by Julia London
But Cailean pushed her hands away and gathered her up in his arms once he’d freed her from the corset. He picked her up, put her on her back on the bed and put himself on top of her. He kissed her mouth ravenously, then the hollow of her throat, fluttering his kisses there. He moved to her collarbone and down. Daisy soundlessly cried out when he took her breast in his mouth. He held her hand pinned to the bed, as if he feared she would disappear as he suckled her breasts, kissed her skin, touched his tongue to her nipples.
His touch unleashed a monstrous storm of yearning in her, and Daisy was lost in the maelstrom. She clutched at him, caressed him, freely explored his rugged, almost rocklike body as he shrugged out of his shirt.
He tossed his shirt aside and kissed her breast again, murmuring something about her galloping heart. She began to pant on a white-hot river of anticipation that ran down her spine, then spilled between her legs. When Cailean pressed his erection against her leg, she cupped his face, rising up to kiss him.
“What have you done to me?” he asked gruffly. “I donna ken myself.”
Daisy pushed a lock of dark hair from his brow and stared into his eyes. This was different. This was unique and exotic, and there was something flowing between them and seeping into their skin and filling the space around them, wrapping them in its cocoon.
He groaned, kissed her tenderly, then latched two fingers into the strap of her chemise and pulled it over her shoulder, sliding it down her arm, until the garment was gone and she was bare. He removed his plaid and hovered above her, powerful and thick. Daisy closed her eyes and pressed against him, teasing his lips with the tip of her tongue. He slipped his hand into the soft, warm flesh between her legs, and Daisy whimpered with unapologetic desire. She was ready for this moment; she’d imagined it since their first meeting.
Cailean was patient and deliberate, stroking her slowly as he kissed her face and neck. She sank into the moment, gave in to the sensation of his touch, to the feel of his body against hers. She gave in to her heart, beating so wildly in response to him. She gave in, she capitulated and finally she surrendered.
She closed her eyes and bit down on her lip as he began to stroke her, his fingers sliding over the wave of pleasure that was building, gathering itself from every corner of her body, swelling and nearing the point of bursting. She kissed him, tried frantically to memorize every plane of his body. He was intoxicatingly robust—beneath her fingertips she could feel the nicks and scars of his life, which made her want him even more.
She sank her fingers into the flesh of his arms, pressed her knee against him as he swirled his fingers around the core of her pleasure, sliding deep inside her, moving faster. He anchored her with one arm around her, his eyes on her face, watching her succumb to his touch and to the pleasure he was giving her.
“Now, Cailean,” she said, her voice ragged with passion and emotion. With a deep growl of approval, Cailean moved between her legs and pushed into her, filling her up.
Daisy was instantly transported. It was so exquisite that it was nearly unbearable. She moved with him and against him, urging him to abandon. Their eyes were locked on each other, a powerful current of mutual desire between them, each silently daring the other to crest the wave first, until Daisy shattered.
With a strangled cry, Cailean yanked free of her, spilling his seed on her thigh.
Daisy slowly floated back to earth. She threw an arm over her eyes and fought for breath. She could feel the heat coming off Cailean, could feel his heart pounding against his breast. He slowly fell onto his side beside her and laced his fingers with hers. “Are you still cross, then?” he asked raggedly.
Daisy smiled. She rolled onto her side, cupped his face and kissed him on the mouth. Her heart exalted in the sensation of having been freed of the prison of her desires after all these years.
“I will take that as a no, then,” he said. He kissed her cheek, her forehead and her mouth before gathering her in his arms and holding her to him.
An intangible bond, warm and shimmering, formed around them and seeped into Daisy’s bones. Her blood still flowed hot in her veins, and she wanted to remain like this forever. She wanted to keep the two of them in this bed, with the rest of the world held behind an invisible dam. She wanted to be with him, only him. She loved him. Oh, but she loved him. She realized that this was what true love felt like, heavy and fluid, wrapping itself around them, holding them together, enveloping them in this moment. No one could touch them here.
They lay that way for a while as the storm raged outside and flashes of lightning lit the room. It was odd how the the storm seemed close to them and yet so far. They were safe here, with each other.
Cailean stroked her hair, twined it through his fingers as he made her laugh with observations of her dancing. They talked about their childhoods. Their favorite pets. Their horses. Their tutors. Their sorrows, their joys.
They made love again when Daisy climbed on top of him. They moved slowly as they explored the suddenly verdant landscape between them.
Daisy didn’t know when she fell asleep in his arms, but she was awakened in the dark by the movement of someone in the room. She sat up, propping herself on her elbows and blinking into the dark. “Cailean?”
“I’m here,” he said low. The bed sank to one side with his weight. He touched her face and smiled tenderly. “I must go, aye? The servants will be moving about soon.”
“Don’t go,” Daisy said sleepily and reached for him. Cailean hugged her to his chest; she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her head filling with his masculine scent. She closed her eyes, wanting to relive every moment.
