Claimed By a Scottish Lord

by Melody Thomas

  He stopped at the breakfront and poured water from a skin into a blue pottery bowl. She heard splashing. He must have found a rag among his things for he returned with both. He had not spoken more than a few words since he had settled her against him, and she had been too absorbed by what had just transpired to worry that something may be wrong.

  He knelt beside her. His eyes dipped to where the blanket had fallen to her waist, making her conscious of the intimacies they had shared. Suddenly shy, she wanted to pull the blanket up to her shoulders.

  ―Open your legs, Rose.‖

  She hesitated, then did as he told her.

  ―This will be cold.‖

  The water was cold, but it was also cooling. His touch was gentle as he removed traces of semen on her thighs. ―I was too rough,‖ he said.

  ― ‘Twas different this time,‖ she said. ―Better even than before.‖

  He raised his eyes, amusement touching her. She wanted to ask if what had just happened between them was always so special between a man and a woman.

  He lay down beside her and, settling her into the crook of his arm, pulled the blanket over them. She lay with her cheek against his shoulder.

  Splaying her fingers across his chest muscles and dark springy hair, she considered the strength of him beneath her palm as she collected such random observations about him. She could not help admiring his dark nakedness against her pale skin. She traced a fingertip down the thin line of hair over his abdomen, pushing the blanket ever lower.

  His fingers grazed her cheek, drawing her gaze upward. As if sensing her mood, he pushed his fingers farther into her hair. ―You will find more to explore if you keep touching me like that.‖

  ―I like touching you.‖

  She traced her fingertip across a round indented scar just above his hip. ―You‘ve been wounded . ‖

  ―Grapeshot,‖ he answered.

  Remembering what McBain had said about the measure of a man facing a broadside, she touched another jagged scar beneath his ribs. ―Rapier,‖ he answered before she could ask.

  ―Truly.‖ She rose up on her elbow as she found another thin line across his collarbone.

  ―And this one? Musket shot or ax blade?‖

  ―I fell out of a tree when I was ten.‖

  Her mouth quirked. ―I see.‖

  ―I was spying on the milkmaids bathing in the stream. The branch broke. If not for the fact that I fell on half the Kerr cousins on my way down, I might have broken my neck.‖ She shook her head and fell back on the blanket laughing. He rose on his elbow above her. ―Duncan made sure the lot of us could not sit for a week after that. We did no more spying to be sure.‖

  ―You are close to Duncan?‖

  He hesitated. ―In every way, he was more a father to be than my own.‖

  He pushed her hair back. ―And what of you?‖ he asked when he had her attention. ―Other than your thigh, have you any scars ‘pon such lovely flesh?‖

  ―As a matter of fact, I do.‖

  She lowered the blanket to her hip and pointed out a small scar the size of a shilling where she had burned herself.

  ―Tell me about it.‖

  ―I am what Sister Nessa claims ‗possessed of a curious nature.‘ I never understood if she was speaking about my mind or the fact that most who know me think me unusual. I believe now she meant both. She warned that curiosity would be the death of me. She was nearly right.‖

  He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. ―Was she?‖

  ―Aye, I blew up the watermill. ‘Twas an accident, of course,‖ she said in all seriousness, for at the time it had frightened her. ―I had sought to make a lightning arrester. I thought a rod would divert the electricity, but instead it invited a strike. I still do not know what I did wrong. I was so sure . You are laughing.‖

  ―Nay, love. But what possessed you to think of such a scheme?‖

  She sat and settled the blanket about her hips, her long thick hair protecting the rest of her modesty. ― ‘Twas my intent to save the church tower in Castleton. Every year the tower is struck by lightning. Every year the villagers rebuild. Mrs. Simpson had given me a book about a phenomenon called electricity and some people were open to the idea, thinking they could better spend their time building other things. Others argued that I was attempting to circumvent divine will by placing such a rod on the tower in hopes of diverting destruction. They believed that if He chose to continuously throw lightning bolts at the church steeple, I should not interfere.

  ―So as an experiment, I took my rod and copper to the watermill, which sits at the highest point near the abbey. Lightning did strike. It caught the mill on fire. It burned it to the ground in a spectacular bonfire that could be seen for miles. Friar Tucker was beside himself.‖

  Ruark was laughing so hard, Rose glared down at him. ― ‘Tis how I came to be in the vault and discovered the puzzle box that contained the ring.‖

  He held up his hand. ―This ring?‖

  She frowned as the memory of his theft intruded. He may not believe in its power, but she did, and she was not even the person who wore the ring.

  Frowning, she held his hand, and traced her fingers over the ring, as if by touching it, she could know that much more about him. ― ‘Tis an Arthurian relic. When you are granted whatever you want most, only then will the ring release you.‖

  He tilted her chin with his palm. ―Do you believe in magic, Rose?‖

  ―Everyone needs to believe in something,‖ she said.

