When she could stand it no more, she turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. Her position put her slightly above him, and she leaned down to kiss him as she took his arousal in her hand. He made a low growl, and Bree began to stroke him. She lowered her head as she kissed his chest, and took one of his nipples into her mouth.
Whirling her tongue around the hardened peak, she blindly found the soap and bathed him in turn, repeating each of his actions, kissing and licking him as she rinsed him. He made a strangled sound when she twined her slick fingers around his hard member, and when he rose up from the water, Bree leaned forward and pressed a kiss to its tip.
“God, yes!” His voice cut to a rasp of raw need. Brianna laved the thick head with her tongue, then drew it into her mouth. He trembled and put his hands on her head, holding his body perfectly still as she pleasured him.
His heated reaction aroused her beyond belief. Her own legs trembled, and she felt hot and needy, desperate for him to touch her, to join his body to hers. And yet she did not want to stop what she was doing. He began to move with her, imitating the rhythm he used when he was inside her, except that now he was inside her mouth.
He suddenly withdrew and stepped out of the tub. Before Bree knew what he was doing, he’d draped his greatcoat around her shoulders and lifted her out of the tub. “Not another minute, lass. I want you now.”
He carried her from the scullery and walked through yet another dark passageway, finding his way flawlessly in the shadows. Without hesitation, he climbed a back staircase and turned to walk down a dark gallery that she recognized. He took her into the room across from Amelia’s and set her down beside the massive bed inside.
Quickly going to the fireplace, he lit the peat, never giving her a chance to feel the chill of the room. He returned to her, taking her mouth in a kiss that seared her to her toes. He cupped her face in his hands. “You are a marvel, Bridget MacLaren. More than any man could dream of.”
Brianna did not believe it, but she did not dispute it. The fire in the grate caught, and as he pulled down the blankets on the bed and removed his greatcoat from her shoulders, Bree felt another twinge of guilt for keeping her identity from him. He would not be pleased to know who she was, but she intended to be gone before he could learn the truth, before there could be any consequences to him.
His mouth descended on her nipple, and she shivered with pleasure, momentarily forgetting all about the deceptions they told each other.
Hugh put on fresh clothes in the glowing light of the peat fire. Bridget was sound asleep, turning and pulling the blanket over her shoulder as he took up his greatcoat and slipped it on.
She amazed him.
He could not imagine Bridget MacLaren being weighed down by hopelessness or despair. She would not lie still as Amelia had done, and allow circumstances to destroy her, but take action to change that which troubled her. She had more audacity than any woman he’d ever met, but not the dishonest kind shown by Charlotte de Marche. If only Charlotte had shown a sliver of the backbone Bridget possessed, Hugh might not have been quite so ready to flee London and her trap. He might even have considered allowing the woman to leg-shackle him.
He took a lingering look at the woman in his bed. Even now, he hardened at the thought of her body nestled tightly against his after making love. Naught was going to keep him from returning to their bed as soon as the brandy shipment was unloaded and stored in the buttery room. He took pleasure in the anticipation of holding her until morning.
Feeling full of supremely satisfied energy, Hugh walked to the nursery and looked through the window overlooking the beach, just as the heavy clouds opened up and partially exposed the half moon shimmering high above the sea.
There were no lights down below, but Hugh knew MacGowan’s gang would be gathering shortly to unload the shipment, if they were not on the beach already. He strained his eyes to see if he could pinpoint a cutter out in the cove, but saw nothing on the water. It was likely lying outside British waters, waiting for the free traders’ signal from the tower nearer midnight.
Hugh lit a lamp and walked down to the drawing room, then let himself out through the panel to the secret passageway. He closed it carefully behind him and started for the stairs, stopping when he heard voices.
Moving forward to the top of the steps, he saw MacGowan in the meager candlelight, talking to another man. They pushed open the door to the secret storage room and propped it open with a rock.
