Nicola Cornick - [Scottish Brides 01]

by The Ladyand the Laird

  He wrapped Lucy in the red cloak and carried her back to the house and took her up to his bed. He wanted to make love to her again, but he knew she would be sore after this first time, so he contented himself with holding her and it was frighteningly good, the possessive desire submerged now in other emotions so powerful and deep that he was shaken. It gave him a deep peace to hold her. It reminded him how much he loved and needed her, but with that love came the edge of fear. Somehow he was going to have to learn to live with that fear because if he had his way he would never let her out of his sight again, and that, he could see, would be most inconvenient.

  “Robert?”

  She was awake. She reached out a hand to him and touched his cheek as she had done earlier, and once again he felt a shockingly strong pang of tenderness and need.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before,” he said. He felt humbled, different. He moved his head against the pillow and instead of the restless frustration that had driven him before he felt peace. “I was trying to ignore how much I hated being on Golden Isle by burying myself in the work and refusing to discuss it.”

  Lucy was lying beside him, her head supported on one hand as she watched him, her hair falling over her bare shoulders.

  “It is no wonder you hate it here,” she said softly. “Your brother died, Robert. It is where a part of your life ended.”

  Robert put out and hand and drew her down to rest against his chest. “And now it is where another part of my life begins,” he said. “My future with you.”

  * * *

  LUCY WOKE SLOWLY, in the dawn. She lay still for a moment. She was warm and there was a hum in her blood that felt like contentment. Something nagged at the corner of her mind, like a thought, like a shadow. Then she remembered.

  Tonight there had been no nightmares.

  She thought about what had happened. She had given herself to Robert with no thought of refusal, no thought of anything other than meeting his need with her own. He had reached out to her completely and she had wanted him too, loved him too.

  She felt a tiny stirring of fear. It whispered across her mind, then faded away. She waited for it to return and to grow into the monster that always stalked her. She waited for the darkness to come. Instead there was nothing. The bed was warm and deep; she felt serene and content. She yawned.

  She could be pregnant. Deliberately now she tested her feelings. She forced herself to face the harshest fear. Again she felt a faint stirring of disquiet, but it smoothed away like the sea washing away footprints in the sand. She thought that perhaps she would always feel the fear a little—it was foolish to imagine that it would ever go away completely—but that somehow it had lost its power.

  Rolling over, she looked at Robert. He was still asleep. He looked very peaceful, the harsh lines smoothed from his face. The stubble darkened his chin and his cheek. Lucy paused. Behind the man she could see the shadow of the boy he had been when tragedy struck so hard. She hoped that his hatred of Golden Isle had gone now.

  She had known that he loved her. She had seen it in his eyes and felt it in his touch when he had held her with such ferocity and gentleness out on the cliffs. She had known that his fury could have sprung from no other cause. And she loved him too, for his strength and determination to do his best for his clan, for his loyalty, for his patience and his tenderness with her.

  “Lucy.”

  He was smiling at her. He reached out and traced the line of her shoulder and arm, taking her wrist and turning it over to press a kiss against her palm.

  “How are you, sweetheart?”

  She could see the shadow of doubt in his eyes. He was afraid that she would be regretting what had happened, that the night had plunged her back into the darkness of her fear.

  “I am very well,” she said honestly.

  “You are certain?” His gaze was very keen on her face.

  There seemed only one way to reassure him. She leaned down and kissed him. When she drew back, the light in his eyes had sharpened from tender to something a great deal more heated and intense. She looked at him as the blue morning light illuminated every strong plane of his face, the hard, exciting line of his mouth, his jaw, his cheek. He was watching her, and his gaze was very intent and very blue. She knew he was waiting for her to decide what she wanted. Last night had been impulsive, in the heat of the moment. Now he wanted her to choose.

  Her heart crashed against her ribs. She felt excitement hollow in the pit of her stomach and steal her breath. She knew what she wanted.

  They looked at each other for another long, long moment and then Robert tumbled her beneath him. It felt impossibly urgent and desperate and yet at the same time so pure and intense. Robert’s mouth was hot as a brand on Lucy’s throat. She reached for him, careless of anything but sensation and need. His hand came up to her breast, teasing, toying with her, stroking up the underside in a way that made her shiver. She had already learned the vast, generous capacity of her body to enjoy its pleasure, and now she wanted to let go completely. It was the first time that she had felt utterly free of shadow.

  She tilted her head back and Robert tangled one hand in her hair, arching her breasts up to his mouth, and when he took her nipple in his mouth she sighed and felt the melting heat take her, softening her and making her eager for him all over again. His hand stroked between her legs, his mouth tugged at her breast, she felt deliciously wanton as he played her body and slowly, inexorably, drove her toward mindless pleasure. It was delicious, well nigh irresistible, and yet a corner of her mind rebelled. He was not to have it all his own way.

  Quick as a flash she slid from beneath him. The shifting of weight on the mattress threw him off balance and he rolled over. Lucy shifted, moving to sit astride him, her hands spread wide and grasping the high wooden bed head, sinking down so that he impaled her. He was as hard as a rock.

