“It's God's law, no’ Scotland's,” Black Jack interrupted. In an amused voice, he asked, “Dinna the English obey God's law?"
Brigette's face mottled with humiliated rage, but Iain deftly brushed over it. “Since the vows have been spoken and the marriage consummated, we'll be hearin’ nae more nonsense of annulment. Moireach!” Obviously eavesdropping at the door, a middle-aged woman entered the instant Iain called.
“Bria,” he said, giving her no chance for protest, “this is Moireach, the mother of Dugie and Jamie. She'll escort ye and Sly upstairs, then fetch yer tirewoman."
The woman's smile was friendly enough, so Brigette went along with her. “I'll stay for the time being,” she said, pausing for a moment at the door to glance back at the earl, “but I must insist your hounds be penned. I won't have Sly terrorized."
* * * *
“Yer lettin’ her keep that beast?” Black Jack asked when she'd gone.
“I dinna have a choice.” Iain shrugged his shoulders, then grinned. “The lady threatened to skewer me wi’ my own dagger if any harm befell her precious pet."
Black Jack threw back his head and shouted with laughter. “She's verra bonnie and will make ye a fine mate."
“How can ye say that?” Iain countered incredulously. “The twit is a temperamental wildcat."
“That she is,” the earl agreed. “But once ye've made her purr, she'll breed us a dozen hellions to carry on the MacArthur name. And dinna shake yer head as if I'm droolin’ in my dotage."
* * * *
Well into her middle years, Moireach was still a handsome woman. Though small of stature and friendly in demeanor, her crisp blue eyes held an inner strength that brooked no nonsense from anyone. Sprinkled with silver, Moireach's carrot-colored hair spoke of her obstinacy in seeing matters settled to her own satisfaction.
This woman was no mere servant, Brigette decided, but a formidable force within the household. Only with Moireach's approval and support could she truly become the lady of Dunridge.
“Yer verra bonnie,” the housekeeper complimented as she led Brigette across the foyer to the stairs. “That young rascal must be glad he bowed to the earl's wishes and took a Sassenach—I mean—English wife."
Moireach looked at Brigette, who, ignorant that “Sassenach” was derogatory, smiled politely but made no comment. By allowing the accidental insult to pass, Brigette won, however inadvertently, an important ally.
“Ye were correct to stand up to the earl,” Moireach's chatter continued. “He's a bit old-fashioned aboot women and such thin's. Iain's like him in that respect, but I could tell he's taken wi’ ye—no’ that I was listenin', mind ye."
Iain's chamber was at the head of the stairs. Before entering, Moireach paused and pointed to another door. “That chamber's connected to Iain's, but I doubt ye'll be callin’ it yer own. Yer randy husband is certain to insist ye share his bed each night. We could make the other a nursery once ye've a babe planted in yer belly."
Horrified, Brigette stared at the housekeeper. She was being suffocated by MacArthurs and their minions. Had it been like this for her mother as a bride? And what of her sister Kathryn, now transplanted in Ireland? I am a Devereux, Brigette told herself. How can I be anything else?
“I'm fairly anticipatin’ another wee one to cosset,” Moireach said. “He'll be company for wee Glenda."
“Glenda?"
“Iain's niece,” the housekeeper answered, then opened the chamber door. “Here we are."
Spring was waiting inside. The two cousins flew into each other's arms, but came up short and giggled. Brigette was still holding Sly.
“Ye've a fine-lookin’ pet, Lady Brigette,” Moireach said as she left, “but he willna’ be welcomed at supper. I'll bring him a bite later."
“Thank you."
After introducing Spring and Sly, Brigette set the fox down and hugged her cousin properly. Here was a familiar Devereux face. “Oh, cuz!” she exclaimed. “I'm so glad to see you."
“It was wrong of you to run,” Spring chided. “I was worried."
“I had no choice, but I'm sorry I left you alone to deal with these—these..."
“People, Brie. They're very nice people."
“How can you say that?” Brigette cried. “Why, the earl—"
“Is gruff and unpolished,” Spring interrupted, “but a kind man, nevertheless. Why did you run away?"
“You know my husband insulted me."
