"Aye, they should. Lachlan and Alasdair will take this most seriously. In one way, I wish they would make haste… but in another, I hope they take their time."
She eyed him. Surely, he couldn't mean…. "Why would you want them to do that?"
He shrugged, his gaze caressing her face. "Isn't it obvious? I like spending time with you… alone."
Heat rushed over her and she could hardly draw breath as she lowered her gaze from his potent one. What on earth was he thinking? To seduce her? Although, 'twould be her fantasy come true, she couldn't let herself be drawn into the emotional entanglement, for the closer he got to her the more he would learn about her. And there were some things he could never learn.
Moving closer, he tipped her chin up, practically forcing her to meet his arresting gaze. He lowered his face to hers.
Chapter Ten
Heart pounding in her throat, Calla placed a finger against Rebbie's lips, preventing him from kissing her. "I cannot do that," she whispered. But, Lord, how she wanted to.
"Why not?" he murmured around her finger.
"Elena, of course." Her voice was more breathless than she would've liked. Strangely, she was glad for the excuse.
He drew back, an annoyed frown slanting his dark brows. "I told you, I'm not marrying her. I don't care what the contract says. As soon as I get my hands on the paper, I'm going to rip it to shreds and burn it."
"'Tis your decision, but I don't want to be the cause. Elena is smitten with you and she would never forgive me."
Rebbie snorted and shook his head. "How can she be smitten with me? She kens naught about me. She said she wanted to live in London." He scowled. "I'll not be leaving Scotland."
Calla nodded, glad he preferred his homeland, though she didn't know why she cared. Something within her wanted him to be close at hand, though such a thought was daft. She needed to be as far away from him as possible.
"I should've already broken it off," Rebbie muttered. "And I would have the second day I was there but…" He glanced at her and clamped those appealing lips tightly together. She could've sworn she heard his teeth grinding. He glanced away, toward the garden wall. "I'll have to pay her father compensation, 'haps a lot of money. The man will be livid. I may even make an enemy of him."
"What is it about Elena you dislike? She's beautiful, is she not?"
Rebbie's frown deepened. "Are you trying to convince me to marry her?"
"Nay, I was simply curious." Of course, she didn't want him to marry Elena, but what she wanted mattered not at all in this situation.
He shrugged. "Though she is lovely, she did not catch my eye. Or maybe 'twas the tantrum she threw when first we met. I'll not marry a child who throws tantrums when she doesn't get her way."
Calla bit her lip to keep from chuckling. "She is a wee bit spoiled."
"Truer words have ne'er been spoken, m'lady," he announced dramatically and she couldn't help but smile. He sobered. "I know not why, but she is not the woman for me. You ken I value my freedom, and being married to her would be like… a prison sentence." He paced deeper into the orchard and she followed. Abruptly, he turned to her. "My father has been married four times."
"Indeed?"
Rebbie nodded. "My mother was his first wife. She died a couple of years after I was born. I don't even remember her. He told me the second was a trial marriage that didn't please him. His third wife left him for being unfaithful and then died of a fever. The fourth lives on one of his estates, but he only sees her every few months, and then only because of my four young sisters."
"Oh." That did indeed sound dismal. Although if Stanbury were still alive, she'd prefer to see him once every few months. Or not at all.
"I cannot live my life like that," Rebbie said.
Calla frowned, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. He'd said freedom was important to him; she could see that. At the same time, she sensed he didn't want to be alone. He enjoyed people, his friends. Since he didn't want a marriage—or rather marriages—like his father had, that had to mean he wanted a wife he could be close to, perhaps a wife who enjoyed freedom just as much as he did. Mayhap he had seen what Lachlan had with Angelique and somewhere deep inside, craved the same.
Although she couldn't be sure she was reading him right, she knew he was a good man. He'd risked his life to rescue her, after all. He was going to make some lucky woman a wonderful husband. She was not naïve enough to dream that she could be that woman. He had to be one of the most sought-after bachelors in Scotland.