  His gasp of shock and pleasure was a reward in itself. She started to move, easing herself up and back down, the sleek friction, the sense of control, giving her a rush of triumphant power. She could feel every muscle in his body clenched so tense with the frustration of not being in command. She leaned forward and kissed him softly, tasting him, then drawing back. She brushed her breasts against his chest. She enjoyed his moan.

  “Lucy...” His voice was a harsh whisper.

  “Yes?” She paused and he threw his head back, the line of his neck taut.

  “Don’t stop.”

  She gripped him tightly. “Do you like it like this?” She raised herself on him, then slid down deep. “Or like this?”

  “Minx.” The word was wrenched from him.

  One final slide and he gave a groan and caught her around the waist, tumbling her beneath him. The mattress dipped and groaned as he plunged into her. Lucy arched to meet each thrust. The hot pleasure gripped her, irresistibly sharp, irresistibly sweet. She came at once, tumbling over the edge, the clasp of her body quickening Robert’s as he emptied himself into her with a shout. They lay in a hot, tangled knot of pleasure and release.

  “Damn it,” Robert said, when his breathing had settled sufficiently that he could speak. “I wanted it to be slow and gentle this time.”

  “Maybe next time,” Lucy said.

  Robert threw the bedclothes over them both and drew her close into the crook of his arm, but Lucy felt too restless and awake to settle. She felt drunk with the sheer physical pleasure of sex, the relief, the release. She wriggled out of his arms and went across to the window, kneeling on the tapestry seat and staring out over the garden to the sea.

  “How beautiful it looks so early in the morning,” she said. “So peaceful.”

  “Come back to bed,” Robert said. He was propped up on one elbow, watching her, darkness and shadows and lust in his eyes. It sent an answering spike of lust through her. Wickedness gripped her, the sort of wicked she had never allowed herself to be before. It unfurled in her like the purest temptation. For so many years she had denied her physical needs. Now sh
e felt an almost desperate hunger to make up for lost time.

  “No,” she said. She let the curtain fall open so that the pale daylight illuminated her naked body. “If you want me, come and get me.”

  She saw his eyes widen. He did not need to be invited twice. With a roar he leaped from the bed, reaching for her, but Lucy was too quick for him. She flung open the bedroom door and was away down the stair, her bare feet pattering on the wood. She could feel him close behind her. She dashed into the dining room, ran around the table, making the china clatter, and out again, then into the parlor, where Robert caught her from behind. His arm was across her bare stomach and his body was hot at her back. He was panting. She could feel he had the most monstrous erection again. She rubbed herself against it and felt him give a growl low in his throat.

  “Damn it, woman,” he said. “You’re insatiable.”

  Lucy giggled, feeling deliciously wanton. “Can you not deal with me, my lord?” she murmured provocatively. “Too old? Too tired?”

  In response he pushed her forward so that she was leaning over the rickety old piano, her breasts pressed against the cold shiny wood, palms flat on the top. She felt his fingers at her slick opening, then his cock.

  “I have always said that you are so talented with this instrument.” He slid into her and she gasped at the invasion. He felt so big and this was so new and different, the sensations deeper and fiercer, the need in her all the wilder for it. She pushed back against him, feeling the cold slide of the wood against her breasts, back and forth, and the push of him deeper still as he drove into her. He held her hips and took her in hard thrusts that had her gasping. The piano strings quivered and resonated to each jerk of her body, a cacophony of tumbling sound that built and built. Robert’s thrusts were inexorable, pushing her deep into ecstasy. She came in a blind spiral of rushing darkness, wanting to take him with her, but he drew back.

  “I can wait,” he murmured.

  She thought he would release her then, but he was relentless. He took up the rhythm again, catching her around the waist, holding her body still for his plunder. It was sublime, glorious. She clung to the smooth wood, bracing herself as he rocked deeply inside her, meeting each thrust as he drove her closer again, lifted her higher. She loved the sheer carnality of it, the way her breasts jolted with each plunge of him inside her, the stretch and clench of her belly, the utter wanton physicality of it. It was another revelation, pure lust, blazing and flagrant in its demand.

  Her orgasm caught her sharply, raking through her, making her shake. She heard Robert shout and felt him spill himself deep inside her, the final lunge of his body catching her again and sending her spinning into bliss beyond ecstasy. She slumped into his arms, the echo of that same ecstasy still resonating through her.

  She was shaking, her legs unsteady, and he picked her up and carried her across to one of the armchairs, where he sat down with her on his lap and started to kiss her again, sweet and gentle, the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw, the hollow of her collarbone. She snuggled close and breathed in the scent of his skin, the heat and the sweat and the faint sandalwood soap smell that made her head spin in slow circles.

  “The Highland Ladies Bluestocking Society did not teach us to use a piano thus,” she said, pressing kisses against his chest. Her palm was splayed over his heart and she felt the rumble of his laugh deep in his chest.

  “I’m exhausted,” she murmured.

  “It serves you right.” Robert brushed the tangled hair away from her face and kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers now with tenderness.

  “You’re cold.” His touch was warm on her chilled skin as he picked her up and carried her back up the stairs to their bedroom. “Let me warm you.”