“It was not his fault. If you had only waited—"
“I do not wish to speak of this.” Brigette cut her off. “What's done is past."
“Have you forgiven each other?"
“Forgiven each other? For what?"
“Have you forgiven Lord MacArthur for—?"
“I understand your words,” Brigette interrupted, “but why should he be forgiving of me? I've done nothing."
Spring was becoming exasperated. “You ran away."
“Is that tub for me?” Brigette asked abruptly. With a disapproving shake of her head, Spring took her cousin's hint.
“Yes, and I can see you're in urgent need of it."
Spring helped her disrobe and climb into the steaming, scented water. Brigette giggled with the simple joy of submerging herself in the hot tub, and began washing. “I owe you an outfit."
“Nonsense! You took only rags."
“I insist. How's Jamie?"
Spring blushed. “I have a certain f-fondness for him."
“And he for you?” Brigette teased, smiling at her cousin's embarrassment.
“Yes.” Spring's face was vivid scarlet. “What of Lord MacArthur?"
Evading the question, Brigette dunked her head beneath the water, but her cousin's words had somehow conjured up the man. Spring looked up in surprise when the door opened, and Brigette's gaze followed hers.
“M-m-my lord,” she said. “I'm b-bathing."
“So I see.” Iain smiled lazily.
“Do you mind?” Brigette asked haughtily, arching a perfectly shaped brow at him.
“I dinna mind at all,” he answered pleasantly, as he sat on the edge of the bed and watched, “but if ye must bath first, leave the water warm for me.” Stretching his long legs out, Iain relaxed and thoroughly enjoyed the sight of his wife at her toilet.
Tilting her upturned nose in the air, Brigette pointedly refused to acknowledge his infuriating presence, though she was unable to forget he was there. Finishing her bath quickly, she stepped from the tub and Spring toweled her dry. Brigette felt mortified to be naked beneath her cousin's hand and her husband's eye. When Spring reached for a bedrobe, Iain's voice stopped her.
“Dinna bother wi’ that, lass.” Iain rose and stretched. Looking meaningfully at the tirewoman, he began to undress. With a squeak of dismay, Spring fled the chamber.
Iain glanced at Brigette, nude and frozen where she stood. “Get into the bed,” he ordered, not unkindly.
“W-what?"
“Is yer hearin’ impaired?” he teased. “I said, get into the bed.” For a long moment, dark eyes and green clashed across the short distance separating them.
“The ride from the hunting lodge wearied me,” Brigette said, turning away to slip into the bed. “I do whatever I choose, not what you command.” With that, she yanked the coverlet up to her chin. Sly promptly joined her.
Iain ignored her remark and climbed into the tub, then groaned with pleasure as his body sank into the warm water. “Ye might thank me for savin’ yer friend there,” he chided gently, casting a mildly reproachful look at Brigette, who was watching him warily.
“Thank you, my lord."
“First thin’ tomorrow,” he continued, “we'll get some sort of distinguishin’ collar for Sly. We dinna want the castle folk reachin’ for their weapons when he's aboot."
“Thank you, again, my lord."
Unconcerned with his magnificent nakedness, Iain climbed out of the tub and toweled himself dry. “The earl is quite taken wi’ ye,” he added casually.
“W-what?” Surprised, Brigette opened the eyes she'd snapped shut against her husband's nudity. She was of the opinion the old man had taken an instant dislike to her.
With his hands resting on his lean hips, Iain stood beside the bed and gazed down at her. “I would clear the air between us, my lady. Will ye answer a question?"
Brigette nodded, afraid to refuse, and her gaze drifted to the flaccid appendage perched at his groin. Even at rest, she thought irrelevantly, it's large.
As Iain noted her expression, his lips twitched with amusement. “Yesterday ye told Ross ye loved him,” he said. “I am Ross, sweetheart, and I havena’ changed. Why are ye angry wi’ me?"
“You lied to me."
Iain lifted Sly from the bed and set him on the floor. Gently disengaging Brigette's fingers from their tense grip on the coverlet, he slid in beside her. “Ye also lied,” he reminded without accusation.
“But you knew!” she blurted.
“Knew what?"
“You knew I was lying."
