A Laird for Christmas

by Gerri Russell

  Nicholas watched as Jane’s expression closed, shuttered.

  Her lips thinned. “Do you hear me?” She straightened and looked haughtily at him.

  The look in her eyes dared him to challenge her. He would do nothing to jeopardize his place in the competition for her hand. “I will not bring him to the castle.” His voice came out as a resigned growl.

  “Good.” With a crisp nod she turned and left the room.

  All eyes turned to him. They were all silent a moment before Jules asked, “What was that about?”

  Nicholas frowned. While he did not understand what had just happened, he intended to find out. And while he had given her a promise not to bring the man inside the castle, he had said nothing of going to the man himself.

  Jane did not want him to talk to Lord Fairfield, which only increased his desire to seek the man out.

  “I suddenly feel unwell. I will see you all on the morrow,” he said to the others before heading for the stairs.

  He had no intention of going anywhere near his chamber. As soon as he walked up the front stairs, he headed down the back ones, out of the keep, and to the stables, where he readied his horse and mounted.

  As stealthily as possible, he rode from the stables and quickly crossed to the iron portcullis. He commanded Angus to raise the gate, then slipped over the drawbridge and into the night. The horse’s hoofbeats were muffled by the ankle-deep snow as he set his steed to flight. Of a common hue with the night, the pair were quickly swallowed by the darkness.

  It was under that core of darkness that Nicholas hurried toward his goal. For some reason, he and Jane had taken a step backward tonight. She was irritated with him about something that had to do with Lord Fairfield.

  Filled with grim determination, Nicholas guided his horse over the snow-covered land. He would see Lord Fairfield and have his answers before the night was through.

  Jane slipped into Bryce’s chamber later that evening, eager to see how her cousin faired after his accident. As she approached the bed, Bryce turned toward her, his blue eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You will be well soon,” she said, taking a seat next to the bedside. “You and I are both lucky to have escaped unharmed.”

  “I am sorry I took you out there.”

  Jane frowned. “You had no idea someone would fire a cannon at the pond.”

  He nodded, slowly. “I should have thought of your safety. This bastard seems to have no reservations about attacking you whenever and wherever he can.”

  She was silent for a moment before asking, “How do you feel?”

  He smiled faintly. “Like my head is going to explode.”

  She shivered. “If that cannonball had landed a few more paces to the left—”

  “I would have been killed.”

  Jane shuddered at the stark brutality of the words. “Yes, but I am glad you were not.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He shook his head. “But there is something I can give to you.” He reached for the rolled papers on the bedside and handed them to Jane. “This is all the information I gathered on each of your suitors. Use it however you will.”

  Jane smiled down at him, allowing her pleasure to flow into that smile. “You are a good person, Bryce. I always knew you were.”

  “Thank you for believing in me.” He squeezed her fingers.

  “There has to be something I can do for you, Bryce. Name it.”

  “Marry me,” he said with a teasing, half-hearted smile.

  Jane sighed. “Something other than that.”

  “Stay with me for a while.” His voice faded and his eyes drifted closed. In another moment he was sleeping soundly.

  Jane leaned back in her chair and studied his face. There were so many things she did not know about her cousin. Such as why he struck out at the world before it had a chance to strike him, or why he covered his emotions with a devil-may-care attitude.

  Deep in her heart, she knew he was not the one responsible for her accidents. But they had better figure out who was, and quickly, before anyone else was caught in a murderer’s web.

  “I will take it from here, Hemsley.” Closing the door on the servant who had escorted him in, Nicholas strode into Lord Fairfield’s dining room and interrupted his supper.

  Lord Fairfield looked up at the intrusion. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table, Nicholas dropped into it. “I am Sir Nicholas Kincaid, and I am looking for you.”

  The middle-aged man with a balding head set down his fork with a thump. “Why?”

  “Because I need answers.”

  The older gentleman narrowed his gaze on Nicholas. “And you think whatever you seek ’tis important enough to disturb a man’s dinner,” he said with a deep sigh.

  At Nicholas’s nod, the man picked up his fork and knife and started attacking the piece of meat disguised by a thick brown gravy in the center of his plate. “Answers about what?”

  “Lord Lennox and his daughter Lady Jane. Do you know them?”

  “You know I do or you would not be here disturbing me.” Lord Fairfield did not look up from his plate as he continued to cut his meat into bite-sized pieces.

  “Why would someone want to harm the heir to Bellhaven Castle?” Nicholas inquired.

  Lord Fairfield looked up and frowned. “By heir, do you mean Lady Jane Lennox?”

  “Aye.”

  Lord Fairfield’s face reddened. “Then nay, I have nothing to say on the matter.”

  Nicholas yanked the plate away at the same moment he plucked the knife from Lord Fairfield’s hand, pointedly studying the blade. “I would start talking if I were you.”

  The man sat back, his expression a mixture of anger and fear. “What do you want to know?”

  “Let us start with Lord Lennox. Who were his enemies?”

  Lord Fairfield swallowed roughly as his gaze settled on the sharp knife. “Lennox was a very secretive man. Even though I have known him for half my life, I barely scratched the surface of the true nature of the man.”