“Och, but you make it hard to take my leave, leannan,” her murmured against her hair. He kissed her mouth and stood up, pushing his arms into his coat.
She sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees. “When will I see you?” she asked. She had a sudden, girlish image of the two of them, riding horses in flower-strewn meadows with the sun shining overhead...but her little fantasy disappeared when she saw Cailean run his hands over his hair and then hesitantly turn toward her. He didn’t speak immediately...but he didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all—sorrow. Regret. Apprehension.
The feeling of sweet warmth Daisy had felt all night disappeared under a wave of disappointment. She said nothing. Let him say it. Let him say he’d given her what she wanted and there could be no more.
“Naugh’ has changed, aye? You donna believe that I...that we—”
“Good God, Arrandale, did you think I expected you on one knee offering for me?” she asked irritably and drew her knees tighter to her.
He put his hands on his waist and gazed down at her. “I am fond of you, aye? You know that I am, leannan. But you will take your leave of Scotland and I will...” He paused, seeming to look for the right word.
“Sail off and smuggle wine?” she asked coldly.
He winced slightly, as if that pained him. “Aye,” he said.
She responded with silence.
“I’ll always be your friend, Daisy. If you are again in Scotland—”
“I won’t be,” she said curtly. He thought he could make love to her like he had and then continue on as a friendly neighbor?
But what had she expected? She was the one who had initiated this affair. She was the one who had all but begged for physical release, and now she would take offense once he’d given it to her? She hated herself for hoping for something different. She was no blushing debutante; she knew the rules of this game. So why, then, did it feel so wretchedly heartbreaking?
“I rather thought we understood each other,” he said quietly.
“I understand very clearly, Cailean,” she said. “But I had hoped I was wrong.”
He sighed sadly. He moved back to the bed and leaned over it to kiss her, but, like a spoiled child, Daisy turned her head.
She could feel the tears of humiliation burning in her eyes. She was a fool, an utter fool. Of course she hadn’t thought she’d marry him. But she’d thought...she’d thought—
“Leannan—”
She leaned away from him. “Cailean... I understand. Will you please go?”
He didn’t move immediately, but Daisy refused to look at him. She couldn’t look at him, for fear of breaking into sobs that welled from a place so deep in her that it felt almost foreign to her. A dam had burst somewhere, and at this moment, with the feel of his hands and his mouth still fresh on her skin, she couldn’t see him, couldn’t staunch the flow of ugly, bitter disappointment. And loss. She was losing him, losing herself. She was losing everything. Her freedom. Her garden. Her heart. Everything was lost.
She heard the door open, then quietly close. She held her breath—was he gone? Should she call him back? She looked to the door—he had left her. Daisy groaned and fell back into the pillows, ashamed of the way she’d treated him and irrationally infuriated with him at the same time. It made no sense, not even to her.
Daisy got up, found her chemise and donned it. She picked up the room without thought, as reality began to seep back into her head like black smoke, curling in around the joy she’d felt during the night and suffocating the life from it.
She wanted gone from Balhaire. Gone from Scotland. Gone from him, that beautiful, exasperating, sinful man. Whatever she’d been seeking when she’d dragged her family here, she had not found it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CAILEAN MADE HIS way up from the meadow of the feill and to the great hall at Balhaire, taking his place on the dais along with his family for the midday meal. He sat next to Vivienne, who was in extreme discomfort, squirming in her seat as her husband tried to make her more comfortable.
“What’s wrong?” Cailean asked, frowning with concern.
“What’s wrong? This child will no’ be born, that’s what,” Vivienne said irritably.
Cailean glanced at her husband, Marcas, over the top of her dark head; Marcas shook his head in silent warning.
“Cailean!”
He turned from his sister’s discomfort to his mother, who stood above him, frowning down at him.
“Feasgar math, Màthair,” he said, coming to his feet.
“Yes, yes, good afternoon,” she said impatiently. “Why were you not here to send off Lady Chatwick?”
Gone? He hadn’t expected her to leave so soon. “She’s gone?”
“Yes, darling, she’s gone, all of them back to Auchenard.”
“But the feill continues on today. I’d assumed they’d remain for it.” He’d assumed there would be opportunity to...to soothe ruffled feathers. Or perhaps...
His mother’s look of exasperation softened. “Well. Perhaps you might call on her when you return to Arrandale. You can explain that you were occupied when she left.”
“I donna know if that’s wise,” he said.
“Of course it is. Someone needs to have a look about. We don’t want the captain wandering about unattended, do we?”
“What lass occupied you?” Rabbie asked, playfully grabbing Cailean’s shoulders and leaning around him to waggle his brows at him. “Aileen Ramsey, aye? Everyone is talking about the kiss, lad.”
Cailean shrugged Rabbie off his back.
“Aye, all right. Where you’ve been, then?” Rabbie asked.
“What does it matter?” Cailean asked gruffly. Why did they have to question him at all? Wasn’t a man of his age and stature in this clan allowed a morning to himself? He did not need to explain to his overly curious family that he’d gone down to the meadow early this morning before people were milling about, and had thrown his dirk at a target, over and over and over again, trying to rid himself of the impotence in his heart. He could not be what she wanted; it was that simple. He could not be what she wanted.
