Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

Refusing to take one more glance out the window, she drew her nightrail over her head with a sigh.

  “So ye will marry William?”

  “Dugald!” Shona gasped as she spun toward the voice and hugged her nightrail to her chest. He stood in the corner, not three feet from her bed. “What are ye doing here?”

  “Watching you.”

  Desire immediately coiled tight and hungry in her gut. She hugged her gown more tightly to her.

  “How did ye get in?”

  He didn’t answer, but said instead, “You should keep your door closed, lass. You never know what lowly soul might breech the sanctity of your quarters.”

  She stepped back a pace, seeing the anger in his eyes. “I realize that now. In fact, I will make certain to bar myself in from this moment forward.”

  “Tis a bit late to lock the stable door after the stallion has already mingled with the mares.”

  She raised a brow at him, trying to calm her breathing. “Ye see yourself as a stallion, do ye?”

  “Twas just a figure of speech, Shona,” he said, approaching her again. “But if that’s how you feel, do not be afraid to state your opinion.”

  “Stay back!” Her voice sounded far more panicked than she had hoped.

  He stopped. “Why? I have only come to wish you all the best and to kiss the future bride.”

  She swallowed. “I dunna think that is such a good idea.”

  “Whyever not? You did not mind kissing me before.”

  “Twas different then.”

  “Different? However so?” he asked, stepping forward again.

  “That was before…” She crowded back against the wall.

  “Before what? Before you decided that one’s title and properties were more important than his soul?”

  “What do ye mean by that?”

  “This William?” He stopped inches from her. She could feel his nearness like a hot, tangible force. “Are you saying you do not care for his wealth? That you marry him because you admire him so? That his ties to the throne hold no appeal for you?”

  “Tis none of your concern why I marry him,” she said.

  He reached out to touch her. She tried to draw away, but the wall was behind her. His fingers stroked across her cheek. She nearly shivered at the touch, but managed to hold herself unmoving.

  “Mayhap he has a magical allure that you cannot resist,” Dugald said. “Mayhap when he is near you cannot keep yourself from him.”

  She bit her lip. Even now, when he baited her, she wanted nothing more than to fly into his arms.

  “Mayhap his touch is like heaven, like magic, beyond understanding.” His fingers brushed her ear, and now she did shiver, letting the gossamer feelings sweep through her like fine wine. “Mayhap you lie awake at night thinking of naught but him.”

  Dugald’s voice was no more than a whisper, a sliver of sound that pierced her soul as his hand scooped behind her neck, pulling her nearer. Against her better judgment, she was drawn forward, and suddenly his hps were a breath from hers and his hand skimmed down her bare back to her waist.

  “Mayhap he has cast a spell upon you. A spell you would not break even if you could. There is no logic to the things he makes you say and do,” Dugald murmured, “and yet you long to be near him.

  To feel his fingers against your skin. To breathe in his scent, to be naked beneath him.”

  His hand slipped lower, feather soft, over the curve of her bare buttocks.

  “Dugald!” She breathed his name, praying he would leave, but hoping he would not.

  “Mayhap your dreams are filled with him,” he whispered, slipping his hand down her arm and taking her nightrail from her numb fingers. In an instant he had tugged it away and dropped it to the floor.

  She had no way to shield herself from him now. No way to hold the raw, aching desire at bay.

  He glanced down. She watched him look at her, and though she knew she should cover herself, she had no wish to do so, for the admiration in his eyes was like a bold caress, as potent as a lover’s hot kiss.

  She watched his nostrils dilate, watched his self-control slip a notch. A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he held himself still as his gaze swept from her shoulders to her thighs and back.

  Shona’s nipples hardened under his gaze. She knew she should send him away. But his arm was firm around her back, and her will was weak. He lifted his left hand. As light as a breeze, his fingers touched her breast. She shivered beneath his touch, and though a thousand angels told her to draw away, she let her lids fall closed and her body arch toward him.

