The Iron Earl

by K. J. Jackson

  Evalyn jumped, spinning around. Juggling a stack of fabric, the maid stood in the hallway staring at her. “I don’t?”

  “No. That way will lead ye to the stairs to the undercrofts. Unless ye want to visit the old dungeon?”

  Evalyn shook her head.

  “Come. I’ll take ye back then.” Her head motioned backward. “It’s this way, m’lady.”

  “Oh, thank you, I could not find my way back without help—Maggie is it?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can I help carry your load?”

  “Aye. I was going up to the bedding chambers with these.” She lifted the pile of fabric—sheets—in her arms and Evalyn took the top half. She looked to the door of the library. “The marquess be done with ye?”

  “He is.” Evalyn glanced back over her shoulder as they walked away. “For now, he is.”

  ~~~

  The bastard was going to go free.

  His feet brutal against the stone floors, Lachlan stormed through the castle, not pausing once as the servants he passed tried to gain his attention.

  His grandfather wanted to see him. He knew that.

  But talking to his grandfather was the last thing he could do in the moment.

  He was liable to choke the old buzzard to death, he was so consumed with fury.

  The bastard was going to go free.

  The trial wasn’t over yet, there was still a chance, but from what he’d witnessed today in court, that bastard from London that killed his brother was going to be set free.

  Not hanged. Not shot. Not beheaded.

  He never should have let Domnall talk him out of killing the bastard when the monster was captured after the fire.

  Lachlan stomped up the south circular staircase, his boots on every step a heavy blow echoing into the bowels of the castle. The two-hour ride back to the castle had done nothing to calm the rage pulsating in every fiber of his being. No. If anything, every step his horse had taken had only heightened the wrath swallowing him whole.

  The only thing that could break through the fury ravaging his body was the sole thought of sinking himself into Evalyn. Of losing himself in her.

  There was only one place he was going. To his room. To his wife.

  Dragging off his coat, cravat and waistcoat, Lachlan charged through the door to his chambers, slamming it shut behind him.

  Evalyn jumped up from the chair by the fireplace, the book in her hand dangling to her side. “Lachlan.”

  Her hair long, let down from the blasted pins that kept it tight to her scalp, the tips of the auburn locks curled down about her breasts, stark against the white of her chemise.

  “Where are your clothes?” Words had to fight their way past the stranglehold of anger about his throat.

  “Lachlan—”

  “You’ve been waiting for me?” His voice a growl, he stalked across the room and grabbed her around the waist, yanking her body hard into his. It knocked the book from her hand, the pages rustling, crumpling as they hit the floor.

  Her dark eyelashes fluttered, confused. “Yes, I—”

  “Good. Because I’m ready for you.”

  Her head snapped back, her forehead furrowing. “Lachlan—the trial—what is wrong?”

  “Nothing.” His hands slid down her body, wrapping around her hips, and he pulled her tight to him, grinding his cock into her belly. “Isn’t this what you were waiting for?”

  “I was waiting for you, yes—”

  “Good.” The growl in his voice deepened and he spun her around, picking her up, his mouth ravaging her neck as he moved them to the foot of the bed.

  Setting her to her feet, he lifted both of her arms and placed her hands onto the left bed post to grip and then he bent, dragging her shift upward. His fingers went to the back of her thigh and he lifted her leg, spreading her, and then draped her calf over the footboard.

  Five buttons on his front fall and he was free. Engorged and raging for her. Without preamble, he harshly slid into her from behind.

  She doubled forward at the invasion, but it didn’t make him pause. The fury speeding his blood still pounded so brutally in his ears that he could barely hear the gurgled gasp from her throat. His left hand clamped over her fingers gripping the bed post while his right hand wrapped tight around her hip, bracing her against his onslaught.

  His face buried deep into her hair, her neck, he slammed into her twice more and he was lost. Lost in her smell. Her body. The taste of her.

  Lost.

  Just as he needed.

  Then he heard it. His name. His name from some far off island.

  “Lachlan.”

  Urgent. Troubled.

  “Lachlan.”

  He froze in mid drive, his face lifting from her hair.

  “Lachlan—this—not like this—I want it, but not like this.” Her breathless voice spun around his head, sinking through the wall of fury into his consciousness.

  Dammit to Hades, he was hurting her.

  He pulled his shaft from her. Stilling.

  She didn’t move.

  Of course she wouldn’t. She would stand there and take whatever he doled out to her. It was all she’d ever known.

  He was a blasted ass.

  But hell, he still needed his cock in her. Needed it against the rage threatening to swallow him whole. Needed it before he did something entirely stupid to the bastard that killed his brother.

  He released her fingers clamped to the bed post and his left hand went to her hip, lifting and spinning her to face him.

  But he couldn’t look at her face. Meet her eyes.

  So he sank. Sank to his knees in front of her. She was still parted to him, her right leg had remained high and draped over the footboard.

  Before she could say a word, he dove forward, tasting the slickness of her, his tongue delving into her folds, swirling. His left hand moved up along her inner thigh, his fingers caressing the delicate skin.

  A gasp, and she leaned back against the footboard.

  His tongue sweeping across her nubbin, stirring it into hardness, Lachlan dragged his fingers inward, slipping one finger, then two into her. She was tight around him, even though his cock had just been in her. He teased her nubbin more, plying her nerves into a frenzy.

