by Ann Jacobs
She spoke from between gritted teeth. “How nice for the laird.”
“He asked for your immediate company.”
“You can tell Laird MacBain to stick his quill pen up his¼“ She trailed off at the man’s raised eyebrows and flushed. Since she had decided to leave her joint feelings of shame and sorrow behind, her anger over Tavish’s rejection had grown. Still, it wasn’t right to take her temper out on anyone other than the man it was directed at. “I’m sorry, Tompkins. You’re only doing your duties. Tell his lairdship I will be with him shortly.”
Of no mind to let her foul mood cool off when she could use it on the man it was meant for, she counted to thirty and then went to Tavish’s study.
He pinned her with a dark look the moment she entered. “How?” he demanded.
Pasting a wide smile on her face, she took a seat across the desk from him. “How what, my laird? How did I make it down here so quickly? How is it I can smile when looking upon your countenance? How can the sky be so blue on a day as cold as this one? I find a bit of clarification is necessary, sir.”
For an instant, the crooked grin flirted with his lips, and then a scowl reclaimed his face. He drummed his fingers along the desk’s shiny mahogany surface. She fought the memory of where those long, elegant, wondrously callused fingers had been previously. Where she ached to feel them at this very moment. Stroking over her swollen feminine flesh, buried almost completely into her center.
The heat that coiled in her belly moments before returned with renewed force. She crossed her legs in an attempt to curtail the unwanted desire dampening her thighs.
She would not lust for this man. Nay, this derisive monster.
“Do not toy with me, Kristiana,” Tavish said sharply, “I’m in no mood for your insolent disposition. Tell me the truth. Why did my brother marry you?”
She dragged her gaze back to his face, thankful for the reprieve. Though, truthfully, staring upon his full, sensuous mouth and remembering the strength of his forceful tongue suckling at her engorged sex was no better than fantasizing over his fingers.
Aye, it was far worse.
She heaved a sigh at the unbidden wetness that gathered in her undergarments and uncrossed her legs, determined to forget the allure of her companion. “The truth is, sir, you do not want to know.”
“Kristiana!”
Resigned, she sank back in her seat. She had no longing to speak the truth on Tomas, but she had even less longing to continue to sit here and crave the one thing she knew better than to want—for him to bring an end to her salacious appetite. A hunger she swore she saw reflected in the heat of his potent gaze.
As they continued to stare at one another, the intoxicating scent of sandalwood drifted across the massive desk. Kristiana inhaled deeply of the fine masculine scent. She had not noticed the fine smell before today. Why did he wear it now? Was he planning to entertain a lady this evening?
A bolt of jealousy stiffened her spine and she pulled her gaze away, more determined than ever to be free of him. “Fine. I will tell you about Tomas. But might I suggest you help yourself to some whisky first?”
His gaze narrowed. “What is it?”
She drew a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of temperament that would follow her admittance. “Your brother…he had unusual tastes.”
Tavish banged his fist down upon the desk and growled. “I care not for his appetite, I want to know why he married you!”
“I am trying to explain, you dolt!” Passion rifled through his gaze, and Kristiana held her tongue from further insult. Drawing a long breath, she continued, “Your brother favored…men.”
He shook his head as if he had heard her wrong. “He what?”
She nodded, relieved to finally have this dark secret off her chest. “’Tis the truth, my laird. My father, Rector Farleigh, caught Tomas unawares one day. He was in the barn with my brother, and they were…you know.”
Once more, he shook his head. “No. I don’t think I do.”
“They were being promiscuous,” she bit out swiftly.
His gaze narrowed farther and then his black eyebrows drew together in a heavy furrow. His lips compressed into a tight line. She knew at that moment he understood.
“Hell and damnation, you mean to tell me my brother preferred to fuck men?”
A sennight ago, his harshly spoken words would have caused her to stammer or blush. Today she merely nodded. “To put it bluntly, aye.”
