Love Wild and Fair

by Bertrice Small

  "Patrick! Patrick!" she cried. "No! Please. Oh, my God. No."

  Desperately, she tried to escape the demanding mouth that sucked her, the insistent tongue that tortured her. His big hands held her round hips in an iron grip while he pleasured himself by sending waves of fire and pain through her. Sobbing, she tried to deny him the victory of her climax, but he forced her twice. Then, laughing, he mounted her and pushed deep within her to find his own release. She felt herself writhing eagerly beneath him. Finished, he rolled off her and said coldly, "That my dear, was lesson number one."

  Crawling into a corner of the bed, she wept silently, her shoulders shaking with great sobs. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but Patrick Leslie was certain that the least sign of softening on his part would ruin everything. He didn't want to break her spirit, but he would be master of his own home.

  For her part, Cat was too inexperienced to understand the subtle ways in which a woman can control her men without them knowing it. Patrick would have been surprised to know that her tears were not for what he had done to her, but for the fact that he had bested her.

  He pulled her into his arms again and began to play with her breasts.

  "No!" she protested.

  He paid no attention to her, but instead crushed the softness in his hand. "God," he murmured against her, "God, but ye've got the sweetest little tits I've ever known." His lips caressed her fluttering belly, but when he went to move farther down she cried out.

  "No! Not again!"

  Laughing softly, he raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His hand forced itself between her legs, and his fingers played. "Didn't ye like lesson one, sweetheart?"

  She tried to squirm away. "When I tell my father how ye've raped me, he'll kill ye!"

  "Nay, hinny. He gave me his blessing to do wi ye as I pleased. He knows that in the end I will honor our betrothal agreement, and wed wi ye. That's all he wants."

  Cat knew Patrick was right, and it infuriated her.

  He pulled her under him and kissed her bruised mouth until she cried with hurt. His lips turned soft, the touch of his swollen penis against her thighs spread them as her hips arched hungrily to meet his downward thrust.

  Patrick Leslie laughed softly. "By God, Cat, yer a hungry little bitch! I wonder if Fiona's as hot as ye are."

  Her fists beat against his smooth chest. He laughed again, and then slowly went about the task of reducing her resistance to compliance. At last he fell into a deep sleep. Since there was no way she could escape him at that point, she fell into a sleep of her own.

  In the early hours of the morning he woke her and took her again. Her young body ached from the unaccustomed activity. Understanding this, he lugged a tall oak-and-iron tub into the bedroom and placed it before the fire. While she watched, astonished, he carried up caldrons of hot water until the tub was full. From somewhere he produced a cake of sweet-scented soap. Picking her up, he put her into the water.

  "Ye smell like a brothel," he commented.

  "Then ye should be right at home!" she shot back.

  He stripped the bed, threw the sheets out into the hallway, and remade the bed with fresh lavender-scented linens. Then he disappeared and returned a few minutes later bearing a goblet. She was out of the tub, sitting before the fire wrapped in a towel.

  "Drink this."

  "What is it?"

  "Sweet red wine, a beaten egg, and some herbs."

  It was delicious. Taking the damp towel from her, he picked her up, carried her to the bed, and tucked her naked body into the cool sheets and down coverlet.

  "Go to sleep, hinny. It's been a long night for ye." He bent and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  "Where are ye going?" she asked. Before he could answer, she was asleep.

  Patrick Leslie gazed down at the sleeping girl and thought how much he loved her, and how frightened he had been-imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to her-when she fled him. He wasn't going to give her another chance to run, and he certainly would not tell her of his feelings towards her. Women were better off unsure. Too, he couldn't bear it again if she said she hated him.

  He bathed, dressed himself, and went down to the kitchen. Conall rose from the trestle.

  "Sit down, man," commanded the earl. "Ellen love, gie me a bowl of that oatmeal your brother's enjoying so." She placed one before him. "Conall, I want ye to ride down to Glenkirk today, and fetch some clothes for Mistress Cat and myself. We'll be staying here for several weeks. Ellen, ye'll tell me what she needs, and I'll write it down."

  "I can both read and write, my lord," said Ellen frostily. "If ye dinna mind, I'd prefer to write to Lady Hay myself."

  "Very well, Ellen." He smiled at her. "Dinna disapprove, chuck. I do love her, ye know."

