Alex saw the giant push the wheeled chair closer to the open window and the shadow of Trevor MacGregor watching his progress as he headed toward the garden. Were it not for the mane of blond hair, MacGregor would have been invisible in the dark shadow of the trees surrounding the cottage, but he made no move to hide himself. It was almost as though he chaperoned. Alex shook his head, unable to decipher the man’s motives.
He’d already decided Meg MacGregor would be his again. He just hadn’t decided how he was going to accomplish that. He had two choices. He could take her and risk punishment, exile, perhaps even the hangman’s noose. Or, a dicey proposition and not completely a sure thing, he could seduce her. He had a way with women and had always managed to find a way under a woman’s skirt, but this one was hardheaded, proud, and seemingly virtuous considering she was the wife of a man bound to a chair. He’d caught her off guard the other night, and he knew it.
She was bent over, leaning toward what appeared to be carrots, when his shadow fell across her. As he was enjoying the view of her trim backside, she whirled around and nearly tripped over her basket. When he tried to grab her arm, she recoiled as though he had tried to strike her. She scurried backwards, stepping all over her carefully weeded vegetables. He had never seen such a meticulous garden. The woman was worse than MacGregor in her precision.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
Alex scratched his head and gave her what he hoped was his most puzzled look. “Do I need your permission to be in a particular place? I didnae realize you were in charge around here, mistress.”
“I am in charge of wherever I happen to be,” she snapped, “and you are not to be there. Wherever it is.”
Alex slammed his hands into the pockets of his breeches. “I see. Then I’ll find myself in a bit of trouble as your own husband sent me out here to be of whatever service you might need.”
The blush started in her breasts and rapidly spread up her neck to her face. When she got angry, or excited, or embarrassed, as she clearly was now, she flushed with that beautiful shade of pink he had come to expect. He took a step toward her, prompting that furious need she had to get away from him. He leaned closer, near enough to smell the perfume on her skin, but not quite close enough to kiss her.
“Might you be in need of any services, mistress?”
Her eyes shot toward the building behind him, roaming across the windows, looking for help. For some curious reason, Alex didn’t expect Sam Tinsdale to come lumbering out of nowhere to save her pretty ass this time.
“I need no services, Master Campbell.” She stared at him hard, but her eyes wavered with some kind of indecision, and her mouth, set into a hard line, began to quiver. “Of any kind.”
Alex wondered how Mistress MacGregor would respond under hands that weren’t so desperate and impatient. He had felt passion in her, and if he hadn’t been so consumed with his own need, he might have had a chance to see more. What would her glorious body look like completely naked? Skin like pale silk with a rose-colored blush surrounded by that burning mane of auburn. What colors would lie between her legs? He thought the hues would be tawny creams that darkened with desire, soft pinks that swelled into aching rose, deepening to red as her passion consumed her to near ecstasy. Christ, he thought too much.
His eyes drifted down her skirt, then back to those brilliant blue eyes that seemed reluctant to meet his. When she got upset, they glistened with silver. He cocked his head and offered her a smile, coaxed from his daydream. The day he had her spread before him and he could test his theory would be an excellent day.
“Do you need help with a chore?” Alex asked. “Do you wish to take a walk? A wagon ride to escape the heat? Be escorted to the village, the mill, the river, the ends of the earth, perhaps? I’m to offer my service for your highness’s pleasure.”
He bent at the waist and swept out his arms.
“I don’t find you amusing, Master Campbell, and I’ve no need of pleasure today.”
“There’s a need for pleasure every day, mistress. ’Tis necessary for a man’s sanity and a woman’s as well. The desire for pleasure is what ensures the bond between a man and a woman. Otherwise, I fear we’d be tempted to live in separate worlds.”
“You live in your world, Campbell, and I’ll live in mine. There is no need for a bond between us and certainly no need for pleasure. Go back to your work, and leave me to mine.”