  His palm cupped her breast, and when next he spoke, his tone was throaty.

  “Mayhap your every thought is filled with him,” Dugald continued. “His laughter, his beauty, his grace. And though you know you are a fool, you do not care what he is, what he is hiding from you, what he has done, for you would risk your very life for a moment in his arms.” She felt his breath on her skin, and then his lips touched her brow. “To be in his dreams.” He kissed her cheek. “In his bed,”

  he murmured, and kissed her lips.

  She could not help herself. She was weak and she knew it, but his allure was too strong. He was speaking every traitorous thought she had of Dugald. He knew every shameful feeling that sparked through her when he was near. And she could no longer deny it. Her kiss answered his with a heat of its own.

  He pressed her back onto the bed. She tugged at his tunic, pulling it free of his plaid, so that her hands could find the hard, rounded muscle of his chest. Strength rippled beneath her fingers, but it was not enough. She needed him naked, needed his skin pressed against hers. He made no objections when she sought the buckle of his belt.

  His fingers joined hers in their frenzied quest, and in a moment they were pressed together, flesh against flesh. His thigh lay beneath hers as he leaned over her, kissing her throat, her shoulder, her breast.

  Shona arched against him as fire spurred through her. He suckled her nipple into his mouth and she twined her fingers through his hair, trying to hold the world steady as fire exploded inside her.

  But in a moment he was moving on, blazing a trail of kisses over her ribs, her belly and her hip.

  She writhed beneath him, still holding his hair as she bent her legs and ached to ease the building inferno within her. His hands slipped over her thighs. His kisses followed, easing down her sensitive flesh until her legs quivered with her suppressed longing.

  She jumped at the explosion of feeling, jerking on his hair as she did so. But Dugald failed to notice. Instead, he kissed her again. She jerked beneath his caresses. His tongue touched her sensitive folds.

  “Dugald,” she gasped.

  He kissed her thighs, her belly then crept upward. His erection, hard and long, brushed between her legs.

  “What do ye want?” he rasped.

  She tried to answer. But there were no words. Instead, she pulled his head to her and kissed him. Dragonheart glowed hot and heavy between them.

  He drew away from her lips, kissing her cheek, her ear. Against her belly, his desire throbbed with the heat of a volcano. She pressed against it with indescribable need.

  “Tell me what ye want, Shona.”

  She did not delay an instant. “I want ye,” she whispered. “Now. This instant.”

  “Me?” he rasped, pressing against her. “Me and none other?”

  “Ye.” She found his lips again and kissed them. “Please, Dugald.”

  He skimmed his hand down her hip, shivering as he did so. “So you know, lass. You know the truth. You are not meant for a man who can bring you wealth and position, but does not move your soul.”

  Shona went still. Memory flooded back. Guilt came with it. She was betrothed. She was promised. What was wrong with her?

  “You were meant for me. For passion. For life. Not for politics and intrigue. I will keep you safe. Isle Fois is—”

  “Nay!” she gasped and pushed away. Passion made her careless, made her foolish. And she
could not afford to be foolish.

  Dugald slipped to the mattress, watching her from inches away. The muscles of his chest felt hard as glass against her breast, and the hard length of his arousal throbbed against her side, making it impossible to remember what she was about to say.

  “I will protect you, Shona. It does not matter what you’ve done,” he whispered fervently, slipping his hand along her side.

  She swallowed, trying to hold back the feelings, but his hand skimmed over her inner thigh and upward. It touched her core. She nearly shrieked with primitive desire, but her long-suffering honor held her at bay. “I canna!” she gasped, and yanked away. Panic roiling within her, and she scrambled to her feet like a hunted hare. But there was nowhere to flee, so she stood on the mattress with her legs spread for flight and her back to the wall.

  He rose more slowly, his feet on the floor, the pallet between them as he watched her. His chest expanded and fell with each quick exhalation. His fists were clenched as if he held himself under careful control.

