by Robyn DeHart
She shivered in response. “No, of course not. I only wanted to sleep upon it.” She laughed. “I know ’tis foolish, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Not too foolish, considering you found it beneath my pillow.” His rich voice caressed her in the darkness, shrouding them in intimacy. It occurred to her that this was the way husbands and wives spoke to one another. Quiet murmurs in bed with the inky night around them. Whispers between lovers.
She tried in vain to remove herself.
“You want to sleep on it, you sleep on it in here,” he said. He shifted their positions so that she now lay where he’d been, the hard stone beneath her pillow. His body cradled up against hers. His arm snaked around her waist, lying heavy on her far-too-sensitive, much-too-aware flesh. As if she wore nothing at all, she could feel the heat of his arm against her abdomen. Desire coursed through her, making her focus on his every breath—every inhalation, and then the slow, warm exhalation of air that fluttered over her skin.
Graeme’s arm tightened around her, pulling her into his body so that her bottom nestled snugly against his legs. They lay there in silence for several moments, and he made no other move to touch or seduce her. She tried to fall asleep, tried to will herself to forget where she was, tried to simply relax into oblivion, but it seemed impossible.
Perhaps it was merely because of the stone. She knew it was there, knew she craved sleep and dreams, and because of that desire, sleep evaded her. That was a logical explanation. But it wasn’t the accurate one.
The truth was she couldn’t sleep because of Graeme’s body pressed to hers. His fingertips gently rubbed across her abdomen. Through the veil of her shift, she could feel his subtle touch.
Desire pooled through her, shutting off all coherent thought. She wanted him. Wanted him to touch her, kiss her, make love to her. But she would not seduce him as she’d done the first time. Instead she’d keep to her word. If he pursued her, she would comply as was her duty as his wife.
Instinctively she shifted her body, and became abruptly aware of his erection straining against the thin fabric of her shift.
His hand grew bolder, his palm flattening against her stomach. The other hand dipped lower to rest on her thigh. Her bare thigh. How had that happened? Had he moved her shift up and she hadn’t noticed? Certainly she would have felt that. More than likely, the fabric had gotten twisted when he’d pulled her into bed and now lay askew. She tried to concentrate on keeping her breathing even, slow, and steady. She could accomplish this wifely task without losing complete hold of her senses. Women did this all the time.
His hand on her thigh moved up and down her leg, coiling desire through her veins. She longed to open herself to him, to fall onto her back and part her legs and urge him to come to her. But she held her ground. If he wanted her, he would ask for what he desired and give her no choice in the matter. She would not deny him.
His warm palm against her thigh made her skin feel alive, as if her very flesh shimmered with sensation. Fingers pushed at her shift, sneaking beneath and sliding up her leg. Vanessa sucked in her breath. What was this spell he held her under? As if his very touch bewitched her mind, emptying it of any coherent thought so she could only focus on the desire he created.
Hot breath slid across her neck and down her shoulder as he leaned closer. His well-muscled chest pressed to her back. Even without the benefit of seeing it now, she knew what his chest looked like, knew every sinewy line that traced the hard muscles of his abdomen.
He kissed her neck. One hot, moist kiss that proved to be her complete undoing. She knew in that moment that she would not leave this bed tonight.
His lips and tongue laved kisses over the tender flesh at her shoulder and across her upper back. He nipped lightly, and gooseflesh shivered over her skin.
His hand found its way to the rounded part of her hip and at the moment simply rested there, warming her skin. His other hand, though, the one wrapped under her body, slid up her stomach to cup her breast. Already her nipples were hard, tight with need.
Vanessa panted, her lips parting and her eyes fluttering closed. Moisture pooled between her legs, but she lay still. She wanted this seduction, wanted to know what her husband would do and say to make her his.
His hand at her breast cupped and kneaded the tender flesh. He tweaked her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. She arched into him. He bit her shoulder, and pressed his erection against her bottom.
Oh mercy, how she wanted him.
His hand slid from her hip to the front of her body. His fingers threaded through the curls at the juncture of her thighs, one fingertip brushing across the tender nub hidden within her folds. Vanessa’s legs parted. Now, she wanted to say, but she pressed her lips together as she opened her legs.
He rolled her to him, laying her flat on the bed. He loomed over her—large, handsome, and passionate. She could not see the features of his face, but knew his green eyes would have darkened a shade and that his mouth would be set in a hard line.
His lips brushed across hers. His tongue plunged between her teeth in a greedy and hot kiss. She held nothing back as she kissed him in return, cupping his face in her hands. They continued kissing, giving and taking from one another. His hands roamed all over her body, caressing and tantalizing wherever they touched.
She tried more than once to pull him between her legs, but he stayed in his position, lying next to her on the bed. His mouth left hers, then covered the tip of her breast. Through the filmy material of the shift, his hot, wet mouth suckled until she thought she would go mad with desire. But he gave her no relief. Instead he moved to the other breast to continue his sweet torture.
