by Ann Jacobs
For while their numbers might be reduced, those villagers who remained were primarily of sound health if not spirit. Their homes were still erect and their coffers, while sparse, not completely barren. Unlike most of their neighbors, and for reasons only God knew, they had been spared the English noose. For that, they had reason to celebrate.
And they would celebrate. Festively. Now that the holiday season was upon them, she would see that it would be one of promise for the New Year. One where even the naysayers would be forced to believe in a brighter day on the morrow.
Pulling free from her thoughts, Kristiana indicated the lush sprig of evergreen her longtime friend, Mary Smith, held just above the castle’s entrance. “A bit higher with that one. I want the color to be seen far and wide.”
“’Tis a waste of yer time, Kristi. ‘Side from Auld Devlin and his wife, and the widow Barnathy, the people o’ Landon would rather spend their days sloshed and ruttin’, then celebratin’ a folly holiday.”
Kristiana shook off the temper that flared at her friend’s accurate assessment, and clung to the few—those who still held out hope. It was for them she adorned these walls, as well as for herself. Deep down, she believed in her heart there was something better on the horizon. Something waiting for them all—they need only be patient and bide their time.
Unfortunately, patience was not a virtue the villagers possessed.
“That may be, but ‘tis my time to waste.”
Shaking off her cloak, she tramped inside, past the entrance hall to the drawing room, and gathered the rug that lined the floor before the hearth. She would have this place immaculate, even if she were the only one to be grateful for her efforts.
She dragged the thick rug to the courtyard and, hefting its weight, gave it a firm snap. Dust motes filled the chilled air and brought a sneeze to her nose.
Mary cast her a dubious glance. “’Tis not work befittin’ a lady.”
“Alaistir and Fiona are gone to Inverness for supplies,” she said of the groundskeeper and his wife, the joint cook and housekeeper. “Besides, you know well I enjoy cleaning. It makes me feel alive. Like I’ve something better to do with myself than sit and sew and while the hours away.”
“Still, ‘tisn’t right.”
“Then, ‘tis a good thing I don’t—” Kristiana’s reply died on her lips at the sound of rapidly approaching hoof beats. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She’d been educated enough in survival to know the sound was a lone rider. One rider, even if that person be English, was not cause for concern. And yet, she couldn’t stop the anxiety that overcame her.
She drew in a long, calming breath of icy air as horse and rider rounded the far side of the castle. From this distance, the man’s worn attire suggested him a messenger. But the proud way he sat his mount told another story. The solidarity of his broad shoulders beneath his dark riding-coat spoke of a regal bearing and, more, of authority.
Though his features were not yet identifiable, the sudden urge to bolt into the safety of the castle walls swept through Kristiana. No matter what her instincts might warrant, she couldn’t run and hide. She was the lady of this keep. A fierce, brave Scotswoman, and as such she had to stand her ground. To be the chieftain of this soon-to-be disbanded clan. Even if her hammering heart demanded she do otherwise.
“Get inside, Mary,” she ordered, thankful her voice didn’t give way to the unexplainable dread stiffening her limbs. “I’ll see to this matter.”
The slightest shuffle of feet ensured the woman had moved, but not all the way inside. Before Kristiana could remark on her failure to heed the command, the rider came to a stop and she caught sight of his face. The formidable set of the man’s strong, shadowed jaw nearly sent Kristiana into her first ever swoon.
“God Almighty, ‘tis a ghost,” Mary breathed behind her.
As a rule, Kristiana did not believe in anything as foolish as spirits. And yet, as she stared upon the tall, dark man who resembled her late husband so completely, she knew of nothing else he could be. The hammering of her heart turned to an insistent thrumming that echoed harshly between her ears.
“Inside, Mary” she managed. And then she was dropping the rug she held in a death grip as her feet moved of their own accord to the man’s side.
He slid off his mount’s back to the cold hard ground, his booted feet soundless in the crisp snow. The crooked grin she saw so rarely on Tomas’ handsome face spread wide, and the breath stilled in her throat even as hope warmed her heart.
