It's In The Duke's Kiss: A Danby Regency Novella

by Julie Johnstone

  A scowl swept across her face. “Och!” She pressed her lips together. “I escaped him myself, if ye did nae notice,” she snapped.

  With a shake of his head, Lachlan kneeled down, took out his rope, and secured Hugh’s hands and feet before he stood once more. “What I noticed is that he had ye in his clutches until I appeared.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’d already escaped him once, but when ye charged into the woods screaming like a loon, ye distracted me and he got his filthy hands on me once again.”

  “I saved ye,” he insisted, though he felt sure she could have saved herself as she claimed. But the lovely, mutinous look her face took on when she argued did make it rather entertaining to keep goading her.

  She snorted. “Ye men are all so cocky. I saved myself,” she repeated.

  “If that’s what ye wish to believe,” he teased.

  Bridgette blew out an irritated breath. “What shall we do with him?” She nodded toward Hugh.

  Lachlan thought for a moment, glancing toward the woods that led to the castle. “I’m nae going to carry him on my horse back to yer brother. Alex can come for him.” When she didn’t respond, he turned to her.

  She was bent over collecting her bow and arrows, but when she stood, she did not look at him. She sheathed her weapon and kept her face turned away, but he could see her pulse beating rapidly against the alabaster skin of her delicate neck. “I suppose I dunnae need to ask if ye’re fine,” he said, even as an uneasy feeling that he’d not reached her soon enough rose in him.

  “Nay, ye dunnae need to fash yerself about me,” she replied, still not looking at him.

  Lachlan frowned. Her voice had a tremor in it that had not been there moments before. “Bridgette?”

  “Away with ye,” she demanded, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I’ll walk back to the castle alone.”

  His gut clenched. Had he been too late? Had she been defiled? Fresh rage enveloped him. “Bridgette, did Hugh take ye?” he asked, bending down to retrieve his dagger, which he may well need to use to gut the man.

  She wrenched her gaze to his. The tears that swam in her green eyes made his chest tighten. He was never without easy banter for a lass, especially a beautiful one like the woman Bridgette undeniably now was, even if she was only but fifteen, yet he found himself unable to think of the proper words for innocence lost.

  He struggled for a moment, then blurted, “I’ll cut his heart out for ye.”

  Bridgette MacLean, who he’d known since she had toddled around in a nappy but had never seen cry, burst into tears.

  Lachlan shook off his disbelief, quickly drew her to his side, and slid his arm around her shaking shoulders. While she wept, he led her to a rock some distance away from Hugh, gently guided her down, and then sat beside her. He held her and ran a soothing hand through her hair. “I’m sorry I did nae hear ye sooner, lass. Dunnae cry. All will be well. Nae a soul need ken yer innocence has been stolen.”

  She pulled back from him and gave him a look of amazement. “Lachlan MacLeod,” she mumbled through fresh sobs, “that’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard ye say, and I’ve heard ye say many a clot-heid things.” She sniffed loudly and swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks. “Any man with sense would ken if his new wife’s innocence was gone. I ken enough about relations between men and women to ken that.”

  Lachlan felt his neck turn hot and his lips pinch together into a frown. “And just how do ye ken about relations between men and women when ye’re nae married?” he demanded, knowing her brother would not be pleased if she had given away her charms willingly. Lachlan tugged a hand through his hair. She was not even his sister and he wasn’t pleased to hear this news. But he had known her all her life, and he had thought her the sort of lass who would only give her body to her husband.

  “Are ye married?” she growled, standing and marching away.

  “Ye ken I’m nae,” he retorted, hurrying to follow her.

  “Aye, I do. Yet I’d hazard my life that ye ken about relations between men and women.” She gave him a contemptuous look. “How can that be, Lachlan MacLeod?”

  “Och! Ye ken very well it’s different for men than for women.”

  She glared at him. “Oh, I ken it, for certain. It’s hardly fair. And nae that it’s any of yer concern, but my mother told me afore she passed what happened between a man and a woman once they were married.”