  He slid his fingers into her hair. He pulled her head down and, kissing her with unhurried ease, rolled her onto her back. ―At the moment, I can think of wanting nothing more than you.‖

  He set his mouth to her breasts, drawing first one budded peak, then the other between his lips. He lowered his hand and gently palmed her sex. ―You are hot,‖ he whispered against her throat. ―How do you feel?‖

  His erection registered in her half-drugged senses.

  A soreness burned between her thighs and a throbbing heat still lingered in her womb, as if he had permanently branded her with his touch. Yet she wanted to feel him inside her again.

  She splayed her fingers in his hair, watching from behind half-closed lids as he explored her body with his mouth and his hands. ―I feel as if I should ask if you are under some sort of mystical enchantment.‖

  He smiled against her breast. ―Aye, I am enchanted. Or I would not want you as I do. That is the truth.‖

  She half believed he was charmed.

  Or she was. For she was in danger of falling in love with him. ―You could at least pretend you want me for something other than—‖

  ―Desire?‖

  She had intended to say a political pawn, but stopped herself ‘ere she spoke the words.

  He pulled her into a kiss with the other hand, inviting her passion. Passion was safe. It asked for everything yet nothing at all. Passion was merely physical.

  Thunder shook the rafters. Outside, the storm continued to blow, and he looked over her head toward the windows. Rain continued to beat against the glass but without the same intensity as before. ―The rain is moving east.‖

  Toward the sunrise and a new day. He leaned his cheek against her hair, then kissed a warm trail down her temple to her throat.

  Their breathing ragged, he joined his mouth to hers, and seized her lips in a long, fierce kiss, and soon it didn‘t matter that the storm had moved away and would leave a starlit night.

  He was moving between her legs, indulging her senses, and she did not think about anything else at all.

  She was lost. But so was he.

  Chapter 12

  The ride to Stonehaven remained cloaked in a wet grayish mist that twined around trees and blanketed the glens and rocky slopes. Dawn had barely touched the mists by the time they reached the stable.

  Aware of the man who rode behind her, his hands loosely holding the reins, Rose was almost sad to glimpse a structure rise from the sea of waspish vapor
. Ruark dismounted in front of the stable and reached up to lift Rose from the saddle.

  Even through the wool of his cloak protecting her, she felt the warmth of his hands around her waist. Her gown remained damp from the rains the day before, and the chill of the morn had done little to warm her.

  He held her to him and she lifted her chin. The thick morning mist shrouding the countryside had wet his hair.

  ―Are you all right?‖ he queried.

  Neither she nor Ruark had spoken since leaving the lodge. The shroud of fog made her feel more isolated, but not alone. ―Aye.‖ She shivered. ―I am merely cold and wish to change.‖

  Two groomsmen ran out of the stable. Ruark greeted the men and handed off Loki‘s reins.

  ―Rub him down and feed him,‖ he said, placing a guiding hand beneath Rose‘s elbow and turning her up the hill.

  She could feel the groomsmen‘s eyes on her back and, pulling the cloak tighter about her shoulders, she kept her head down to better watch the path. ―They all think I tried to escape,‖ she said. ―And that . ‖

  ―We spent the night together and that I ravished you? I dislike informing you, love, but most already think that.‖

  Wet leaves muffled their footsteps. ―I do not regret what happened between us,‖ she said, momentarily lost to the tempest swirling around her heart.

  ―Your words have eased my conscience, love.‖

  She stole a glance at him. He did look quite at his ease, she thought, somewhat perturbed that he could return to Stonehaven unchanged for what had occurred between them.

  ―I care naught what anyone thinks of me or you, Rose.‖

  ―You are laird. ‘Tis not you they judge.‖

  ―I am laird. My opinion of you is all that counts.‖

  She frowned up at his profile, but he remained looking straight ahead. ―Truly your conceit is enormous even for a laird.‖

  She saw one corner of his mouth slip upward. ―Aye, ‘tis,‖ he agreed, slanting her a rakish glance that would bring ruin to Aphrodite herself. He drew her around. ―But that does not change the facts. I am still laird, love. And you are still mine.‖

  She caught her palms against his chest. His fingers dug into her upper arms. Then gentled.

  ―And I have something to say before we go inside, Rose. I mean to say it now—‖

  She pressed a fingertip to his lips. His features were lost in the shadows of the mist but she could feel tension inside him. Since the moment they‘d left the lodge, he‘d been silent in a restless manner that told her something weighed heavily in his thoughts. She feared what he might say.

  She had made her mind up to return to her father. She was finished running from her past. She would not allow him to risk his brother‘s life for anything they might have shared last night. Not for her.

  ―I know what you are going to say . ‖

  He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. ―Do you? I doubt it.‖

  He lowered his head and brought his mouth close to hers. A door suddenly slammed somewhere in the mist ahead of them and, before Rose could respond, before she could think of what to say, Mrs. Duff appeared, clucking toward them like an angry hen. Her bulk swayed with her stride.

  Dropping away, Rose turned to face the woman, unsure if the anger in Mrs. Duff‘s demeanor was directed at her or the master of the manse.