Tavish rose from his chair and secured the whisky she first suggested. He poured a glass and tossed the drink back. Still, he shook his head. “This can’t be.”
It was difficult to believe a brother of the sensual man who stood before her, a twin brother at that, could hold such different tastes. All the same, it was the truth. “Aye, sir. That’s why Tomas married me. ‘Tis why my family lived in such a nice home whilst the rest of the villagers had so much less. My father made a deal to keep their…indiscretion quiet. If, and only if, he took my hand in marriage, as well as lining my father’s pockets with a good deal of coin, would the matter be forgotten.”
The Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and she could tell he fought revulsion. She’d felt the same way toward her brother at first. She’d learned to accept his sexuality, as would Tavish in time.
She stood, wanting to be free of the small room and the man she shared it with before they broached subjects beyond their family. Matters she could not recount with him for fear she’d ask to relive them in more than words. “I am truly sorry you had to find out this way, my laird. Now may I be dismissed?”
“Yes.” She was almost to the door when his deep baritone reached her. “Kristiana.”
She turned back slowly, her heart in her throat, as she met his heavy gaze. “Aye?”
For a long moment, he stared at her, his expression unreadable, then he said with a wave of his hand, “This shall remain between us.”
Grasping for his meaning, she gulped back the lump that had formed in her throat. Her voice was laden with an unsolicited husk when she spoke. “This, sir?”
His lips tipped up at the corners and finally his expression became readable. Readable and hungry in a way that seared her to the bone. “My brother’s appetite, of course. I’ve no mind for the villagers to lose their faith now.”
Chapter Five
Kristiana sat in the drawing room, doing her best to concentrate on the intricate needlework splayed on her lap. Her mother used to sew for hours on end, for enjoyment. It was becoming ever clearer she had not inherited her mother’s patience any more than she had her talent.
And Mary wasn’t helping matters.
Sitting in a high-backed chair on the opposite side of the hearth, the woman had made so little progress on her mending she might as well not have gone to the trouble of pulling it out. Dropping the shirt she was mending into her lap, Mary shifted in her chair and cast a sideways glance at Kristiana. This was the fifteenth such glance since they sat down and the one to finally push Kristiana over the edge.
She dropped her needlework to her lap and shook her head at her friend. “Whatever ‘tis, have out with it.”
Mary looked away, but Kristiana could see the heat flaring in her typically pale cheeks. What could be wrong? They had been friends for years. They had no secrets. Actually, they used to have no secrets. She had not told Mary about her encounters with Tavish, just as she hadn’t told the other woman the truth about Tomas.
“’Tis nothin’, Kristi,” Mary finally responded.
Kristiana set her chin and prepared to be stubborn. If a little over-lording was necessary to get to the bottom of her friend’s behavior, than she would do it. “’Tis something. I know you well. Too well to know when you’ve something on your mind.”
“’Tis just…”
She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, struggling for patience that had long since eluded her. “Aye?”
Mary looked at her, to the fire, then back at her. “I don’t want ye t
o do it!” she blurted, color streaming higher in her cheeks. “’Tisn’t right.
The thin strands of patience Kristiana still possessed slipped away and she demanded, “Do what? What ‘tis it you do not wish for me to do? Out with it now, Mary. How bad can it be?”
Her friend’s wide-eyed look spoke volumes. Whatever it was, it must be dreadful. Mary’s words came out just above a whisper. “There’s talk in the village that Laird MacBain will journey to Inverness on the New Year.”
The hair rose at the back of Kristiana’s neck and her belly knotted with tension. “What? Who speaks this nonsense? Tavish…Laird MacBain has said no such thing to me.” And why should he? They meant nothing to each other. She was no longer even mistress material in his eyes. “If he wishes to go, so be it. This clan lasted for months without a laird, they will do fine without him for a week or two.”
“’Tis believed he won’t come back.”