“’Tis too bad, then, mistress, because on a day such as this, with the swell of billowy clouds in a pure azure sky and the warmth wrapping your body like a snug blanket…in the company of a pretty girl whose hair reminds one of the last embers of a fire and whose body speaks of silk and satin…a man’s thoughts turn to things of a more sensual nature.”
He heard a tiny hitch in her breathing, just enough to bring another smile to his lips. He glanced up at the sky, squinting into the sunlight.
“A day such as this is not a day for work. ’Tis a day to lay in the softness of newly clipped grass, smelling the alluring scents of the flowers that blossom nearby. I’ve noticed you’ve beautiful flowers in your garden. You’ve a gentle touch with delicate things. I imagine a man would feel well loved in your hands.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Master Campbell, please go away.”
“On a day like this, I long to dive into that river beyond and feel the rush of the water on my naked flesh. I imagine the water is cool enough to calm a feverish body and perhaps relieve some of the discomfort one feels from the hot, throbbing ache of the flesh and that rigid swelling that…” He sighed and glanced at her. “Have you gone swimming in the river, mistress? Have you found relief there from the heat?”
Meg ran a hand around the back of her neck. It delighted him to see a thin veil of perspiration dotting her brow. “Not recently.”
“And on a day like this, I particularly want to touch a woman. A day like this makes a woman hot, and she needs the touch of a man to find her release. I’m drawn to a woman’s scent on a day like this. The rise of heat from her body gives her a particular aroma that is irresistible to me. I can almost smell…” He paused and ran his tongue across his lips. “Well, madam, to be bold, I can almost smell the juices that spill from her body, that primitive need to be taken, to come and live in my world for a while. I’ve a desire to suck the moisture from her mouth, lap the sweat from between her breasts, and lick the cream from—”
“Oh, God, Campbell, please stop talking.”
She covered her mouth with her hand, and her head fell back, revealing the slim column of her throat. The swollen vein in her neck pumped hard as she struggled not to listen. He wanted to press his lips to it and feel how strong her desire was. A shuddering breath tore through her, and he nearly smiled again. He managed to control it.
“Do you not find yourself thinking thoughts such as these?” he asked.
“I didn’t know such thoughts existed,” she murmured. “Now that you’ve told me, I shall think of nothing else.”
She lifted her arm and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. She bent down and picked up her basket. When he tried to take it from her hands, she pulled away sharply.
“I seek to help, madam,” he said.
“Please return to my husband and tell him your help is not needed. I’m overheated, and I’m going to lie down before supper.”
“Shall I send him to you?” Alex asked. “Perhaps he can calm your feverish body.”
Her glance fluttered toward the shop windows. She shook her head and bit down on her bottom lip. The sight of it made his cock prod roughly against his breeches. The wench was easily the most enchanting creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Her beauty was ravishing, and her body tantalized him enough to hold him captive the rest of his days, but the innocent aura that hovered around her compelled him most. Her body would be responsive, and he thought her mind was open to the lure of the flesh. Inside the married Meg MacGregor was a young woman who had rarely, if ever, known t
he passion of a man and probably did not know the passion of her own body.
What would it be like to be buried in the body of a woman learning about passion for the first time? A virginal body was a common occurrence for any man, but a virginal spirit was something that could fuel a man for a very long time. It might even give a man a reason to live.
“Shall I see you into the house, mistress?” Alex asked. “Make sure you’re lying comfortably?”
She sidestepped around him, trying very hard not to allow even the hem of her dress to touch him. The anxiety on her face was touching and the first step toward having her again.
“No, Master Campbell, please stay where you are. I shall never be comfortable around you. Not here and certainly not anywhere near my bed.”
He couldn’t resist taking it one step further. It was a gamble, and if he lost, there could be serious consequences. He reached out and caught her hand, twining his fingers through hers. She refused to look at him.
“I know what you need, Mistress MacGregor,” he said.
“You couldn’t possibly—”
“You need to be fucked by a man who knows what he’s doing.”
