The Witch Of Clan Sinclair

by Ranney, Karen

  She smiled, shaking her head.

  “I want to hold you in my arms all night,” he said.

  “Please make sure all my garments are in the same room this time,” she said.

  His grin widened.

  “I have no intention of going through your house gathering up my clothing.”

  He laughed. “I don’t remember your doing that,” he said. “I seem to recall that was my task.”

  He pressed himself to her, feeling a tenderness for Mairi that he’d never before felt for another human being. He thought he’d understood passion in his infrequent encounters, but being with Mairi was different. He didn’t want her surrender as much as her complicity.

  In this, she was his partner, his other half, his separate match that had been missing all these years.

  Her breasts were beautiful, full and tipped by eager nipples standing erect like a beacon for his lips. He loved the sound she made when his mouth grazed them, when his tongue licked first the one then the other.

  He took her to his bed, placed her on the mattress, covering her not with a sheet but his body. Slowly, he touched her everywhere, anointing her with his mouth, kissing each curve, relishing her moans.

  When it was time, he entered her slowly. He paced himself, raising up on his forearms, bending his head to kiss her gently and inhale her gasps.

  He wanted to stretch the moments thin, drive her insensate, until she begged him to bring her to fulfillment. Her hands flattened against his shoulders, then clutched him before trailing down his arms.

  Her long, slow moan accentuated his next thrust. When he pulled out of her, her legs widened, her hips arched up to keep him nestled there.

  She was driving him mad.

  But it was a reciprocal madness, because her hands were on his buttocks now, nails digging into his skin. Again and again she arched upward to meet him and subsided reluctantly.

  Had she experienced enough to know how wondrous this was? This was a perfect pairing, bliss so exquisite that his vision grayed.

  Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she shivered in his arms, tightening around him, milking him. He came in a gush of release, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving that he had brought her to fulfillment first.

  Chapter 29

  “Oh come quick, miss,” Abigail said, shaking her shoulder.

  Fenella roused slowly. It felt like someone had hung weights from her lashes, because it was very difficult to open her eyes.

  She blinked as the maid lit the bedside lamp.

  Abigail was fully dressed, if haphazardly so. Her bodice was buttoned incorrectly, and it didn’t look as if she’d done more to her hair than simply wrap her night braid around the top of her head.

  Fenella raised herself up on her elbow and glanced at the window.

  Arrows of pink streaked across a midnight blue horizon.

  “What time is it?” she asked, yawning.

  Her dream had been so pleasant that it was difficult to surface from the dregs of it.

  “It’s early, miss, but there’s been a tragedy.”

  Memories of the dream abruptly vanished.

  Abigail went to her armoire, withdrew a dress and placed it on the end of Fenella’s bed.

  She sat on the edge of the mattress, putting her feet on the floor. “A tragedy? What’s happened?”

  Abigail’s face was as still as stone, her lips compressed until they looked bloodless.

  “Oh, miss,” the maid said softly, “the Gazette’s burned down.”

  She blinked at Abigail, the words not making any sense. “The paper’s burned down?”

  Abigail nodded. “Gone to rubble, miss. Nothing left of it.”

  Allan lived above the paper.

  “Tell Mairi I’ll be right there,” she said. Her cousin was going to be disconsolate.

  “She’s not here, miss. Just the men, looking as if they’re half burned.”

  She was suddenly wide-awake.

  Mairi blinked open her eyes to find Logan asleep beside her. In the faint light of a winter’s dawn, his lashes were impossibly long; she wanted to test them with her fingertips to see if they were as feathery as they looked.

  He opened his eyes, making the transition from sleep to wakefulness with a smile.

  She felt her cheeks warm the longer they watched each other. Should she say anything? Thank him for making her feel so wonderful? Chide him for being a barbarian and whisking her away from the scene of destruction to his home?

  For a few hours he’d effectively banished all thoughts of the fire from her mind. In doing so, he’d also given her another problem to face. Or perhaps she had this problem ever since meeting him.

  What was she going to do about Logan?

  The relationship couldn’t be allowed to continue. She was no fool. She might become pregnant at any time. There was no guarantee that she was exempt from that state after last night, being loved not once but twice.

  They’d bathed together, then loved again, laughing with abandon and delight.

  His warm breath brushed her temple. She closed her eyes, wishing to elongate the moment and, at the same time, magically transport herself somewhere else.

  Logan had induced conflict and chaos into her life from the beginning.

  She rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed.

  He stroked a finger down her bare back, inciting her shiver.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Susceptible. Yearning. Wanting something that danced out of range from being identified.

  “The fire wasn’t an accident,” she said, looking up. They’d been so frenetic a few hours ago that neither of them had closed the curtains. The world was a flower, and dawn the center of it. Gold stamens radiated from a pink sun. Dots of vermillion and blue speckled the horizon.

  She glanced at him when he raised up on one elbow, the sheet falling to expose his chest and more. A line of hair pointed to his crotch, as if to advertise his attributes.

