Rogue of the Isles

by Cynthia Breeding

  Dawn broke as Jamie continued playing with her, although Mari was hardly aware of it, too lost in all the marvelous sensations she was experiencing. A low moan escaped her as Jamie nibbled her ear, and she pressed her body against his, needing the closeness.

  This time, the groan came from Jamie as he slid his hand down her neck, caressing her shoulder in slow strokes, and moved downward toward her breast. Cupping it in his palm, he kneaded gently, eliciting small whimpers of response that grew louder as he increased the pressure. Mari gasped when his thumb flicked over her nipple, the thin material of the chemise causing delightful friction and causing it to tighten.

  Jamie trailed kisses along her throat while his deft fingers made quick work of the chemise’s lacing, sliding it off one shoulder and exposing her small birthmark. Mari felt the slightest swoosh of cool air against her bared breast before Jamie’s warm, wet mouth closed over the hardened peak, his tongue flicking the puckered nub back and forth until Mari was ready to scream in ecstasy, and then he began to suckle.

  Instinctively, Mari arched her back to let him take more of her and ran her fingers through his hair, pressing him closer, never wanting this exquisite sensation to end.

  And then she screamed as the door flew open.

  Duncan and Broc stood in the doorway with several men behind them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jamie muttered a curse as he pulled the tartan to cover Mari while leaping to his feet in one fluid move. At least he still had the borrowed breeches on.

  “What the hell are ye doing here?” he demanded as Broc leered at him. His uncle seemed stunned and the men behind them—dressed in MacLean plaid—strained for a better look. Jamie moved in front of Mari. Even though she was covered, he didn’t want anyone ogling her. “Why are ye here?” he asked again.

  Duncan found his voice. “We were searching for the lass.”

  Jamie studied him. “Ye were nae part of the search party yesterday.”

  “We didnae get back to the castle until late,” his uncle explained. “When Ian told us the English woman had nae returned from her ride, Broc remembered her saying she wanted to see the abandoned crofts, so we set off. We only got as far as the MacLeans, though, before the storm got too bad to see.”

  That was plausible, Jamie supposed, although he didnae think either his uncle or Broc would care to put themselves in danger, especially for an Englishwoman. He looked past them at the other men. “Why did ye bring a group of MacLeans with ye?”

  “To help us search.”

  Jamie had an uneasy feeling about that. If Broc had deliberately planted the seed for Mari to go searching for empty crofts, kenning full well a storm was brewing that would put her in danger, then having the MacLeans as witnesses when her frozen body was found would free Broc of any suspicious intent. The mon was clever enough to think of it.

  “I thank our neighbors,” Jamie said, “but the lass is fine.”

  “Aye, we can see that.” Broc snickered, and several of the men behind him did too. “’Tis looking like the lass had a warm bed last night in spite of the storm.”

  The men guffawed again only to quickly silence themselves as Jamie reached Broc in three strides, grabbed him by his collar and pinned him to the doorframe before he could reach for his dirk buried beneath the heavy cloak. “If ye insult Mari once more, ye will be picking yer teeth from the dirt.” Jamie put his forearm across Broc’s throat, forcing him to lift his chin. “Do ye understand me?”

  Broc glared back at him, and for a minute, Jamie thought he’d make another remark—which would suit Jamie just fine. It would give him great satisfaction to put his fist in the mon’s face, but Broc finally gave a small nod and Jamie released him.

  “We didnae come here to fight,” Duncan said as the thunder of hooves was felt vibrating on the frozen ground.

  Everyone turned to look as a massive whirlwind of snow rolled across the glen, subsiding near the tree line where Ian emerged with Bridget, Brodie and several other MacLeod men. Bridget slid off her horse before it had stopped and ran toward the cottage while the MacLeans mingled with the MacLeods, filling them in.

  She brushed past Duncan and Broc and came inside. “Is Mari—?”