The tightness that claimed her belly clamped harder. She rubbed a hand over her stomach, willing the sensation away. If he planned to leave them, good. She would be far better off without him and the toe-curling effect he had on her body. As for his people…they relied on him. Had given their faith to him less than a sennight ago. For them alone she hoped this rumor of his leaving was just that—hearsay.
“’Tis nothing but gossip, I’m sure,” she assured her friend.
Mary shook her head vigorously. “Nay. My father heard the laird say he would be leavin’.” She looked at her lap, but instead of returning to her mending she wrung her hands together as if she were nervous. Or perhaps keeping a secret.
The tension in Kristiana’s stomach fanned outward, slowly taking over her limbs. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing her friend by the shoulders and shaking words out of her mouth.
As calmly as she could manage, she asked, “What are you hiding from me, Mary?”
“’Tis just…”
Every ounce of calm snapped. “God’s teeth, woman, cease speaking like a stuttering fool and spit it out!”
Mary’s eyes flew wide and she blurted, “They want ye to make him stay.”
Had her friend gone daft? “I have no power over Laird MacBain.”
“My father and the others, they want ye to…to…”
“To?”
“Seduce him.”
The tension that had been mounting for several long minutes caught Kristiana around the throat, trapping her breath completely. She coughed at the cruel ache and slapped a hand at her chest until gasping was once again bearable. “What?”
Mary bit her lip. “I told ye I don’t want ye to do it. ‘Tis too noble a sacrifice.”
Noble? She thought sleeping with Tavish was noble? That was just…just…just unbelievable. Clearly the woman had gone daft, along with the rest of the villagers.
“His lairdship cares naught for me. My going to him would accomplish nothing.” Naught but more angry words and him once again throwing her out of his chamber. Nay, as much as having sex with the man was the only thing on her mind as of late, she would not do so for the sake of another.
“Who instigated this folly?” she demanded.
Now that Mary had voiced the reasons for her odd behavior she no longer seemed anxious. On the contrary, she almost seemed joyful. “’Tisn’t just one person,” she explained too cheerfully for Kristiana’s liking, “many speak o’ the way he looks at ye. They say he lusts after ye. When he was workin’ with my father the other day, my mother brought them a cool drink and he responded by saying ‘Thank ye, Kristiana’. ‘Tis not my mother’s name.”
“Aye, I’m well aware of your mother’s name, but one mishap doesn’t prove anything.” It merely planted a seed of something she didn’t care to recognize as hope.
“It’s happened before. My father says his lairdship spends half the day starin’ up at the Castle. He says he’s thinkin’ o’ ye and how to win yer heart.”
Nay. This couldn’t be possible. Tavish didn’t wish to win her heart, he didn’t even like her. But what of his behavior in his study the day before? For a moment she’d thought he might grin, and then he’d looked at her with his eyes so dark and intense. The same way he had looked at her that afternoon in the wood outside Landon, right before he grabbed her into his arms and kissed her senseless. Senseless enough to have her begging him for release. She shuddered at the memory of his palm grinding against the valley of her damp, parted nether lips, his fingers grasping her buttocks and spreading the cheeks wide, the rough pad of his thumb stroking her swollen, tender nub again and again, until she couldn’t stop the pressure building within from exploding.
“Sweet Lord,” she sighed on a moan, as moisture gushed in her undergarments.
She squirmed in her chair and shook away the image forming in her mind. She could not dissolve the heat burning in her lower belly so easily.
She focused back on her friend. “’Tis not possible. We rarely even speak.”
With a shrug, Mary picked up her mending, finally pulling the needle through the shirt with an even hand. “I’m only repeatin’ what I’ve heard.”
The want boiling in Kristiana’s blood turned to ire. What she’d heard, or what she’d been told by others in the hopes she might relay it to their lady? She glared at her. “If your father wished to ask me to service the laird, why did he not come here himself?”
“As I said, ‘twas not my father’s desire, but the entire village.”
She sank back in her chair and huffed, her anger slipping away with the admission of the villagers’ imbecilic notions. “Everyone believes this nonsense? That by seducing Tavish…his lairdship, he won’t leave?”