  A gargled moan and her hands sank into his hair, clutching the short strands. Her body gave over to him and the leg she stood on began to quiver. He snaked his right arm around it, his hand supporting her backside as he continued the assault on her senses, licking, sucking harder, faster.

  He could feel it under his tongue, the swelling, the explosion that vibrated outward from her core and rolled through her body, curling her forward to coil around his head.

  “Are you ready for me, Eva?”

  A gasp followed by guttural moan, and she forced out the one word. “Yes.”

  Lachlan stood, his lips moving his way up her body, his fingers trailing up her vibrating legs. Lifting her shift upward, he dragged it from her body and tossed it onto the bed. His hands dipped to her breasts, pausing to cup them, rolling her hard nipples in his fingers, and then he slipped his hands under her backside and lifted her, setting her to balance on the fat top rail of the footboard.

  The need to harshly drive into her took a hold of him, but he forced it into submission, sliding into her slowly. Every clench of her body, every roll of sweet agony pulsating through her core he could feel on his shaft. Exquisite.

  Two more gasps, and breathless words escaped her. “You don’t need to slow, Lachlan. Go deep.” She lifted her leg, wrapping her calf around his back and locking her hands around his neck.

  The words awakened the demon he’d tried so hard to control, and he pulled from her for only a heartbeat before plunging back into her, driving the full force of his angst into her body.

  Again and again.

  And all she said was, “Yes.”

  Yes. Over and over.

  His cock stretching, impossibly hard, he could take no more and he san
k into her, the eruption tearing through his body and sending a violent shudder across the masses of his muscles.

  He sank against her, burying his face in her hair, her neck.

  Standing, her body clasped to his, all of the anger that had consumed him—savagely eating him raw all day—dissipated into a thousand wisps of nothingness.

  He stood propped against her balanced on the footboard until he could breathe again, could move his muscles without dropping her and falling to the floor himself.

  Long moments passed, and he lifted his head, moving to see her face as she tilted her chin upward to look at him. “Hell, Eva, I hurt you. I’m sorry.” His eyes searching her face, he dragged his right hand up from the clamp he had on the small of her back to brush his fingers along her cheekbone. “I had…had control…then I didn’t. I didn’t. I lost center—hell, I lost all of me.”

  Her gold-green eyes widened at him. “It hurt and then it didn’t.” Her fingers went upward, diving into the hair at the base of his neck. “After you slowed—I could take all of you after that. But I’m more concerned about why—what happened to put you in such a state?”

  A long breath seethed from him. “The trial—it is a farce. And the anger built into such a raging mess that I was blinded, could barely get my horse turned back to Vinehill. And sinking into you was all I could think about—the only thing that kept me sane on the way home.”

  He paused, swallowing hard as he shook his head. “The thought of disappearing so deeply into you I could lose myself—it was the only defense I had against the rage. And then I came in and you were already in your chemise ready for me—but that was inexcusable—I hurt you and I swore I would never do so. I can only beg your forgiveness.”

  Her eyes squinted slightly as she looked up at him. “I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know what to do with an apology.”

  His eyebrow cocked. “You’ve never received an apology?”

  She shook her head, but the abashed tilt of her chin told him she hadn’t said it for pity—she truly didn’t know what to make of an apology.

  “Hell, Eva.” Fresh anger of an entirely different sort surged through his veins, but he stilled himself against it. He kissed her brow. “You accept an apology and know it’ll never happen again.”

  “And if it does?”

  “Then it wasn’t much of an apology.”

  She nodded, her eyes dipping down to his chest.

  She didn’t believe him.

  { Chapter 14 }

  For all that he’d given her no reason to distrust him, he was beginning to realize how very long it would be before his wife managed to trust his words. She was still waiting for the explosion, for her world to shatter.

  Her hand lifted, her fingers settling on the crook of skin showing above his lawn shirt. “I did not know I could speak and it would actually matter.”

  His fingers curled along the side of her face, his thumb slipping under her chin to lift her eyes to him. “Your words always matter to me, Eva. You need never curb your tongue with me.”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled.

  Another thing she couldn’t quite believe.

  He slid his hands down under her backside and lifted her off the footboard. Her legs wrapped around him, he carried her around the foot of the bed. Setting his knees on the bed, he laid her down beneath him on the sapphire hued damask coverlet. Her legs slipped from around his waist and her auburn hair spread onto the silk, shiny in the light of the fire. No longer matted with droplets of Rupe’s stew. At some point today a bath must have been brought up to her.

  He liked her in his bed. Her naked body still flush from sex. The white of her skin a beacon of softness against the dark colors of his room. So inviting, he tugged off his shirt and trousers and then rolled over to lie down next to her. He shifted her head to nuzzle on the crook of his shoulder.

  He liked this even more—her bare skin draped over him. Every heartbeat he could feel pumping through her body. The scent of lavender wafting up at him.

  She traced lazy circles on his chest. “What did you mean when you said you lost your center, Lachlan?”