  God, he was a masterpiece, a work of art, his shoulders wide, his thighs muscular, and everything in between hard and long and alluring.

  What would it hurt to spend this one time in his arms—this one moment before she was wed for eternity—to know passion as she had never known it before and would never know it again? Surely that would be no great sin, she thought, then reprimanded herself for her weakness. She was a MacGowan, the daughter of the Flame and the Rogue, honorable, strong.

  “I must not!” she rasped. “I dunna know why this happens when ye are near. Tis as if I am bewitched. But I canna do this. I must marry William. I will marry William.”

  “Why?” he asked, stepping toward her as frustration roared through him.

  “Tis…tis the right thing to do,” she said.

  “The right thing? To marry a man for his position?” God forgive him, but he could not believe she was involved in a plot against the king. She couldn’t be! But if she had no designs against the throne, why marry William? The questions tore at him. “The right thing?” he repeated. “To desire me, to long for me, and to marry him?”

  “This…” She motioned wildly toward him. “This allure I feel for ye, tis nothing but lust. Tis of little regard.”

  “Little regard?” He reached for her, but she scampered from the bed to the far side of the room.

  “You think these feelings happen every day?”

  She straightened her back, like a princess, so beautiful it made his soul ache with longing. “For ye? Aye, I do. Or at the least, every day ye find a rich widow.”

  “So you think me a womanizer.”

  “I know about the duchess of Crondell.”

  “Do you, now?” It did not matter where she had acquired her knowledge of him, for every face he wore was false. Only a very select few knew the truth.

  “Aye. I do,” she whispered.

  He drew a careful breath, wanting with burning intensity to tell her the truth, to share secrets unrevealed, to feel her acceptance wrapped around him like the warmth of a plaid. “Mayhap twas not the carnal relationship you think it,” he said carefully.

  “Oh? And what might it be instead?” she asked.

  “Mayhap the duchess’ son was held for ransom. Mayhap I risked my life to save him, to retrieve him from the men who took him, and mayhap she was so grateful that she begged me to allow her to fuss over me for a time, to shower me with gifts out of her fierce gratitude.”

  “And mayhap I am the queen of Spain,” Shona said.

  He watched her, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to convince her of his goodness, but first he’d have to convince himself.

  “Is that…” She paused, her words little more than a breath in the silent room, as if she were fighting to hold them back. “Is that what happened?”

  She was a laird’s haughty daughter. He a foreign bastard, Dugald reminded himself. The truth would not bridge that gap.

  “Nay,” he said finally. “She was young, rich, and lusty. And always willing.”

  “Get out!” she rasped.

  “So you can marry the sainted William of Atberry?”

  “He is a good man,” she said.

  “You know nothing of him. Nothing but that he’s a wealthy duke in line for the throne.”

  “He saved Kelvin’s life,” she said.

  “But why?” Dugald growled. “That is what I ask myself. Tis not in his character to risk his life for a ragged child he does not even care for.”

  “Ye know nothing of his character, good or bad.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I know that with his power and position he could well be king someday, if that were his goal. Is that why you wish to marry him, Shona?”

  “Nay!”

  “Then why?”

  “Because he is a good man.”

  Dugald ground his teeth in frustration. “A good man? The miller is a good man. The tanner is a good man.” He stepped closer, near enough for her to feel the heat of his body. “Mayhap I am a good man.”

  “He saved Kelvin’s life,” she whispered.

  “And for that you would give him yours?” He wanted to shake her, to kiss her, to hold her forever in his arms. “I cannot even believe that myself. Never will I convince Tremay…” He stopped the word and ground his teeth in frustration.

  “What?” she murmured.

  “You marry him because you’re afraid of me,” Dugald whispered, and suddenly he believed it was true. She wasn’t a murderess. She was just a woman trying to find her place in the world. A place where she and Kelvin would be safe. “You’re afraid of what I make you feel,” he said, and reached for her.

