she wiped it away with the tip of her finger.
Trembling with emotion, MacGregor caught her hand and lifted her palm to his lips. He kissed her wedding ring reverently as a shudder moved across his broad shoulders.
She stroked his jaw tenderly, waiting, sensing his need to talk.
Clearing his throat, he managed huskily, “You’re so small.... Women die in childbirth. There’s not a doctor within riding distance.”
“I’ll be fine, and so will your baby. Lilly is here, and she says Beulah is a skilled midwife.”
MacGregor’s large hand caressed their baby and trembled. “If anything happened to you—”
“Nothing will. You’ll be there to see that it won’t, just as you have always been,” she soothed, caressing his tense shoulders.
“I’m wanting this baby with you,” he stated roughly against her palm. “Will you love the baby, even though I... made you...?”
She slowly traced the high cheekbones, the hard thrust of his jaw, and the vulnerable, sensitive shape of his mouth. “I love both your children, my handsome dark knight. The question is”—she tugged his head down to hers and brushed a kiss across his lips—” will you run at the sight of my swollen belly? Will you seek another cozy bed and play with another willing, hot lass?”
“Hot lass?” he repeated blankly, looking rumpled and disarming in his confusion. Then slowly his wicked grin met hers. “I’ve got my heart’s desire, sweet and loving beside me. My hot lass nearly damaged my manhood in the meadow, her cries of pleasure echoed off the mountains... scared the bears into running away.”
“MacGregor,” she warned, grinning up at him. “You’re a savage beast.”
“A handsome, fascinating, breathtaking beast of a man?” he teased softly and bent to kiss her hungrily.
~**~
The Marquess of Fordington counted his steps, marking the hunting lodge he would build overlooking Primrose. “While Regina is breeding, I intend to enjoy the wilds, Tall Tom. Plan a proper nursery, since the child will be living with us until it’s old enough to travel safely. I’ll want rooms with strong latches and good fires. See that the servants’ quarters are on another wing from my rooms. I’ll need privacy when Regina is under my roof... until she adapts to my reins again.”
Tall Tom adjusted his eye patch and spat into a patch of Indian paintbrush. “She’s carrying MacGregor’s brat. The metis will fight to keep the bi—your daughter.”
“He can be bought or killed. This metis is not a problem, he’s my daughter’s whim,” Mortimer-Hawkes stated tightly. “He doesn’t own her... I do.”
Tall Tom stared at the pack mules laboring up the hill. When he was finished, MacGregor and the Englishwoman—money or no money, lord or no lord—would be begging for a quick death.
Mortimer-Hawkes was useful, setting his traps. But the mountain man intended to kill the woman known as Violet MacGregor. He drew his knife from its beaded sheath and slowly wiped it across his buckskin jacket.
MacGregor’s woman had cost him a toe and an eye. He savored the promise of her agony, her screams before she died.
“Nothing must happen to my daughter while she is breeding. I want her to have a healthy child. I’m sure we can all get along quite comfortably in these primitive wilds,” Mortimer-Hawkes continued, tapping his quirt against his riding britches.
He turned suddenly, striking Tall Tom across the chest. “You understand, don’t you? Nothing must endanger my daughter now that she is breeding. I shall need MacGregor’s baby, shall raise it as my own.”
The mountain man stared at Mortimer-Hawkes with flat, blue eyes. The next instant his blade rested at the marquess’s throat. The Englishman’s eyes narrowed, his expression unchanged as Tall Tom breathed heavily.
“You won’t kill me,” Mortimer-Hawkes sneered evenly. “If I die, you’ll never claim the gold deposited in St. Louis in my account. I’ve placed a bounty on the head of any man who harms me. The moment word of my death reaches my financier, he’ll set the price... a very large price.”
That night Tall Tom lay in Madam Joy’s opulent bed. Mai, a young prostitute bearing Tom’s bruises, caressed him while the madam talked. “These English I do not like. MacGregor’s woman struck me, and this I will not forget. To save face, I must kill her.”
