by Connie Mason
Elspeth was seated on one of the wolf pelts in the other corner with her knees drawn up, her forearms propped across them, and her head bowed down. Her shoulders shook like a lost child.
Guilt made him snort out his breath in self-disgust.
She looked up at him, her eyes and lips swollen with weeping. Her expression of abject misery made his chest constrict. Then she swiped her face with her sleeve, and misery was quickly replaced by cold fury.
He could have kissed her. Tears rendered him defenseless. Wrath was something he understood and could return with little effort.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
He crawled into the low space and stretched out on the pallet. “What does it look like?”
“Go away. Haven’t ye spied on me enough for one day?”
“I’m no’ here to spy.” He rolled onto his side and propped himself on one elbow. “’Tis a small boat and I’m tired and this is the only place to rest.” Then he smiled at her, because he knew it would annoy her. “But how kind of ye to remind me how pleasant it was to watch ye at your bath. Mayhap I’ll see ye again in my dreams.”
He lay back down, folded his hands across his chest, and closed his eyes.
“Ye’re lucky I havena got a knife, MacLaren,” she muttered darkly.
“My thanks once again.”
Rob sat back up and pulled out his belt knife and boot knife. Then he flung each of them toward the tall neck at the front of the vessel. The blades dug into the wood and quivered there, well out of her reach.
“Canna have ye using my own weapons against me as I sleep. Now come.” He patted the pallet beside him. “Join me.”
“No.”
“Angus will take it badly.” He opened one eye and peered at her. “He’s gone to all this trouble of making the place comfy for ye.”
“No.” Her chest heaved with a deep breath, and her breasts rose, straining against the borrowed bodice.
That tender curve of skin called to him. “Mayhap your bodice is done up too tight for your comfort. I’ll be happy to unlace ye.”
She was on him in a heartbeat, scratching and kicking. “How dare ye!”
He quickly subdued her, clamping her arms to her sides and wrapping his legs around hers. “Easy, lass. Be mindful of where ye are.”
She thrashed and made a sound like a cornered barn cat.
“Everything well, Rob?” Angus called up to them.
“Aye, Angus, fine as frog’s hair. I’m just trying to keep my eyes in their sockets.” Then he lowered his voice. “Now settle, lass, and I’ll let ye go.”
He eased his grip when she stopped struggling. She looked up at him, and the anger drained from her features. Then the worst possible thing happened.
Her little face crumpled, and a tear slid from the corner of one eye.
Oh, Lord. Against a woman’s tears, there was no defense known to man.
“Now, lass, I’ve no’ brought an ounce of real harm to ye, have I?”
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and her tears fairly burned his skin.
“Did I no’ fight a wolf pack for ye?”
She sobbed on the shoulder of his shirt, leaving a growing wet spot.
“Your father knows ye’re alive. That should give him and ye a measure of peace,” he said with hope that she’d take comfort from having seen her sire, however briefly.
She wept a fresh torrent instead.
“I promise ye, lass, I’ll keep ye safe. No one will harm ye.” He grasped at anything he could think of to dry up her tears. “I offer ye the protection of my body and my sword arm for as long as we bide together. And any time ye might have need of them after.”
Her whole frame shuddered with a silent sob.
“Please, lass.” He stroked her from the crown of her head to the base of her spine. She shivered under his touch, so he didn’t do it again. “Elspeth, sweetheart, ye dinna have to cry so.”
She quieted and sniffled for a moment. Then she raised herself up and looked down at him, her hazel eyes going dark in the dim cabin.
“I hate ye, Rob MacLaren,” she whispered. “I hate ye verra, verra much.”
Then she kissed him.
***
Elspeth pressed her lips to his, damning herself for a light-heeled wanton. But she couldn’t be near the man without wanting to taste him.
She’d been all jumbled up since he caught her naked. When his hot gaze ran over her, her insides melted like a dish of butter in the sun.
He’d stolen her from her wedding. Ruined her reputation. Put her parents through the torments of hell, worrying over her. And yet she was drawn to him, and there was no escaping. What was wrong with her?
When she first realized he was there watching her, she couldn’t believe it was happening. There she was, bare as an egg, and his intense gaze made her lose the will to move.
His stare had lingered at her breasts. She’d had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from covering her nipples with her hands to still the ache. And when his gaze traveled down her body, little flames seemed to lick her skin. When he smiled at her private parts, she caught fire completely.
No wonder her priest always said it was better to marry than to burn, but she never imagined she was about to self-immolate in Lachlan Drummond’s arms. No, for some inexplicable reason, her body had chosen to lust after Mad Rob MacLaren.
Rob seemed to think she wept for her lost bridegroom or her parents’ pain. She wished she were as dutiful a daughter and bride as he thought her.
Instead, she wept for her lost innocence. She’d have believed herself the model of chaste womanhood, a paragon of self-control all her days if she’d never laid eyes on Rob MacLaren. Now she knew the truth of her own nature.
She was desperately wicked.
And unrepentant to boot. The knowledge grieved her, but she couldn’t deny the truth.