He caught her staring at him. "What?"
She glanced away, toward the trees. "Naught."
"Tell me more about you," he said, giving her his undivided attention. More attention than she wanted, in truth, for he might see beneath her surface to the secrets lurking there.
She lifted a shoulder. "There's little of interest to tell."
"I doubt that. I find everything you say fascinating."
At the flattery and the friendly expression in his eyes, heat stole over her. Was he teasing her?
"Tell me about your son," he said.
Saints! Couldn't he have asked anything but that? Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Remain calm. "He's very sweet and bright."
"How old is he?"
"Six. He's studying with a tutor and learning to read."
"'Tis impressive."
Calla nodded, wondering what Rebbie would think of Jamie. If things were different, if 'twas another life, Rebbie would surely be proud of Jamie. "I wish I could keep him with me, but with my employment, 'tis impossible."
He nodded. "Do you visit him often?"
"I saw him about three weeks ago for a short time, just before we traveled to Draughon. I miss him."
"I'm certain he misses you, too."
She nodded, knowing 'twas true for, though Jamie tried to be a wee man, he had cried when she was leaving the last time. The tears gleaming in his dark eyes had broken her heart. She turned away so Rebbie wouldn't see the mist of tears that burned her own eyes. She had to think of something else or she'd bawl like a bairn, just as she had last night. How mortifying. She had to stop being so emotional and she had to get off the subject of her son, especially with Rebbie.
She glanced up into the short fruit trees. "These plums are ripe," she blurted.
"Aye." He came forward, plucked a deep red one and handed it to her. "Taste it."
She wiped the beautiful fruit on her bodice and took a bite. The sweet juice near overran her mouth. "Mmm, delicious," she mumbled, then chewed.
Rebbie watched her with dark interest, especially focusing on her mouth. It must be smeared with plum juice, she decided, wiping her hand across it.
She swallowed the bite. "Are you not going to try one?"
"I believe I will." He moved closer, slipped his hand around her neck into her hair and captured her lips with his own. When she gasped, he pursued a deeper kiss, flicking his tongue against hers. Nay, she should not let this happen, but he was wicked temptation itself. Never had anyone kissed her the way he did—caressing her soul, setting a bonfire to her body.
"Mmm, you're right. Delicious," he murmured between kisses.
The plum slipped from her hand and she wove her sticky fingers into his silky dark hair to better hold his head. His mouth was far better than any plum.
To her utter shock and disbelief, he slid his hands from her waist down to her derriere, tucking her tightly against him, and took the kiss to new carnal depths. His sporran had slid aside and she easily detected the hardness of his arousal. His mouth ate at hers as if he were famished.
If only he could be hers, all would be perfect, but it could never be. 'Twas all her fault. But she'd done the best she could… what she had to in order to survive.
The more his hard body rubbed against hers, the more she wanted him… the more she loved him.
Nay, I do not. She tore herself away from him and stumbled from the orchard toward the ba
ck entrance to the castle.
Once inside, she found the housekeeper watching her curiously. "Are you well, m'lady?"
"Aye." Calla hastened up the narrow spiral stairway. How was she going to avoid Rebbie for the rest of her stay here? And more importantly, how was she going to avoid falling in love with him… again?
***
"Hell," Rebbie muttered in the quietness of the garden and shoved a hand through his hair. How he ached for her. He couldn't remember ever wanting another woman as much.
He knew he shouldn't touch her, given that he was betrothed to her cousin, but the betrothal was a sham. 'Twas naught but a piece of paper he hadn't signed. How his father expected him to marry a spoiled brat, he couldn't fathom. Nay, he needed a wife like… Calla.
A frisson of something icy spiraled through him, near making him dizzy. He caught against a tree trunk. Had he gone bloody raving mad? He didn't want a wife.
He didn't even like that word.