  The knots in his shoulders loosened, and he smiled. “Well then, that’s good.” When she started to climb the hill, a rip showed in the shoulder of her gown and he remembered his original question. “So were ye crying over yer lost innocence, lass?” he asked in the most delicate tone he could manage.

  “Och, nay,” she replied, waving a hand at him. “I’d have carved out Hugh’s heart myself if he’d taken my innocence.” She quirked her mouth. “Though Alex may well decide to carve it out anyway when he hears of this.” She gave a parting glance toward where they had left the man tied and continued on.

  The last of what troubled him eased away, yet he was confused. “Then why the tears? Were ye scairt?”

  “Of course nae, ye eedjit!” she snapped and faced him. The tears that had dried up filled her large eyes once again. She blinked and her russet lashes fanned her cheeks, causing tears to leak out of her eyes and slide down her face.

  Lachlan watched as they trailed over the slope of her high cheekbones, fighting the urge to wipe them away. They trickled to her chin, and he could resist no longer. He brushed a finger over one cheek and then the other, meaning only to comfort her, yet when he touched her, desire stirred within him. He jerked his hand away, cursing his body for responding to his friend’s sister like that. Bridgette was not a willing and experienced lass with whom to dally. Beyond that, she was too young.

  He folded his arms across his chest, where he’d keep them no matter what. “If ye were nae scairt and yer innocence was nae stolen, then why are ye crying?”

  She raised her gaze to his, her brows dipping together and a frown coming to her face. “I hardly ken why,” she mumbled. They stood in silence for a short time and then she spoke again. “I suppose ’tis because I never imagined my first kiss—and certainly nae like this. I presumed it would happen only when I married.”

  “Why nae till then? Ye’re certainly bonny.” It had always been his habit to speak plainly, but he saw by the widening of her eyes and the parting of her mouth that he likely should have kept his thoughts to himself.

  Pink infused her cheeks, but her gaze held his. “Because I am odd. I wish to fight in battles.”

  He nodded. Her brother had often lamented Bridgette’s desire to be treated as a man, and giving it thought now, Lachlan could recall her pleading to be trained to use a sword and her brother refusing her. “So,” he said, choosing his words with care, “ye believe that a woman who wishes to fight battles is undesirable to men?”

  Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink and traveled swiftly to her neck. “Aye.”

  “Ye’re desirable,” he assured her, though it was surely foolish for him to do so.

  She stared at him as if he’d just sprouted wings, and then a smile twitched at her lips. “Ye’re verra kind,” she murmured and started to look away.

  He caught her chin, then cursed himself for breaking his promise not to touch her, yet he did not release her. “I’m nae being kind. I’m being truthful.” God’s bones, his tongue was spouting words his brain knew better than to release.

  Her eyes widened again, and her tongue darted out to lick her full upper lip and then lower lip. “I feel foolish,” she blurted, her blush turning the tips of her ears red. “I’d nae dreamed of being kissed, but now that I have been, I’m sore that my first kiss was so awful, and that will be a memory I keep always. And that is why I was blubbering. I dunnae usually cry. ’Tis weak.”

  “I vow to ye,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d meant it to. The desire coursing through him was affecting every pa
rt of him. “Ye will receive a kiss someday that will destroy the memory of the one just forced upon ye.”

  “I dunnae see how. I’ll nae have a great love. I’ll marry because the men will clamor for my hand so as to make an alliance with my brother.”

  He stared at her in wonder. She truly had no notion of her loveliness, nor how enticing her spirited behavior.

  “I can taste his sourness,” she continued as she started walking ahead, her hips gently swaying and making his desire grow hotter. She let out a disgruntled sigh. “His kiss was rough,” she said with a shiver.

  Ah, God above! The thought in his head now was one that he was certain he should ignore, yet how could he let her only memory of being kissed be such a terrible one when God alone knew when she’d make the next memory. He could not. One simple kiss would harm neither of them. One kiss, done well, would show her what she had to look forward to with a good and honorable man.