She lifted her chin. “Then you are clearly out of the running, Campbell, because what I sampled showed a man with his own interests at heart.”
His jaw dropped. “That isnae fair. ’Twas nearly a year since I’ve had a woman!”
“Pity, then, I had to be your first. You said I’d been cheated. What exactly did I miss? It did not seem worth a repeat performance.”
“Come to me tonight. Let me prove I’m not the selfish bastard you seem to think I am. I can fuck you well, lass.”
She snatched her hand away with a viciousness that caught him off guard. She took two steps toward him, and her pelvis slammed into his groin, causing a rush of blood to his veins and twisting his cock into an unholy fire.
“You’ll fuck me well, Master Campbell? I need to be fucked period, but thank you for your concern. I’ll keep your generous offer in mind. On the day I totally lose my mind, I will seek you out again. Until that day comes, stay the hell away from me!”
* * * *
Trevor watched his wife storm toward the cottage door. “I think it goes well, Sam. Look how flushed she is. ’Tis obvious she’s drawn to him. Do you think they’ve fucked yet?”
Sam groaned. “Oh, don’t seek to bring me into your games. I want no part of it. And I most decidedly do not want to hear about Meggie’s flushed face.”
“I know, Sam, which is why Campbell’s here. You could have had her.”
“I don’t want her. How many god-blessed times do I have to say that?”
“Once was sufficient. If you don’t want the most beautiful woman in this town, then—”
“She’s like a bloody sister to me! I changed her diapers when she was a wee thing. I taught her how to use the privy because you and her da were so busy. I took care of her scrapes, fed her, sometimes dressed her.”
“Aye, I remember, Sam. You were very industrious even as a young lad. How old were you then? Eight? Nine?”
“It doesn’t matter. But after all that, you really expect me to want to fuck her, to be able to fuck her?”
“I’d hoped,” Trevor said wearily.
Sam shook his shaggy head. “You’re a madman, MacGregor. What do you expect to happen here? How can you give away your own wife to a man you barely know?”
“I know him well enough, Sam. He’s a man not unlike me. We’ve similar ideals, views on life, and intellect. Though I must admit, I think he’s far better looking. Even in my youth I was not built as solid or as well. It makes me somewhat jealous to merely look at him. Women seem to like his type. I think he’s an excellent choice.”
“What do you expect to get out of this?”
Trevor glanced up and smiled. “Why, a new husband for Meg, of course. I wanted the best for her. Plus, I’d really like an heir before I depart this earth. He looks like a man who’d have no problem accomplishing that.”
“Meggie’s going to hate you for this.”
Trevor’s shoulder lifted in a shrug. “She might already. I’ve a feeling she’s already betrayed me.”
An explosion of sound came from Sam. “How can you even say such a thing?”
“I don’t mean it the way it sounds. I mean it in a positive way.”
“Oh, well, that makes all the difference in the world then.” Sam threw up his hands and made another noise of disgust. Sam had yet to see the wisdom of his decisions, but he’d come around with enough time. Sam was a good man, and ultimately he wanted the best for Meg.
Sam gripped the handles of the wheeled chair. Trevor slid his hand over Sam’s and gave it a pat. “Believe me, Sam. I’m doing the right thing, for all of us.”
“Time will tell the truth of that. In the meantime, I’m forced to watch Meggie lose her mind.”
“Once she gives in, she’ll be fine. I’ll talk to her soon. I promise.”
“See that you do. Watching her go through this hurts like hell.”
Sam began to pull Trevor away from the window, but Trevor held up his hand.
“Wait. What do you think he’s about?”
Trevor peered through the window, squinting to see the far side of the garden. Campbell was walking carefully between the rows of vegetation and finally hunkered down near the flower bed. Megan kept beautiful flowers because she loved to look at them. Although Trevor didn’t quite understand the wisdom of using viable garden space for something as frivolous as flowers when they grew wild all around the city, he’d never deny his wife something that made her so happy. Campbell seemed interested in the flowers as well.
