Captured by a Laird (11 page)

Pleasure?
At least Blackadder had never required her to pretend to enjoy what he did to her. She swallowed and stole another glance at Wedderburn. He really was quite handsome. Not that it made any difference.

“Alison is a bonny name,” he said, edging closer to her. “It suits ye.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out high.

He was so close now that she felt his breath on her cheek and the heat of his body all along her side. The waiting, not knowing how horrid the act would make her feel, was difficult to bear. Her throat was so tight she could not swallow.

“I want to please ye,” he said.

She sucked in her breath as he brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

“It would please me to be done with it,” she said when she could bear the tension no longer. “Just do what you’re going to do to me and let me leave.”

He lifted his head from the pillow. “Do
to
ye?”

In the long silence that followed, her nerves were so taut she felt as if she might snap in two.

“Do to ye?” he said again, but this time his tone was teasing. “If ye wish me to pleasure ye first, I’m happy to oblige.”

She was going to ask what he meant, but the words died in her throat when he whispered in her ear, “
Exceedingly
happy to oblige.”

She could barely think with his warm breath tickling her ear—and then his tongue! The man was far too unpredictable. She clutched the bedclothes as he kissed her temple, the side of her face, and the sensitive spot below her ear. Strange how a murderous man’s touch could be so gentle, almost tender.

What game was he playing? She feared he would lure her into letting down her guard so that she would be unprepared when he began his assault in earnest.

***

David had gone to a great deal of effort to make a fearsome reputation for himself. Until now, it had never been a detriment with the lasses. Plenty of women were drawn to danger, judging by how many showed up in his bed uninvited.

He sighed inwardly as he looked at Alison’s white knuckles gripping the bedclothes. Clearly, his bride was not one of those lasses who found his darkness intriguing.

Why did it trouble him so much that she feared him, nay, loathed the very sight of him? He told himself he merely wanted a peaceful home and a ready bed partner. Yet as he looked into his bride’s pale face, an unfamiliar tenderness swept over him—and it worried him.

He set that concern aside to deal with the problem at hand.

He had never set out to seduce a woman before. He did not have time to waste chasing women. If a lass was not interested enough to come to him, he had not bothered with her. But Alison was his wife, and he was determined to break down her barriers and make her want him. The question was, how to begin?

A memory came to him from when he was Will’s age, shortly after his father remarried. He was passing his father’s chamber and heard his new stepmother’s laugh coming from inside. Curious as to why she was there in the middle of the afternoon, a time his father usually spent training his men, David pressed his face to the crack in the door. He was amazed to see his warrior father, laird of his clan, running a comb through his wife’s hair as if he were a servant. She sat on a stool with his father standing behind her, and she was smiling at whatever his father was saying. When his father paused to kiss the top of her head, she leaned back against his chest and ran her hand up his thigh.

David’s heart had lurched as he watched the intimate scene, and he felt disloyal for the longing their warm affection stirred in him. Even at ten, he had known with utter certainty that such a scene had never occurred between his father and his own mother.

After Will and Robbie were born, they were enveloped in the warm bond between their parents. Though David would die for his brothers, he had never been part of that tight circle. He did not resent being on the outside—at least, he hadn’t since he was Will’s age. It kept him strong and focused, unlike his father, who had lost his strength to a woman, like Samson under Delilah’s scissors.

David was his mother’s son, not the sort of man a gentle lass could love. But neither would he risk the lives of those who depended upon him out of weakness for a lass. Nay, he was not like his father.

And yet he could learn something from that scene he had observed through the crack in the door. He could mimic that affectionate gesture to soothe his bride and get what he wanted.

“Come sit on the stool, lass,” he said, “and I’ll comb your hair for ye.”

***

The Beast of Wedderburn wished to comb her hair?
Alison did not know what to make of it. By this time on her first wedding night, Blackadder had ripped her shift and was pawing all over her. She was not at all sure what Wedderburn actually intended to do, but she took his proffered hand and let him lead her to the stool.

After retrieving her ivory comb from the narrow table against the wall, he stood behind her doing nothing except make her nervous.

“I’ve not done this before,” he said, “so tell me if I pull your hair.”

Was he jesting? With Blackadder, she had known what to expect, but Wedderburn was a paradox, by turns threatening and considerate.

He lifted the weight of her hair over his arm and slowly drew the comb through it from her scalp to the ends.

“How was that?” he asked.

“You’ve a gentler touch than the women who combed it earlier,” she said.

He chuckled, a deep, reassuring sound. “I do?”

“Aye, though ’tis not saying much,” she said, hoping to make him chuckle again.

“If they treated ye roughly,” he said, “they will be punished.”

“Please don’t,” she said quickly. “I am sure they didn’t mean to.” Of course, they had, but the women would find subtle ways to make her suffer in retribution if they were punished.

His “hmmph” in response could mean anything, but she had greater worries at the moment than disrespectful servants. Despite her fears, she felt her body begin to relax as he combed her hair with smooth, rhythmic strokes.

After a long while, he set down the comb, and she tensed again as he knelt in front of her and placed his hands on either side of her head. She tried to control her panic, but he could crush her head between those powerful hands. When he began to rub her temples, she drew in a shaky breath.

Why was he doing this?
His handsome face was unreadable. After a time, she found it difficult to stay on her guard. As the tension left her body, it was replaced by an overwhelming tiredness, and her eyes drifted closed.

“By the heavens, you’re beautiful,” he said.

Her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring into piercing green eyes just inches from hers. She could not breathe with him so close.

“I want ye so badly it hurts,” he said in a rough whisper, looking as though he would like to swallow her whole.

She braced herself, knowing what would come next.

“But we can take as long as ye like to become…acquainted.” His eyes held hers as he spoke, but his fingers drifted down the length of her arm and then encased her hand.