“Laird,” said MacGowan as Hugh started down the steps. “We’d heard ye were away.”
Hugh came down to the floor of the buttery where he and Bridget had come through only hours before. His body tightened at the mere thought of her. Fortunately, she was safe in his bed and knew naught of the danger they all might be in. If Kincaid had more than just suspicions, he might well have sent out riders to watch the coast, to watch Glenloch.
He glanced at the sky and hoped its ominous clouds would keep any intruders away. “Did you get yesterday’s brandy moved out?” he asked MacGowan.
“Aye. MacTavish saw to it with Coll Murdoch’s help.”
“Is that Murdoch with you?” Hugh asked as MacGowan’s companion looked up. The man had gone bald in the three years since Hugh had been back to Glenloch.
“Aye, Laird. Greetings to ye.”
He turned to MacGowan. “Did Armstrong go up to your cottage yesterday?”
MacGowan answered. “Aye. I stayed up there with him while MacTavish and Murdoch took care of the letting down and shipping out.” He held the candle up and stepped into the secret room. It was empty.
Hugh wondered if Murdoch was in it with MacGowan. Or if he was right in thinking MacGowan was involved at all. He hoped the evidence he needed would turn up in the next few days. He would deal with it swiftly, and then be free to enjoy Bridget MacLaren for the rest of the winter without any distractions. Her employer’s husband’s loss was Hugh’s gain.
“What of Armstrong’s suspicions, MacGowan? How did he know there was a cutter out here a few nights ago?”
“I doona know, Laird. Kincaid is a canny one. He might be playing with us, sending Armstrong out to see if anyone would snitch.”
“Or someone might have informed.”
“ ’Tis always possible, but no’ likely, is it?”
“You saw Armstrong go back to Stonehaven?”
“Ach, aye. He was no’ happy with stayin’ at my place. He wanted the comfort of his own hearth. Lit out of there as soon as the rain cleared this noon.”
“Looks like snow comin’ tonight,” said Murdoch as he slid through the grate.
Hugh would not mind snow, for it would be a further deterrent to the customs officers. As long as it came after they brought the brandy inside and got it hidden away, Hugh would be content.
Three Falkburn women came through the grate and scooted into the buttery. They positioned themselves to receive the containers of brandy when they were handed in, but as they took their places, one of them suddenly noticed Hugh. She took in a sharp breath and curtsied, and the other two followed suit.
“Laird, we didna know ye were here!”
“Just lending a hand is all,” he said, feigning innocence. And ignorance.
“MacTavish is about to give the signal, Laird,” said MacGowan, making his way through the grate.
Hugh followed the manger outside. “I’ll go down to the beach with you, MacGowan.”
“Just like the old days when ye were a lad, eh?” said Murdoch when they were all clear of the castle.
“Exactly,” said Hugh. But there wasn’t going to be any pilfering this time.
At least fifty people had gathered on the beach below the castle, able-bodied men and women from Falkburn. Hugh took a glance up at the tunnel lantern shining from the parapet of the south tower above them, then he looked toward the sea. The cutter gave no signal back, but Hugh knew Benoit would be sending stout boats to shore, now laden with the liquor for which MacGowan had already paid with H
ugh’s gold.
The weather was cold, and the clouds thicker than ever. A light flurry of snow drifted down as they worked quietly and efficiently, carrying the full tubs of brandy to the castle, passing them through the grate to the women who waited inside. They had a rotating system, carrying the tubs carefully in turn to the secret room where they stacked them.
It was years since Hugh had participated in this aspect of the trade—not since his father was alive and had stood watching from the south parapet with his debauched partner, the Marquess of Roddington. The two had quickly tired of the common tableaux and returned to their depraved amusements.
Later, Jasper had derided Hugh for joining the peasants in their labor, but Hugh had kept silent. Far better for him to show the townspeople that he knew and understood every aspect of their free-trade process, than to join two of the most contemptible peers of the realm in their diversions. Hugh hadn’t even stayed at the castle that night. He’d made the hour-long ride to Stonehaven and spent the night at an inn rather than pass a night under the same roof as his father.
