Devil in a Kilt (18 page)

A
need the strong-passioned Black Stag seemed determined to ignore.

A
burning urgency she suspected raged as strong as the raw sexual hunger that
swelled her husband's sex each time she'd had the intoxicating pleasure of
glimpsing it!

Linnet
blew out an agitated breath and pressed her thighs together in a fruitless
attempt to suppress the intensely arousing tingles dancing over her woman's
flesh. Like a thousand fired needles, the sensations ignited a blaze of
pleasure across her tender parts whilst, from within, came an equally exquisite
heaviness, a deep pulsing ache.

Then,
with slow but persistent success, irritation conquered the wild stirrings that
bedeviled her. Irritation born of annoyance at her husband for not wanting her.
Anger at herself for desiring him.

Gradually,
another type of ache made itself known, too. Refusing to be further ignored,
Linnet's exhaustion bore down on her, but she welcomed its diversion. Reaching
her arms high above her head, she stretched her entire aching body, seeking
relief for the stiffness in her limbs and the red-hot knot of tension between
her shoulders.

She'd
spent the day and most of the evening tending to poor Thomas's head wound and
trying to offer solace to the Murchinson survivors. They'd arrived at the keep
tired and shaken some hours past. The tales they'd told had unsettled Linnet
more than she cared to admit.

Weary,
she pressed a hand to the small of her aching back. ‘Twas no wonder exhaustion
robbed her of the energy to do more than stand and gaze out her window, engaging
in fantasies. Elspeth and Fergus had fair dragged her to her bed, insisting she
rest, contending she'd done more than she possibly could until the morn, but
sleep eluded her.

And
not because of her bone-aching fatigue. ‘Twas worry what stole her rest and had
sent her thoughts galloping full tilt toward her husband. Alarm had eaten away
at her ever since she'd returned from the abbey and discovered that Duncan, Sir
Marmaduke, and Eilean Creag's best men had ridden in pursuit of Kenneth
MacKenzie and his assemblage of undesirables.

She'd
tried to use her sight, to focus on her husband and glean a sign of what had
happened, but she'd been able to cull nothing. Her efforts continually met an
impenetrable wall of reddish haze. A representation, she knew, of fury and
outrage. Unfortunately, she could discern naught else.

And,
having seen the crazed look in Kenneth MacKenzie's eyes, and after having
learned of the vile acts he and his followers had committed at the Murchinsons'
small holding, sheer terror had accompanied her every breath and still did.

She
wouldn't rest until she knew her husband and his men were safe within the
castle walls.

When
at last she heard him bolting up the tower stairs, the pent-up tension she'd
borne all day left her in a rush so powerful she sagged against the window. Not
for a moment did she doubt the thundering footsteps were his, for a red cloud
of rage preceded him, warning her, letting her feel his anger, long before he
approached her chamber door.

Nor
did she concern herself that his wrath could be directed at her. She'd done
naught to rouse his ire. All beneath his roof would vouchsafe she'd spent hours
working hard to assuage the damage caused by Kenneth and his raiding party.

But
her confidence was challenged the moment Duncan burst into her room, slamming
the door against the wall so violently she feared the heavy oaken timbers would
splinter.

A
daunting sight, he seemed to fill the open doorway. His powerful limbs were
streaked with dirt, the plaid draped over one massive shoulder, bloodstained
and torn, his dark mane of hair, wild and tangled about his unsmiling face.

"Thunder
of heaven!" he roared, expelling his relief upon knowing her safe in the
guise of a curse. "I thought I married a
sensible
lass?"

"And
I, sirrah, thought I'd married a man who'd make me his wife," she had the
cheek to counter.

Bloodlust
still thick in his veins, Duncan crossed the room with four swift strides,
closing the distance between them before she could even think about letting
loose another insult. Grasping her by the shoulders, he stared down at her,
daring her by sheer power of will to vex him again.

"You
are
my wife and dinna e'er doubt it," he seethed, already
regretting he'd so impulsively grabbed hold of her. Her unbound hair flowed
thick and smooth over her shoulders, and he'd thrust his fool hands right into
the silken mass of it!

His
traitorous loins tightened in response whilst his equally faithless imagination
fair hummed with a hundred different things he'd like to do with her lustrous
tresses. Erotic, arousing,
lascivious
acts, the very thought of which
aroused him to near bursting. Her uncanny ability to bring him to his knees
from sheer lusting for her also fanned the fury that'd sent him storming up to
her chamber.

"Christ's
blood, woman," he roared. "Do you know the danger you placed yourself
in this day?"

