by Sabrina York
He kept at her, working her, worshiping her until she was boneless and replete. Only then did he work his way back up to capture her lips again. He eased his tongue into her mouth. At the same time, he entered her with his rigid cock.
And he fucked her.
He fucked her slowly and gently at first, as though she were made of spun sugar. But then when his passion reached its zenith, when his cock swelled inside her and his moans became feral grunts, when his desperation was near a keening edge, he fucked her hard. And fast. Filling her with one deep exquisite plunge after another. Driving her, taking her, commanding her higher and higher and higher until, like those birds, she flew.
And flew.
And flew.
They made love several more times during the night. Each encounter more desperate than the last. By the time dawn stretched over the horizon, Violet was utterly exhausted and totally replete.
No, perhaps he didn’t love her. But he wanted her.
And that would have to be enough.
For now.
Chapter Thirteen
Ewan grimaced when he awoke. The sun was high in the sky. He hadn’t intended to sleep in. Today would be his last day with Violet and he didn’t want to waste a minute. He had no idea why Jessie hadn’t already scratched on his door with his breakfast.
He leaned up on his elbow and gazed down at her. She snuffled a snore. His heart hitched.
Poor thing. He’d exhausted her.
He hadn’t intended to make love to her all night. But every time they finished and he held her cradled in his embrace, he would remember Moncrieff was coming for her soon, and panic would claw at Ewan’s gut. And before he knew it, they were at it once more.
He couldn’t resist.
He was ready for her.
Her belly growled and he frowned. If he was going to be a gentleman, he shouldn’t fuck her again—at least not until he’d gotten her some sustenance. He decided to run down to the kitchen and order a tray. Then he would return here and—and have her. Hold her. Kiss her again.
To his chagrin, Kaitlin MacAllister was on her way up the spiral staircase as he made his way down buttoning his shirt. “What the hell are you doing here?” he sputtered. “I told you to stay in your room.”
She tipped up a defiant chin. Lord, she was pretty. She just wasn’t… She just wasn’t. “I am going to see Violet.”
He blanched. “You most certainly are not.”
Kaitlin narrowed her eyes. “I must know she is all right.”
“She’s fine.”
“Wonderful. Let me see her.”
He opened his mouth to respond but she didn’t give him a chance.
“Let me see her now.” She fixed him with a mutinous glare and snapped, “Consider it a wedding present.”
Clearly she was as delighted at the prospect of marrying him as he was at the thought of waking up to spend every day of the rest of his life with her. With a dark glower he turned around and started back up the stairs. “You really are a harpy, you know.”
“The worst sort. We shall be so happy together.”
He snorted.
“I can’t believe you’re keeping her in the tower,” she muttered.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder. “She’s safer here. The men would never—” He broke off, recalling to whom he was talking. “She’s tried to escape. It’s either the tower or the dungeons, and the dungeons are in terrible shape.”
“Unlike the great hall?”
He snorted again. Yes. All right. The great hall could use a little work. A lot of work. But his boys wouldn’t be doing it. They’d made it more than clear yesterday. He’d suffered hours of their complaints about her incessant demands, their outrage at being forced to clean like washerwomen.
“Will we always live here?” There was a petulant thread in her tone. And a hint of dread.
He stopped, stock still, at her question. Something cold wedged in his throat. The thought of spending his life with a woman who was not Violet made him ill. But he couldn’t tell her that. He shrugged and muttered, “I have a house in Perth.”
“Is it as charming as this? And will your men all live with us? Because they are charming as well.”
Glory. She was a shrew. “No. They are only here to—why am I explaining myself to you?”
“Because I’m to be your bride?” Sarcasm dripped from the words.
His fisted his hands on his hips. “Are you always this difficult?”
She offered a toothy smile. “Didn’t Callum warn you?”
He blew out a breath and continued up the stairs. He stopped on the landing and pinned her with an imposing glare. “Wait here,” he snapped, then entered the solar, closing the door behind him.
On tiptoe, he approached the bed and poked his head through the curtains. “Violet,” he whispered. “You must wake up.”
She snuffled and stirred. “Hmm?” A drowsy murmur.
He chook her gently. “Violet. Wake up.”
She pushed him away. “Ewan. Not yet. I’m sleepy.”
“Come on, get dressed. Someone’s here to see you.”
“What?”
Ewan nearly leapt out of his skin when a sharp voice, directly behind him, boomed, “He said someone’s here to see you.”
He whipped around and glowered at Kaitlin. “I told you to wait outside!”
She smirked. “I’m disobedient.”
Fury curled in his gut. “Why I ought to—”
“What? Beat me?”
He frowned. “I don’t beat women. Where did you get the idea I beat women?”
“You’re a villain.”
“I don’t beat women—”
“Kaitlin?” Ah, hell. Violet thrust her head out between the curtains, her eyes wide. “Oh, Kaitlin! Is that you?” She emerged from the bed, wrapping a blanket around her body, and flew across the solar to fold Kaitlin in a hug.
