“Don’t mind those young simps,” Maira said, gesturing to the women talking softly together and glancing in Marisa’s direction. “’Tis just that many of them have never seen an Englishwoman before. And they can’t bear the thought of sharing his Lairdship there.”
“Has Kyle ever been…I mean, not that it’s any of my business…”
“Of course it’s your business,” Maira said in a huff, breaking out a small flask and pouring her own drink. “No, Kyle had never been interested in the local ladies. Seems he’s in love with his cause. ’Tis sad. He was such a warm lad when he was a bairn. I knew Flora well.”
“Kyle’s mother?” Marisa asked, interested.
Maira nodded. “Yes. She was a lovely woman, all brown hair and grey eyes. I’ll never forget the night she was found dead. Young Kyle would not let her go. He kept holding her, his own hands covered with blood. Then to be accused of her murder! ’Tis more than any young lad should bear.”
The picture she painted reminded Marisa startlingly of her dream. No wonder Kyle was so bitter! She suddenly felt an overwhelming compassion for the man.
“Aye, but our Angel needs more than medals and glory. He thinks that avenging her death, clearing his name, will provide what he lacks. So he searches and fights, hoping that it will fill the emptiness inside him. He’s driven, he is.”
“Are ye beating the lass’s ear, Maira?” Douglass interjected. “She’s just recovering from an illness. Don’t give her another one.”
“Aye, get on with yourself,” Maira snapped. “You can’t keep her all to yourself. And tell Flossie to get over here. Fine manners, miss. You don’t even say hello?”
Gradually, the women joined Marisa, spurred on by Maira. Marisa soon saw that this maternal little grandmother had to do naught but command and the clanspeople rushed to do her bidding. She sat quietly beside Marisa, firelight dancing on her sugar-spun hair, her hands deftly sewing a shawl or sipping a whiskey. Maira eased the way for the others, and once they met Marisa, their curiosity got the better of them and they plied her with questions.
“How do you do your hair like that?”
“What are they wearing in London? Are wigs and powders still in style?”
“Tell us about the gowns. Are yours made each season?”
Marisa laughed and tried to answer them all, describing the fashionable hoops, the silks and brocades the ladies were wearing, and the scented powder to be used for their hair. The ladies were giggling at her vivid descriptions of life at court, including the incident with Lady Marklam’s wig. They wanted to hear all about Shannon and Devon, amazed that this cool young Englishwoman actually had a real life. By the time Kyle returned, Marisa was showing them how to use pieces of cotton sheeting to bolster a hairstyle into an enormous headpiece.
Upon seeing Kyle, the women blushed and dispersed, leaving him to stare after them curiously.
“It must be your charm,” Maira said solemnly. “They turn to a bowl of bread pudding at the sight of ye. Although if I were ten years younger…”
“I thought you were,” Kyle replied, taking a seat beside Marisa. Maira slapped him sharply.
“You wouldn’t be so impertinent if I was. Unlike this young lady, I wouldn’t stand for ye hauling me aboot the country like a tinker with his sack. Ye ought to be ashamed.”
“I am,” Kyle said, though Marisa could detect the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I repent each night, thinking about it.”
“Young rapscallion,” Maira hissed.
Thankfully, the pipers began. Marisa relaxed, accepting a plate of food from Kyle and enjoying his attention. Clapping his hands, Duncan grabbed the nearest young woman and pulled her into step. The others followed suit, each taking a giggling lass and whisking her around the room in a breathless pace. Marisa stared, mesmerized. This was nothing like the courtly minuet or the newly scandalous waltz. There was a vitality about this dance, an energy and bawdiness that would have England blushing. Tartans blazed with color; the music grew louder, the dance more frenzied.
Marisa’s foot tapped eagerly on the floor, noticing that while Kyle may not have cared much for the local ladies, he certainly did not mind dancing with them. Hiding the restless movements of her feet, she wished fervently to be among the dancers, to experience the sensation of sweeping about the room with Kyle. He looked wonderfully handsome, his steps graceful, his smile polite in response to his flushed partner. Marisa longed to kick him for having such a wonderful time while she was sequestered here, on the couch. Something in her expression must have betrayed her, for Kyle returned after the next dance, handing his disgruntled partner into Douglass’s care.
