Brigand

by Sabrina York

  She nestled back against him and he tightened his embrace, mumbling something in his sleep. Her bottom nudged the crux of his thighs, the thick wedge rising there. Desire—and a touch of mischief—flickered through her. She undulated her hips, just a bit, and the wedge twitched.

  A sense of power, elation danced in her veins.

  He wanted her.

  Even in his sleep, he wanted her.

  Gently, she turned in his arms and laid her head on the pillow so she could gaze at his handsome face. She loved every line. Yes, he was sometimes surly and often mulish. He could bellow and yell and glower like the dickens. And he was a brigand. He’d locked her in the dungeon and treated her like a servant.

  She didn’t care.

  She should care.

  One day this would all be over. Kaitlin would relent and return, or Ned and Malcolm, or Edward, would find her. One day she would return to her family.

  They would pressure her to wed. Some prancing lord.

  A man like Ewan was not in her future. He couldn’t be.

  Unless she walked away from her family—and she simply could not—she would, at some point, have to say goodbye to him. To this.

  Her heart ached at the thought but she couldn’t see any way it could be different. The world was what it was. Ladies of the haute ton did not wed Scottish criminals.

  He snuffled and grumbled. His brow lowered in his sleep like a petulant boy’s. Her heart skittered, melted. Unable to resist, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his bristly chin. Then laved him. Made her way along the underside of his jaw to his neck.

  The skin there was fragrant, infused with his scent, his essence.

  When he had nested in the crook of her neck last night, she had been stunned by the pleasure his working lips evoked. She’d never known those spots to be so sensitive. She wondered if he would feel the same wonderment, the same bliss if she nuzzled him there—

  He stiffened. Sucked in a great breath and let it out in a groan.

  Violet smiled to herself and doubled her efforts. He did like it.

  And he was awake.

  She let her hand drift over his chest, playing with the line of his scar, making her way to his nipple. She scraped it with a nail. He flinched but didn’t pull away. So she did it again.

  “Violet.” A harsh rasp.

  She ignored him, let her kisses trail down over the wiry hairs on his chest. And she captured the nipple with her lips. And sucked. His muscles locked. Every fiber of his being hummed. A groan wrenched from his throat.

  Oh. She liked this. She enjoyed plying him with pleasure. Teasing his passion.

  He did not allow her to tease him for long.

  When her questing touch drifted to that fascinating spike, when she fisted his length and stroked, marveling at how it could be hard and oh so soft at the same time, he caught her wrist in a gentle cuff.

  “Darling,” he murmured. “Much more of that will unman me.”

  She laughed up into his eyes. “I’d like to unman you.”

  “I’m sure you would. However…” He tipped her onto her back and levered over her, wedging himself between her thighs. He raised up onto his knees, spreading her legs farther. “I have a need for my spear and would prefer it unbroken.”

  She hissed in a breath as he entered her. As delicious as it had been last night, this morning it was better. Last night there had been a sting before the pleasure. Now there was only delight.

  He went slowly, filling her with an unrelenting advance, then he eased out, leaving a void. She tried to be patient, really she did. But when he didn’t fill her again as quickly as she would have liked, she planted her feet on the bed and thrust up at him.

  He chuckled. “Greedy girl.”

  “I am,” she said on a sigh. “I am greedy.”

  He gave her what she wanted, hard and deep. He nudged some arcane magic deep within her, a place that made her nerve endings explode, made her shatter into a thousand glittering fragments. And then he did it again. And again, making her mindless, thoughtless, helpless. Lost to anything and everything but the exhilaration pounding in her blood.

  He captured a nipple with his lips, as he had the night before. And sucked. Shards of agony, an exquisite twinge, shot through her.

  “Yes, oh yes.” She held his head just so, commanding him. When he tried to move away, to find the other breast, she tightened her fingers.

  His murmur rumbled through her.

  “What?” She blinked.

  He hissed, “You’re so tight.”