  “Nay!” she gasped and leapt away. “Get out. Get out, or I’ll call my father.”

  Her voice had risen and her eyes looked wild. Dugald tightened his fists, trying to hold on to his shaky control.

  “I swear I’ll do it,” she said.

  “Aye, I will go,” Dugald said, forcing out the words. “But know this, Damsel, if you marry him, I will not be able to protect you.”

  “Protect me? From what?”

  From Tremayne. From the politics that threatened her. From everything. “From your own foolishness.”

  “Get out!” she ordered.

  Dugald snatched his tunic over his head and whipped his plaid about his waist. But he paused with his hand on the door latch, finding he could not quite leave her. Not yet. “If you can no longer bear to think of an eternity with a man old enough to have sired you, I assume you will remember where I sleep.”

  She raised her chin. “I will throw myself from the turrets first.”

  He raised one brow at her. “And spend eternity in hell for your sins?”

  “Twould be hell either way,” she said, and he left.

  Chapter 18

  The festivities continued, but Shona could no longer enjoy them. Though the men were still courteous, all had heard the news of her impending marriage and gave way to William’s claim.

  As for William, he was gentlemanly, attentive, but not cloying.

  Before noon there was a piping competition. Stanford played beautifully, his hound dog eyes watching her the whole while. Twas mayhap his soulful attitude that won him the prize.

  The nooning meal was a feast of poached salmon, pork tarts, and an assortment of other delicacies, after which the horsemanship competitions began.

  On a rolling sward of grassy hills beyond the Gael Burn, tall posts had been set into the earth.

  From the top of the posts, wooden arms protruded four feet, and from those arms, lengths of hemp hung to eight feet above the ground.

  Shona watched as the horses champed their bits and pranced in place. There were perhaps two dozen mounted men, and the glory of the day made Shona wish that she too were riding, feeling the wind in her face and freedom in her soul. But if she felt the urge, how much more so must her mother.

  Shona glanced at Flame, who stood next to her.

&
nbsp; “I think ye should compete,” Shona said softly.

  “Me?” Her mother looked surprised as if such a thought was unheard of. “I am an old, married woman.”

  “Ye mean ye have no wish to best the men?”

  Flanna laughed. “Actually, I have every wish, but your father made me promise I would not. He agreed to remain neutral if I would do the same.”

  “Methinks he simply does not want the men staring at ye again.”

  “Let us hope he is jealous,” Flanna said, but Shona’s attention had been captured elsewhere, for just then Dugald rode into view.

  The afternoon sun made his hair gleam like a raven’s wing as it flowed about his shoulders.

  Beneath him his stallion tossed its thick mane and pranced, making them appear to float.

  Flanna turned from Dugald to her daughter and felt her heart swell with a fierce pride. But the feelings were painful, for her daughter was not happy. What would happen to this proud child, this diamond, this flame-haired extension of herself? Shona was certainly not too young to be married, and yet… why had she betrothed herself to William? True, both she and Roderic had advised it, but Shona never took their advice. It only made her more determined to follow her own course. Flanna had been certain that her words to the contrary would force Shona to bond with the man called Dugald.

  Roderic had said the lad was vain and aloof, but… Flanna’s gaze slipped to Dugald’s steed. He was a powerful animal, without a doubt, but he was also the homeliest specimen she had ever seen.

  Why would a man of Dugald’s reputation ride such a beast?

  With an effort, Flanna turned to look at William. He sat aboard a glistening bay, laughing with another rider as rings were attached to the ropes on the posts.

  William seemed a good enough man. Still… Flanna turned to her daughter again. She had not even blinked, so transfixed was she by Dugald. Pain stabbed Flanna’s heart.

  “He looks quite splendid,” Flanna said softly. Shona nodded. “And he rides well.”

  “Aye.” The word was simple.

  “Aye,” Flanna said with a sigh. “William will make ye a fine husband.”

  Shona snapped from her reverie. Her face reddened as she realized her mistake.