  "Did ye beat her, my lord?"

  "Ten strokes on her saucy bottom. I'll be master in my own house, Ellen."

  "Only ten?"

  "Only ten," he replied. "She deserved more, but I am a merciful man."

  "Aye," agreed Ellen. "She did deserve more. When she was a child, however, beating her did no good. She was always twice as defiant afterwards." Ellen hoped he was paying attention.

  "She's nae changed," he chuckled.

  Ellen wrote her message to Lady Hay and asked that she send several changes of undergarments, two soft linen shirts, half a dozen gossamer silk night garments from Cat's trousseau, a velvet dressing gown, slippers, and some cakes of sweet soap. Cat, fleeing Glenkirk, had thought to bring her comb and brush and the brush for cleaning teeth that her great-grandmother had taught them to use. She gave the list to the earl.

  "It's not a great deal, but I'll be here to wash for her. This is easy to carry, and will nae weigh Conall down."

  "Good girl," he said, and turned to Conall. "Take Bana back to Glenkirk, and yer sister's mare also. The only horses I want here are our two."

  "Oh, my lord," pleaded Ellen. "Dinna take Bana from her. She loves so to ride."

  "She'll have her horse back when we return to Glenkirk. The more horses I leave here, the greater her chances of escaping me. I'll nae gie her that chance again. We stay here until she swells wi my child. Then I'll take her home, and wed her."

  Ellen sighed. "She's going to be very angry, my lord."

  "Since I shall be out hunting us a deer when she wakes, I'll be spared the brunt of her anger," he replied dryly.

  It wasn't until early afternoon that Cat woke. Conall had just returned from his errand, and Cat opened her eyes to see Ellen kneeling by the little clothes chest. "What are ye doing?" she asked sleepily.

  "Putting away yer clean clothes, luv. Conall has just brought them up from Glenkirk."

  Cat was suddenly wide awake. "Where is Patrick?"

  "He's been gone since dawn. Hunting a deer for us, he said."

  "Gie me a clean shirt, and my breeches, Ellie. I shall take my morning ride though it be afternoon." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  Ellen took a deep breath. "I canna do it, Mistress Cat, and dinna bother being angry wi me. His lordship has sent yer Bana and my Brownie home to Glenkirk."

  Cat swore fiercely. "The horny bastard! Then I'll walk out of here if I must, but I'll nae spend another night in this house while he's here."

  "He has also ordered," continued Ellen, "that ye not leave the house for the next few days. Ye may go naked, he says, or ye may wear one of yer sleeping gowns. I am to gie ye no other clothes."

  Cat felt a terrible rage within her, but she swallowed it, for her faithful Ellie was not responsible. "Gie me something to wear," she said wearily, "and dinna bother fussing, for it makes no difference. He'll have it off me soon enough, for there's only one thing he wants from his whore."

  "Mistress Cat," scolded Ellen. "He is yer betrothed, and ye'll soon be wed. Ye would hae already been had ye not misjudged him, and run away."

  "God's foot, Ellie! Has he won ye over then?"

  Ellen said nothing else, but handed Cat a pal
e turquoise-colored silk nightgown. "I'll get ye something to eat," she said, and left the room.

  Cat let the gown slide down over her lush form. Picking up her brush, she sat back down on the bed and slowly brushed the tangles from her honey-colored hair. So he thought that by taking her horse and clothes away from her he would keep her a prisoner. Well, perhaps for a while he would. She would bide her time. But eventually, a way would open, and then she'd run from him again. It no longer mattered that he had or had not slept with Fiona-though Cat was glad he had not. What mattered was that she could not and would not allow him possession of Catriona Hay. Nobody owned her. Until Patrick Leslie understood that she was a person, not an extension of him, she would fight him with all the strength in her.

  Ellen came back into the room bearing a tray. "Fresh bread new from the oven! Half a broiled rabbit, a honeycomb, and some brown ale."

  Cat found she was hungry.

  "Yer all right if ye can eat like that," observed Ellen.

  "Only a moonstruck idiot stops eating in a bad situation," said Cat. "If I'm going to think of a way to escape his high lordship, I've got to keep up my strength."

  "Mistress Cat! I dinna know why the earl puts up wi ye except he loves ye!"