  She realized she’d been clutching at him there, as well, in a mad attempt to hold him in, in her, forever. She forced her muscles to release and was rewarded by another magnificent thrust and another. And then she stopped counting. His movements became quicker, harder. He pounded into her in fast, frantic thrusts, creating ripple upon ripple of pleasure in her womb. They expanded, like ripples in a pond, to engulf her. He stared down at her as he moved, his lips slightly parted, his eyes glazed. Wonderment scored every line of his face.

  As he neared his crisis, as the vein in his neck became pronounced, and his face turned red as he forgot to breathe, and a sheen of sweat arose on his skin, she clutched him again. This time deliberately. Timed her internal flutters in concert with his maddened plunges.

  His nostrils flared. Words, garbled, incomprehensible mutterings, spilled from his lips.

  His muscles tightened. He battered her with a series of excruciatingly perfect lunges. One. Then another. And yet another. Each one wild enough, raw enough, fierce enough to send her tumbling over the edge as well.

  He collapsed on top of her, gasping, covering her with a dizzying weight. His body possessed her. His scent surrounded her. His essence infused her.

  She hated when he rolled away, though he took her with him, positioning her on the hard pillow of his chest.

  He captured her head and tugged it down to his. Sealed her mouth with a long, wet kiss. By the time it was over, she was giddy. And her arousal was stirring again.

  “Ah, Violet.” His lips moved to her temple. “That was wonderful.”

  Contentment coiled through her. Satisfaction that she, in her innocence, had been able to please him.

  He’d been someone special to her, her whole life.

  And now she was special to him.

  He thumbed her bruise. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She smiled. Yes, her jaw still ached but the rest of her body ached more and overrode the pain. And the ache of her body was a pleasant one. “No, Ewan.”

  He blew out a laugh. “Because I can’t seem to control myself when I’m with you.”

  “I don’t mind.” She pressed a kiss on his scratchy beard, right on the spot that had started all this.

  He drew her into his arms and cradled her. She nestled her nose in the crook of his neck and drew in his scent. It filled her. Delighted her.

  “Don’t moan like that or I’ll be hard and ready again.”

  “Was I moaning?”

  “You were.” He kissed her brow. “I could stay like this all day.”

  “Me too.” She cuddled closer. She could have. All day. Forever.

  But a scratch at the door intruded on the welling peace.

  Ewan growled low in his throat, muttering a curse she didn’t think she’d ever heard before. He set her gently to the side and wrapped a blanket around his lean hips. She watched him storm to the door, enjoying the sight of his broad, naked back with all those undulating muscles. The scars now had a new meaning.

  He’d earned them—some of them at any rate—for her.

  He opened the door a crack and snapped, “What is it?”

  Violet didn’t hear the murmured response but she recognized Pip’s voice. Whatever the boy said annoyed Ewan. He grunted and slammed the door. He dropped the blanket and started hunting about for his braes. “Colin’s here,” he said.

  She sat up, not bothering to cover herself. Why should she? He’d seen it all
, tasted it all, by now. “Who’s Colin?”

  “My lieutenant. My second-in-command. I have to meet with him.” He pulled on his shirt and turned toward the bed as he worked the buttons. He glanced up and his gaze stalled on her breasts. His fingers froze. His throat worked. He tipped his head to the side and shot her a boyish grin. “You do tempt a man, Violet Wyeth.”

  Heat scudded through her. A blush crept up her cheeks. Not because she was shy but because the look he sent her lit a fire in her belly. She slipped from the bed and made her way to the window, made it a point to swish her hips as she walked. She put her hands over her head and stretched, making sure the view he got was alluring. “Far be it from me to keep you from work.” She shot a mischievous grin over her shoulder.

  He reversed his motion and yanked the shirt off.

  “To hell with work,” he muttered. “Colin can wait.”

  * * * * *

  Colin Blackthorne was waiting, albeit impatiently, in his office when Ewan finally emerged from his solar. But then Colin had never been a patient man.