She drew her hand part way to her mouth, and then paused. “You can’t be…”
“I’ve come home, my lady,” the stranger, who looked so much like Tomas, responded in a deep baritone, the faintest burr accentuating his words. And then he did the most remarkable of things—he opened his arms to her.
Not once had Kristiana sought comfort in her husband’s embrace. No woman was welcome there. But as he stood before her, looking like a man arisen from the dead, a man who could bring some form of stability to a people in dire need of it, she couldn’t stop herself from going into the welcoming heat of his arms. Rising on tiptoe, she glided her mouth to his cheek for a chaste kiss. Only when her lips landed, it wasn’t on his beard-shadowed face, but on his full, sensuous mouth.
She gasped as his steel-muscled arms banded around her, instantly warming her flesh with the unexpected intimacy. Pulling her firmly against him, he used her parted lips to his advantage, sweeping into her mouth, licking and suckling at her inner flesh, devouring her with the potency of his kiss.
She mewled a soft sigh of pleasure when he pulled back, and then his tongue was claiming her again, robbing her of every thought but that of his bold, masculine flavor and deftly, probing tongue. The idea of him using that clever tongue in far more secret places, places that even now grew damp with the juices of arousal, swirled through her clouded brain and further sped the beat of her heart.
His ravenous mouth stayed constant, foraging from her parted lips, while his hands chased through her hair, setting strand after strand free from their confines and tingling her scalp with a heady, light pleasure. Her legs weakened at the surprisingly erotic sensation of his short nails on her scalp, and she curled her fingers into his coat for stability. The same reckless need that pulsed through her, pounded in his chest, just beneath her touch, further spiraling the lust that grew thick in her veins. She could not have denied the appetite that consumed her at this moment if she had wanted. She was starving for this man and he seemed to share her appetite completely.
Kristiana’s thoughts veered far away from the desolation that surrounded them and she responded to his kiss with the same urgency, the same desperation she tasted on his tongue. With a guttural groan of approval, he drove deeper into the recesses of her mouth, tangling and pillaging, taking every bit of what she offered and more. His large, callused hands traveled down her spine and he roughly cupped her buttocks. Could she escape the kiss, she would have gasped at the delicious feeling of his fingers fondling her backside, but she could not escape it, her body wouldn’t allow the separation. Instead, she closed her eyes and arched against his touch, so that his hardness pressed delectably against her belly and sent her limbs atremble.
And he was hard. Hard, male and virile beneath her hands.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her off the ground and rubbed his thick shaft against her pelvis. For an instant, the magnitude of his engorged manhood overpowered the desire that swamped her. Then his rough, forceful tongue moved faster, in a pace that defied rationale, and it was all she could do to hold onto him for strength and moan the need that burned through her, soaking her undergarments and stealing every ounce of common sense.
Never had Tomas kissed her this way, so savagely, so demandingly. So arousingly. She had believed she didn’t need him to do so, that she was content to be married to a man who had no use for her body. She knew now how wrong she had been. She wanted this moment to continue forever, to feel his strong, capable hands
on every inch of her naked, sweat-soaked skin. To feel his tempting mouth on her bared breasts, his fingers embedded deep in the swollen, tingling flesh between her thighs, setting free the orgasm she knew she was on the verge of. The orgasm that before now, she had only heard stories about.
Tangling her fingers through his long, black hair, she ground her hips against his erect staff and drank in the slight musk of his sweat and beyond that, the rich scent of soap. He smelled like a warrior, tasted like a man who could take her to places she’d never before been, places she hadn’t even thought to fantasize about. Never would have thought to fantasize about with Tomas, a man whose tastes strayed far from women, deep into the terrain of boys and young men.
Tomas was not even capable of taking a woman the way she wished to be taken now. The way this man had her ready to beg for.
But if that was true, then how…
Her thoughts skidding to a reckless halt, Kristiana stilled her wandering hands and snapped open her eyes. Passion-churned blackness stared back at her. Not blue as Tomas’ eyes had been, but deep, soulless black. Her heart plummeted.
