She pressed the velvet tip of his erection to the private place that hungered for him. “Now,” she whispered, her need replacing what little bit of good sense she still possessed. “Now, please.”
He pushed into her, moving slowly, gently breaching her maiden’s sheath until he could hold back no longer. He plunged deeply, then held still for a moment, trembling above her, lowering his forehead to hers. He swallowed thickly. “Are you all right?”
Bree did not know. “Yes,” she said, moving against him with a whimper, anxious to feel more of the building sensations. “I-I…need…”
He slid back, and a powerful tightening pooled in Bree’s lower extremities. Her muscles felt as though they would explode, and when he pushed back in, her body moved with the rhythm he set. The friction of their bodies stoked a deep, primal pleasure in her, and when a sudden exquisite spasm overtook her, she shuddered with primitive gratification, the repeated contraction of her muscles pulling her into some perfect netherworld.
The laird continued to move, sliding in and out of her with increasing speed until he stopped suddenly, groaning deeply and trembling violently with the climax of his own pleasure.
“ ’Tis a far better method of getting warm than arguing, is it not?” Hugh said, using a glib tone, rather than expressing his wonder.
He’d shared the bed of many a skilled lover, but no one had ever roused his passions as Bridget MacLaren had done. Every untutored touch and caress had raised his arousal to a higher level, until he’d felt as though his entire being had been caught in a maelstrom of sensation.
If he’d had any question about making her his paramour, it had been answered. Beyond belief.
He kept them tightly covered with the old blanket as he shifted positions, keeping her in his arms. She cuddled against him, her head resting on his chest, her hand trailing precariously close to his spent erection. She touched him, sliding his cock into her hand even as she pressed her mouth against one of his nipples. Hugh did not think it possible, but his entire body responded at once. He nearly came off the pallet as she swirled her tongue around his exquisitely sensitive nipple, then drew it into her mouth, sucking.
She was too inexperienced to understand the profound effect she had on him, and as he became erect and ready again, he forced himself to remember that she had only just lost her maidenhead. She could not possibly take him again. But yet…
He let out a ragged puff of breath. “Lass, you don’t know what you do to me.”
He looked at her in the flickering firelight and she met his gaze, without interrupting her intimate explorations. Her eyes reflected the same amazement that coursed through him at her touch.
“So this is why they don’t tell us…” she whispered, moving to straddle his leg, pressing her feminine mound against him. She sighed and shuddered with pleasure.
“Tell you what?” he asked, stifling a groan.
“How it feels,” she replied, her fingers skimming over the swollen head of his cock. His member grew apace with her intimate touch, and her eyes slid closed.
He took her mouth in a wild kiss as he eased her onto her back, twining his legs with hers. Christ, he wanted her again. Now.
“ ’Tis too soon for you, lass,” he said, torn between trying to cool his ardor and delving into her again, as she clearly wished.
He’d had only one experience with a virgin—his wife. And Hugh had subsequently wondered if he had botched that first time, for she’d shied away from their marriage bed ever after. And yet with Bridget the experience could not have been any more stunning. What she’d lacked in skill, she’d more than made up for in a hot, sensual keenness to feel it all. To take every thrust of his hips and give back every inch with a fervor that still took his breath away.
Hugh should have felt at least a pang of guilt for bedding this innocent, but he’d been powerless to arrest the momentum of their attraction. And now he could not regret his actions. He slid down to press his mouth against the fullness of her breasts, laving each one with his tongue. He could not remember ever feeling such a fierce arousal so quickly after climaxing, yet her touch made him mad for more. He craved the sensation of sliding into her tight sheath, of feeling her tighten around him.
He licked and sucked her nipples, and she writhed beneath him until he felt nearly mad with his own need. Yet he held back, pressing his hand against her mound, stroking the sensitive nub that lay hidden in her folds. She held his head in place and made small panting sounds as he pleasured her.
“I want…Oh!” She was breathless but demanding. “Oh, Hugh, I…Please. Can we…”
“Come for me, Bridget. Let go, sweet.” He was entirely focused on her pleasure, caring only that she come apart at his touch, in his arms. He wanted to see the amazement on her face and in her eyes.
He altered the rhythm of his touch and she suddenly cried out, clamping her thighs around his hand. “That’s it, sweet. You were made for this. For pleasure.”
She pulled him down for her kiss as shudders wracked her body.
And Hugh was very glad indeed that he’d seen her from the nursery window, taking the skiff out to sea.
Brianna felt a well of emotion fill her chest as Hugh tightened his arms around her. It was the oddest feeling…as though she could breathe freely for the first time in years. She’d felt some degree of peace during her years at Killiedown with Claire, but nothing like this. Nothing like the calm and secure sensation that filled her now.
His embrace turned into a brief hug and he withdrew from her, suddenly leaving her alone on the pallet. In truth, they were much warmer now, and so was the croft. He moved quickly to the hearth and added a few more pieces of wood to the fire, then spread out their clothes to dry.