Elspeth palmed Rob’s cheeks and deepened their kiss. She welcomed his tongue. She gave him her neck to nibble and suckle, loving the rough stubble of his beard as it tickled across her skin. His hands brushed through her hair, stroking and smoothing.
Her laces loosened, and she realized he’d untied her bodice.
She didn’t care.
She lifted her arms in surrender to help him slip the bodice over her head without unlacing it completely. Her breasts swung free beneath the thin chemise. A little thrill coursed over her sensitive skin.
Rob rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. The weight of his body on hers was heaven. A ribbon tied at the neck of her chemise held it closed. He caught the end of the bow between his teeth and gave it a tug. The knot unraveled, and the fabric parted to bare one of her breasts.
He stared down at it, clearly fascinated. Her nipple was drawn tight. He circled it with the tip of his finger as his gaze shifted to her face.
Her first instinct was to look away, to shield her wicked thoughts and feelings from his penetrating gaze. But if ever there was a time for truth between a man and a woman, this was that time.
She met his eyes steadily and didn’t care whether he saw the abandon and bliss she felt. His face held a cross between the wonder of a boy on Christmas morn and the knowing look of a man who was exquisitely aware of what wicked things he was doing to her. He enslaved her with pleasure, and she had no defense.
Her cheeks heated, and her breath hitched, but she couldn’t look away. He might stop, and she didn’t think she could bear it if he did.
Instead, she moved. Just a little, so his finger would brush her sensitive tip. A jolt of longing shot through her body from her breast to her womb.
“Merciful God!” she breathed.
“Aye, lass, and ’tis a good thing He is,” Rob said with a wicked grin, “for I am no�
� merciful in the slightest.”
As if to prove his point, he lowered his mouth to her breast and licked her taut nipple. She went all soft and liquid inside. Between her legs, she ached in time with the flicks of his tongue.
It was unbearable. It was torment. She prayed it wouldn’t end.
His mouth was everywhere. Suckling her breasts, nibbling her neck, and licking at her earlobe, showering her with soft kisses on her jaw, cheeks, eyelids, and temple. When she started to make a noise of unrestrained pleasure, he covered her mouth to catch the sound. Then he kissed her again, a deep drugging kiss that shattered any hope of defense and weakened her last resolve.
He shifted to lie beside her, and she felt the hard evidence of his arousal against her hip.
She’d never seen a man in the altogether before. She assumed their parts were somewhat like stallions, sometimes dangling harmlessly, sometimes a thick, stiff organ designed for rutting. Rob was definitely stiff, and the ridge of him beneath his kilt was thick. She moved against him and enjoyed the way his breath hitched for a change.
What would he do if she reached under his kilt to investigate matters further?
But before she could act on her curiosity, he launched a blistering sensual foray.
His hands caressed every bit of her, smoothing over her arms and her belly. She wallowed in the delicious sensations, letting them wash over her like summer rain.
But when his hand slipped under her skirt, she stiffened.
“Easy, lass,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll do ye no hurt.”
“I expect that’s what the Serpent said to Eve,” she whispered, her body tensed.
“Have a done aught ye wish I had not?”
She worried her lower lip. What would she take back? His mouth on hers? His hand at her breast?
“No,” she admitted.
“I’ll no’ take anything from ye that ye dinna wish to give,” he said softly. “But I would give something to ye, if ye’ll allow it. Show ye things about yourself, an’ ye let me.”
She felt herself tumble into his eyes.
“Aye, Rob.” Elspeth swallowed hard. “Show me.”
Chapter 12
Rob lowered his mouth to hers, tasting and teasing. She was so sweet, so fine, he feared he defiled her with just a kiss. But she’d asked for this. Surely this was no sin if the lass wanted him.
Lord knew he wanted her. He’d never thought to ache so for a woman again.
The skin of Elspeth’s inner thigh was so soft, so tender, it was all he could do not to toss up her skirt and plant fevered kisses there. But he didn’t want to spook her.
The curling hairs on her sex were like silk where his fingertips passed over them. And damp. Her whole body shuddered at his glancing caress.
She was ready for him.
His cock throbbed.
He covered her with his whole hand, holding her hot sex. Her heartbeat throbbed even there. Her thighs tensed, and a soft moan escaped her lips.
“Hush, lass,” he whispered. “Ye must be quiet, or Angus will fear I’m hurting ye.”
She nodded, her eyes enormous, and pulled his head down to kiss her again.
An excellent way to keep her quiet, he thought as his tongue chased hers in a languid, wet kiss. Isn’t she the canny one?
He explored her with exquisite slowness. Next time—please God, let there be a next time—he’d lie between her legs and revel in the slick delights of that soft, moist crevice, but for now, his fingers were his eyes.
He parted her, stroking each fold as he went. She quivered under his touch, swollen and sensitive. He found her most responsive spot with ease. The first time he grazed it with his fingertip, she gasped and pulled away from his kiss.
“What is that?” she asked shakily.
“A way for me to give ye joy, lass. Close your eyes and let me.”
Unlike with most of his directives, she obeyed this one. He could almost feel her curiosity burning into his questing hand. He pressed a soft kiss on each of her eyelids.