  Nicholas set the knife down, but still within his reach, and returned the plate to Lord Fairfield. “Can you give me some specifics?”

  Lord Fairfield continued eating. “He had a lifelong feud with the MacGuire clan.”

  “About what?”

  He shrugged as he chewed. “I little know, or care.”

  A moment ticked past. Nicholas picked up the knife.

  Lord Fairfield sighed. “Lennox and Seamus MacGuire had no love for each other. Something to do with the clan leader’s daughter.”

  Nicholas leaned forward, confronting him directly. “Anyone else?”

  Lord Fairfield shook his head and continued to eat.

  “Then tell me, what is your relationship with Lady Jane Lennox?”

  Lord Fairfield’s head came up and he frowned. “The vixen deserves her fate.”

  Nicholas rolled the blade in his hand, keeping his growing irritation at bay.

  After a second Lord Fairfield added, “I went to see her after I heard of her brother’s death.”

  Nicholas sharpened his gaze. “See her or challenge her for her father’s lands?”

  He returned Nicholas’s gaze, his expression tightly checked. “Very well, if you must know the truth, I challenged her. I offered her my protection in return for Bellhaven. I figured a girl of her nature would need someone to warm her bed before too long.”

  Nicholas clenched his fist around the knife. “You offered her marriage?”

  “Take a woman of her reputation to wife?” Lord Fairfield smiled without humor. “Nay, I offered to take her as my mistress.”

  Anger flared in Nicholas’s gut at Lord Fairfield. “Her reputation?”

  Lord Fairfield flicked him a look that was part irritation, part assessment. He picked up his last morsel, chewed, swallowed, then set his fork aside. “I am an old man. I could use a little passio
n and seduction in my life before I die. But that harpy refused my protection. She deserves whatever disaster soon comes her way.”

  Passion and seduction. Those words twisted inside him. Momentarily, he forced the emotions away. “What kind of disaster?” Nicholas asked through gritted teeth.

  “The clans all know what kind of woman she is. Fast and loose. And with no male to protect her, she will be attacked, and by an army much greater than mine in time.”

  “Whose army?”

  “The MacGuires, the MacLeans, even the crown once they learn she is holding the castle and lands on her own. ’Tis anyone’s guess.”

  Nicholas stood and brought the knife down right next to Lord Fairfield’s hand. “Lady Jane Lennox has an army. And as for her reputation, the woman has been wronged. You spread those words to the clans.” The words fell from Nicholas’s lips, but inside his brain a connection finally clicked. Jane’s anger at him upon his arrival. Her accusation that he had hurt her, harmed her reputation with their innocent dalliance. Her words of forgiveness for a wrong he had no notion of committing.

  Jane had been wronged. Not by him, but because of him. Someone had spread rumors, rumors that were believed and acted upon by men like the one before him.

  Nicholas pushed back from the table. “Never set foot on Bellhaven land again, or it is my blade you will have to face. Do you understand?”

  His pallor a sudden ghostly white, Lord Fairfield nodded. “I understand.”

  An urgent need built inside Nicholas. He could hardly speak, could not think. The emotions churning inside him were so deep, so powerful, he was not certain he could step toward the door. Without knowing it, he had harmed Jane. Two years ago he had made no secret of his affection for her in front of her servants. Had one of them spread the vicious lies about her?

  But he was also at fault. In fact, he was entirely to blame for leaving her behind to face the ridicule alone. On legs that felt wooden, he pushed himself forward, out the door, and to his horse. He sucked in a huge breath of the cool night air, grateful that it revived his senses.

  He had to see Jane.

  Tonight.

  Dear God in heaven, what had he done to her by leaving her two years ago?

  Jane heard footsteps in the hall that stopped in front of her door.

  She sat up in her bed. At the pause in footfalls, her heartbeat stumbled and she reached for the dagger beneath her pillow. The weapon firmly in her grip, she rose, heading to the door. A soft rapping sounded an instant before the door opened.

  “Jane?” Nicholas entered, but paused at the door, his hand catching the frame as though he needed something solid to support him. His gaze moved from her head to her toes and back again.

  Heat flooded her cheeks at his perusal of her in her night rail. Jane lowered her dagger, her fingers suddenly numb at the sight of him. She stepped back toward her bed and reached for her dressing gown, but her fingers would not cooperate in lifting the cloth from the bed. “What do you want?” she asked, folding her hands over her chest, shielding herself from his view.

  His face was pale, his eyes as tumultuous and dark as the snow-laden clouds from this afternoon. “What a fool I have been,” Nicholas said, his voice raw, harsh. “I never intended to hurt you.” He shut the door behind him and moved toward her.

  A stark, sudden fear descended. “You went to see Lord Fairfield,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Halting before her, he searched her face in a way that no one else did. He saw through her bravado, he saw straight to her soul. “I—I had no idea how deeply I hurt you, until tonight. I never spread those rumors about you, but someone who witnessed our passionate exchanges did. And I did nothing to counter their effects on you.”

  “I asked you not to go to him.” Her mind was reeling, her mouth went dry.