After his dirk had chewed up the wood of the target, Cailean had drunk a tankard of ale. Or two. Or three or four.
“We’d no’ wonder at all if you didna answer in that manner,” Vivienne said. “Why will you no’ say?”
“I was in the games meadow,” he said. “I had a wee bit of ale, aye?”
His brother and sister laughed.
He’d needed the morning, had needed the space to think. Cailean was at sixes and sevens, bewildered and angry with himself for the way he’d left things with Daisy, for letting things progress so far with that barmy little flower. Diah, but his response to her had been quick—he had, for years, been quick to put up a defense against women, erecting a barrier so high that no one could possibly misconstrue his intentions. There was never affection, never any hope of it; he made certain of that. But Daisy was different. Daisy had managed to break through that barrier, and there was affection.
Deep affection.
And then he’d seen her crestfallen face and how his words had wounded her, and he’d abhorred himself for it.
Now he didn’t know what to do with himself. She was gone. He couldn’t explain to her that he was only now coming to grips with the idea that he actually felt something, after fifteen long years. Or that no matter what he was feeling, there was naught he could do for it. She had Ellis to think of. The lad was an English viscount, and he needed to be brought up in England. Even in a perfect world, he could never have Daisy—he was a smuggler. A Highlander. A firstborn son of a clan that needed him here. Not to mention he would be six and thirty soon, and the laird of Balhaire in a matter of months. His time for love sonnets and courtships and the promise of a married life with children had passed long ago.
It wasn’t necessary to say these things to Daisy. She was brilliant and amusing and full of wants and desires. She knew what she wanted. And she knew what she had to do. In fairness, she hadn’t been asking for the obligation he now felt. She’d simply asked to see him again.
* * *
CAILEAN RETURNED TO Arrandale the next day with three Highland guards and a gift he’d purchased for the Chatwick lad.
The guards took turns watching Arrandale and Auchenard from the hills for any sign of espionage from Spivey. But after a day or two, his men reported that Spivey seemed to do nothing but loiter there.
Cailean didn’t ask about anyone else.
After several days of watching, Cailean sent the guards back to Balhaire and proceeded to putter about the rambling house he’d built. The work was near to done; the head mason had assured him they’d be done at month’s end. One wing had been completed, and Cailean began to furnish the rooms with the things he’d stored this summer. When he wasn’t working on his house, he and Fabienne fished and hunted for small game. It was life as he knew it, as familiar to him as the stubble on his chin. But the days were growing shorter and the nights longer, and at night, where Cailean might have once read, he brooded.
It kept coming back to him like a bad stomach—he should not have left things with Daisy like he had. He owed her an apology at the very least. An explanation at best.
One morning, he wasn’t completely dressed when he heard voices on the front lawn. He pulled on a pair of buckskins beneath his lawn shirt, picked up his musket and, barefoot, walked outside, half expecting to see troops on his lawn. He set the musket aside, however, when he saw Catriona and Rabbie along with some of the Mackenzie guards, their horses prancing impatiently around his lawn.
“It’s a wee bit early for social calls, is it no’?” Cailean asked.
“Have you finished the work?” Catriona asked, hopping down off her horse.
“No.”
“It looks finished,” she said, ignoring him, removing her gloves as walked past him, uninvited, into his house. “You must invite us all!” she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the interior.
“Why are you here?” Cailean asked Rabbie as he c
ame down from his mount.
“My mother has sent me, aye?” he said and winked as he followed Catriona inside. “We’re to look in on you and report if you are dead or alive, aye?” He glanced back at Cailean with a grin. “Which is it, then? Dead? Or alive?”
That was an excellent question. Cailean waved to the guards, then followed his siblings into his house.
Catriona was in the salon, looking up at the plasterwork. “When will it be finished?”
“A fortnight. Perhaps a month.”
Fabienne had been asleep near the hearth, and now she stretched her lanky legs before trotting over to dip her head beneath Catriona’s hand. Catriona cooed to the dog, then said, “We’ve heard an English man-of-war was seen near Tiree.”
“Pardon?” Cailean asked, startled by that bit of news.
Catriona turned around to face him. “You’ve no’ heard?”
Cailean’s heart hitched—what was a man-of-war doing so far north on the eastern coastline? “No,” he said and signaled for his dog, squatting down to hide his despair behind scratching her ears. “Who has seen it?”
“The MacDonalds,” Rabbie said. “They claim to have chased it away with their mighty fleet of three.” He snorted. “Whatever might have happened, the ship came no farther north and turned about, headed south. Athair believes it’s the English captain’s doing.”
Cailean mulled that over a moment. He didn’t see how that was possible. Spivey didn’t know what he’d find when he came here. He couldn’t have possibly sent word back so quickly. Even if he had, an English man-of-war was not something one could dispatch with ease. “They’ll no’ find the cove,” he said.