  Colin had been a soldier, fighting in the war against France. He’d returned to Dundee to find his family murdered and his home burned to the ground. He and Ewan had met when came to petition the McCloud to help him find and punish the men responsible.

  They’d worked together to do just that. Ewan had been so impressed by the man’s sharp wit and strategic mind, he’d tried to hire him. But Colin had resisted. He had no intention of becoming a career criminal. But when Ewan shared his plan to turn his enterprise to legitimate pursuits, Colin had jumped on board.

  Many of their most profitable businesses flourished under his command. And Colin worked hard to make sure the activities stayed on the right side of the law.

  They usually held their weekly meetings in his offices in Perth but since Ewan had moved his household to the Cloud—for the time being—Colin had come here.

  Ewan sat through the report, only half attending the usual update about the mills, the shipping companies and, yes, the occasional gaming hell.

  Gaming hells were fairly profitable concerns. But their true purpose on his slates was to make and strengthen valuable relationships in the ton—the connections he would need when Sophia made her debut. Personally, he despised gambling. Unless it was on business.

  Because of those hells, he now had close personal friends who were barristers and lords. Powerful men owed him money and favors. He held them in abeyance. He would need them soon. The London social season began in January…

  His brow furrowed, his belly clenched at the thought.

  He would be married to Kaitlin by then.

  Violet would be a fading memory.

  He recalled their latest romp and a smile curled his lips. Well, that memory would never fade. It would be difficult letting her go when the time came. He didn’t want to contemplate how difficult.

  But her cousin was a duke. He would surely demand her return—

  His brain seized.

  Her cousin was a duke.

  What if…

  The ridiculous hope died a nasty death. What duke in his right mind—who did not owe him a very large sum of money—would hand over his virginal cousin to a man with Ewan’s reputation? It would hardly matter that his reputation had been very carefully cultivated, that most of the sins attributed to him were bold-faced lies. Reputations were reputations, regardless of the truth behind them.

  That Violet was hardly virginal—anymore—did not signify.

  She was Quality. And despite his wealth, his success in nearly every corner of the market, he was not.

  He was the illegitimate son of a maid. A disgraced maid at that.

  Even if this duke-cousin would allow a union between them, society would not. An association with the notorious Scottish McCloud would only drag Violet’s name and reputation through the mud.

  He would ruin her. More than he already had.

  No. When the time came to let her go, he would. As much as it would curl the edges of his soul, he would.

  “Goddamn it, Ewan. Are you listening?” Colin glowered at him over the account book from which he was reciting.

  “Of course.”

  “The hell you were.” He slammed the book closed. “I don’t know why I bother to try to keep you informed.”

  Ewan sucked his teeth. “Neither do I. You always do well with or without my consent.”

  “Well, we’ve covered enough.” He fixed Ewan with an intent stare. Intent enough to make Ewan fidget.

  “What?”

  “You had me wait quite a while for you.”

  “Sorry.” He wasn’t. Not in the least.

  “I had a chance to chat with the lads.”

  “And?” This wasn’t small talk, not quite. He wished Colin would get to the point. He wanted to finish up this meeting and find Violet. Maybe steal a kiss.

  “This girl? This prisoner you’re holding here?”

  “Yes.” His voice became suddenly clipped.

  “The boys are saying, well…word is you’re fucking her.”

  Ewan glared at Colin. The man was his best friend, his confidant. He didn’t care for the glint in his eye. Or his tone. “Who I’m fucking is my own business.”

  “She’s a lady. Of Quality.”

  She hadn’t been much of a lady this morning, warbling in his ear. Clenching his cock with that tight, warm cunt… He scuttled the thought. She was a lady. She deserved to be treated like one.

  He would. Tonight…

  “They feel, if you’re fucking her, they should be able to as well.”