  “She is fine,” Jamie said, gesturing to where Mari lay curled in a covered heap on the floor. Not even her head was showing, and he hoped she wasn’t crying. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, but the lass was nae dressed

  Bridget glanced about the room, taking in the whole scene in one sweep. Turning, she shooed the men toward the door as though they were a yard full of chickens. “Oafs!” she said. “Mari needs a wee bit of privacy, can ye nae see that? Be gone. Ye, too,” she said to Jamie, taking his arm and propelling him toward the door. “A lady needs to be shown respect, nae be gawked at.”

  “’Tis a little late for that,” someone said. Jamie glared at the small crowd of men, but no one indicated who had made the remark. If he found out, the mon would be gone.

  He turned a troubled look at the now-closed door. Bridget might be able to soothe things over with Mari, but it would nae be so easy with the rest of the clan. With the MacLeans as witness to what looked like had taken place—would probably have taken place if they hadna been interrupted—Mari was now consigned to the status of a mere wench. Unless…

  Jamie set his jaw. Mari wouldna like it, but he knew what he must do.

  The ride back to the castle was a strange mix of silence and noise. Silence surrounded Mari as Jamie rode to her right, Bridget to her left and Brodie behind while Ian led the group back. The other MacLeods along with the MacLeans trailed them, and that was where the noise came from.

  It wasn’t loud, just a constant hum of conversation, but Mari had the distinct feeling the talk was about her. Or rather about Jamie and her and what had taken place overnight in the cottage.

  Sweet heaven. Just the thought of Jamie’s kisses made her lightheaded. He had made love to her mouth for endless time—teasing, playfully nipping, retreating, coming back…then sweeping her close while he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth fully with his tongue, leaving her no doubt of his desire. And his hands…how could such large, calloused hands be so gentle? Jamie knew how to touch every inch of her—well, the parts he had gotten to—how to stroke lightly with his fingertips, how to palm her breast and knead, increasing and decreasing the pressure, when to pinch a nipple lightly and when to soothe that sensitive peak. How the rest of her body had yearned for more of his touch as well. Mari would have given Jamie her virginity last night.

  What had she been thinking?

  Equal parts of remorse and embarrassment hit Mari like a fresh gust of snow. Remorse for getting herself quite foxed and practically throwing herself at Jamie. She had acted like a lightskirt, and worse, she had shamelessly wanted Jamie this morning. Words would never describe the embarrassment she felt when all those men had burst through the door, finding her practically naked with Jamie’s mouth on her breast.

  But worse—much worse than her own shame—was that she had disgraced Jillian with her scandalous conduct. Mari knew Broc and Duncan were not the only Scots who mistrusted the English, and Jillian had worked hard to gain their trust. As the laird’s wife, she needed to be respected, and Mari had managed to tarnish her sister’s reputation because she had acted like a hoyden. What was worse, Mari had enjoyed it. She could not claim otherwise.

  Jamie was strangely quiet as he rode beside her. His face looked somber, and Mari wondered if he regretted what had taken place. Ian had said very little to either of them, but he was as grim-faced as Jamie, and Mari was afraid the brothers would have an argument over what had happened—or almost happened.

  Trepidation grew within Mari as they approached the castle. The MacLeans took their leave, galloping off to their own holdings, no doubt to spread word of what had gone on that morning and, from the looks of the MacLeod men who urged their horses to a trot through the gate, it would not be long before every servant at Ian’s castle
heard the news as well. Facing Jillian was going to be hard, but Mari had to do it before her sister heard it from someone else.

  She slipped off her gelding before anyone could assist her and ignored Jamie’s call for her to wait. At this point there was nothing he could do.

  Entering the hallway, Mari rushed past Fiona and Shauna who tried to welcome her with open arms. They might not be so caring once they heard the news. She managed a quick smile for the twins on her way up the stairs, and then she hesitated at the door of the solar. Jillian had always been half mother, half sister to her, and Mari couldn’t remember a time they’d ever had a real argument, but would Jillian forgive her appalling conduct? Mari took a deep breath. She had nearly given away her virginity. It was time she acted like a responsible young woman.