  “Bridgette.” He clenched his jaw on his husky tone and strove harder to beat back the desire that was battering him. He cleared his throat. “Bridgette,” he tried again, pleased with his now-strong tone. “I’d like to kiss ye to give ye a better memory.”

  She stopped and turned to him, doubt flickering in her gaze. She was going to need some convincing, which made him want to laugh. His thoughts were normally sinfully wicked for the lasses, and they all responded eagerly; now that his intentions were pure, he was met with resistance. Determination hardened his resolve. He had to sway her. He was certain it would help her.

  Bridgette blinked and stared into Lachlan’s green eyes as they held hers. She had often dreamed of battles but never of being kissed. But she had fancied herself in love with Lachlan for near a sennight when she was but eight summers and he had rescued her dog after it had fallen into a ravine. The infatuation had been quickly forgotten when Lachlan’s family had departed from their visit and she had taken it into her head to become a warrior. All her thoughts had been for that, and no man had caused her to ponder anything different—nothing more intimate and female—until now.

  She had to admit, now that she was presented with the opportunity to kiss Lachlan, she found herself eager. Lachlan was, after all, a fierce, honorable Scot, whom she had long admired and who also happened to be very pleasing to look upon. Muscle carved every part of his powerful body, but the easy smile he often wore tempered the ferocious picture he presented. Even so, she had doubts that a kiss from him—or any man—could wipe away the memory replaying in her mind.

  “I dunnae think—”

  Lachlan set a calloused finger gently to Bridgette’s lips, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Let me be the one to do the thinking for a spell.”

  She snorted at that, even as her heart pounded. “How many lasses have ye said that to?”

  To her dismay, he cocked his head and appeared to be thinking, but then a chuckle rumbled from him. “Nae a one. Ye’re the first lass who’s ever hesitated when I asked to kiss them.”

  She smacked him on the chest. “It’s sinful to be so proud, ye ken?”

  He caught her small hand with his big one and pressed it to his heart. The thump against her fingertips made them tingle. At least she thought that’s what it was. Her mind felt a tad fuzzy as his open stare bore into her. “I ken it’s sinful,” he said, his voice velvety and strong. “I’ll repent later. Now let me help ye.”

  “A kiss kinnae have that much power, Lachlan Mac—”

  His mouth covered hers, stealing the last of her protests and all of her doubts.

  She eagerly let the words go, consumed by the searing heat of his kiss and the way her own body flamed in response to his demanding mastery. The peculiar pulsing at the juncture of her thighs and the tightening of her insides, which felt much like the string of her bow when she pulled it taut, made her moan and wiggle closer to him. A low growl emanated from him before his hand delved into her hair and he tugged her nearer. His tongue traced her upper and lower lips, then slipped between the two to explore her mouth. She welcomed him, tasting his saltiness and the slick slide of his tongue against hers.

  He retreated slightly, and she groaned in disappointment only to be silenced by his lips once again taking hers with a savage intensity that made her blood roar in her ears, sing through her body, and pound in her head. Aching, unrelenting need consumed her as she moved her hands up the hard planes of his chest to cling to his shoulders. Her wounded hand pained her a bit, but she ignored it. Under her fingertips, his muscles bunched and twitched, as if her touch filled him with as much yearning as his did her.

  Feeling emboldened, she pressed her chest against his, and the contact of his hard body to her soft one yanked a hiss from her and a guttural cry from him. Her eyes flew open as he shoved her away, panting. They didn’t speak but stood unmoving in the shadows, their short, sharp breaths filling the silence between them. After a time, Lachlan gave her a probing look. “Do ye think ye’ll forget the other kiss now?”

  She stared at the rugged yet gentle warrior. The concern swimming in his eyes made her body tremble. The only thing she’d remember about this day was him and the way he had just made her feel, yet she could not say that. The man surely already knew too well how he affected women.

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she started to walk back to the castle. “Aye, yer kiss was pleasing enough that I’ll nae remember the other. What about ye? Was my kiss pleasing enough that ye’ll forget the thousands that came before mine?” Her heartbeat stilled as she waited for his response.