The man studied the blossoms for a while, fingering some of them gently as he seemingly searched for something. When he spied what he wanted, he moved closer to the fence, stooped down, and dug into the dirt. He stood after a few moments, holding a flower, including its roots.
“Her lily of the valley,” Sam said. “She’s not going to be happy about that.”
Trevor laughed. “No, she’s not. Let’s hope he has a good enough reason. Otherwise he’s a dead man and my plans are all for naught.”
Chapter 5
The next four days were hell. Megan did everything in her power to stay as far away from the shop as possible. She weeded her garden until there was barely a green thing left. She watered her flowers until she had drowned them in a disgusting pool of swampy mud. She roamed in the village, seeking any distraction she could find, chatting with neighbors who bored her with tedious stories, and shopping for items she didn’t need or want. She even sat on the riverbank and watched the swans. She’d heard swans mated for life. It seemed a noble pursuit, and she’d done her best to fulfill that, but none of the swans had to deal with a man like Alexander Campbell. As she watched the birds glide on the river current, all she could think of was how the cool water would feel on her naked flesh.
She really wanted to go over her accounts and keep her mind off absolutely everything, but that would mean actually walking through the door of the bindery and meeting Campbell’s eyes. The thought alone paralyzed her. After what she’d said, she didn’t think she could ever look at him again.
She cooked breakfast in the mornings, left the men to eat, and hid in her room until she heard them open the bindery. In the evenings she cooked supper, praying that no one would mention the man lurking next door like a prowling beast. Oh, he didn’t know she heard him prowling throughout her previously calm household, but she did, and each movement she heard caused her own body to move restlessly on the mattress. The man never slept. He seemed to walk from one end of the building to the other, from one wall to the next, circling, circling, circling like a caged animal at a fair until she thought she would go mad from the sound of his footsteps. Each night she listened for his tread over the threshold to her home, hoping not to hear it, praying that she would.
So far each evening, Sam had taken a tray to him at supper, but she was so
afraid she would raise her face one evening to find Alexander Campbell standing in the open doorway. The camaraderie between the three men was already evident. Whatever foul deeds had transpired between the MacGregor and Campbell clans in the wilds of Scotland seemed to have been forgiven. Campbell, Trevor, and Sam had become friends. She was doomed. She would never get Campbell out of her house. To hear Trevor talk, the man was a born bookbinder.
In those moments when she wasn’t working herself into a frenzied knot of tension or hiding somewhere, she watched him, because Campbell was the most intriguing man she had ever met. He exuded some sort of charm that made him positively irresistible. She didn’t know if it was the way his crooked smile seemed to light up a room, or the small imperfections set upon his otherwise perfect face. She thought it might be the gentleness he often displayed with Trevor when his entire body seemed coiled with raw power. Whatever it was, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, and that was the exact reason she hid.
If Trevor saw how her eyes swept across Campbell’s body, or watched her hands shake for no reason, or saw the blushes that stole over her face, he would never forgive her. Even she could not understand how the man affected her so. She loved her husband and had enjoyed their sex, but he’d never caused these waves of heat to pass through her body. No other man but Campbell caused her body to pulsate and a disturbing wetness to flood between her legs. When she was forced to watch him even from a distance, the flesh between her legs seemed to swell and throb with an aching intensity. The first time it happened, she was sure it was her imagination. The second time, she snuck off to the bedroom, lifted her dress, and studied herself.
What happened was not her imagination. Her flesh was red, angry, glistening with drops of moisture, and actually spread open as though eager to accept a gift. She thought of what lay hidden beneath Campbell’s breeches, and her own lewdness shocked her.
Shame flooded through her that her body could betray her so. From that moment she decided she’d not even watch him. Any man who could make her body react in such a way could not be good for her. What would happen if he touched her again? What would happen if he kissed her again? She was wanton, a harlot for even thinking those thoughts, and she was not to be trusted.
Loving Two Highlanders Page 8
