by Connie Mason
Blair sagged against him, taking comfort in the scent that was uniquely his—a dusky masculine essence laced with accents of night air and wood smoke. His taste, sensual beyond belief, made her yearn for more. Love, unnamed, unspoken, welled up inside her, but fear of losing her powers made her break off the kiss and look up at him. The planes and angles of his face were harshly delineated, stark and feral.
His nostrils flared with the deep breath he took as she rested her hands on his chest. Something uncurled deep inside her as she touched him. Passion ignited like a flame, slowly burning away her doubts and leaving a keen yearning in its place. But still she fought her burgeoning feelings, denying her heart’s desire.
Removing her hands from his chest, she tried to retreat. He moaned and with a curse pulled her back into his arms. His entire body was rigid. He pressed his thighs hard against her, and she felt his sex swell and lengthen.
“You need me tonight, Blair. Dinna deny it. Let me help you forget.”
Did she dare? She glanced up at his handsome face; his visage was dark, wicked, and dangerous as sin. She did need him, but admitting it would be tantamount to surrendering her powers.
“Love me, Blair,” Graeme whispered.
“I canna,” Blair whispered.
Tangling one hand in her hair, he kissed her fiercely, his tongue a persuasive pressure that forced her mouth to open. Unable to resist, silently bemoaning her weakness where Graeme was concerned, she returned his kiss, her hands moving to clutch at him. A pulse began to beat between her thighs, strong and hot, as his hands parted her legs and his fingers slid upward to touch her.
She moaned and pressed against his hand. Nay . . . this was not supposed to happen again. Where was her willpower? He broke off the kiss long enough to strip away her shift. Then he gave her a wicked grin and did something that shocked and confused her. He lifted her legs over his shoulders and held her there, his hands moving to her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples as his mouth and teeth found her hot, slick center.
“Graeme, nay!”
He looked up. “Relax, sweeting. Your spirits sent me to you, did they not?”
She could hardly deny it. “They didna tell me to love you.”
“Dinna fight what is meant to be.” After a heated look, he returned to his succulent feast.
As if from a great distance she heard the sounds she made, soft, sobbing cries that were full of desire. His mouth seared her as he used his tongue and teeth to tease and torment. She shuddered as the pressure inside her wound tighter and tighter, until finally there was an abrupt release that left her shaking and crying out his name. Her hips arched into the heat of his mouth as she sobbed helplessly, writhing and clutching at him.
Drifting on the tide of surging emotion, she was barely aware when Graeme moved away. Still awash in pleasure, she felt him return, covering her with his body. His clothes were gone now, his naked flesh hot against her as he positioned himself between her thighs. But he did not enter her immediately. Instead he began to arouse her again, teasing her nipples with his tongue and teeth while his hands moved with slow deliberation over every inch of her burning flesh.
She could tell by his clenched jaw and tense muscles that he was holding back, waiting for the right moment to take her. When the moment came, he was inside her with one smooth surge, his entry hard and deep, a relentless pressure that drew her body taut as a bowstring. The steady thrust and drag of his body created an exquisite friction that soon had her scaling the heights of passion. She surrendered completely to the erotic motion, deciding that resistance was futile. She wanted this as much as he did.
She was powerless to refuse him—and powerless to prevent her own response to him. Her treacherous body refused to heed the Prophecy’s warning.
“Dinna think, love,” Graeme gasped, as if aware of the thoughts whirling around in her head. “Kiss me.”
She lifted her lips to his, losing herself in the driving rhythm of their bodies and the sweet promise of pleasure. His kisses made her forget everything but the primitive response that he demanded and the flames of passion devouring her.
Graeme ignored the need of his own body as he guided Blair expertly to her second release. She cried out, caught in its grip, spasms of pleasure raking her body, leaving her trembling and gasping for breath. Graeme held her as she came undone, a bolt of sheer male possessiveness shooting through him as her sheath tightened around him. Unable to hold back a moment longer, Graeme pumped deeper, burying his shaft to the hilt inside her as each thrust came faster, stronger.