  ―Half the staff has been awake awaiting your return, Ruark. Worried sick we‘ve been.‖

  She turned the force of her gaze on Rose. Ruark spoke first. ―Before you think the worst of her, Mary, know that she was with me last night.‖

  Rose felt the blood leave her face. Mary‘s eyes narrowed. ―And are ye tellin‘ me ye ravished the girl, too? Her bein‘ helpless and under our protection?‖

  ―I am telling you, her absence was not her fault. And that will be the end of it. Now . she needs a hot bath and sleep.‖

  He reached for Rose only to find that Mary stepped between them and removed his hand from her arm. ―Aye, she does. But you‘ll no‘ be the one takin‘ her, Ruark Kerr. Off with ye, now. Ye can order your own bath, too.‖ She waved off Stonehaven‘s laird and Rose held her breath, afraid of what he would say to Mary. ―Come, lass.‖ Mary tugged Rose forward. ―Let me get ye cleaned up and out of those damp clothes lest you catch your death.‖

  Just before she entered the portico, Rose stole one last glance over her shoulder at Ruark standing in the wooded path, his gaze fixed on her, the feel of him still lingering in the soreness between her thighs.

  Deflected by her own emotions, Rose could not help the softening of her lips as she turned away, remembering their night together, and, oh, so much more.

  ―Aye, I‘ve seen that look in many a young maid‘s eye,‖ Mary said, catching the flicker of awareness in her eyes. ―And naught good ever came of it, Lady Roselyn. I assure you.‖

  The forecourt bustled with activity. Because of the early hour, Rose had not expected to see so many already awake as she and Mrs. Duff emerged outside the walls of the courtyard. Rose followed the housekeeper down a gravel path that wound around a floral border stretching across the south side of the house and on past the kitchen and dovecotes, all the while listening to Mrs. Duff chat. Over the course of the last few days, Rose had accepted life at Stonehaven with no complaint. Breakfast was served at eight, tea at eleven, lunch at one, and so on and so forth. The evenings, she dined in her chambers and later she read in bed. True to his word, Ruark had allowed her free rein of the library and gardens.

  ―Do I have permission to send letters to the abbey?‖ Rose asked.

  ―I see no reason why ye can no‘.‖

  She had written to Friar Tucker, Jack, Sister Nessa, and Mrs. Simpson. She had written to Friar Tucker to tell him that she was well. To the others, she had been more succinct and told them who she was, apologizing for her lack of honesty and asking them to forgive her.

  Ruark had left for Jedburgh two days ago and she expected she would be summoned any day now.

  The housekeeper stopped and turned, nearly causing Rose to collide with her, and making her wonder if she had said something to displease the woman.

  ―Ruark told us we were to grant ye every courtesy, and so I will,‖ the housekeeper said, a hint of steel—though not unkindness—underlying her tone. ―Some here resent ye for being who ye are, but I learned long ago no‘ to judge a person by the blood running through his veins. After all, we are no‘ brought into this world with a choice of parents. So fer that you‘ll be findin‘ me more tolerant than the rest.‖

  Thank you seemed incongruous.

  ―Now . ‖ Mrs. Duff brushed her hands down the apron pinned to her ample bosom, taking Rose‘s measure, as if to say that would be all she‘d speak on the matter. She pointed to the side gate. It hung ajar and opened to a wooded path leading into a grove of trees. ―That be the way to Mrs. Fortier‘s cottage. Ye can no‘ miss it.‖

  With that declaration, Rose was left standing in the middle of the path as Mrs. Duff strode up the incline toward a whitewashed outbuilding. From the pungent aroma of hops and yeast in the air, Rose guessed the place to be the brew house.

  Not another person was around.

  Suddenly uncertain, Rose glanced back at the large stone manse settled like a throne amid the jeweled landscape. Stonehaven was even larger and grander than she‘d first imagined upon her arrival. So different was Ruark‘s world from the one in which she‘d been raised, she thought.

  Mrs. Fortier‘s small cottage sat in a glade of dappled sunlight, surrounded by a white picket fence, the kind used to keep rabbits and other critters at bay. Rose eased through the wooden gate and relatched it behind her, looking around her at the earthen mounds overflowing with wintergreen, yellow dock and wild carrot mixed among a colorful array of flowers.

  She found Mrs. Fortier at the back in the garden, a red scarf on her head as she knelt among the flowers. She looked up and saw Rose.

  Rose ran to her to help her to her feet. ―My lady.‖ Mrs. For
tier dipped when she stood.

  ―Please, Mrs. Fortier,‖ Rose said. ―You must be careful.‖

  Mrs. Fortier‘s hand went to her chest. ―Heavens, every time I see ye, ye give my heart a start. Please call me Anaya.‖

  ―I wanted to meet you. You served my mother.‖

  ―I did, my lady. She was a kind one, she was.‖

  Anaya brought Rose inside. She shared the room with two others who worked in Stonehaven‘s kitchens. Rose sat at a small circle table and Anaya made tea. They spoke for a while as Rose asked about Kirkland Park, what it was like, what her mother had been like, questions she had never been able to ask anyone. ―Did you know my father?‖