Since he was a lad of about twelve, he’d known what miracles his cock could perform. Still, it didn’t surprise him that Elspeth didn’t understand much about this part of her body.
Women were kept in ignorance, Fiona had told him. Some were even shackled in chastity belts by wary fathers or jealous husbands. Fiona said…
Guilt burned his soul. He hadn’t dreamed of her, hadn’t thought of Fiona in days. Why did she invade his mind now?
He looked down at Elspeth. Her brows drew together in agreeable distress as he continued to stroke her. Her mouth went passion slack.
Was he being unfaithful to Fiona’s memory by pleasuring Elspeth? The Stewart lass wouldn’t even be with him now if not for his wife and what had happened to her. Was he doing this as revenge on Drummond for Fiona? To delight Elspeth? Or to prove to himself that he could still satisfy a woman after such a long stint of abstinence?
His head pounded. It hurt to think so hard.
He decided not to try. Feeling was much easier than thinking.
Rob gave himself over to Elspeth’s soft sighs, to her slippery cleft and growing arousal, to the delights of her mouth. A wanting woman had a way of making a man feel grander than a king. He kissed his way down the white column of her throat to her exposed breast.
He nuzzled around her nipple, letting his warm breath tease her. Then when she made a soft sound of distress, he took her taut peak between his lips and devoured her.
Each time he suckled her, his balls clenched, poised for release.
He flicked her nipple with his tongue in rhythm with the movement of his fingers, and she stiffened, back arched, pelvis raised into his hand.
He feared he might come under his kilt.
Then she shattered beneath his touch.
He felt her inner spasms in the soft lips of her sex while her whole body shuddered with the force of her release. Her heart pounded against his hand between her legs.
Rob wondered if a body’s soul left it for a moment when the shimmering glory of bliss became too much for mortal flesh to bear. Was there a place between life and death where souls in the grip of ecstasy mingled together, a joining of spirits separate from the joining of bodies?
If such a place existed, Elspeth was there alone. Rob’s body still burned with unrelieved need.
And his head ached with daft thoughts that raced about like herring in a net.
Elspeth lay gasping, her chest rising and falling unevenly as she came back to herself from that shining place. Then she turned her head to look at him with such a trusting smile, Rob cringed inside.
A man who pleasured one woman while another flitted through his mind didn’t deserve that kind of trust.
She reached up a hand to palm his cheek.
“I never dreamed.”
He removed his hand from between her legs and smoothed down her skirt. Even though he ached to show her more, to finish their coupling and see if they could find that place where souls mingled, he was done. His cock tried to fight him, but his will held firm.
I never dreamed, she says.
Fiona hadn’t visited his dreams since he met Elspeth. He wondered if she ever would again.
***
“Almost, my lord,” Calum said, shielding his eyes against the glare of the loch. The crossbow bolt skipped over the waves and sank. The line attached to it floated for a bit before following the bolt down. If they couldn’t shoot an arrow into the yew tree on the far side of the loch, they’d never be able to rig a makeshift ferry to catch Mad Rob when he sailed back by. “Only shy by a few bow lengths. Still, a crossbow wasna meant for distance.”
Lachlan Drummond pressed his lips together in frustration as he signaled for Calum to pull the bolt back. Thanks to the attached
line, at least he hadn’t lost any yet. “Ye have something against a crossbow?”
“I’ve heard my lord say they aren’t sporting, not when a bolt can slice through a man’s shield like it was butter.”
“If a man goes into battle, he ought to go to win. If he’s not canny enough to carry the most lethal weapon, he deserves to lose,” Lachlan said. He’d heard more than one man complain that a crossbow didn’t require the skill or strength of a longbow. The wicked wounds a crossbow left were enough to make it Lachlan’s weapon of choice. “A crossbow carries the day more often than not.”
Drummond reloaded his bow and shot another bolt. With the same result.
“Pity we’re no’ in battle, then,” Calum said.
“Do ye think ye can do better?”
“I dinna know, but I could try.” The Stewart’s retainer ran to fetch his longbow.
Drummond and his party had moved from the shore where they last spotted Elspeth and her captor to the rocky point jutting out into Loch Eireann. The body of water was narrow to begin with. From that jutting spit of land, it was no broader than a goodly sized river.
“If we can shoot an arrow with a line attached to it across the loch,” Calum had explained, “we can let the line rest below the water level and then pull it taut when the MacLaren comes sailing back by. If we clear the prow instead of sliding under the hull, the line will catch on the mast, and it ought to stop him dead in the water.”
“And then what?” Drummond demanded. “Lord Stewart doesn’t want us to shoot at him.”
“Aye, and he’s right. We might hit Lady Elspeth accidently,” Calum said. “Instead, we’ll build a raft and use the line to ferry ourselves out and board the boat.”
The Stewart’s man had all the answers, it seemed. So while Alistair Stewart and Drummond’s servant dismantled a henhouse for lumber to make a raft—and roasted a pair of chickens over a fire—Lachlan and Calum were trying to secure a line across the water.
Calum sucked in a deep breath, drew back his longbow till his knuckles grazed his ear. Then he pointed the arrow tip at the sky. He released the shaft with a twang of the string, along with his pent-up breath.