Her breath caught in her throat when he pushed her shift off her shoulder.

“I intend to become well acquainted with every lovely inch of ye,” he said, and pressed his lips to the skin he had just bared. “And I’ll have ye wanting me when we consummate this marriage.”

His pledge to wait until she wanted him was an empty one, unless he was willing to wait for all eternity. Still, Alison was grateful for whatever time it bought her.

He pulled her to her feet. When he cupped her cheek and locked his gaze on her mouth, her throat went dry. Her breath hitched as he dragged his thumb across her bottom lip.

He was going to kiss her. She knew it would be different from Blackadder’s kisses, but she did not know how. Her heart beat wildly as he leaned down, inching closer and closer until she felt his breath on her mouth. When his lips finally touched hers, they were surprisingly soft, and hers parted on a sigh. Despite her fears and the harrowing tales she’d heard about him, her only thought was,
This is how a kiss should be.

Except for his hand on her face, only their mouths touched. His tongue gently probed her mouth, sending darts of pleasure to her toes. His fingers slid through her hair, massaging her head. Her mind grew sluggish, as if drugged by a potion, while her skin became far too sensitive. Every fiber of her body seemed drawn to the heat of his, so near but not quite touching.

She had heard poets speak of kisses that enthralled like a spell, but she had thought they exaggerated, if not outright lied. She had been wrong. Of their own accord, her hands went around his neck, and with the pressure of just her fingertips, she brought his powerful body against hers.

He groaned and pulled her into deeper, wetter kisses, and she sank into him like warm honey over hot bread. When he broke the kiss, she felt dazed and unsteady on her feet. By the heavens, that was nothing like Blackadder’s slobbering kisses.

Before she could recover, he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her down. She could not catch her breath. After barely touching her before, his hands and mouth were everywhere.

“Ye feel so good,” he said as he pressed kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, her hair, her neck.

He paused just long enough to jerk his breeks off, and she got an eyeful of his enormous, pulsing erection. Fear coursed through her as he sprawled half on top of her and locked his arms around her. She felt trapped, suffocated.

She told herself it would be over soon, and she mustn’t aggravate him. Still, a small gasp of alarm escaped her lips when she felt his shaft, hard and urgent, prodding her hip. He drew back at once and examined her with a furrow between his brows.

“Ach, I frightened ye.” He was breathing hard. “From the way ye kissed me, I thought…Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

He moved to lie beside her and propped his head up on one elbow. The candlelight played over the hard, handsome features of his face, picked up the gold glints in his hair, and lit his skin with a warm glow.

“I’m not accustomed to a woman like you,” he said.

She was tempted to ask what sort of woman he was accustomed to. Instead, she asked, “What do you mean by a woman like me?”

“You’re such a delicate lass,” he said, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt ye without meaning to.”

She blinked against a sudden threat of tears. No one had worried about her in such a long time. Without pausing to think about what she did, she laid her hand on his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her palm.

He covered her hand with his. “Promise you’ll tell me if I hurt ye?”

“Aye,” she said.

“If I’m slow to hear ye,” he said, and gave her a wink, “just hit me over the head to get my attention.”

“I wouldn’t want to hurt ye,” she said, and gave him a small smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Are ye, now? We’ll see about that,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

His expression grew serious again as he ran his finger over her collarbone and along her skin above the neckline of her shift.

“I like to touch ye,” he said. “I want ye to like it as well.”

Alison drew in a shaky breath as his lips followed the line his finger had traced along her bare skin. She could not reconcile this man with the Beast of Wedderburn, who broke down her gate and challenged every warrior in the castle. At least she understood the Beast.

This other Wedderburn who teased her with gentle touches confused her. She suspected he might be even more dangerous.

“I want to hear ye say my name,” he said against her ear.

“Laird Wedderburn.”

“Nay, my Christian name.” He rested a hand on her hip, firm and possessive. “Do ye know it?”

He dragged the tip of his tongue down the side of her throat, and she felt her nipples tighten.

“David,” she said on an exhale.

When he leaned back, the heat in his eyes made her heart skip a beat.

“I like how it sounds on your lips,” he said, dropping his gaze to her mouth. “Say it again for me.”

She swallowed. Her voice came out barely a whisper. “David.”

Tension curled in her belly as he leaned over her. A startled yip came from her throat when his chest touched hers, making her all too aware there was nothing between them but the thin shift. But then his mouth was on hers and drove every other thought from her head. Her resistance melted as his soft, warm lips sent tingles of pleasure to her belly and down her limbs.

When he pulled away, a sigh escaped her. The man certainly knew how to kiss a lass.

He laced his fingers in her hair and stared down at her. The intensity of his green eyes was unnerving.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“I want to make ye quiver with need until ye can’t help crying out my name when I’m buried inside ye,” he said. “I want to give ye such pleasure that every day ye long for the night so that ye can come to my bed again.”

She snorted. “That will never happen.”

“It will,” he said.

When pigs fly.

“I want ye willing,” he said with a slow smile, “and that ye shall be.”

“What difference could it possibly make?” Blackadder had never cared. He took what he wanted. Wedderburn would do the same.

“It matters to me.” Wedderburn’s smile was gone, and his eyes looked haunted.

The fearsome Laird of Wedderburn, who rained terror on the Borders, stole her castle, robbed her children of their birthright, and risked the wrath of both her powerful clan and the Crown without a second thought, felt uneasy about taking his rights as a husband unless she was willing.

“Ye feel guilty about this part,” she said, startled by this unexpected truth. “That’s why ye want to seduce me.”

He shifted his gaze to the side. Wedderburn had forced her to say vows and to commit herself, her property, and the raising of her daughters to him without a trace of guilt. But forcing her to give him her body crossed a line, violated a code of honor she never would have guessed he had.