He muttered several ear-singeing curses, glad Calla was out of hearing. Insanity had taken hold of him. He didn't want to marry, he merely wanted Calla as he'd had her before. No woman had ever been like her. In bed that night years ago, she'd given all of herself and wholly embraced the carnal pleasures between them. So damned sweet and passionate. She'd made it clear she wanted him as badly as he'd wanted her.
A movement in the corner of the garden beyond the orchard caught his attention, someone slipping around the corner of the castle. He recognized the plaid. MacFadden.
How long had he been there? Had he been spying on Rebbie and Calla? Where was MacDade?
Rebbie hastened after MacFadden, but saw naught along the side of the castle, nor at the front. MacDade stood before one of the outbuildings.
"Did you see MacFadden?" Rebbie asked the guard.
"Nay. He was inside last time I checked." He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb.
"Let's see if he is." Rebbie hurried inside the structure which was set up as a steward's office and lodgings.
In the dim bedchamber, MacFadden lay on the bed, fully clothed, his eyes closed.
"MacFadden?" Rebbie said.
The man started as if awaking abruptly. "Aye." He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is it, m'laird?"
Rebbie narrowed his eyes, studying the man. Had his eyes been playing tricks on him before? He glanced around the room and noticed another narrow door. He opened it and found it led outside behind the outbuildings and stable.
He closed the door and said naught more to MacFadden. Outside in the courtyard, he spoke low to MacDade. "He slipped out the back door somehow. He was in the garden minutes ago."
"In truth?"
Rebbie nodded. "I'll ask MacKinney to guard the back door of his lodgings. Is he in the great hall?"
"Aye."
"I'll send him out." Rebbie proceeded to the great hall and told MacKinney the situation.
Once he saw that both guards were in place, Rebbie climbed the stairs in search of Calla. She'd looked distressed when she'd fled the garden. What had upset her? The kiss? He only wanted to give her pleasure, not pain.
He knocked at her bedchamber door and a pang of guilt struck him. Was he taking advantage of her? Nay, how could he when she was the one who'd approached him all those years ago? She'd made it clear back then she was ready and willing to be seduced. How could things have changed? They were the same people. The only difference was that she was now a widow, which definitely improved the situation. She was as free as he was. And they were two adults who enjoyed each other's company.
She opened the door a foot and peered out at him, her brows pulled together with anxiety.
"Are you angry with me?" He kept his voice low.
She shook her head.
"Why did you run from the garden?"
"I know not. I'm daft, I suppose."
"Nay. You're the brightest woman I know. Alas, my skills have deteriorated so much, my kiss inspires a woman to flee for her life. And now my life is over."
That roused a wee smile from her, thank the saints. "Nay, quite the opposite, m'laird."
Opposite? That sounded promising. "Please allow me to redeem myself." He gave a brief bow, trying to lighten her mood. He enjoyed her smiles far more than her anxious look.
"What do you mean?"
"Another kiss to prove I haven't lost all my abilities."
She watched him, her gray eyes darkening. Damn, how he loved the lustful look in her eyes. It took naught more than that to bring his arousal back full force. She licked her lips, making him yearn to do the same. She was so delectable, he wanted to devour her like a ripe plum, nibble and lick every inch of her.
"And what if I become distraught again?"
Her tone was innocent, but that spark in her eye told him she was taunting him. A tingle of excitement shot through him.
"I'll just have to keep trying and practicing until my kisses no longer cause you distress."
She bit her lip, obviously holding back a smile. "Dear sir, you are a rogue, a rebel and a scoundrel."
He was unable to hide his smirking grin. "Does that frighten you, m'lady?"
She shook her head and stepped back, opening the door wider, inviting him in. "Nay."
Equal parts relief and need rampaging through him, he entered her room and closed the door. He was tired of talking and thinking too much, tired of analyzing. He but wanted to feel, to touch and taste, to experience Calla once again as he had on that other night, years ago, the best night of his life. Wanting to rush in and clutch her to him, he forced himself to inch forward slowly. He was beyond ready to collect that kiss he'd mentioned, but he didn't want to alarm her.