Tom swilled his whiskey and slapped the girl’s slender back. “Get out of here.”
The madam nodded her approval, and Mai slid from the room. Tom stood and stretched, careless that the madam studied his body.
“Send Mai to Mortimer-Hawkes. She’ll make a nice present from me,” Tom said, pouring another whiskey.
“Agreed. The MacGregor woman is a thorn in my side. My girls whisper of her. I see disobedience in their eyes, placed there by this woman. Last week three girls disappeared, though one will not live long without the poppy. A Frenchman named Pierre sniffs around that ungrateful Lilly as though she were an unused virgin, when many men have had her. This Violet woman has torn the petals of my business and shall feel my wrath. A drink of my tea and the English miss loses her brat,” the madam crooned, snapping her fingers.
“Mortimer-Hawkes will kill for her. She’s more than his daughter somehow. Nothing can happen to the baby, either, according to him. He’s crazy about the metis’s woman. Sees her as a goddess. Almost like she was his woman. I’ve known some men to take their daughters. Treat ‘em like wives. One move on her and Mortimer-Hawkes will empty his pockets for revenge.”
Madam Joy fondled the earrings she had purchased from Pokey Wales. “This miss has money, too.” Her thin lips tightened. “She is worse than an Indian. A savage with purple eyes.”
“I’ve promised myself her ears. Got the idea from an English lord friend of mine before Mortimer-Hawkes did him in. Still fancy taking MacGregor’s woman’s ears, though.”
~**~
Tiny, a black giant who had served with MacGregor in the war, loped into the valley after escaping carpetbaggers. He chopped and shaped the logs for the cabin’s new rooms and silently salved the mental wounds he shared with MacGregor.
Using the mules to drag in new timber, Pierre and MacGregor worked with Tiny from dawn until dusk. MacGregor continued his intent pursuit of Regina into the night, the courting flute’s notes quivering above the night sounds.
Mose arrived at dawn one day, announcing that he intended to see Miss Violet in a proper house.
As Regina’s body curved gently with his child, MacGregor investigated each new ch
ange with wonder. He gave her starts of lavender and mint from a settler woman and sacks of dandelion flowers for yellow dye.
Exclaiming with delight, Regina threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. Then MacGregor caught her close, lingering until they were breathless and rosy. When she picked up a bucket of milk or bent to tend her vegetable garden, MacGregor swooped to lift her into his arms. Sitting on his lap, Regina received a lecture that turned into sweet, tantalizing kisses and a private walk into the forest.
When Regina soothed the mountain man’s ruffled pride with a look or a kiss, Tiny roared with laughter and teased MacGregor about being tamed by a half-slip of a girl with purple eyes.
Sleeping near the cabin, MacGregor chafed at not sharing Regina’s bed. The couple’s daily play amused the other men, who shared a knowing wink when MacGregor stalked off to the stream, muttering about willful, mulish women.
Tension clung to the hot July days like a heavy, airless velvet cloak. Word of the marquess’s hunting “palace” traveled quickly. A Spanish-Indian servant delivered Mortimer- Hawkes’s letter to Regina.
My dearest beloved daughter—
How I have missed you. Soon we will be reunited. I have decided to spend a time enjoying the American wilds. You are welcome to return to my home at any time. Unfortunately, your fiancé, Lord Covington, has met his demise. We shall have to carry on without him. As is the custom, you are of course expected to serve as mistress of the Fordington family estate. Under my guidance we shall continue as before, though I shall not expect you to marry after the loss of our dear earl. I await your return to my loving arms.
—Nigel
~**~
Her nightmares began immediately, Regina’s cries filled with terror. Then MacGregor’s dark, fierce scowl would appear in the night, his strong arms shielding her from the past as he carried her out into the clean, dewy meadow.
Wrapped in her shawl, Regina nestled against his sprawled, naked body and dreamed of their daughter.