Bree turned to watch the flex of his long legs as he moved quickly and efficiently, to appreciate the dense muscles of his chest and shoulders as he tended the fire, and to study the curious male part of him that had just been inside her. It was still hard and large, and Brianna knew it did not normally jut out from his body as it did now. She wondered if it was painful.
Inexperienced as she might be, Brianna knew he had felt the same sensations created by their joining as she had. But he’d pleasured her a second time without reaching his own climax, no longer angry, but concerned for her well-being.
She gathered the blanket around her shoulders, feeling warm and sated, perhaps a little bit sore. And more vulnerable than she’d felt since coming to Scotland with her aunt Claire nine years before.
She’d turned onto a dangerous path, and it involved more than just giving up her virginity. She’d let down the defenses she’d built so desperately during her early years and again when Bernard had deserted her. She needed them now—she needed to keep some control.
If she did not, she would have nothing.
And yet it was difficult to hold back that part of herself she’d always protected. She was anxious for him to return so she could do something akin to what he’d done to give her pleasure. Perhaps he need not enter her to reach fulfillment. She was eager to learn, in spite of social convention and all the arguments against it.
Bree did not want to think. She knew this man was an avowed bachelor and a dedicated rake. He’d seduced her without difficulty, but Brianna had made her own vow to elude the shackles of marriage. She’d lost her ignorance as well as her innocence this day, and acquired what she believed could be only a mere inkling of the pleasures to be gained in sharing a bed with a man. With a skilled lover—a paramour—whose regard would last only as long as their bedplay kept him interested.
Brianna pressed her eyes closed and tried to suppress the need he’d aroused in her. Her situation had not changed, in spite of what had happened between them. She still needed to go into hiding, else Stamford and Roddington were going to find her with Laird Glenloch and…
The thought eluded her when he pulled the door of the croft open a crack. Brianna smelled the rain outside and felt the bite of the wind just before he clo
sed it tight again and latched the door. Moving quickly, he returned to their narrow bed, and Bree moved aside and lifted the blanket for him. He climbed onto the pallet and drew her into his arms.
“ ’Tis still raining.”
She nodded against him and tangled her legs with his. With a naked man. Her lover. And that strange rush of emotion flooded her chest again. “I know,” she said, her voice a whisper of uncertainty.
“We have no amenities, Bridget,” he said. “We’ll have to make do with what we find inside.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing what he meant. “How will we…”
He ran his fingers across her shoulder and down the center of her back to her buttocks, raising goose bumps on her skin. Her nipples pebbled. “We are beyond secrets, I think. And since we cannot go outside…There is a bucket in the corner.”
She found herself blushing. “Ah…Perhaps the rain will let up soon and we can leave,” she said, even though it was the last thing she wanted. Just a few hours more, in her handsome lover’s arms. And then…
“Our clothes are still wet. They’ll take all night to dry.”
“Have we enough wood for the fire?”
“If we ration it carefully, we’ll be all right. And we’ve a chipped clay cup. I’ve set it outside to collect rainwater for drinking.”
“Did you know this place was here?” she asked, running her foot up the back of his leg.
“Aye. We’re still on Glenloch land.” He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Are you still angry?” Bree asked, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to his neck.
“Aye,” he whispered as she moved down his body. “Furious.”
She remained asleep when Hugh got up again and stoked the fire. He rearranged their clothes and turned back to look at her, sleeping contentedly on the straw pallet. He could not remember a more eager or spontaneous lover. She made up for her naïveté with ingenuity, just as he’d hoped, and his body reacted sharply in anticipation of their next sensual encounter.
He would not mind staying closed away here with her for a week, but they were going to run out of fuel for the fire before too long, and they would eventually need to eat. Besides those issues of survival, he had not forgotten his primary purpose for coming to Glenloch. Niall MacTavish and his crew would arrive to let down the brandy and cart it out tonight to make room for the next shipment. He’d hoped to be there to oversee the proceedings and talk to MacTavish about it.
Bridget did not awaken when he slid back into their bed and drew her into his arms. It was the first time he would spend an entire night with a woman, even his own wife. In spite of his intimate relations with Amelia being less than satisfactory, Hugh had never strayed. He might have been a fool for it, but he’d taken his vows seriously, refusing to follow the example of his father, a philanderer who had not a faithful bone in his body. His indiscretions had driven Hugh’s mother to her own lovers, and caused untold damage to the young innocents who’d succumbed to Jasper’s charms.
Amelia might have shied away from their marital relations, but Hugh would not insult—or possibly hurt—her by keeping a mistress or frequenting any of the popular but debauched “gentlemen’s” clubs around London as his father and his peers did. Hugh had lived a monk’s existence with Amelia, though little good it had done either of them.
Which was one very good reason never to marry again. Since it was impossible to try out a wife before marrying her, Hugh knew it was best to abstain from the institution altogether. His cousin John Hartford was a worthy heir, and there was every chance he would eventually sire a boy to inherit Hugh’s titles and all his entailed properties.