  His gaze met hers and held her prisoner. “Aye,” he said, his voice breaking with huskiness. “But Bridgette—”

  “Nay,” she said, not wanting him to ruin the moment. “I ken what ye’re going to say.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do ye now? Ye’re a seer, then, are ye?”

  “Of course I’m nae a seer,” she grumbled, though she firmly believed in them and their powers. “I dunnae need to be a seer to ken that ye all think of me as a young girl with odd ideas.”

  He frowned. “That’s nae what I was thinking. I was recalling how yer brother intends to wed ye to the Campbell laird’s son when ye reach eighteen years.”

  She pursed her lips. “He’ll nae proceed with it when the time comes. He vowed to our mother on her deathbed to let me choose my husband.”

  “Three years is a long time,” he replied before reaching out and surprising her by tucking a few strands of her loose hair behind her ear. She stilled as he trailed his fingers to her cheek and brushed them across her skin. An almost wistful expression came to his face. Her breath caught in her chest. Was he going to ask her to consider him in the future?

  “Make sure when the time comes ye choose yer husband wisely,” he said, his tone impassive.

  Disappointment sliced through her, making her feel foolish. She knew that up until the kiss of moments before, Lachlan had thought of her as no more than Alex’s bothersome sister. Perhaps he still thought of her that way. And in truth, before he’d kissed her, she had not really thought of him since her brief infatuation long ago had faded. Well, she had noticed he was handsome since then. And she had thought he was honorable, albeit slightly dangerous. Now she knew he was both of those things, but he also had a caring heart and he seemed to understand her in a way no one else ever had. That last bit of newfound knowledge drew her to him. Well, that and the extraordinary kiss. She didn’t think any kiss from any other man would ever compare to his. But as Lachlan had said, three years was a long time. Still…

  “What sort of man would ye say I’d need to pick?”

  “One who will always put ye first,” he said, matter-of-fact, before clamping a hand on her shoulder and pushing her to the ground.

  “What are ye doing?” she demanded.

  His answer was to cut his gaze to her while withdrawing his bow and arrow. “Killing the wild boar to win the hunt.”

  Bridgette sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s what I had intended to do. I came
to the woods to kill the boar and finally prove to my brother that women can be equal to men.”

  She expected him to scoff at her. Instead, he used his bow to motion to hers before quickly aiming at the boar again. “Then be quick about it.”

  Her jaw dropped open at his invitation. “Ye’re going to let me take the shot?”

  He chuckled as he stole a quick glance at her. “Nae if ye dunnae hurry.”

  She quickly withdrew her bow and arrow, readied the shot, and fired. Her arrow whistled through the air before piercing the boar in the head. He went down with a thud. Grinning, she turned to Lachlan, who had already stood and held out his hand to help her up. She set her hand in his, the contact making her stomach clench. He pulled her to a stand and then released her. When he started to walk toward the boar, she grabbed his arm. He turned to her, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Why did ye let me have yer shot?” she asked. “Ye’ll lose the contest now.” The winner received a nice purse of coin, but more importantly, the victor would receive great respect.

  He unsheathed his dagger and then looked at her. “Do ye happen to have rope? I used all of mine on Hugh.”

  She nodded. “I’m always ready.”

  “I dunnae doubt that,” he said on a chuckle and took the rope she handed to him. “I let ye have the shot because I judged it of greater importance for ye to prove to yerself and yer brother what I suspected was so than for me to win the contest.”

  For the second time in a brief span, her lips parted in shock. “Ye mean to say that ye suspected I was equal to ye men?”

  He offered a grin that made her dizzy. “I may be arrogant, but I’m nae a clot-heid. In truth,” he continued as he strode toward the boar, “I like to think I’m a wee bit smarter than most men.” He glanced back at her and winked. “At least when it comes to the lasses. And I learned long ago to have sufficient regard for lasses.”

  She pursed her lips. “Which of the many lasses that ye have joined with taught ye that?”

  “My mother taught me that,” he shot back in a chiding tone, “with a few smacks to the head and by beating me soundly in sword-to-sword combat when I was fifteen.”