“You don’t seem pleased,” Kyle remarked, accepting a whiskey from the maid and turning to Marisa with that enigmatic smile. “Aren’t you enjoying the dance?”
“I’d enjoy it more if I could participate.” Oddly, none of the other Highlanders had asked. Marisa tried to hide the tapping of her toes without much success.
“Ah. But your illness!” Kyle protested. Then he got to his feet, relenting. He extended one hand, sweeping her to the floor, his eyes dancing. His smile became broader as he led her out to the group of swirling dancers, bowing before her in mock gentility. He took her into his arms.
“I don’t know how to do this….” she said.
“Watch me. Let me lead. That’s it. You feel wonderful, my lady. Almost enough to make me forget that you are too ill for all this.”
Marisa trod on his toes, her own smile innocent as he winced with pain. “Forgive me. But I did warn you that I’m new at this.”
“Let’s just say I won’t underestimate you again,” Kyle said with a trace of mirth.
The music grew faster, the pace breathless. Marisa forgot all except the moment. It seemed especially precious, knowing it could not last forever.
“Tired?” Kyle questioned softly.
“No.” Marisa smiled pertly, showing a row of tiny white teeth. “I seem to be wonderfully recovered. I guess all it took was one dance.”
“I am delighted to hear it. You gave me quite a scare when you were sick, you know. Had I realized your recovery would be such a simple matter, I would have done this much sooner.”
Kyle gestured to the pipers. The music slowed, the reel leaving off. The strains of bagpipes filled the room, starting out soft and sweet, then building to a touching sadness. Marisa felt the bittersweet sound suited this place, the melancholy pipes blending with the harsh landscape outside and the drama that the tartans represented. As the tune became poignant, the coarse and gruff Highlanders each paused from their cups, listening as one. Marisa could sense the closeness that the wail of the bagpipes generated. She could see the glens and hillsides of Scotland, and share their remorse for a land and a time that was slowly slipping away. When the pipers paused, she saw more than one man look outside, as if to memorize the craggy hills, the romantic island of Skye, the legendary valleys where a prince once hid. They glanced down at the tartans they wore, symbols of an ancient culture they had loved and lost.
Marisa closed her eyes, touched by the music and the man who held her. Kyle’s hands moved slowly down her back, caressing her with a sure and practiced touch, while his hard muscled body moved against her soft one with its own dizzying promise. Marisa quivered with each touch. Every part of her body seemed to cry out for him.
Kyle stared down at her, his own body responding to her innocent sensuality. Her eyelids were closed, the satin folds of her skin hiding the green sparkle that now would be glazed and soft. His finger traced down, past the lovely outline of her chin to her throat. Her gown fell away at the square-cut neckline, presenting him with a view of her round breasts, pressing upward, eager for his caresses. A vein jumped in her neck, responding to his touch. Her slender body was like a trembling butterfly, magically within his grasp, promising a glimpse of beauty with the unfolding of her wings….
“Marisa.” Kyle’s voice came, oddly strained. Her lashes fluttered open, her
head lifting from his shoulder. She saw the warmth in the silver depths of his eyes, the promise of erotic secrets yet untold.
“Marisa, would you like to go outside where it’s cooler? I’m beginning to feel warm.”
“Old wounds?” Marisa teased.
Outside, the sky was moist black velvet, adorned with a moon and garlanded with stars. The air was tinged with the crisp scent of the oncoming fall, mingling with the promise of winter and the sweet sorrow of the passing summer.
Without pause, Kyle led her through the night. He moved with the surety of a cat, dodging the mounds of heather and the hidden rocks. A stream trickled beyond, sparkling like a pulsing silver vein in the hills, rendering life to the fields beyond. It was beautiful, restless, and exotic.
Marisa saw the pond, the same secluded place that had beckoned her earlier. The pool shimmered in welcome, reminding her of its cool depths. It was here Kyle led her, taking her to the grassy banks. The waters, placid and still, gleamed in the night, reflecting strange lights and well-kept secrets of the life below. Marisa lifted her face to Kyle.