  His gut seized. The hell! He glared through the open door into the great room. Who was it? Was it Rory? Tavish? Craig? He’d string them up by the apples. Unable to sit still, he pushed back his chair and paced. “This is hardly a democracy,” he snapped. And Ewan St. Andrews McCloud did not fucking share.

  Colin sighed. “I’m just saying, if you want them to keep their distance, you’d better stake a public claim. Let them know she’s off-limits. You know these men. They would follow you into hell. But they’re not exactly gentlemen. If they see her as free game, they’ll take her.”

  Rage sizzled, prickled his skin. “If any one of them touches her, I’ll skin him alive.”

  “Tell them that.” Colin sat back and laced his fingers over his belly and studied Ewan with a steady gaze. “I thought she—what’s her name?”

  “Violet.” Violet. And she was his.

  “I thought this girl was just a means to an end.”

  “She is,” Ewan snapped. He didn’t mean to snap. Hell, he didn’t mean the words. But he was furious. She had been a means to an end at first—nothing more. But that had changed. Last night everything had changed. And he—

  A small, strangled sound at the door captured his attention. He spun around and froze. Violet, with a tray in her hands, stood there rooted in place, staring at him. Her eyes were wide, beautiful, flooded with an emotion he couldn’t bear to define.

  “Y-your breakfast,” she whispered. She made her way into the office, walking stiffly, slowly, as though she had to will her muscles to move.

  Oh, fuck. She’d heard. She’d heard everything. It would be hell talking his way out of this. She set the tray on the table and, without meeting his simmering stare, fled.

  Shit.

  Ewan glared at Colin; he chuckled.

  “Go on,” he said. “You’d better go after her.”

  Raking his hair—though it hardly helped—Ewan did.

  Chapter Nine

  Violet pattered down the steps of the keep to the shore, barely able to focus. Pain stabbed her chest, the spot where her heart had once beat. It was dead now. Shattered by the force of two small words.

  She’d heard those words before. Thousands of times. Such simple words.

  She is.

  This time, this one time, they destroyed her.

  She collapsed at the bottom of the stone stairs and set her palms on her burning cheeks. Gas
ped for air. The weight on her soul was so heavy she could barely breathe.

  “I thought this girl was just a means to an end.”

  “She is.”

  The words rang in her head.

  Oh, how could she have been so foolish? How could she have been so blind?

  She was a means to an end and nothing more.

  His whole reason for bringing her here had been to make her pay for all he’d suffered as a boy. Pretending to love her, seducing her had been his plan all along.

  He was a more sophisticated fiend than she could ever have imagined.

  A sound echoed off the fog and Violet started. She shot a panicked glance up the steps. Was he following her? Oh, she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear to see his expression as he admitted what he’d done and mocked her for falling as hard and fast as she had.

  In fact, she couldn’t bear to look at him ever again.

  She leapt to her feet and ran down the rough pebble beach, out of sight of the watchtower. Her steps stalled as she spotted the small pier.

  A boat—a dinghy—was tied to the pylon, bobbing gently on the wash of the waves. The one Colin had come in, presumably.

  No one had thought to guard it.

  She should get into that boat and flee.

  She ignored the trickle of fear, the snake writhing in her belly at the thought of being on the water. Her gaze flicked over the placid river. It was so deceptive, how peaceful and calm it appeared. She knew it would swallow her like a tasty morsel if she let it.

  She set her chin.

  Well, she wouldn’t let it.

  She could do this. She could row across the Tay to the far side of the shore. She could make her way to Perth—surely it was to the west. She could find someone who would help her get home. Where she would be safe. Where she’d never have to see Ewan McCloud ever again.

  Although the damage was done.

  She would never be the same.

  * * * * *

  “What do you mean, you can’t find her?” He didn’t mean to bellow, but fuck! It was a small island. There were only so many places a girl could hide. When Ewan had gone into the kitchens, where he was certain she had fled, Morna and Jessie had looked up from their baking, surprised at his intrusion. They’d assured him she hadn’t come back.