After Jasper’s death, Hugh had wrought dramatic changes in every one of his estates, and the servants no longer had any reason to fear their lord. He’d striven for fairness in all his dealings, and avoided Roddington at all cost, which was the main reason Hugh been making up for their losses instead of speaking to him of the problem. The less contact he had with Rotten Roddington, the better, though ’twas high time he severed their partnership once and for all.
Lookouts were posted in strategic places along the road and at the edge of the castle, but as the night progressed, Hugh did not think any of the customs agents would appear tonight. Armstrong had braved the rain the day before, and he would likely have no interest in risking being caught in another storm. And since Armstrong had already checked on the rumor of a cutter in the cove, neither Kincaid nor Pennycook would have any reason to venture out from Stonehaven in the cold. Hugh believed there would be no surprises tonight.
Bree woke alone, in need of the water closet. She tossed back the covers and slid out of bed naked, wondering where Hugh had gone. She dreaded going into the cold corridor, so she looked for the greatcoat he had dropped when they’d come up to his bedchamber, but it was gone, too. Likely he had used it to keep warm while he took care of his own needs.
Remnants of the meal they’d shared were growing stale on a plate beside the bed, and the fire had burned low.
Never having taken a lover before, Bree did not know what the etiquette of the situation required. Should she wait until he returned? Pick up the plate and carry it down to the scullery and retrieve her clothes?
Since it went against the grain to sit and wait for something to happen, Brianna pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, then went to the door. From there, she took only a moment in the water closet, and when she returned to the hall, a shimmering glow drew her attention. The ghost appeared as a vaguely feminine form, and as before, Bree felt no fear. Instead, she felt drawn to the young woman whose spirit walked the castle.
Hugh denied its existence, and it suddenly occurred to Brianna that this might not be the ancient specter at all. Perhaps it was Amelia’s troubled spirit that haunted these halls now. Since everyone who came into the castle gave the ghost a wide berth, and no one seemed to have seen it, how would they know if it was their old familiar bogle?
She followed the translucent form to the end of the gallery, into the room where she’d slept her first night at Glenloch. The ghost gestured toward the window, and Bree stepped up to it and looked out. A light snow was falling, and the half moon cast an eerily brilliant light on the clouds surrounding it and the water below.
There was a ship in Glenloch’s cove, and Brianna could see shadowy figures on the beach. “Smugglers!” she whispered, and realized Hugh must know about it. That’s where he must be.
Bree turned toward the ghost, but it was gone.
The bitter cold in the hall suddenly seeped into her bones, and she hurried down to the scullery where they’d left her clothes. Dressing quickly, she pulled on her boots and hat, and found her way outside, hoping she could blend in with the free traders below. Her aunt had participated in a profitable operation from Killiedown, importing tea and spirits. Bree knew how it worked, that as many hands as possible would make short work of the shipment.
The thought of seeing Hugh now, of working beside him, excited her. She wanted to stand with him among the others, knowing more about him than anyone else, even though she was perfectly aware that the intimacies they’d shared were merely expressions of a strong physical attraction. It was no different than what passed between a man and his mistress. Bree had no claim to the avowed bachelor, nor did she want one. She craved her freedom.
Nonetheless, she was determined to enjoy and relish the closeness and sense of well-being she felt with him, even if it was temporary.
For tonight, she was content to stay at Glenloch.
Laborers from Falkburn carried pairs of tubs—half ankers that held about four gallons each—to a point beyond the beach where the castle rose up from a short, rocky ledge. There, each pair was lifted up to the ledge where they were received by yet another group of Falkburn workers who conveyed them, one man to the next, until they reached the grate to the buttery. At that point, someone slid them inside, and the women in the buttery carried them to the secret chamber where they stacked them.