“Darling. You look—” Kaitlin’s gaze raked Violet. She paled. “Are you naked?” She fixed him with a scorching frown. “Is she naked? Why is she naked?”
Because he’d fucked her. All night long. Again and again and again.
He glared at her and didn’t respond.
“Darling,” Violet sighed. It annoyed Ewan that she wasn’t talking to him in that tone. “It’s so good to see you. But what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in London.”
Kaitlin tipped her chin up a notch. Ewan could see she was struggling to be brave. “I came to rescue you.”
Sadness swept over Violet’s face. It made his heart ache. She put her palm to her friend’s cheek. “You really shouldn’t have come. Now you will have to marry him.”
He didn’t like the way she said it. Not at all. He cleared the annoyance from his throat. “I’m standing right here.”
They ignored him.
“I had to come,” Kaitlin gushed. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being held in his evil clutches because of me.”
Annoyance curled into irritation. “I’m in the room.”
“I know, but darling, how can I ever bear it? Knowing you gave up your freedom for mine? That you surely face a fate worse than death…”
A fate worse than death? What manner of melodrama was this? It was exactly why he’d kept the two of them apart. “I can hear you!” he bellowed.
They turned to him and Kaitlin frowned, pinning him with a glower that made him wriggle like a worm on a hook. “Why is Violet naked?”
Well hell. He could hardly tell her the truth. “To keep her from escaping.” Not the best of his reasons but certainly one of them.
Her brow thundered. “You are a brute,” she spat. “An absolute beast. And you want me to marry you?”
No. No! His soul howled. He did not!
Her face twisted into a peevish mien. “I swear to God in heaven above. I shall make your life a living, breathing hell.”
Of that, he had no doubt.
He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t. Could
n’t find the words. A scratch on the door saved him from answering.
“What?” he yelled.
“Sir, there are visitors.”
“Stinking hell. More visitors?” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “This place was supposed to be remote.” He stomped to the window and peered out. Acid churned in his gut. A fancy carriage with a crest emblazoned on the door was parked by the pier on the far side of the river, surrounded by a milling herd of people. The skiff bobbed on the river, halfway to the island. His visitors from the day before were aboard. The Duke of Moncrieff, it seemed, didn’t waste any time.
“Fuck.”
It was over. Done. He’d made love to her for the final time.
He hated the sinking desolation assailing him.
“What is it, Ewan?” Violet asked.
He shot a glance over his shoulder, staring at his Violet one last time. One desperate lingering look. “Your cousin, the duke, I presume,” he said. “He’s brought a battalion.”
* * * * *
He left the women in the solar—this took much longer than it should have, as between the two of them they battered him with questions and demands—and though he locked them in, a prickle of discomfort ravaged his neck. He hated to leave them alone. Together.
Who knew what stories they would share?
He thundered down the stairs to find his visitors assembled in the hall. He raked the room with a glower. His men were nowhere to be seen. He didn’t fancy having this meeting with no backup.
“Pippin!” he bellowed. “Where are my men?”
The boy shrugged. “They all left.”
“They left?”
“Said they’d had enough of her. Went to town to drink in peace.”
“Hell.”
“McCloud,” Edward boomed. “We’ve come for Violet.”
“Where is she?” Ned stepped forward, bristling for a fight. His fists opened and closed belligerently.
Edward sighed. “Please, Ned. Let me handle this. The McCloud is a reasonable man.” He shot Ewan a speaking glance. “I trust you considered my offer.”
Ewan’s gaze flitted over the boy. “We could discuss this in private.”
“In private?”
“These are sensitive matters.”
Edward studied him in silence and then nodded. “Fine.” He turned to Transom and Ned. “Wait here. And don’t interrupt.” This last bit was directed at Ned.
Ewan led the way to the plank table by the hearth and they sat, facing each other.
As he sat, Edward said, “Well? Did you consider my offer?”
“I did. It was very generous. Trouble is…” He dropped his voice. “I can’t give them both up.”
The duke glowered at him. “It’s a damn lot of money.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a sister, you know.”
“I did not.”
“Everything I’ve ever done—the good and the not so good—has been for Sophia. I’ve built my fortune but it’s still not enough for entrée. And she deserves a season.”
Edward blinked. “You want me to arrange a season for your sister?”
“If you take away my highborn bride? I must insist on it.” Ewan firmed his chin, and his resolve. This was the perfect solution. Well, nearly perfect. It would give Sophia the season she needed—and he would be able to see Violet on occasion. Perhaps have a chance to convince her he wasn’t as vile as she thought he was. “It is the only way I can assure her the chance at a decent husband.
To his relief, Edward nodded. “Agreed.”
“Excellent. She will stay with you. I will take a house in London nearby. I assume you have an adequate chaperone?” Even he—with his poor education of manners and standards of the haute ton—knew that was a necessity.
Edward nodded, a resigned expression on his face. “My aunt. She’s a battle-ax. And the boys will be there as well.”
“The boys?”
“Violet’s brothers. They all live with me.”
Ewan blinked. He knew she had two brothers—Ned and Malcolm. Were there more? “How many are there?”
“Six.” Edward winced when he said it.