  "He loves me? Nonsense, Ellie! He thinks he owns me, and it pleases him to show his superiority over me by abusing my body."

  Ellen shrugged. She didn't understand Catriona when she spoke like that. Taking up the empty tray, she left the room, shaking her head.

  Cat began to prowl the room. Until last night it had simply been a place to sleep. Now she looked on it as her prison. It could be entered only by a door from the stairway. There was a small fireplace on the door wall, and to the left was a bank of casement windows. There was one small, round window to the right. It was not a large room, and held only four pieces of furniture-a large canopied and curtained bed opposite the door, a low clothes chest at its foot, a small table on the single-windowed wall, and a chair by the fireplace. A pier glass hung on the bit of wall to the left of the door.

  She stood by the windows looking out. From her vantage point she could see part of the valley below, and into the forest that surrounded the house. She saw Patrick coming out of the woods now. He was riding Dearg, and a buck was flung across his saddle. Conall ran to meet him and, taking the buck across his shoulders, went off in the direction of the stables. The earl followed.

  Opening the bedroom door, Cat called down to Ellen. "Prepare a tub in the kitchen for the earl, Ellie. He's just brought in a buck, and he and Conall have gone to butcher it. I'll nae have him dripping blood all over my bedroom."

  When he entered the bedroom an hour later clad only in a rough towel, she couldn't help but laugh. He grinned back at her.

  "You see, madame. I've done as I've been told. Come now, and gie me a kiss."

  Shyly she walked to him, and putting her arms about his neck kissed him.

  "Jesu, yer sweet," he muttered, running his big hands over her silk-sheathed body and burying his face for a moment in her neck.

  "Please, Patrick," she whispered.

  "Please, Patrick, what?" he demanded thickly. He drew her over in front of the pier glass, and standing behind her gently slid her gown off. His big hands cupped her lovely breasts, and instantly the nipples sprang erect. "Look at yerself, Cat! I hae but to touch ye, and yer hungry for me!"

  "No! No!" she protested, closing her eyes tightly.

  He laughed softly, and turning her to him began to kiss her throat, her lips, her eyelids, with tiny, soft little kisses. His mouth began to move downward to her breasts. He knelt and, holding her firm but gently by the waist, kissed her shrinking belly, his kisses becoming more intense as they traveled lower. His lips found the tiny mole, and kissed it tenderly. Cat began to weep softly.

  "Don't, sweetheart," he said gently. "There's nae shame in being a woman, and enjoying it."

  "Ye knew?"

  "Aye," he said, drawing her down on the floor in front of the cracking fire. "I knew. I've made love to enough women in my life to know when one is enjoying it, even when she struggles like a demon, and vows she hates me."

  "I do hate ye," she insisted.

  He chuckled. "Then in the next few weeks I'll gie ye cause each day to hate me more." Swiftly he slid between her legs and thrust his aching manhood into her softness. She tried to squirm away. "Nay, hinny! I told ye last night that ye belong to me. And what I hold, my sweet Cat, I keep!"

  Chapter 7

  THE spring sped by, and Midsummer Eve came and went. Still the Earl of Glenkirk held his beautiful betrothed a prisoner at A-Cuil. Often he rode the almost two hours down to Glenkirk so he might attend to his estate's business. Many days he hunted to provide game for his small household. But never did he spend a night away from Cat.

  Though she would never have told him so, Cat now looked forward to the nights she spent in Patrick's arms. She was young, and healthy, and more than half in love with her handsome husband-to-be. As for the earl, he was passionately in love with her, and would have killed any man who dared to look upon her with even the slightest interest.

  As the days grew warmer and longer, he took her upon his horse and rode with her through the forest and the high meadows. Several times they made love beneath the sun in fields of new heather. She was as warm as wine, and as sweet as honey. Patrick marveled that he, who had never been faithful to one woman for more than a week or two at a time, dreaded the thought of returning to Glenkirk and sharing her with even his family.

  The return would be soon. Cat had not yet connected her loss of a show of blood with impending motherhood. Ellen had, and she sought a way to bring the matter to her young mistress's attention. One morning opportunity presented itself.