  Jillian had just put baby Rose in her cradle when Mari stepped inside and closed the door. Her sister gave a gasp of relief and hurried across the room to give her a big hug. “Thank God, you are safe. I knew Jamie would find you.”

  Jillian might not be so happy with Jamie when she found out what happened, but for a brief moment, Mari allowed herself the comfort of her sister’s arms. She hugged her back, and tears began to stream down her face.

  “There, there.” Jillian stepped back and used the burping cloth from her shoulder to wipe Mari’s face. “You are safe now. You are home and safe. It is all over.”

  “It is not over at all,” Mari sobbed, trying to control the tears and dissolving into a series of hiccups. “I have totally disgraced you.”

  Jillian drew her brows together and took Mari’s hand. “Come sit on the sofa. Tell me what is wrong.”

  Hesitating and in jerks, punctuated by more tears and hiccups, Mari poured the story out finally ending with, “And I think Ian is angry with Jamie—”

  She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Jamie entered, followed by Fiona, Shauna and Bridget, all of whom were wearing huge smiles. Ian came in last and went over to Jillian, bending to kiss her cheek before sitting on the other side of her.

  “I believe Jamie has something of an announcement,” Ian said.

  All eyes shifted to Jamie. He cleared his throat, and Mari noticed the tips of his ears were pink. Lud! Ian had probably coerced him into apologizing for this morning. Poor man. Well, she would let Jamie have his say, and then she would apologize as well.

  It was the least she could do.

  Jamie cleared his throat once more. “I have spoken to Ian. As laird, he has agreed that you and I can be hand-fasted.”

  The smiles on Shauna’s and Bridget’s faces grew wider while Fiona clapped her hands and nearly bounced on her toes. Mari frowned and turned to Jillian. “What does hand-fasted mean?”

  Jillian patted her hand, a big smile on her face too. “It means you are betrothed, Mari. A year and one day from now, you will be Mrs. Jamie MacLeod.”

  He knew the lass would nae like the idea. The look on Mari’s face told Jamie as much before she even opened her mouth. A wonderfully soft, compliant mouth that he had enjoyed kissing just hours ago and was already wanting to kiss again—except right now those lovely lips were pressed together tightly.

  “Am I being ordered to marry?” Mari asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

  Jamie understood the tone, but before he could rephrase the words into a request, Ian interrupted.

  “Ye have been compromised, lass.” Ian cast a glance at Shauna and Fiona, both of whom were looking at him with much-too-interested expressions, and he motioned for Bridget to take them away. Fiona protested all the way down the hall, but finally there was silence. Ian turned back to Mari. “If ye think Broc or Duncan will waste time spreading the word, ye are mistaken. Since a laird’s word is nae longer law, I canna demand their silence. For certain, I canna command the MacLeans.”

  Jamie cursed inwardly. The presence of the MacLeans had proved most useful to Broc and his uncle. Instead of bearing witness to a frozen body, as Jamie still suspected was the reason they had come along, they were witness to a much different scene—and quite a heated one.

  The saints have mercy. He could not deny he had wanted Mari’s body for weeks. And, saints preserve him, he had done the honorable thing and not taken advantage of her drunken state, although lying with her beneath the plaid and not allowing himself to do more than put an arm around her waist had taken every ounce of his considerable willpower. But this morning when she had turned to him, quite sober, and told him she wanted him, it had been his undoing. The kisses had started slow, but Mari had opened willingly to his tongue, and he loved the taste of her. He had wanted to taste every inch of her, especially to lap the juices of her slick folds and run his tongue over the special little nub to bring her pleasure. Jamie enjoyed every minute of stroking Mari’s satiny skin and playing with the soft, plump mound of her breast, teasing the nipple to a hard peak, taking it in his mouth to suckle it until she shattered. He thought she had shattered when she screamed…

  Damn Broc. Damn his uncle. Damn the MacLeans.