"We shouldn't because of—"
Rebbie placed a finger over Calla's lips. "Shh." He didn't want to hear one more word about Elena. To him, she was no barrier. He hadn't given his word, so there was no vow broken on his part. He couldn't help what his father had done.
"So soft." Rebbie stroked the pad of his thumb along Calla's lips. Lowering her lashes, she felt herself slide swiftly beneath the spell of his touch and his entrancing gaze.
Sliding his thumb along her cheek, he pressed his lips to hers. He tilted his head and darted his tongue against her lips. She opened willingly, allowing him to do whatever his wicked heart desired, because she craved the same thing. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, devouring her with kisses that took her breath and her thoughts. His masculine taste and scent seduced her, made her wish to have his solid, muscular weight upon her, pressing her into the soft featherbed.
Her body had known his intimately once, and wanted to again. 'Twas so easy to do as he said and not talk. Not think. Just feel. For more than six long years she'd dreamed of him making love to her again. And no man had touched her since she'd learned she was with child. Thankfully, Stanbury had left her alone after that. He'd had a mistress and she was glad.
But Rebbie was a man she wouldn't wish to share, if he were hers. And maybe he could be, if only for a few blissful hours.
He pulled some of the pins from her hair, then buried his fingers in it. He placed openmouthed kisses down her neck to her bodice, then stroked his tongue across her cleavage. Tingles spun through her, making her lightheaded. She held on to him, lest she melt into a puddle on the floor. Growling like a man possessed with desire, he tugged at the front lacings of her dress, loosening her bodice, and nuzzled beneath her clothing.
"Saints, Calla," he hissed.
When his hot tongue stroked across her nipple, arousal spiked through her. She gasped, drawing him closer. "Oh, Rebbie," she breathed.
"Mmm." His rough moan fired her blood even more. He lifted her and placed her upon the bed.
Holding her breath, she watched as he threw off his kilt and shirt. With shaky hands, she attempted to loosen her own. He pushed her hands away and took over the task. Her heart galloped with anticipation. Within seconds, he lay naked beside her on the soft mattress and brushed his lips along her throat, placed sweet kisse
s there. Oh, good heavens! She could scarce breathe, taking in his dark, masculine beauty. Was this real, or one of her dreams? His arms around her, he drew her close against his hard, aroused body.
"You feel so… amazing," she whispered, relishing every inch of his hot skin, every hard plane and bulge of muscle that burned into her breasts and belly. She stroked her hand down his back, realizing he was more muscular than he had been years ago.
"Och. Not as amazing as you." Inhaling against her skin, he flicked his tongue against her nipple.
Tingles covering her, she buried her hands in his silken midnight hair, urging him to do what he would. He swirled his tongue around one beaded nipple, then suckled at it. Strong pleasure and need speared her, forcing her to arch her back.
"Aye," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him. Even though she had only known him for one night, his bairn had grown in her belly for nine months. 'Twas only natural that she would miss him. Some part of him touched her on a soul-deep and instinctive level.
He pressed his hard shaft tight against her thigh, making her crave him with an unbearable intensity. She moved her leg, rubbing against the heat of his erection.
Moaning, he trailed his hand down along her hip. Abruptly, he rose over her and pushed her thighs apart. Sitting between, he ran his dark gaze down over her and blew out a harsh breath, then looked into her eyes. "You are the loveliest sight I have yet beheld."
She reached for him. Stroking his scorching, hard body all along hers, he stretched out over her and devoured her lips. She pressed her body tight against him, loving the way the course hair of his chest tickled and stimulated her breasts. Running her palms down his strong back, she savored the flexing muscles all the way to his trim hips. That strange, burning-hot arousal, that only he could inspire, consumed her, flooded her with need.
"Take me," she whispered. Aye, she'd waited long enough to have her dream man again.
"Aye. I crave you." His midnight eyes burned into hers as he positioned himself. The tip of his shaft stroked her and he hissed. "You are so wet."
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