“You saw me, didn’t you?” She blushed at the thought.
Kyle smiled wickedly. “You have a strange penchant for water. Rebirth, perhaps. Biblical in its illusions. I find the habit entrancing, especially contrasted with your ladylike demeanor.” His finger lightly traced her cheekbone, then slid beneath the fullness of her hair to her neck. His expression changed subtly as he remembered her, water clinging to her shift, running in delicious rivulets down her thighs and arms.
“Come here.” Kyle’s voice was commanding, but it warmed her in a way she didn’t understand.
Lifting her gaze to his, Marisa was startled by the innocent brush of her lips against his throat. It was accidental, but the contact was intoxicating. Kyle’s smile grew charming, his eyes heavily lidded by desire, his fingers beginning a hopelessly irresistible caress in the satin flesh of her back.
“Kiss me, Marisa,” he said. “Show me that you want me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Staring at Kyle, hypnotized by his smile and the sultry conspiracy of the seductive night, Marisa reached up on her toes, recklessly indulging in the passion that bloomed within her like an exotic flower. She pressed her lips to Kyle’s, burying herself into the firm hardness of his body. Her unpracticed mouth parted, her tongue stroking the hot fullness of his lips the way he’d done with her, before penetrating and tasting the nectar inside. She was assured of his pleasure as he groaned, then pulled her even closer, his body caressing hers with an intoxicating message. Everything made her very much aware of him as a man: the fine linen of his shirt against her breasts, his hard muscled thigh between her soft ones, and his manhood throbbing between them. The heat in her loins intensified when his tongue playfully flicked her teeth, then gently tasted her response.
“Ah, Marisa,” Kyle whispered when her mouth eased from his, her lips softened and warmed by the contact like heated wax. She was embarrassed by her own unrestrained passion. “There’s nothing to fear,” he murmured.
“But I…” she began. Kyle began a torrid caress, his hand passing down the smooth column of her throat, enjoying the silken texture of her skin until he reached the restraint of her gown. Marisa knew what he wanted and instantly obeyed. She undid the laces that held the muslin, letting it fall in a whispered caress to her hips. His hands aided its descent, tumbling the gown into a burgundy puddle at her feet, leaving her clad in only her shift.
The heather burned in the moonlight. An owl hooted, Marisa shivered in the night, reminded of another time when this man had watched her beside a stream….Suddenly a mischievous smile curved her lips, and Marisa broke free of Kyle’s embrace. She fled, her laughter ringing out behind her. She dove into the water, ignoring the sharp cold contact, rejoicing in the cool assuagement of her flesh.
An arm encircled her waist and as Marisa surfaced, laughing, she was brought back into Kyle’s embrace. He had removed everything but the kilt, and she had a moment’s regret that she had missed his undressing. His leg rested between hers, the warmth of his body enticing. Her arms crept willingly around his shoulders as he held her between his legs.
“Wench.” He smiled, moonlight reflecting from his hair. “I think you are in fact an enchantress, not a real woman at all.”
“So you think me heartless and cold? Must I prove otherwise again?” Marisa laughed, shivering as his lips pressed between her breasts, his arms lifting her above him while his mouth pleasured her below.
“No,” he said, his glance full of meaning. “I think it time that I showed you.” He carried her from the water like some fairy creature plucked from a seashell. Marisa sighed, cradled in his arms, her shift clinging to her like the damp petals of a rose. He laid her down on the mossy grass, his fingers impatiently removing her shift, the fragile material parting in a tear, then drifting beside her like a soft cobweb.
Moonlight silvered her body, making Marisa aware of the contrast of her flesh with the darkness of the earth and the lake beyond. For a moment she tried to cover herself, but Kyle would have none of it. He held her wrists gently at her side, his knee nudging her legs apart, her body poised beneath his.
“You’re so lovely, Marisa.” His mouth lowered to hers, his kiss taking her to heights she’d never imagined. By the time his mouth reached her breasts, his tongue encircling one rounded tip, only to torture her nipple with a suckling caress, he no longer had to hold her. She moaned beneath him, urging him on, forgetting everything except the exquisite pleasure he lavished on her, centering in that secret place between her thighs. She strained against him, pleading with him to take her, but he chuckled softly.