Mary set her mending down once more and met Kristiana’s gaze. “Aye. They say he is leavin’ because ye will not return his affection. They say he has a wounded heart.”
Affection? A wounded heart? When did the people of Landon become so fanciful? It didn’t matter when. All that mattered was they were wrong. Tavish held no affection for her. He had merely lust. Did he not?
“’Tis fine, Kristi, they’ll understand. Was too much to ask of ye. ‘Twas far too noble a request.”
Kristiana growled deep in her throat. The only thing keeping the sound within was the desolation in her friend’s voice. Torn between pointing out that sleeping with a man who was not one’s husband was not noble but immoral and feeling guilt over her friend’s sorrow, she fell to the latter. If Mary felt such distress over Tavish’s leaving, how would everyone else feel?
How will you feel?
The question came out of nowhere and she fought back the grimace that came with her answer. She would feel lonely. Running from him those times she felt things had become too heated to handle, and ignoring him the rest of the time had become part of her routine.
Damnation, the man had become part of her life!
An Englishman, who was revolted by her so much he would turn away in disgust rather than take her innocence, had worked his way into her heart.
Nay, that wasn’t right. She didn’t love him. Did she care for him? Aye, she did. Whether she wanted to or not. She cared for him a good deal. More than enough to know she wouldn’t escape this hunger that consumed her day and night until he brought it to an end. Until he made her his.
“I’ll do it.” The words were spoken so quietly that Kristiana would never have even known she’d voiced them were it not for Mary’s engorged eyes.
“Nay. Ye cannot do it, Kristi. ‘Twould be different if ye cared for him, but ‘tis obvious ye do not.”
She heard the hope in her friend’s voice and knew now was not the time to lie. “I care some. Enough. Besides ‘tis something that must be done.”
“P’r’haps he won’t go. P’r’haps, ‘tis truly all gossip.”
Perhaps. And perhaps if she thought about it any longer she’d realize what an impossible and foolish task she’d put before herself. She knew nothing of seduction, least of all with a man who didn’t want her. Still, for her people she had
to try.
And that was poppycock. It was for herself she had to try. She needed to coax at least one more powerful kiss from his masterful mouth before she bid him farewell.
“’Tis settled,” she said before she could change her mind. “I’ll start tonight.”
A healthy shade of pink crept into Mary’s cheeks. Color Kristiana recognized as optimism. “Are ye certain, Kristi? Do ye even know how to seduce a man?”
“Aye, I am certain. And I can seduce a man.” She forced bravado into her tone and met her friend’s gaze squarely. “It worked on Tomas, did it not?”
Mary’s lips drew thin and the color left her cheeks, but she said no more, merely returned to the silence of her sewing.
* * * * *
“What is that smell?”
Kristiana’s heart beat faster at the sound of Tavish’s deep baritone. Once she had managed to convince Tavish’s duo of prim-faced cooks to leave the kitchen in her possession, she lit an incense stick flavored with myrrh in the hopes of drawing their laird inside. Her mother had always claimed she’d captured her father with her cooking. Kristiana prayed the same would hold true for herself. Only she did not wish to capture Tavish, merely entice him enough to make him want her as his mistress.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned. Her breath caught as she gazed upon the man she would soon woo to her bed. He had spent the morning and early afternoon toiling in Landon. The way his white linen shirt clung to his broad chest, delineating each muscle to perfection indicated he had worked up a sweat. The ends of his black hair curled where they met the shirt’s collar and a fine growth of beard shadowed his strong jaw. And his hands…
Her gaze darted to his strong, long-fingered hands. Kristiana shivered with the realization that she would soon feel them upon her, inside her, making her writhe and ache for release. She remembered just how incredible it felt when he penetrated her lips to stroke over her swollen sex, and knew how badly she wanted that moment.
“What is that smell?” he repeated.
She gave her head a firm shake. “Which one, my laird?”