“So!” Iain chuckled. “Yer angry wi’ me cuz I knew ye were lyin', but ye didna’ realize I was also lyin'. Correct?"
“I guess,” she murmured, her eyes downcast. Put into that context, her anger did seem childish.
Iain gently forced her to look at him, and when she did, he smiled almost tenderly. “May I ask why ye lied in the first place, and why ye ran away?” Embarrassed, Brigette tried to look away, but he prevented her from doing so. “We'll be married a verra long time, my lady, and I would have this behind us."
“I-I was insulted b-because you neither cared to attend our wedding nor rode out with your men to greet me."
“I swear it was circumstances that prevented me, hinny. I did care that I couldna’ attend our weddin’ and rode all night to reach yer camp by mornin'. Ye'd already flown."
“Oh.” Brigette was shamefaced.
Drawing her close, Iain pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Would ye care to ask me somethin'?” When she looked away, he added, “Dinna be shy."
“Why did you lie to me?” she asked, her need to know stronger than her embarrassment.
“Cuz I knew ye didna’ like me. I believed it best to become acquainted wi'out our real names gettin’ in the way."
“But...” Brigette broke off.
“Spit it out,” Iain persisted. “If somethin’ else is botherin’ ye, I want to hear it."
Humiliated, Brigette stared at the mat of dark hair covering his chest. “W-why did you hurt me last night?"
Iain scowled, angry with himself. “I'm sorry for that, hinny. When ye said ye hated me, I nearly lost control."
“But I don't.” Brigette looked up and met his dark-eyed gaze. “Hate you, I mean. It was my anger speaking."
Iain grinned. “Ye dinna hate me?"
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head in a way that reminded him of a little girl.
“Well, that's a fair beginnin’ for us.” Without warning, Iain lowered his lips to hers, felt her trembling fear and kissed her gently, so very gently.
Drawing back, he smiled and vowed, “I willna’ hurt ye again, my lady, I swear.” Again his lips met hers, kissing more deeply this time.
“Brie,” she breathed against his lips.
“What?"
“Call me Brie—all my friends do."
“Brie,” Iain murmured as his lips covered hers.
Brigette's lips parted in an unmistakable invitation, and Iain's tongue slipped in, caressing the moist velvet within. Intoxicated by her husband's lingering kiss, Brigette's arms creeped up and entwined his neck, her hands moving across his broad, muscular shoulders. Leaving her lips, his tongue teased a path across her silky cheek to her earlobe, then slipped down to her slender throat, sending hot shivers dancing down her spine.
One of his hands wandered to her breasts, then caressed and weighed the small but heavy globes in the palm of his hand. His head dipped lower, and his burning lips blazed a trail to those soft mounds. Drawing back, Iain paused to admire and circled one rose-hued nipple with the tip of his forefinger.
“I love yer titties,” he whispered huskily, “so soft and firm. Yer nipples are large, good for arousin’ a mon and feedin’ a sucklin’ bairn."
Brigette quivered at his words, feeling a thousand airy butterflies winging within her stomach. At the same time, a familiar throbbing sensation began pulsing between her thighs.
Iain lowered his head to one tingling breast, and his mouth captured its sensitive nipple, the tip of his tongue taunting the hardened peak. When his lips pulled masterfully on it, Brigette was caught in maddening pleasure. Moaning throatily, she yielded to her husband's powerful force and arched upward, her hands almost desperately pressing his head to her breast.
Iain's hand slid between her thighs, which parted at his light yet commanding touch. One of his skillful fingers traced a path down the wet crevice and then up again. With his wife's own juices, he massaged her female button and groaned to feel it swelling beneath his finger.
With his shaft dripping excitement, Iain knelt between Brigette's thighs, then raised her hips. The knob of his desire touched her moist entry. Its tip teased her nether lips, gently coaxing them open like the petals of a blossoming flower, and then pierced her hot, tight passage. As he moved his hips seductively, Iain watched his fingers taunt his wife's swollen jewel and admired its passionate size.
Wild contractions surged through Brigette's body, and she arched her hips instinctively, urgently. “Fill me, Iain!” she wailed, her brilliant green eyes opening and startling him.