With a wordless groan, he impaled her fully. As his first spasm began, he lifted her hips off the bed, angling her higher to meet his fierce thrusts. With a shout he spilled inside her. Stars exploded inside his head and he knew nothing but glory.
Blair’s quiet sobs brought him back to reality. He touched her cheek, infinitely gentle, infinitely tender. “Dinna worry, lass, I will take care of you.”
He held her until she quieted, and continued to hold her until she fell asleep. But sleep did not come easily to Graeme. A storm of warring emotions swelled and churned inside him. He needed Blair, wanted her beyond reason. Since wedding sweet, wee Blair, Joan the Maid had become a dim memory.
Could his feelings for Blair be more than physical? he wondered. Nay! He could not love Blair. Though she had not yet fully convinced him about the powers she claimed to possess, he was no longer the doubter he once had been. Were they to share a love, Blair’s powers would thrive, and he could not allow that to happen. If Blair were accused of witchcraft, she could die a violent death.
Like Joan.
He began to tremble. He would not, could not love Blair, even though his heart warned that she loved him. Making her love him had been his goal from the beginning, and he should be elated at how well he was succeeding. What he felt, however, was something entirely different. If only he could figure out just what it was.
Blair awakened the following morning feeling exceptionally well. Then she recalled her dream, and beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. Crying out, she jerked upright and clutched at her heart. Graeme awoke with a start.
“What is it? Are you ill?”
Blair’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she recalled all the ways she and Graeme had made love last night. She’d been awakened in the middle of the night by Graeme’s arousing caresses. Their loving had been slower and gentler than the first time, but every bit as satisfying.
“Are you ill?” Graeme repeated.
“Nay, ’tis naught.”
“Did you have another nightmare?”
She shook her head. “I am fine, Graeme, truly.”
Graeme searched her face, then shrugged. “ ’Tis late. I have to go. The wool must be bundled up and taken to market.”
“You are leaving Stonehaven? When?”
“Soon. Tomorrow. I’ll take only Heath with me and leave the other men to protect my property.”
His heated expression told her that he considered her his property.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Not long—a few days at most. Dinna worry, you will be taken care of in my absence.”
Blair bristled. “I can take care of myself.”
For the span of a heartbeat they were locked in visual combat, neither giving ground. Then he kissed her forehead and climbed out of bed. “Dinna argue, sweeting, I will feel better knowing someone is watching over you.”
Blair watched him dress. He was a man in his prime, thick-shouldered and massive. Ridges of sinew bulged and flexed with his slightest move. The blatant sexuality of his powerful physique was almost indecent, yet Blair couldn’t look away. She might have gaped for eternity had Graeme not turned and caught her staring at him.
His brows rose in unspoken challenge. Embarrassed, Blair blushed and looked away. “Will you find Alyce and send her to me?” she asked. “I’d like to bathe.”
He sent her a wicked leer. “Perhaps I should linger a wee
bit longer in your bed.”
“Nay! I mean . . . you said you had things to do to prepare for your departure tomorrow.”
“Methinks the lady protests too much.” He grinned, then gave a resigned sigh. “You are right. As much as I’d like to, I’d best not tarry. Until tonight, sweeting,” he promised in parting.
“Tonight?” Blair whispered after Graeme had departed. Another night of heated kisses and burning caresses would seal her fate. Loving was easy when the man was Graeme, but being loved in return was not so simple.
Alyce bustled into the chamber a few minutes later. “I ordered yer bath, lass.” Her eyes twinkled. “Yer husband gave me the message.”
Blair knew precisely what Alyce was thinking. “Dinna make too much of this, Alyce. I am Graeme’s wife. I must do my duty to my husband. If I dinna, he will take a mistress.”
“And that would upset ye?”
“Nay, I . . .” It was no use. She couldn’t lie to Alyce. “Aye, it would. The spirits sent Graeme to me. I canna deny him.”
Alyce’s eyebrows shot upward. “I am happy ye finally saw the light. The Campbell laird is yer destiny. Be happy with him, lass. ’Twas what yer dear departed father wanted.”