  “Which is why I went.” His lips curled into a brittle, bitter smile. “Toss me out of the competition if you must, but I had to know why he upset you so.”

  Tears burned at the back of her throat. “He treats me as so many others do. Whether you spread the rumors or not, the words hurt me in ways you could never imagine.”

  “Aye,” he agreed in a solemn tone. “And I am sorry.”

  For a second she could not breathe. She had longed to hear those words from him. She looked into the tumult of his gaze—saw his hurt, his remorse. And all the pain and anxiety she had suppressed rose up and swamped her. Tears built on her lashes and she let them fall as the wall she had built between them disappeared like mist.

  He reached out and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I am so sorry,” he repeated. The words fell from him, straight from his heart. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  The words tumbled through her brain. She had already forgiven him when he had denied her claim. Now that he accepted what he had done, or what been done to them, she hesitated. “If you want the truth, a scar remains, will always remain. But I do not feel animosity toward you anymore.”

  “Where do we go from here?” he asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “I do not know all the answers either, Jane. But I do know I want to kiss you.” He bent his head, but stopped just before her lips.

  “It is a beginning,” she said on a whisper. He waited a heartbeat as if to allow her time to sense his hunger, then closed the gap between them. His kiss was soft, tender, coaxing, and one she might have resisted if she had put her mind to it, but she did not.

  Jane found herself pulled deeper into his arms and into his kiss. He kissed her until all rational thought vanished, until she was breathless, and achy in strange places, and thinking of things she had no intention of thinking about—sins she had had no intention of committing. And yet she could not pull away.

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, his heavy-lidded with passion and desire. The fire that had apparently never stopped burning between them leapt once more to life, fully, greedily, eager for more.

  But acting upon those feelings would only complicate matters. She ran through all the reasons she should push him away in her mind. She had to finish the competition. She owed the others a chance, if she was to be fair. She did not want to do anything that might impede Jules’s progress toward achieving a physical recovery. And, if truth be told, she was still uncertain about Nicholas. But that uncertainty did not hold her back at the moment. Instead, she allowed the flames of desire to surge forward. Throwing all her reservations aside, Jane lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He moaned at the contact and cupped her face in his hands while he returned her kiss.

  Jane tasted him, really tasted him, as she had never done before. As they explored each other, she could feel him all the way to her soul. She had missed his warmth, his presence, the way only he could make her feel.

  In his arms she was no longer invisible, as the women in her father’s castle were supposed to be. With him, she was free to rejoice in the pure sensuality he brought her, without guilt and without reservation. Someone had called her a passionate seductress, but only for him had she ever felt such need, such desire.

  Heat poured through her, welled, and spread to every nerve in her body. She could feel the same helpless reaction in him. Need and desire infused them both as his hands left her waist, smoothed over her sides to grip her back and pull her into the hard ridge of his desire.

  “Jane,” he whispered against her lips. “If we continue in this way, there may be no going back.”

  “There was no going back from the moment you stepped into this chamber.” She pressed against him in flagrant invitation. She reached up and tunneled her fingers through his hair, then ran her fingers over his chest, slowly, provocatively, until he shuddered.

  They had been moving toward this moment since he had first arrived at Bellhaven. And in this moment, she knew there was no turning back. With a desperation she had never felt before, she longed to touch his body, to delight in the powerful sinew that outlined his chest, to experience his flesh
against her own.

  Need and desire infused her. Without taking her lips from his, she pushed the plait of his plaid over his shoulder at the same moment he released his belt. The fabric fell from his body to pool onto the floor.

  Her night rail followed along with his linen shirt until they both stood flesh to flesh as his tongue plundered her mouth, taunting, inciting, demanding. He gave her what she longed for as he joined her in their sensual exploration. She was not certain when they moved back toward the bed. But as the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, she allowed him to lower her down against the cool linen sheet.

  Nicholas lay down beside her as all reservation fled and only desire ruled. Scorching heat flowed between them as his hands explored her back, her buttocks, rocking her against his passion.

  Jane savored the firm yet silken flesh beneath her hands, branding him as hers. His lips left her mouth to travel over her neck, her shoulder, and finally to her breasts. Rational thought incinerated in a torrent of flames as desire swelled.

  A primitive shudder of anticipation ran down her spine as he brushed his fingers over her breasts, the flat of her stomach, and down further still as he claimed every inch of her skin. He moved skillfully and slowly, claiming her, branding her, with each caress. It was as if he were memorizing her body while he laid his heart and soul before her.

  The yearning tension on his face propelled her forward. She arched against him. Fire, hunger, and emptiness drove her. Emptiness. She had no notion why she felt that way, only that there was something more she yearned for, needed.

  He must have sensed that need because he moved over her, parting her thighs with his knee. He moved between her thighs and brushed his hand over the curls surrounding her womanhood. “So soft,” he said, bending down to touch her nipple with his tongue.

  The muscles of her stomach clenched as a bolt of heat shot through her, igniting every nerve in her body. Again that sensation of emptiness filled her. “Nicholas.” His name was a yearning and a prayer.