Vanessa grabbed handfuls of the sheets and clenched them at her sides. He kissed his way down her torso, barely stopping over her center so that she could feel the hint of his warm breath. She shivered. Then his hot mouth was on her thigh, nibbling and kissing the tender flesh at the top of her leg. One, then the other, he kissed and teased. She bucked against the bed, knowing she needed relief and knowing only he could give it to her.
He continued kissing her leg as one hand reached up and pulled the shift all the way up her body. He ran his hand over her breasts, then slid it down her torso. Then he shifted himself until he rested between her legs, but instead of thrusting inside of her as she expected, he lowered his mouth and kissed her inner core.
His lips and tongue played her; a master musician perfectly strumming his instrument. She’d wrapped both of her legs around his back and was holding herself as close to his mouth as she could. He dipped his tongue inside her, then moved to suck at the hidden nub. One finger slipped inside of her, and both hand and mouth worked brilliantly together.
And then she was lost. Pleasure fractured inside of her, exploding from her center and rocketing down all of her limbs. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held on as he took her from one height to another. Finally the climax subsided, and he kissed his way up her torso.
His erection pressed into her opening, and before she could completely recover from her ascension, he plunged into her. Again she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him farther inside, deeper still. She ran her hands down his back, feeling the strong cords of muscles playing beneath her fingertips as he thrusted. Her climax began again. She called out his name. He groaned and collapsed atop her.
Now she knew precisely how her husband would seduce her. And she also knew that she’d never be able to resist him. She might be in more danger than she’d first thought.
Vanessa awoke the following morning alone in the bed. She stretched lazily, parts of her body tinged with soreness as the previous night’s events came flooding back. Graeme had seduced her. Several times. They’d spent the night making love, yet instead of feeling disappointed with herself, she found herself smiling.
The sun peeked through the window to her left, an unusual occurrence in a Scottish winter. She stretched again, and her arm brushed cold limestone. The Stone of Destiny. She’d slep
t on it. But had she dreamed?
She sat up. Yes, she had. A very real and lengthy dream about Graeme and herself, and there had been children, several of them. Two boys that resembled their father, with wavy brown hair and lovely green eyes, and then three little girls who all looked very much like she had as a child. But surely that was not her destiny.
Vanessa remembered many details of the dream. They had been on a picnic near a pond, much smaller than the loch, and it had been warm and sunny, the children running through the grass giggling as their father chased after them. She remembered that she had sat upon a blanket beneath a great tree, and she had watched her family, laughing while she’d readied a light meal of bread and cheese and candied figs. Mostly, though, she remembered the way she’d felt: utter bliss and happiness. Sheer, unadulterated contentment.
Decidedly absent had been any thoughts of her research. She hadn’t envisioned any plaques or awards or publications for the strides she’d made in the field of science. No display shelf featuring the fossils she’d found. There had only been Graeme. Their family. And that soul-consuming feeling of joy.
Sitting in the bed, she propped her elbows on her knees and starred at the blank wall, frowning.
No, that couldn’t be her destiny.
Her destiny involved great scientific discovery.
All her life, she’d never fit in with other girls, never felt part of her family, never felt her mother’s love. It was a struggle, but she’d made peace with it, because she’d realized that was the cost of her studies. It was the price she’d paid. In exchange, she’d been sure that she was destined for legitimate scientific discoveries.
But her dream spoke of nothing scientific. It meant nothing. She propelled herself from the bed and shook off the last of her sleep.
Quickly she scurried to her room and dressed for the day. She wound her hair into a braid, but left it hanging, long and heavy down her back. Then she found her way to the kitchen, the favored room of Graeme’s family. She found her husband sitting and leaning his chair back against the wall. His head was thrown back, and he was laughing joyfully at something his mother or grandmother had said.
Warmth spread through her entire body at the sound of his mirth—a sensation she remembered from her dream, happiness and sheer contentment. She shook her head. His was a carefree laugh, one that would inspire anyone to smile.
Smiling was all well and good, but she was a woman of science, she reminded herself. A researcher.
“Good morning,” Graeme said with a grin. He moved his leg off the bench, turning to face the table. He patted the seat next to him. She sat down, but with enough room for another person to sit between them.
His mother stood to get another plate out of the cupboard, and Graeme slid closer to Vanessa, leaning down to her ear. “I trust you slept well.”
She twisted her body to put some space between them, then nodded enthusiastically. “I did, thank you.”
“Have any special dreams?” he asked.
She met his gaze and found only humor there. “Nothing in particular,” she said. “And yourself?”
“I dreamt of something, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet myself.” He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee.
Did he have a similar dream? One of their family picnicking by the water and of their children running and laughing through a field? Had he also seen them strolling together, fingers linked, sharing stories and gazing adoringly at one another?
She scanned his face for a sign, but she saw nothing that gave her any indication. And she most certainly wasn’t going to ask.
While it had only been one experiment, in her scientific estimation, the Stone of Destiny was most definitely not prophetic.
Chapter Nineteen
An hour later, Graeme sat in the study recording the details of his dream in his journal. Since this morning, he’d remembered more, not simply the pile of bones, but the treasure. It had to be the Loch Ness Treasure. Somewhere in those caves, he’d find the treasure lying amidst bones. Perhaps the legend had been right and the beastie had guarded the treasure, but now the beastie was gone and the gems lay unguarded.