  “The gossip here cannot be worse than it is in London,” Mari said. “You can send me back there as soon as the roads are passable. Within a week or two, what happened will no longer be of interest to anyone.”

  “Ye are wrong. Nae that much happens here. The gossip will linger a long time.”

  “But why? If I leave, why would anyone want to keep talking about it?”

  “Because Ian is still their laird, even if the English took away the right to rule,” Jillian said, patting Mari’s hand again. “It will be expected that he make things right.”

  “And I will nae have my people think less of my wife because my brother took advantage of her sister,” Ian added.

  Mari looked from one of them to the other and sighed. She did not look at Jamie.

  “All right,” she said.

  Mari let herself into the library and closed the door. The room was blissfully quiet and serene, the only illumination from a small fire in the hearth. The smell of wax polish and leather-bound books was oddly appealing. Mari sank into one of the comfortable armchairs and glanced at the book on the side table. Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur. She had left it here after she’d finished reading to Jillian the other day. Mari pushed the book aside. Reading about knights in shining armor was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Dinner that evening had been an excruciatingly drawn-out event. They’d eaten in the great hall since Ian had announced a celebration of her safe return. She had been seated at the high table between Ian and Jamie. Mari noticed the serving maids giving her furtive glances while the men who filled the lower tables openly stared at her. If she’d had any doubt the rumors hadn’t spread, those doubts were gone. As difficult as it had been to hold her head up and act as though nothing were wrong, the worst came when Ian stood to announce that Jamie and she were hand-fasted.

  Mari had felt Jamie’s hesitation before he’d pushed back his chair and stood, extending his hand to help her up. He’d made some kind of toast before he’d bent his head to give her a kiss on the lips that had none of the heat from earlier that morning. Still, the men had stood and cheered and Jillian looked happy.

  Mari might have been happy too, if only she could believe Jamie meant it, but she knew Ian had forced Jamie’s hand.

  The door opened and the object of her thoughts entered, closing the door behind him, and took the other armchair.

  “You should not be in here with me alone,” Mari said.

  Jamie smiled, his dimple showing. “Och, now that is where ye are wrong. In the eyes of the clan, I have every right to be with ye alone. For Highlanders, ’tis the same as being married.”

  Mari felt her eyes round. “Married?” she squeaked, hating that her voice was so high-pitched.

  “Aye. The custom is old, but it allows a mon and woman to live together as husband and wife for a year. If, at the end of the year, either wants to part, ’tis done with nae argument.” He paused. “Jillian is preparing the bedchamber next to mine for ye.”<
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  “What?” Had her sister lost her mind? Did anyone actually expect… Mari shook her head. The thought was too overwhelming.

  Jamie sobered. “Dinnae fash. I ken ye do nae want to marry me, but to cease the wagging of tongues, it must appear that ye do.” He hesitated again. “Once we return to London, ye will be free and nae obligated.”

  Which just meant Jamie would be free of this obligation as well. Mari was not sure she liked being thought of as an obligation and wanted to retort that he need not worry about her, but appearances were obviously as important in Scotland as they were in London, albeit it for very different reasons. Mari did not wish to damage Jillian’s reputation either, so she would do as needs must.

  “You said I should appear to play along with this scheme? You do not actually expect…” Mari let her voice trail off as a thrill of excitement seared her tummy, causing the butterflies to take flight. What if Jamie did expect her to go to his bed? Could she? But knowing Jamie wanted to be free once they returned to London would make her little more than a mistress.

  Jamie studied her face before answering, then he shook his head. “Nae. What happened this morning was a result of yer fear of near death. Ye were grateful to me for rescuing ye, ’tis all. I dinnae expect ye to perform wifely duties.” He stood abruptly. “I think ye are right. ’Tis nae good for us to be alone.”

  Jamie let himself out as quickly as he had come in. Mari stared at the closed door for a long time, her emotions in turmoil. She glanced down at Malory’s book again and pushed it to the floor.

  She did not want to think about knights in shining armor.