  His smile buttressed her resolve to be gone. Otherwise, she’d fall victim to his charm once again.

  She’d already been foolish enough.

  “What makes you think so?” he asked.

  “The letters,” she said.

  “You think they’re connected?”

  “I think they might be,” she said. “Someone thinks I shouldn’t run a paper. What better way to stop me than to burn it down? What better way to punish me than to take away what I love?”

  “You can’t love a building, Mairi,” he said gently.

  “You can love an idea, Logan. And the Gazette was an idea. A way of communicating thoughts from one mind to another. A way of spreading news, inciting conversation.”

  She glanced away, then forced herself to look at him directly. He knew her body. He needed to know her mind.

  “I can still see my father standing beside the press, his fingertips stained black from years of setting type. He always wore a half smile as he worked, as if his task gave him joy.

  “He was the best reporter I’ve ever known; the person who taught me the five rules to any story: what, where, when, why, and how.”

  She stared down at her hands, flexed her fingers as if to find them stained, too.

  “I always wondered what he would have thought if he knew that I had taken his place and not Macrath.”

  “I think he would have been very proud of you and perhaps amazed.”

  She looked at him. His gaze was direct. He wasn’t trying to be charming now, only sincere.

  She cleared her throat, determined not to weep.

  “But you were there. Why? It was very opportune.” Without him, James and Allan might have been lost.

  “Because I’d gotten into the habit of checking to see if you’d returned to Edinburgh,” he said, rising from the bed with not a care for his nakedness.

  She really should have looked away, but the sight was too entrancing. Even his backside was lovely.

  “Did you really
?”

  “I was missing you, you daft woman.”

  He turned and faced her.

  “Do you think I had something to do with the fire, Mairi?” he asked, his face carefully expressionless.

  The amusement she felt was welcome. “No, Logan. You’d be more direct in your criticism.”

  His answer was to shake his head, go into the bathing chamber and close the door behind him.

  She pulled the sheet off the bed and moved around the bedroom, gathering up her smoke-stained clothes. She would miss her cloak, now just one more bit of ash in the building’s ruins.

  Logan opened the door to the bathing chamber as she was buttoning her bodice. He came and sat beside her on the bed, still naked, still supremely unconcerned about it.

  She smiled at the evidence of his confidence. Although, if she looked as good as he did, she’d probably want to strut around without clothes, too.

  His chest was well defined. Her fingers had played down the center of it, parting his hair there and tracing around his nipples. She’d felt each muscle and trailed her hand down lower, causing him to gasp.

  What kind of woman was she to want to remove her clothes and join him in the bed again?

  She pushed that thought away, looking around for her reticule. Was that gone, too?

  “I have to go to the paper,” she said. “I need to see it for myself in the light.” She sighed. That was one task she didn’t want to do, but it couldn’t be left for anyone else.

  After that, she had to find a way to let Macrath know. She really should tell him in person; that sort of news shouldn’t be delivered in a letter.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, standing.

  “Not like that.” She sent a quick glance in his direction.

  He only smiled at her, his eyes intent on her face. “No, not like this,” he said.

  Before she could speak, say something inane or foolish, something that didn’t mirror what she felt, he came to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled down into her face.

  “It’s going to be all right, Mairi.”

  How did he know? How did he know that she was suddenly unsure, uncertain, and too close to tears?

  She should tell him that she didn’t want him to accompany her, that it wasn’t necessary, that she could cope well on her own. But that would be a lie because she wasn’t at all sure she could be strong right now.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, silencing her thoughts by giving her a rainbow. The explosion of color behind her lids was matched by the taste of him. She melted into the kiss, brushing the tip of her tongue against his.

  Passion had another dimension to it, a tenderness that made her want to slow him down. He wrapped his arms around her, and she sighed into his embrace, feeling her heart expand.

  She wanted him again, just as she had last night, just as she would later. She wanted to talk to him, tell him her secrets, hear his. She wanted to ask his opinion, argue with him, and attempt to change his mind.

  She wanted him with her, a friend dearer than anyone, a companion of her heart.

  The kiss went deeper and she moaned.

  He answered with a growl, pulling her closer until she could feel every contour and ridge, every muscle and bone, as if their two bodies were fused together.

  His hand was in her hair; her hands around his neck as she stood on tiptoe.

  Just as quickly as she was dressed, she was naked again.

  Fenella flew down the stairs, hesitating at the bottom. Where were they? The parlor? The kitchen? The stable?

  “They’re in the kitchen, miss,” Abigail said, following her at a slower pace. “Mr. Robert is looking them over.”

  Robert? What skill did Robert have? The physician must be called this minute. They must have something for pain. Cool water, she remembered, could take away the fire of a burn. She remembered a recipe her mother had made for a poultice.

  Pushing open the door, she nearly sagged to the floor on seeing Allan sitting at the table. Robert was examining his hands, and as she watched, he turned her beloved’s face to the lamplight.

  “Does it burn?”