Holy Mother, this wasn’t her husband!
A scream on the verge of ripping from her lungs, she uncurled her fingers from the stranger’s hair and pushed against his broad, muscled chest with every ounce of strength she possessed. He didn’t budge. Instead, he took one more, luxurious swipe of her mouth, feasting on her so completely, so carnally, that when he finally set her away, it took her several seconds to recall why she wanted to be let go.
Then she remembered. And her temper unleashed itself.
No longer fearing the cold, as her body was heated enough to last the winter through, she wrapped her arms over her chest and glared. “Who in the devil are you?”
His crooked grin became devious and he did yet another outrageous thing, he bowed to her. “Gaven, my lady, and ‘tis a true pleasure to finally meet you.”
She arched a brow and took a purposeful step backward, not about to be swayed by his belated show of manners any more than his cunning attempts at seduction. At least no more than she had already been affected. She shivered involuntarily at the unbidden desire still surging through her, and wrapped her arms tighter to her chest in the hopes he’d believe it was the cold she fought against. “Finally, you say?”
He straightened and nodded. His long, dark hair billowed in the breeze, and her fingers itched to find their way back into its lengths. Her body burned to do much the same, until the thickness of his shaft was buried deep inside her core and the restless ache in her womb was brought to an end.
Damnation, she could not stop herself! It was madness and, still, she wanted him, be he stranger or ghost.
“My brother went on and on about you. I can’t think he wouldn’t speak of me too.”
Gaven’s words freed her from her yearnings in an instant. Revulsion churned her stomach. “Your brother?” she asked aghast, though the answer should have been plain to see. “Tomas was your brother?”
“It would look that way.”
“Aye, ’twould.” And if she had not been so enamored with the idea of impaling herself on the devil’s lap, she would have realized it long before. Sweet Lord, what had come over her? “Why is it Tomas never mentioned having a twin?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and his grin turned nefarious. “Perhaps, he feared I’d swoop down and steal his lovely bride.”
“Mr. Gaven. That is hardly appropriate talk.” Not to mention the absolute last thing Tomas would have worried over. And possibly the best thing that could have ever happened to me.
She gave her head a firm shake. Where on earth was her mind today? Judging by the dampness still heavy between her thighs, far south of her head.
“What about Tavish?” he asked.
She narrowed her gaze at the mention of her husband’s highly scandalous younger brother. She had heard little of him from Tomas—mainly that he was a heartless rake, but it was more than enough to know she disliked the man. “What of him?”
“Tomas mentioned him then?”
“Aye, he said he was a scoundrel. An English one at that.”
Gaven’s dark eyebrows drew together as if he was appalled by the idea. The amusement that tinged his words indicated just the opposite. “An Englishman that goes by a Scottish name? How disgraceful.”
“’Tis a truth, your brother has no care for scandal. He’s been known to rob maidens of their virtue by drugging them mindless with his kisses.”
His lips twitched. “You don’t say.”
“I do.” And as she stood here, watching him fight a smile, she realized Gaven was most likely known to do the same. She had to have been mindless for the way she responded to him, the lust still aflame in her lower belly.
His lips fell flat and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “And do tell me, Lady Kristiana, is that not how you came by your title? By allowing my brother to seduce you with a handful of pleasurable kisses, then dally between your milky, white thighs?”
The breath caught in Kristiana’s throat so fiercely she nearly choked on it. “Mr. Gaven! Why of all the wicked, licentious, libert—”
His laughter, deep and derisive, carried on the breeze like a dagger straight to her heart. All trace of his burr was gone when he spoke next. “Laird Gaven, my lady. Or Tavish MacBain if you so prefer. And I would say it is you who is licentious for allowing my good brother to defile you. Then there are the liberties you allowed me to take in an open courtyard. Quite shocking. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
As she stood there, gaping into his mocking black eyes, realization settled in like the fog that so often shrouded the castle walls. She knew in that moment the answers to all her unasked questions. Why the villagers of Landon had been spared, why the women had not been raped nor the children beaten, why their cottages still stood, and the coffers weren’t bled dry.