  He laid her on the bed and slid in beside her, drawing the covers over them both. Lucy could feel the aching tiredness in her body that was the aftermath of sheer pleasure.

  “I love you.” She kissed him.

  She did not awaken again until the room was bathed in high sunlight. Robert was dragging on his shirt and cursing that he was going to be late for a meeting with the harbormaster. As he came back to the bed to kiss Lucy with lingering passion, she saw Sheena slip into the room with her breakfast tray. She felt almost too decadently exhausted to eat and drink.

  Sheena was picking up her nightgown and indicating by silence and delicately raised eyebrows that she had noted the tumbled state of the bedclothes and Lucy’s air of dishevelment. The maid placed the tray on the nightstand and walked over to the Armada chest, rummaging around in its depths.

  “You’ll be wanting this,” she said. “I noticed you hadn’t been taking it. That’s foolhardy and dangerous, if you’ll pardon me, madam. You must have known this would happen.”

  Lucy looked up from her cup of hot chocolate. Sheena was holding in her hand a little pot. At first Lucy did not recognize it, but then she remembered with a queer jump of the heart the tincture of pennyroyal.

  She remembered that frightened girl, haunted by the past, and felt a huge pang of compassion for her.

  “Actually,” she said, “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I’m not afraid anymore.” And she felt a surge of excitement and happiness wash through her.

  Sheena’s eyes had opened very wide. “But, madam,” she said, “you can’t take such a risk! You must have it!” There was a note of panic in her voice as she held the pot out to Lucy. “I’ll get you another tincture,” she said rapidly. “In case you are already enceinte. No one would know.” Then, pleadingly, “It wouldn’t be safe for you to have a child, madam. Think of what happened to your sister! Please listen to me—”

  “No,” Lucy said firmly. She got up and took Sheena by the arm, drawing her over to sit down on the bed. The maid’s face was crumpled as though she was about to cry. She was shaking. Lucy felt shocked; she had had no idea that Sheena too had been plagued by the fear that she might lose her mistress, but the maid had been nurse to both herself and Alice. It made perfect sense.

  “Sheena,” Lucy said gently. “I understand that you want to protect me. You’ve done so since I was a baby. But there is nothing to fear. I promise you.”

  It was clear to her that Sheena did not want to talk about it anymore. The maid’s expression was stony, her lips set in a tight line.

  “Very well, madam,” she said. “We’ll speak of it no more.” She grabbed the tray and started to tidy away Lucy’s chocolate cup despite the fact that the drink was only half-finished. Lucy grabbed a piece of toast before Sheena whisked herself and the tray around the door.

  Later, when she was dressed, Lucy picked up the little pot of pennyroyal and slipped it into the pocket of her cloak. She walked down to the cliffs, feeling the tug of the breeze on her cloak and the first warmth of the sun. She stood on the edge and threw the pot over. She hurled it as far and with as much force as she could, and heard it bounce off the rocks below, before the wash of the sea swept in to take it away.

  It felt good.

  The sun was strengthening in a blaze of gold. Lucy stood with her face upturned to it. For a moment on the breeze she thought she could hear Alice’s voice and Alice’s laughter. The sound no longer haunted her through the dark. There were no more waking nightmares, only the memory of Alice dancing in the sunlight. She could feel Alice’s presence beside her still but it was a gentle ghost now.

  Lucy opened her heart and let her memories of her sister fly free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LUCY WANDERED ALONG the beach, taking off her shoes and stockings and feeling the sand cool and damp between her toes. It was odd how she felt every tiny physical sensation these days; she was aware of scents as never before and noticed every taste and touch as though it were new. It was such a change from her previous life where she had lived in books and in her rational mind. Now she still loved her reading and her writing, but her life had the dimension of the senses, as well. She felt as though she had come alive.

  The previous week had b
een perfect. The sun had shone and Golden Isle had lived up to its name. Robert had been persuaded to take some time away from his work rebuilding the estate and had joined her for a picnic at Golden Water, the tiny loch that gave the island its name. They had ridden together over the high hills and bathed in the sea. Even now, as summer was coming to these northern islands, the seawater was so cold it was shocking, but there was one protected cove where the pools were warmed by the sun. Lucy smiled now as she remembered pulling off her clothes and plunging into the green depths of the water completely naked. It had been a memorable afternoon.

  And they had talked. As they lay in bed one night Robert had told her how his grandmother had been the only member of his family who had continued to write to him, in defiance of her husband, during his years in Canada.

  “She will like you very much,” he predicted, as he pressed kisses against the soft skin of Lucy’s throat and down to the hollow between her breasts. “When my work is done here I shall be proud to take you to Methven.”

  Lucy had wondered then about that work. She had seen the boats to Findon coming and going increasingly frequently, bringing men and materials to Golden Isle. McTavish had been dismissed and Jack Rutherford had come from Methven to deal with the accounts, so Robert said. Lucy was certain that something else was going on, but when she asked Robert he told her that he was merely strengthening the defenses against the French privateers that had been seen in northern waters. Jack, urbane and charming, said the same. Yet still Lucy wondered.