The invitation was irresistible. Iain buried his shaft to the hilt of her female sheath. He pulled back, then thrust fiercely again and again.
Brigette's body rose to meet each mighty thrust of Iain's. She cried out, carried away by wave after wave of blissful sensation. Clasping her tightly, Iain shuddered and flooded her throbbing passage, which squeezed every drop of life he had to give.
After several breathless moments, Iain lowered Brigette to the bed and then kissed her. It was so gentle and tender a kiss that a teardrop slowly coursed down her flushed cheek. Tenderly, he brushed it away and lay down, then drew her close. Both were silent, neither willing to risk losing the love they'd found in their bed, and then they slept.
6
Shifting Sly's weight into the crook of one arm, Iain opened his chamber door and entered silently. He set the fox down, then looked at the bed where Brigette slept.
Man and beast were irresistibly drawn to the sleeping woman. Sly padded across the chamber and leaped onto the bed, then snuggled comfortably against his mistress's back.
Iain followed Sly. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leisurely surveyed his wife's charms. Her copper hair was in adorable disarray; her creamy skin and rosy lips tantalized his memory of the previous night. Brigette's small, turned-up nose combined with her delicately pointed chin to give proof of her irrepressible nature.
A smile tugged at Iain's lips when he realized he hadn't even begun to inventory what was hidden beneath the coverlet. Brigette's lips were moist and parted in the most compelling manner. Iain leaned over and pressed his lips against them.
“Mmmm.” A soft sigh of contentment escaped Brigette's throat.
Iain sat back and grinned as her eyes fluttered open. Warm and lushly green, he thought, eyes the color of a Highland landscape in summer.
“Supper?” she asked groggily.
“Was last night,” he answered.
“Oh. Sly?"
“Beside ye."
Brigette reached behind to touch the fox and smiled to feel him snuggled so close.
“We'll breakfast together in the great hall,” Iain said. “There are others here ye must meet."
Brigette nodded. Iain caressed her silken cheek, and turning her head, she pressed a kiss on his hand.
“We'll ride to Loch Awe after breakfast,” he continued, his voice hoarse at her gesture, “and later we'll visit wi’ several of the
crofters so they can meet Dunridge's new lady."
“Sly must be in agony,” she said abruptly, thinking the fox had been penned in their chamber all night.
“I've just returned from takin’ him out,” Iain said, then chuckled. “I do believe he's made a conquest of Moireach. There was an empty bowl on the floor this mornin'. Oh, I almost forgot.” From the top of his plaid Iain produced a leather dog's collar, dyed a brilliant shade of yellow. “This is for Sly."
“It's certainly bright."
“We dinna want puir Sly mistaken for a wild beastie, do we?"
Smiling, Brigette shook her head and sat up, letting the coverlet dip to reveal the enticing swell of her breasts. At her bidding, Iain fastened the startling yellow collar around the fox's neck.
“Now, dear Sly,” she complimented, patting the fox, “you are assuredly the most dashing beast in this realm. Wouldn't you say, Iain?"
“Verra bonnie,” he agreed as Sly, frustrated in his attempt to remove the collar, leaped off the bed. “All the Highland vixens will be frantic wi’ yearnin’ when they see him. Shall I call Spring for ye, hinny?"
A mischievous gleam leaped into green eyes, and Brigette let the coverlet fall to her waist, exposing her perfectly formed breasts. One hand slid up Iain's arm to caress his cheek. “Is it so late?” she murmured. “Must we breakfast now?"
Iain stared at her beckoning, rose-hued nipples. With a growl of pure lust, he pushed her back to the pillows, but her hands reached out to hold him at bay.
“Won't we be missed in the great hall?” she teased with feigned innocence.
“No.” His lips covered hers in an endless, devouring kiss.
Morning was a feeble old man by the time Iain and Brigette walked into the great hall, which strangely enough was still crowded. Feeling many curious eyes turn in their direction, Brigette hesitated for a fraction of a second.
“Dinna be nervous,” Iain whispered. “Black Jack is the worst Dunridge can offer, and ye weathered that storm quite nicely."
“I'm not nervous,” she returned, lifting her chin a notch, “merely surprised to find so many people congregating here at this hour of the day."
Highland Belle Page 7