He had to find them before Niall did. No matter what the cost, he had to prevent The Raven from laying claim to the Kingmaker.
Of course, now that Graeme had the true Stone of Destiny, it would be impossible for anyone to complete the Kingmaker. Still, he wanted to be certain. Solomon’s had entrusted him with this task, and he would not let them down. They had been the only true friends he’d found in London.
In England, people had always given him respect because of his family name, because of his title, but begrudgingly. He was not a pure blue blood. In their eyes, he was tainted with poor Scots blood from his mother. Here in Scotland, people thought he was arrogant, that he believed himself too good for them with his fancy title and money. Well, to hell with them. To hell with all of them.
The Stone of Destiny lay on the corner of his desk while he made his notes. He’d considered sending it by post to Solomon’s so they could lock it up with the other potentially dangerous relic they protected, but then he’d run the risk of someone intercepting the package. He could not afford to be reckless with such an artifact.
No, he’d wait until he could deliver it in person. He’d keep it here with him. As soon as they found the Loch Ness Treasure, they’d be on their way with both artifacts.
The study door flew open, and Dougal stepped inside. “Graeme, there’s something we need to discuss,” he said. He stood tall, with his chin held firm.
Graeme set his pen down and waved his brother into the room. He’d decided not to confront his brother, and instead had decided to wait and see if the boy would confess. Perhaps the guilt was proving too much for him. “This is your house, Dougal. You don’t need an invitation from me.”
His brother sat, then rubbed his palms against his kilt. He sighed.
“What are you working on?” Dougal asked.
“My research.”
Dougal’s eyes fell onto the sandstone sitting on the edge of the desk. “You found it, then?”
Graeme’s hand came down on the Stone of Destiny. He nodded.
Dougal met his glance then, and his eyes brightened for a moment. “Truly?” Then his lips tightened into a thin line. “Did she help you?”
“What is it that you have against my wife?” Graeme asked.
Dougal leaned back in his chair and slowly exhaled.
Perhaps he was going to tell Graeme, admit that he’d tried to kill Vanessa. Graeme had considered what she’d told him, that Dougal was probably feeling neglected and jealous about all the time Graeme was spending with his new wife. It certainly might explain his actions to an extent, but it most definitely did not excuse them. Still, Graeme wanted to hear what Dougal had to say, wanted to hear the admission directly from the boy’s lips.
“I don’t care for her,” Dougal said.
Graeme might desire a confession, but he wouldn’t allow the boy to disparage Vanessa. He’d already caused enough harm. Graeme leaned forward and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Tread lightly, brother; she is my wife.”
Dougal threw his arms up in frustration. “Don’t you see what she’s done to us? Before she was here, I was the one who assisted you with your research. She’s probably only after your title and your money.” He sat forward, his expression tight.
Dougal was utterly serious and truly concerned for his brother’s welfare, that much was evident. But sentiments mattered not when it came to attempted murder. Anger welled inside Graeme like a great wave rolling in to crash upon the shore.
“Not that I owe you an explanation, brother, but Vanessa did not even know I was a duke when we got married. As for her coming between the two of us, that’s simply untrue,” Graeme said.
“But she trapped you into this marriage. I heard you say so yourself,” Dougal argued.
“No.” Graeme forced himself to take three steady breaths. “I said we were trappe
d into marriage. But how it happened no longer matters. She’s my wife. End of discussion.”
Graeme picked up his pen and looked down at his journal, though his anger blurred the words. He was too furious to confront the boy. The last thing he wanted was to behave like his father had, yelling and causing fear.
“What if she puts you in danger, Graeme?” Dougal came to his feet, but he made no move to leave the study. “What will you do then?”
Graeme tossed his pen down and came to his feet. “If you’re asking me where my loyalties lie, rest assured that she is my wife and I will not walk away from her.”
At full height, Graeme towered over his brother, and at seventeen, Dougal had yet to fully broaden. But the boy stood his ground.
“I suspected as much,” Dougal said.
Graeme closed the distance between them and stood over his brother, no longer caring if he caused fear. Hell, right now he was ready to pound his brother. “I know you did it. I know you shot Vanessa.”
Dougal’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, then swallowed. “I was trying to protect you. You’ll see that someday.”
“Get the hell away from me. And I don’t want to see you again until you’ve gotten over this nonsense. Then we’ll talk. Is that understood?” He jammed a finger into the boy’s chest. “And don’t even so much as glance at Vanessa. We’ll be out of your house this afternoon.”
“Vanessa, come and visit with me for a moment,” Moira said.
Vanessa stepped into her mother-in-law’s bedchamber at the invitation. She didn’t know Moira all that well, but she knew the woman had stayed by her side and tended her wound when she’d been shot, and that Moira loved her family.
There was a small sitting area next to the window. Vanessa took the empty seat next to Moira.
“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Moira said.
Vanessa touched her side. The wound was nearly healed now, mostly an uncomfortable memory. “I feel fine. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