“Six?” Old Horace had been a busy bugger since Ewan had left Browning.
“It’s quite a full house.”
“That will be fine then. We shall arrive next month.”
Edward nodded. “And the money I owe you?”
Ewan leaned forward, intensity thrumming from him. “If you do this for my sister, I will call us even.” The both stood, then, and shook hands.
A bustle at the top of the stairs captured their attention. Ewan swung around to see both Violet and Kaitlin rushing down. Violet was wearing Kaitlin’s dress and Kaitlin was wrapped in a blanket and—good God!—was she wearing his shirt? It hit her at her knees. Her legs were bare.
Annoyance roiled. How the fuck had they gotten out? “What the hell?” he snapped. “I thought I locked you in the tower.”
Edward spun on him. A growl emanated from the depth of his being. Without warning, he planted his fist squarely in Ewan’s face.
And everything went black.
When he came to, they were gone.
All of them.
A chasm opened up in his soul.
Chapter Fourteen
Violet stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed desultorily as Mary coiled her hair on top her head. Honestly, why she had to go to all this trouble for dinner with her family was beyond her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed—where she’d been when Mary arrived—and resume her gloom.
Not that she enjoyed melancholy. It just seemed all she had energy for anymore. Since she’d returned from Scotland, she was exhausted beyond words. And whenever she thought of Ewan, she burst into tears. Not that she thought of him. She did not.
Not if she could help it.
Kaitlin, who had always been able to coax her from a dark mood, had been no help whatsoever. She and Edward—who had astonishingly been married in a quick ceremony before they left Dundee—had been sequestered in the ducal apartments; but for the odd meal, they hadn’t been seen in weeks.
Even Violet’s joy at being in the bosom of her family had palled quickly. It was as though there was a great gaping hole in her heart and nothing could soothe it.
And this—this trial of preparing for hours for a dinner that would not last half as long—seemed absurd. She longed for a simple plate in her rooms, a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. A conversation with a large, laughing man whose eyes crinkled when he smiled—
Bother. There she went again.
She was not thinking of him.
She wasn’t.
“All finished, miss.”
Violet scanned her reflection. All she noticed were the dark circles beneath her eyes and the pallid complexion. She looked like a fishwife. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to keep her.
The gong sounded and Violet sighed again. She would make it through this meal. She would put food in her mouth when she was supposed to and smile when she should. She would make efforts at conversation. And when it was over, she could return to her room and crawl into her bed and wallow there.
The boys were assembled in the drawing room, chattering away and engaged in a variety of pursuits that would once have made her laugh. They greeted her with a series of calls. She nodded to them and then to Edward, because he was there as well. Oh. And Hortense.
She tried not to notice her aunt’s sharp perusal.
“Shall we go in?” Edward asked, taking Hortense’s arm.
“Isn’t Kaitlin joining us?” Hortense asked. The duke and his new bride had been inseparable since the wedding.
Edward grinned. “She’s not feeling well.”
Hortense snorted. “And that pleases you?” Edward nibbled on his grin and didn’t respond, which made Hortense’s rheumy eyes widen, her chins quiver. She patted his hand. “Good show.” She waved
her cane and warbled in a strident tone, “Come along, lads. I’m starving.”
They took their seats around the table and the footmen began serving the soup. Violet tried to eat it but couldn’t get much down. It tasted off. As did the next course. And the next. She did find an appetite for the pickled plums, served as a counterpoint to the beef, and scooped them all onto her plate, much to Malcolm’s chagrin.
To the conversation flowing around her, she paid no mind. Not until she heard the word McCloud. Her heart stalled and then began to pound. Her chin snapped up. She found her gaze snared in Edward’s and she didn’t care for the emotion she saw there. It was too close to pity for her liking.
“Hard to believe,” Ned was saying, a sneer on his handsome face, “that a man could have such gall.” Violet glared at her brother but he didn’t notice. “You should have had him hanged, Edward. Really. You should have.”
The blood in her veins chilled.
“Or transported him,” Malcolm chimed in.
Edward set down his fork and took a sip of wine. “They don’t do that anymore.”
“You could have done it,” Tay offered. “You could do anything.”
“Surely not anything,” Edward said with a smile.
“What happens to a man to make him into a brute like that?” Ned asked.
Malcolm nodded. “Surely he wasn’t born such an ogre.”
“He’s not an ogre.” Violet didn’t know from where she found her voice, or how it came to ring so clearly. But she couldn’t stay silent. Eight heads snapped up. Eight pairs of nearly identical eyes fixed on her, gaping as though she had sprouted horns and a tail.
“Violet! He kidnapped you!”
She put out a lip. “He did not. Callum MacAllister kidnapped me.”
“That’s true,” Hortense waved her spoon. “I was there.”
Ned ignored this pertinent fact. “But he held you prisoner.”
“Beat you.”
“Tortured you.” Oh dear. But then, Hamish was the melodramatic one.
“He did not beat me. He most certainly did not torture me. He was… He was… Oh bother!” Tears welled, despite her attempts to hold them back. “You don’t know anything.”