He would also see to it that Bridget was taken care of when their affair was over. He was feeling particularly generous toward her after their amazing night together. He didn’t want her ever to feel powerless again, to need to run and hide from the next opportunistic employer she encountered, who would use her and discard her when he lost interest.
Hugh could not foresee losing his desire for Bridget in the very near future. Only a fool would turn away from one so beautiful and so giving. Even now he wanted her, after making love all through the night.
Hugh had not forgotten that she’d been virginal and might experience second thoughts and regrets in the light of day. He would need to handle her carefully, need to make her the promises that would keep her in his bed.
She opened her eyes lazily and smiled. “Is it morning yet?”
“Just dawn.”
She stretched. “Do you know if it’s still raining?”
“Some,” he replied. “But not as hard as before. It might stop long enough for us to go back.”
“I’d rather stay here,” she said.
The same thought had crossed his own mind, but Hugh had not expected her to say it. Feeling slightly off balance, he said, “I imagine hunger will finally drive us out.”
“But not too soon, I hope.” She laid one hand on his chest. “Do you ever wish you could go far away where no one would ever find you?”
He gazed down at the wistful expression on her face and thought again about the bastard who’d driven her out into the cold. “Aye. Just now, in fact.”
Hugh allowed himself to relax. He felt sated in a way that had never happened before, and he had not even needed to engage in any coercion. He’d made her no promises, nor did she seem inclined to wheedle any out of him. “Our clothes are not entirely dry yet.”
“No, I suppose not. It took more than a night to dry my coat the last time, Hugh.”
He slid his fingers across the smooth skin of her shoulders and felt her shiver.
“Do you mind if I call you Hugh?”
“When I’m inside you, you might call me anything you like.”
“But only then?” she whispered.
“No, I like hearing the sound on your lips. No one ever calls me by my given name.”
“What about your parents? What did your mother call you?”
He avoided thinking about them as much as possible, especially his father, with his cruel streak and the blatant debauchery and mistresses that had driven his mother away. Hugh was not even certain he was Jasper’s true offspring. “I was born with three or four other titles, but she was partial to Glenloch.”
“That’s what she called you?”
“Generally,” he replied, wondering why her distant attitude should bother him now. It had never occurred to him before to be troubled by it, by the impersonality of the woman who’d borne him. “My mother tried to be a very conventional person.” At least in public.
“Mine was not,” Bridget said. “Nor was my aunt.”
“Nor are you, I think.”
“I hope not,” she said quietly. “I should like to be exactly like them—like my mother and her sister.”
“Tell me about them.” And he would be spared the aggravation of thinking about his own parents.
“I don’t remember my mother at all. She died when I was very young. But my aunt…She was very beautiful, and unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She traveled. Alone, if you can believe it, to exotic places,” said Bridget. “And I’m fairly certain she had a lover in Greece.”
“But you’re not sure.”
She frowned slightly. “ ’Twas not something we ever discussed. After all, she tried to raise me as a…a respectable woman.”
Hugh knew he had to steer her away from that topic, before her conscience came into play. “So you don’t really know about the Greek lover.”
“No, but…” She bit her lip and seemed to be deep in thought.
Hugh realized that her aunt must have been a woman of means at one time, if she’d traveled to Greece. He wondered what misfortune had sent Bridget to work for her living.
“But she left him to come here,” Hugh said.
She nodded. “When she learned of my father’s death, she knew I’d been left alone.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t really remember. About si
x, I suppose.”
“And your aunt came for you?”
“Eventually. My father had been gone at least three years before the bad news found her. It took many more months for her to get back.”
“What did you do in the meantime? How did you live?” Hugh found he did not care to think of Bridget as a child, having to manage alone until her aunt arrived. He wondered what she had done, how she had survived.
She slid her leg over his. “ ’Tis a long and dull tale. I’d much rather talk about your ghost. When did it first appear at Glenloch?”
“You know ’tis not real.” He spoke just as something loud slammed against one of the croft’s walls.
“See?”
“See what?”
“ ’Twas the ghost, contradicting you,” she mused.
He shook his head. “Not bloody likely. When you hear such sounds at the castle, they are merely the creaking and settling of that pile of ancient stones.”
“So you say. But there is something. I’ve seen it.”
He allowed her to stay on the subject of the Glenloch Ghost, for he’d caught her fleeting expression of sorrow when speaking of her aunt.
He wanted to know more about her, but perhaps later. “As far as I know, there has always been talk of a ghost at Glenloch. For centuries, at least.”
“How many years has the castle stood?”
“Centuries. ’Twas built in William Wallace’s time.”
“Do you think she—the ghost—was one of the original inhabitants?”
“I suppose there is no point in my repeating that there is no ghost?”
“None at all. Who was she? Do any of the legends give her name?”
“There are no records of those times, so we’ll never know exactly who the tales are about.”
“Hmmm…”
“What?”
“ ’Tis possible the ghost itself could tell us.”
Chapter 6
There’s naething got by delay,
but dirt and long nails.
Taken By the Laird Page 9