  “It stings more,” Allan said. “I was just too close to the fire.”

  “Stubborn arse,” James said. “Begging your pardon, miss,” he added, glancing over at her. “But if it hadn’t been for the provost, the fool would have died.”

  Going to Allan’s side, Fenella placed her hand on his shoulder, trying not to gasp aloud at the condition of his clothing. What wasn’t burned was tinged yellowish brown. James’s clothes looked as bad.

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “A fire,” James said. “It began in the storeroom, I think.”

  “Or the pressroom,” Allan said.

  James shook his head. “Mairi was in there. She would have noticed something.”

  “How did it start?” Fenella asked.

  Each man shook his head.

  Fire had always been something they feared, especially when living above the paper. They were all careful to check up on each other. Was the stove banked? Had the chemicals they used been put safely away? She couldn’t imagine either Allan or Mairi being lax in that task.

  “Is there much damage?”

  “It’s gone,” Allan said, staring down at his hands. “All of it. The whole building.”

  She turned away, began to make tea, helping Abigail with the chore to keep from throwing herself into Allan’s arms or sobbing in relief. He was in one piece and other than the redness of his face didn’t look injured. James looked to be untouched as well.

  “What about Mairi?” she asked, ashamed that she hadn’t asked before now. “How is she? Where is she?”

  “She was well the last time we saw her,” James said, glancing at the other servants.

  Cook was making breakfast and two of the maids were bustling about arranging plates and silverware. If they were sleepy from being awakened before dawn, they didn’t look it. Or perhaps the excitement of the news of the fire had simply burned away their fatigue.

  What was James not saying?

  “Let’s have tea in the parlor,” she said, “and give Cook room to work.”

  She glanced at Abigail, who nodded.

  A few minutes later, after helping Abigail with the tea tray, she entered the parlor.

  When Allan joined her, she touched him on the arm, wishing she could find something comforting to say to him. How many hours had he complained about the press, trying to make it work better? How many modifications had he made? She’d listened because it was Allan, but anyone could see his pride in his job.

  Robert entered the room, mumbling something under his breath. Another complaint, no doubt, which was normal for the older man. With the paper gone, he would have more to grouse about, more warnings to issue, more about which to grumble.

  She wished there was a way to meet with James and Allan without Robert in attendance, but if there was, she didn’t know it. Biting back her impatience, she watched the men settle into comfortable places. James and Robert took opposite ends of the settee, while Allan sat in one of the chairs.

  When he coughed, she frowned.

  “A lingering effect of the smoke,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  She wanted to put her hands on him, make sure he was well, and examine him from tiptoe to the top of his head. Only then would she feel reassured.

  He could have died. That thought kept running through her mind.

  After they were served, she dismissed Abigail, sat on the chair across from Allan and faced the men.

  “Now, what’s all this about Mairi? Where is she?”

  Neither James nor Allan would look at her.

  That was fine. She’d be as patient as Job. She’d never before considered whether she was calm in a crisis, but up until now she’d acquitted herself well. She might wish to scream and cry but she hadn’t.

  Although Robert was glowering at them all, he didn
’t speak. James was looking at the carpet as if he’d never seen the pattern of flowers on it. Allan was smiling at her over his teacup but he wasn’t forthcoming with information, either.

  “Where is Mairi?” she asked, when it was obvious that even patience wasn’t going to make them talk. “You said she wasn’t injured. Then where is she? Still at the paper?”

  When only silence answered her, she placed her cup back on the tray and frowned at all of them.

  “Someone will tell me what’s going on this very minute.”

  She heard the running footsteps before it occurred to her that she’d forgotten someone else in the household—Ellice.

  The girl entered the room, dressed only in her wrapper, her hair still in curlers. Her face was gray, her eyes wild.

  “Mairi,” she said breathlessly. “There was a fire. Is Mairi all right?”

  Fenella thought to send her back to her room, except there was a light in Ellice’s eyes that hinted the girl wouldn’t be amenable to being banished.

  Fenella turned back to the men.

  “He took her,” Allan said. “Marched off with her in his arms.”

  She didn’t even have to ask about whom he was speaking. Only one person would have been able to take Mairi away.

  Oh dear, this was not the kind of education Ellice should have about Edinburgh. But it was too late to send her away now.

  “Logan Harrison,” Allan said. “Like a ravening beast he was.”

  “He saved your life,” James reminded him.

  “And then stole Mairi.”

  Her cousin’s virtue was in great danger of being publicly flogged.

  “She’s been at his house,” she said, glancing at the mantel clock, “for how long?”

  Abigail entered the room, and Fenella didn’t dismiss her. If the whole of Edinburgh was going to hear this tale—which they probably would—what did it matter if every member of the household knew?

  “Two hours at least,” James said. “We stayed behind to see if there was anything that could be salvaged.” He punctuated that comment with a shake of his head.

  Robert, who had been uncharacteristically silent until now, said, “Fornicators, all of you. The house is filled with fornicators.”