Blair sighed. “We both know I canna love him.”
Alyce snorted. “And we both know ’tis too late for those sentiments. Place yer trust in the Prophecy, lass, and all will be well.”
Their conversation ended abruptly when Blair’s bath arrived. Alyce helped her into the tub, then departed so Blair could bathe in private. Resting her head against the rim of the tub, she closed her eyes and recalled the pleasurable hours she had spent in Graeme’s arms the night before.
While Graeme ate his breakfast, his thoughts kept returning to Blair. Something was happening to him, and he liked it not. How had she become so important to him in such a short time? What he felt went beyond his need to protect her. Joan was no more than a sweet memory, pure and holy and unreachable.
“Are ye not hungry, Graeme? I could fix ye something else if porridge doesna appeal to ye.”
Graeme smiled up at Glenda. “Nay, lass, porridge is fine. My mind is occupied with other things this morning.”
Glenda glanced about, saw they were alone and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You have been neglecting me. Have I offended ye in some way?”
“Nay, lass, you did naught to offend me. But I have a wife now.”
“Yer wife is a witch, Graeme. Dinna pretend ye want her.”
Graeme stifled a grin. Want her? He desired her to the point of obsession.
“You know naught about my feelings. Mayhap ’tis time I found you a husband.”
Glenda threw herself at Graeme. “Nay, laird, I dinna want to wed anyone but ye. ’Tis all her fault. She has bewitched ye. Ye would have wed me had the MacArthur laird not begged ye to marry his evil daughter.”
Graeme tried to unwind Glenda’s arms from his neck, but she clung to him like a leech. “I wouldna have wed you under any circumstances, Glenda. You came to my bed willingly. If you recall, no mention was made of marriage. I am sorry if you misunderstood my intentions.”
Glenda smiled slyly as her arms tightened around Graeme’s neck. “Mayhap if the witch was gone ye would want me again.”
“Blair is here to stay,” Graeme said firmly.
“If the witch was gone, would ye take me to yer bed again?” Glenda persisted.
Glenda was becoming a pest. Unfortunately, it seemed lying was the only way to escape her clinging arms.
“Aye, lass. If Blair wasna my wife, you would be the woman in my bed.”
“I knew it!” Glenda crowed.
As Blair entered the hall, her gaze flew immediately to the only two occupants of the room. Apparently she had interrupted an intimate moment between Glenda and Graeme. She had started to clear her throat to announce her presence when she heard Graeme say, “If Blair wasna my wife, you would be the woman in my bed.”
Her harsh intake of breath sounded loud even to her own ears. Glenda glanced up, saw Blair and cooed, “Ye werena supposed to hear that.” Her smug smile suggested otherwise.
Graeme leapt to his feet, dislodging Glenda’s arms at the same time. “Fetch something to eat for my wife, lass. I wish to speak to Blair in private.”
Hands on hips, Glenda swished off, tossing Blair a challenging smile over her shoulder.
“Let me explain,” Graeme began.
“There is no need. ’Tisn’t as if ours is a love match. If I canna satisfy you, you have every right to seek diversion elsewhere.”
Her expressive violet eyes belied her words, and Graeme immediately regretted the untruth he had told Glenda. “I dinna want another woman, Blair. You are the only woman I need.”
Her lips curled in disbelief. “Dinna lie, Graeme. You and your kinsmen still believe I am a witch, no matter how vehemently I deny it. Were you and Glenda betrothed before my father convinced you to wed me?”
Graeme rose and grasped her shoulders. “There is no evil in you, Blair. Pay Glenda no heed. ’Tis true I took her as my leman after I returned from France, but I promised her naught. She came to my bed willingly. I will repeat this one last time: My wife is the only woman I want in my bed.”
“I brought yer breakfast,” Glenda said, putting an end to the conversation. She slammed the bowl down on the table so hard, some of it spilled out.
Blair shrugged free of Graeme’s grasp and seated herself at the table. “Thank you. I willna need anything further.”
“Is there aught else ye would like, my laird?” Glenda asked, sending Graeme a look hot enough to singe the hair from his eyebrows.