They’d been spared by the King’s army to face their demise at the hands of a lone man. A devil who shared his brother’s strong, noble features, but knew nothing of Tomas’ fighting spirit, his love for the MacBain clan.
Tavish might claim a Scottish name, but beyond that, he was a tried and true Englishman. One who wielded the power to remove each and every villager from the land they loved with a mere snap of his fingers. One who could turn a maiden’s traitorous body into a pit of raw, aching need with little more than a kiss.
Chapter Two
“I won’t be evicted!”
Tavish scowled down at the red-haired beauty whose eyes flickered as icily blue as the sea that surrounded the better part of the castle. The woman’s declaration disturbed him nearly as much as her comeliness. Her strikingly elegant features coupled with the high, firm breasts and the round, supple ass he’d palmed moments before, ensured no man could consider Lady Kristiana detestable in countenance.
Willful, yes. But detestable? Not with that tongue.
He’d been shocked to silence at his first sight of her, standing on the castle steps doing work suited to a servant. Then she’d seen him as well and her face lit, unguarded hope entering her eyes, and he’d felt another emotion altogether. One he thought himself well beyond. Eager for a reason he couldn’t quite place, he’d slid from his mount and opened his arms to her, and she’d run into them and offered her mouth.
Though it had only been another second before he’d realized her mistake—that she thought her dead husband had somehow been returned to her—he hadn’t been able to break away. Not when her lips ripened to him and her honey sweet tongue flicked so blatantly against his, bringing his blood to a boil and his cock to abrupt attention.
His penis stirred anew at the memory of her willing, young body snaked against his, and Tavish grunted his displeasure. He might not have been able to feel the direct heat of her pussy against his skin, but he’d smelled the sweet tang of her sex in the air, saw the lust cloud her eyes. She’d wanted him to fuck her, right there in the courtyard for all to see. And damn his hide, he’
d wanted the same thing.
Bloody hell! Why couldn’t she be the ugly shrew he’d been led to believe?
The lustful appetite spilling through his veins and tightening his balls was his own fault, he supposed. A wiser man would have taken care of his needs before leaving England. It had been over three sennights since he’d last fallen into the warmth of a woman’s parted thighs. Contrary to what Kristiana believed, that woman hadn’t been innocent or asleep, but a long-time acquaintance with whom he’d shared many trysts.
Not a whore, but not exactly a lady either.
Much like his companion, judging by the fact she too had clearly realized her mistake long before their kiss ended. Certainly before she rummaged those long, slender fingers through his hair and ground her sex against him in open invitation.
While Tavish could not understand the rumors that had been spread regarding her appearance, he could well see how Tomas had been lured into her bed. She was a strumpet of the highest order. One whose eagerness to share her body reminded him too much of another supposed lady, one whom he had believed himself to be in love with several years before. That woman’s affection had been more false than any other he’d received in his life, and had died the moment she found a wealthier paramour.
He took a step backward, toward his horse. Contempt burned hot in Kristiana’s potent gaze and still he did not trust her to keep her distance. Not when he knew how easily she could pull him into her hedonistic web.
“Is that what you think? I’ve come to evict you?” he questioned harshly, wondering now if her advances were a promise of future thrills if he allowed her to stay on. Bartering her body for a place to sleep, he thought sardonically, how like a woman. “I merely wish to have back what is mine. Whether you stay or go is of no consequence to me.”
“But if I leave, sir, wherever will you find an innocent to forage up? ‘Tis a sad truth, there are only a handful of maidens left in the village and not a single one in the castle.”
His shock over her defiant words was only outweighed by her self-decree. He couldn’t hold back his snort of derision. “I would hardly consider you an innocent. Even if my brother tired of you after a single rut, that doesn’t give you back your virtue.” Since a stable boy had yet to appear, Tavish turned and grabbed his mount’s reins. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a mind to take care of my horse and get changed and washed before the evening meal.”