  The earl had risen early and gone to Glenkirk. Ellen cheerfully entered the bedchamber bearing a tray that held a small pigeon pie, fresh from the oven. "Yer favorite," she chortled. "Doesn't it smell wonderful," she enthused, waving the tray beneath her lady's nose.

  Cat went white. Scrambling from the bed, she grabbed the basin from the table and retched into it.

  "Och," sympathized Ellen, putting down the tray and wiping the girl's damp forehead with the linen chamber cloth. "Back into bed wi you, my dearie." She tucked Cat in. "The naughty laddie, to make his mama so sick," she said coyly.

  Cat stared at her tiring woman as if she had lost her mind. "What are ye babbling about, Ellie? And take that damned pie away, or I'll be sick again! Get me some brown ale to drink, and some oat cakes."

  Ellen removed the offending pie and returned a few minutes later with the requested meal. She watched as Cat cautiously sipped the ale, and then, apparently satisfied, wolfed down the oat cakes.

  "How do ye feel now?" she asked.

  "Better. I canna think what made me so sick. It's the third time it's happened in the last week. Do ye think that perhaps something has gone rotten in the larder?"

  "Mistress Cat!" Ellen was exasperated beyond all. "Ye be wi child! He's put his bairn in yer belly, and now we can go home!"

  Cat's leaf-green eyes widened. "No," she whispered. "No! No! No!"

  "Aye! Yer ripening! There's no doubt about it. The earl will be so happy!"

  Catriona turned angrily on Ellen. "If ye dare to tell him, I'll cut yer tongue out! Do ye understand me?"

  "My lady!"

  Cat closed her eyes for a moment. Opening them again, she spoke calmly and quietly. "I will tell my lord of my condition, Ellie, but not yet. The moment he knows, he'll rush me down to Glenkirk. I dinna want to leave A-Cuil yet. Please. I canna be very far along. There is time."

  Ellen was soft-hearted by nature. The thought that her young mistress wanted a little more time alone with the earl appealed to her sense of romance. "When was yer last show?" she asked.

  Cat thought a moment. "Early May," she said.

  "Ah, sweeting, yer a good three months along," said Ellen, "but we can wait a week or so before his lordship must know. The wee laddie will be a
winter child."

  "No hints, Ellie. No arch looks. I would surprise the earl."

  And she might have told him, and gone meekly home to Glenkirk, had not Patrick himself spoiled it. Kept at Glenkirk for three days and nights by a foolish problem, he arrived back at A-Cuil as randy as a young stallion in first heat.

  Cat had decided to tell him, and she ran joyfully to greet him only to have him sweep her up in his arms and carry her to their bedroom. Swiftly, without preliminaries, he tore his clothing off, shoved her down on the bed, pushed her nightgown up, and thrust into her. Cat was outraged.

  Satisfied for the moment, he sat up against the pillows and pulled her back against him. He had always loved her breasts, and now he fondled them hungrily. Beginning to swell with her pregnancy, they were sore, and his touch irritated her. He further annoyed her by chuckling, "I think these sweet little titties of mine are growing bigger, Cat." He squeezed them playfully. "A man's loving care can work wonders, eh, love?"

  He should have been warned by the ominous silence, but his mind was on other things, and his body was hungry for her again. He took her once more. Then, pushing her from their bed, he patted her buttock and asked for his dinner.

  She descended to the kitchen. Ellen was long since in her bed, so Cat loaded a tray with half a roasted bird, a small cold game pie from the larder, bread, butter, a honeycomb, and a foaming pitcher of brown ale, to which she added a pinch of dried herbs. The earl was going to have an excellent night's sleep.

  She served him sweetly, and almost felt guilty when he said, "You are going to be the most beautiful countess Glenkirk's ever had. Lord, sweetheart! How I love you!" The drugged ale was beginning to work on him. Climbing into their bed, he fell asleep.

  From childhood Cat Hay had been able to wake herself on command. It was still dark when she rose and dressed herself in riding pants and a linen shirt. She packed a small bundle and, picking up Glenkirk's warm cloak, slipped out of the room and down the stairs. It was fully three hours till dawn. Cat crept softly into the stable. Above, in the loft, Ellen was snoring. Conall, she knew, was sleeping with his mistress of the moment, about half a mile away. Quietly she saddled Dearg. Putting a lead rein on Conall's Fyne, she led both horses from the stable.