“Nay, lass. You can return to your duties.”
With a flirty flutter of skirts, Glenda flounced off.
Graeme returned his attention to Blair, a frown marring his handsome features. “Will you be all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’ll be in the sheep pens most of the day. Send Stuart or Jamie should you need me for any reason.”
She gave him a curt nod, then turned her attention to her breakfast. She was hungry, but porridge didn’t appeal to her this morning. She rose and wandered into the kitchen, drawn there by the smell of freshly baked bread. The thought of sinking her teeth into a thick slab of fresh bread slathered with butter made her mouth water.
“Mistress, what can I do for ye?” Maeve asked, looking up from the pot she was stirring.
“Is that fresh bread I smell?”
“Aye. Would ye like a slice?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. I’ll bring it out to you as soon as I fetch some fresh butter from the churn. Would ye like a glass of buttermilk to go with it?”
“That sounds wonderful. But if you dinna mind, I’d like to eat in the kitchen.”
“I dinna mind at all. I’ll be back directly,” she said as she placed a lid on the pot and hurried off.
Blair decided to help herself to the bread while she waited for Maeve to return. She cut herself two large slices and put them on a plate. When she heard a hissing sound, she realized the pot was bubbling over into the fire. Grabbing a cloth, she lifted the lid and gave it a stir,
“What are ye doing?” a shrill voice demanded.
Blair whirled, groaning when she saw Glenda glaring at her.
“Stirring the pot—what does it look like?”
“Ye’re poisoning the food!” Glenda cried.
“What nonsense,” Blair scoffed. “I am merely waiting for Maeve to return with butter to spread on my bread. The pot needed stirring and I stirred it. Make what you want of it.”
“No one here trusts ye. Why did ye not return to yer brother when he came for ye? Ye dinna belong here.”
Glenda’s words clawed deep into Blair’s heart. She had hoped for understanding and perhaps even respect from Graeme’s kinsmen.
“Dinna ye have anything to do, Glenda?” Maeve asked from the doorway. “Ye should
show more respect for the laird’s wife. Her healing skills are verra much appreciated by our clansmen.”
“She has bewitched our laird,” Glenda charged. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I know what goes on in the stillroom. Her spells are pure evil.”
“Pull in your claws, Glenda,” Maeve warned. “Laird Graeme willna stand for yer disrespectful attitude toward his wife. If ye wish to remain in the keep, cease yer jabbering.”
Blair flinched beneath Glenda’s spiteful glare as the woman spun on her heel and stormed off.
“Pay her no heed, lass,” Maeve said. “Glenda is jealous. She hoped to wed Graeme. She didna realize the laird had no intention of wedding her. Glenda isna good enough for Graeme. While he was off fighting in France, she denied no one her favors.” She patted Blair’s shoulder. “Sit down and eat yer bread and butter, lass, while I fetch ye a glass of buttermilk.”
Blair’s appetite had left her. Was Glenda right? Did all Graeme’s kinsmen fear her? She shouldn’t have wed him, no matter how badly her father wanted it. Her own kinsmen did not hate her. They might be in awe of her powers but they did not fear her. Those from other clans who thought her a witch judged her from rumors spread by her brother.
“Eat up, lass,” Maeve urged. “Our laird needs an heir, and it takes a healthy mother to birth a healthy bairn.”
“Did Graeme tell you he wanted an heir?”
“He doesna need to. All men want an heir, and Graeme is no exception.”
Blair ate in silence, contemplating Maeve’s words. She could already be carrying Graeme’s child, though it seemed unlikely. Wouldn’t the spirits have told her if she had conceived? That thought brought another. Had the spirits abandoned her?
Nay, she thought not. Her disturbing dream last night was a vivid reminder that her powers were still very much with her.
Chapter Nine
Graeme returned late to the keep that night. Blair was already asleep. Since Graeme was reluctant to awaken her, he merely took her in his arms and held her throughout the night.
The following morning he rose before sunup, kissed Blair’s brow and left the bedchamber. After a hasty breakfast, he rode off to Inverness to take the wool to market.