It was quiet, dark work, for each one knew ’twas important to avoid drawing unwanted attention to their efforts. Hugh felt invigorated by his exertions, and more at ease than he’d felt in many a year. Working in the cold and dark, he could not recall why he’d ever thought he preferred to stay away from Glenloch in favor of his aimless pursuits in London.
His mistresses’ talents paled compared to the adventure of sharing Bridget MacLaren’s bed, and the allure of his boxing matches and gaming clubs had no hold over him here. His few days at Glenloch had been filled with more exhilaration than he’d felt…perhaps ever.
Anticipating his return to his warm bed and the soft, sweet body of his lover, he worked with nimble energy alongside the others until the silence was broken by MacGowan’s harsh whisper. “You there!”
He had grabbed a newcomer, a lad by the looks—
Good Christ, it was Bridget!
Hugh put down the tubs he’d hauled from the quay and scrambled up the beach to intercept his estate agent before he could do her any damage. “Leave her be,” he said.
“But Laird, I doona know who—”
“I know her.”
Bridget skipped down to him smiling broadly, and the earth seemed to open up at Hugh’s feet, threatening to swallow him whole. The impact of her presence, of her beautiful, beaming face, was more vitalizing than it should be.
She placed her hand upon his arm, and the heat of her touch shot through him in spite of the barrier of his greatcoat. “I’ve come to help.”
He drew her aside. “Bridget, sweet, you don’t have to—”
“Aye, I do.” She went up on her toes and whispered in his ear. “ ’Tis dull and lonely in that big bed without you.”
He swallowed and shoved away the erotic thoughts that could only distract him from the task at hand. “Come, then.”
They went down to the water together and he rejoined his gang.
Bridget took a set of tubs from the quay and carefully lifted the straps over her shoulders, positioning one tub against her back and one to rest against her chest.
“You are no stranger to this,” Hugh said, marveling that she was strong enough to carry the weight of those gallons.
“No,” she said, keeping her voice down as every competent smuggler would do. “My aunt…She used to run tea, among other goods.”
“Up near Muchalls.” It should not have surprised him, for Bridget had called her unconventional. She was following her aunt’s example—taking him for her lover, involving herself in his free-trade dealings. He wondered ag
ain about Bridget’s background and wished he’d gotten more details. He felt a pang of wariness at the realization that he still knew hardly anything about her.
“Aye,” Bridget replied, saying no more, and Hugh did not ask her. But he would later. They worked together, side-by-side while Hugh counted the minutes before he could to take her back to bed. By his calculations, they’d transported only a couple hundred pair of tubs, and there would be many more before they were finished. Bridget worked tirelessly, her eyes frequently meeting his as they worked, flirting with him, distracting him with the promise of intimate delights to come.
Hugh could not let arousal interfere with his observations. He kept an eye on MacGowan as well as every other member of the crew who worked on the beach, unable to dismiss the suspicion that MacGowan was the swindler. The only question was why the man would risk it.
MacGowan was well-paid, and had to know that if Hugh ever caught on to what he was doing, he’d be sacked. He would lose his income from the brandy trade as well as his post as estate manager. He would be left with naught.
Hugh had not given the man any indication that he knew something was amiss. Perhaps MacGowan believed Hugh would continue to neglect Glenloch and the free trading indefinitely and he could go on reaping his illicit profits.
It continued to snow—just a few big flakes that melted when they landed, but they lent a pale, watery light to the beach. Hugh looked at Bridget, bundled in her dark woolen coat, with her hat pulled low on her head, and deemed himself very fortunate that he’d decided to come to Scotland just at this moment. Otherwise, he’d have missed the experience of wrestling her to the floor on the night he’d arrived. He wouldn’t have felt the exhilaration of pulling her out of her sinking skiff and taking her away to the kelper’s cottage. He would never have felt the fierce anger or the wild excitement of making love to her all through the night.
Taken By the Laird Page 11