“Not yet, water nymph. We have all night….” Easing his mouth from her breasts, his lips moved lower, his tongue scorching every inch of her satin skin until she thought she couldn’t stand it another minute. Reaching past her, Kyle touched the surface of the lake, shattering the solemn star pattern reflected there. His fingers returned to her skin, bringing the sweetness of the water to her burning flesh, letting it fall on her sensitive breasts, down to her waist, then over and under her inner thigh. Marisa gasped with the pure sensation. His hand traced the liquid path, following the cunning droplets, warming the now-cooled flesh into an even hotter reaction. Blindly she parted her legs for him, allowing his fingers to enter her, still bathed in the soft water from the pool. Wave after wave of emotion built up in her as she writhed against him, nearly sobbing in frustration as his hand withdrew at the crucial moment.
Blindly, she helped him with the kilt, her unpracticed fingers frustrated by unfamiliar bindings. Then he was between her thighs. He entered her swiftly, without warning, plunging her to the brink of ecstasy almost immediately.
“Hush, sweet.” He soothed her, holding her trembling body and lifting her hips to meet his. Slowly, with each mounting thrust, sensation overpowered her, making her cry out his name and cling to him. He wrapped her legs around his own, thrusting even deeper, the full, hard length of him sliding within her fevered flesh.
Slowly, torturingly, Kyle brought them both to an exquisite, explosive rapture.
“This will never work,” Shannon declared, pinning up her hair and facing Devon.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” Devon said confidently. He tied his jabot into place, examining his appearance in a rusty mirror. “You just do everything the way I tell you. Now repeat the directions back to me.”
“I serve the brandy and coffee,” Shannon said impatiently. “Then when you give me the signal—”
“—I’ll sit back and indicate that the room is stuffy.”
“Then I go to the window and open the glass. At that time, you want me to look into Lord Cambridge’s hand. If he’s holding a face card, I raise two of my fingers. An ace, one.”
“That’s it,” Devon smirked. “Do you think you can keep it straight?”
“Aye,” Shannon replied. “That is, if we aren’t discovered. I don’t like this one wh
it. It’s cheating, that’s what it is.”
Devon stared at her incredulously. “And what do you think drugging your opponent is? Fair play?”
“But that doesnt make it right for us….”
“And what would you suggest?” Devon snapped. “Washing dishes?”
“That would at least be honest work,” Shannon said.
“Forget it.” Devon arranged the candles in the room to his best advantage, stepping back to check the light. “If everything goes as planned, we should see the return of our investment, and then some. And remember, you are playing a maid. Cambridge would be suspicious if anyone else was present. And servants do not talk back to their masters.” He gave Shannon a meaningful stare while her eyes blazed at him. “Do you think, for once, you can keep that Irish mouth of yours shut and not give the whole damned thing away?”
“Do not fear,” Shannon said pertly. “I can hold my tongue for a few hours, for Marisa’s sake. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
Marisa stared up into a black velvet sky studded with tiny diamonds, like her mother’s favorite tiara in its cushioned box. Kyle’s hand moved slowly over her face, tracing the gentle outline of her forehead, the chiseled sharpness of her cheekbones that gave way to the softer tissue beneath. When his hand moved lower, to caress the silvery white column of her throat, she sat up, contemplating the polished ebony smoothness of the lake before her. Absently, she reached for her gown, her body still replete with the languid, opiated sensation of having just made love to Kyle.
“Marisa?” Kyle questioned softly, reaching for a lock of raven hair that floated down her back like a witch’s tress. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she replied, resting her face on her bended knee, watching a swan sweep over the water like a graceful sail. How could she possibly explain that she was afraid? Afraid that she was falling in love with him, a man sentenced to die, who seemed to seek out that very end by his dedication to a cause. Idly, she wondered if she could indeed forget him, if she could return to her gilded life in London, marry, and raise another man’s children. Could she really erase this from her mind, leave this delirious passion behind forever?
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