  “My center?” He sighed and moved his free arm to tuck under his head as he stared at the matching silk damask canopy above. “My brother, Jacob—he was always centered. He always knew exactly what his goals were with the estate—with life. What he needed to do to achieve them. He charged forth without doubt in everything he did. He was never angry, always just moving forth.”

  “He sounds exactly like what the eldest brother would be.”

  “He was. He took care of Sloane and me after our parents died. And he was heir to the Vinehill title and lands and he knew it his whole life. It was what drove him every day. This land. These people.”

  “Yet now it will be yours.”

  “Exactly. And my life had been free from all of this. The army gave me freedom that Jacob could never have. Whereas he was never angry, I have always been quick to it. The army gave me an outlet—a way to control my anger. But now everything is in disarray.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not him, yet I’ve inherited everything Jacob stood for. So I strive for that—his center—but I lose it. Lose it sometimes in the anger. Like I did earlier. I never should have approached you in that state.”

  Her fingers stilled on his chest and she angled her head to look at his face. “Why were you so angry—the trial is a farce?”

  His look met her gold-green eyes and instead of the anger at the trial surging through his veins and taking over, his heartbeat slowed. “It is. The man on trial for murdering my brother, Robert E. Lipinstein, is about to be set free.”

  “What? How could that be?” She jerked upright, sitting and spinning to him.

  “The overseer of the clearings that are taking place on Swallowford lands is coming to testify tomorrow that the murderous bastard is not part of his crew.”

  The absence of her body long against his vexed him and he reached up to tug her into place against him once more. She resisted, her eyes still wide with injustice. “How is that possible? He was there, you saw him.”

  “The man’s defense is that he’s a smuggler and he had nothing to do with the fire. He was just in the wrong place and time.”

  “Why would a smuggler have been there?”

  “He claims he had stored over-proof gin in the barns of Torrie’s family, and once he heard word the family was to be evicted, he came to move the barrels. According to the defense, it was happenstance that he arrived there just when the brutes who came to evict them did.”

  Lachlan’s hand tugging her downward finally succeeded, and she sank down next to him, settling her head along his shoulder once more.

  “Did the family truly partake in smuggling?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. But it is prevalent in the land these days. People have been squeezed out of their homes, their farming land, so they make rent any way they can. A smuggler coming by asking for space to store goods can be hope for some families—can get them by for another year, maybe more. But there’s no way to prove or disprove the barrels were there, as the fire burned hot and fast—everything in all of the buildings.” He took a deep breath as the fury threatened to overtake him again and exhaled it in a long sigh. “And I was too damn late.”

  “Late for what?”

  “Too late to help. To save Jacob. To save Sloane and Torrie from the scars of the fire. To save anyone. I got there just as the house collapsed on Jacob. Too late.”

  “Lachlan—”

  “No—there is no other truth than that. I was too late to save my brother. Just as I was too late to save my parents.”

  Her head shifted on his shoulder, her look intent on him. “Save your parents? But I thought they died of consumption.”

  Lachlan shrugged and it jostled her head. “I was six and the doctor had sent me out with a maid to collect herbs to make a concoction to help them. I had already been sick and was healing. We
were out searching for hours in the cold. When we got back, they were both dead. I was too late.”

  Evalyn gasped. “Then there was no way that herbs could have helped them.”

  “No. But I was six. I thought I failed them. I thought I killed them for a long time. Jacob tried to convince me it wasn’t my fault, but I didn’t believe him for years.”

  Her hand lifted to curl about his neck as tears swelled in her eyes.

  “I know now, looking back upon it, the doctor thought he was being kind. He just wanted me out of the castle, not witnessing their last breaths. But he took that away from me. I didn’t get to say goodbye. That haunted me more than anything and it was the day anger took seed in me.”

  He shook his head, sucking in a heavy inhale. “I felt the same when I rode toward the fire. That I would be too late. And I was.”

  Evalyn nodded, her bottom lip jutting up against a quiver. “I understand now the anger you walked into the room with—or at least I think I do. This is a horrible injustice.”

  His arm tightened around the gentle curve of her back. He’d braced himself against the anger that he should be feeling in that very moment, talking about Jacob’s murder, but it didn’t manifest. Didn’t overwhelm like it did every time he thought of his brother’s end.

  Her fingers started swirling slow rings along his chest again. Minutes passed in silence before her soft voice cut into the bedroom air. “I didn’t know that about your parents, about your brother. This—who you are around your men—being the leader of the Vinehill estate appears so natural for you.”

  “Something Domnall didn’t tell you about me?”

  She chuckled. “Domnall kept me well entertained when no one else would dare to even glance my direction, much less speak to me.”

  “He has a mouth, that one. And no—it’s not natural to me. None of this is natural. I should be out on a field loading a rifle or swinging a sword at this moment. That is what I know. Not this. Not the running of an estate.”

  She nodded, her cheek brushing along his shoulder. “It is hard to live up to what others want of you—I’ve been chasing my mother’s ghost for more than fifteen years.”