"You
are pulling my hair, Sir Duncan," she said simply, the impertinent tilt
of her chin giving lie to the calm tone of her voice. "Pray, release
me."

He
did and immediately wished he hadn't when she smoothed the flame-colored
tresses off her shoulders, allowing the cascading mass to tumble down her
back.

Thus
freed of the shielding curtain of her hair, naught save the thinness of her
night rail stood between him and the sweet mounds of her full breasts. Their
tips pressing against the near-translucent fabric of her gown.

The
sight of them near robbed him of the last shreds of his waning self-control.

A
brace of tallow candles burning on the room's single table cast a flickering
pattern of light and shadows over her lush form, the candleglow scant but
sufficient for him to see the darker shadows of her intimate places. And what
he saw made his mouth go dry with pure need. No doubt brazenly following the
direction of his gaze, she needled him again, "Did you come to chastise my
foolishness this day, my husband, or are you here to try and peer through the
cloth of my gown to peruse what lies beneath it?"

Duncan's
gaze flew from the shadowy apex of her sweet thighs to glare furiously into the
depths of her amber-flecked eyes. "That tale-spinning graybeard, Fergus,
and my entire household are singing your praises, milady," he said, barely
containing his ire. "I would know if it was your sharp-edged blade or your
tongue that bested my half brother?"

"Both,"
she said, her chin still tilted at an angle ... an angle perfect for kissing.
"And both served me well." Thunder of heaven, did she not comprehend
how gravely she'd imperiled herself? Riled beyond reason, and not just with her,
Duncan captured her hands and raised them above her head. Pure lust, base and
raw, stormed through him. He burned to kiss her senseless, and to keep at it
until he, too, was consumed by mindless and blissful release.

Saints,
he ought do more than plunder her lips after having lived through this day.
Naught else would better banish the loathsome images of the butchery at the
Murchinsons' cottage, unspeakable horrors what might have happened to her and
Robbie had they not escaped Kenneth's clutches.

Duncan
blinked hard to rid himself of the images. Blessedly, they receded. But his
desire raged on. Indeed, it would aid forgetfulness and help him ignore his
screaming muscles if he could but sink himself into the silken heat of her
woman's sheath—an act his men seemed convinced he'd already indulged in. Not
that he recalled the pleasure.

And,
by the Rood, now was not the time to refresh his memory.

Not
with his lady wife all prickly and her tongue full of pepper.

Saints
preserve him, he wanted her quivering in lust beneath him, her tongue sweet,
eager, and doing delicious things to him.

He
swallowed a groan as something raw and deeply elemental in its intensity broke
and twisted within him. Bringing his face to within inches of hers, he stared
fiercely into her eyes, trying, by force of sheer will, to vanquish whatever it
was that made her seek to vex him at every turn.

But
instead of sweeping aside her obvious distaste for him, he only seemed to upset
her all the more. She matched his glare, her eyes snapping in fury, her
stubbornness apparent with every agitated breath she took. After a long moment,
she broke the stare and lifted her chin in a clear gesture of defiance. Turning
her face away, she stared pointedly out the window.

"Mother
of God, lass, cease bristling and listen to me." He grasped her face with
both hands and forced her to look at him. Leaning so close he could taste the
sweetness of her breath, he said, "Never—I repeat
never
— leave
these walls without my knowledge again."

This
time she nodded, and the motion caused the soft weight of her well-rounded
breasts to rub against the sensitive skin on the inner side of his forearms.
Desire, immediate and all-consuming, shot through him.

As
if acutely aware and affected by the unexpected contact as he'd been, she
squirmed against his hold on her. In one valiant attempt to break free, she
twisted her head to the side, and her mouth, her tender lips caught
half-opened, slid across the palm of his hand.

The
sensation rocked him, the honey-soft sweetness of her lips on his skin shooting
straight to his engorged shaft and unleashing a powerful need not only in his
groin but also in the secret place he kept locked, barred, and buried.

He
suspected she'd felt something, too, for a quizzical look flashed over her
face. Then she began to tremble, but not from defiance, he could tell. He also
recognized the softening of her features as she gazed at him. When she parted
her lips, he knew his instincts hadn't deceived him.

He
couldn't recall the last time a woman had looked at him thusly, but he did
remember the look.

His
lady wife wanted to be kissed.

And
he burned to oblige her. But, might the raging fires of hell take his accursed
soul, he didn't
want
to want her! If he gave in to the temptation she
offered, he'd be lost, for he wouldn't settle for a mere kiss.

He'd
carry her to the bed, disgrace himself by the urgency of his need, and
promptly lose the heart he didn't have to give.

His
passions ran too rampant, went far beyond her innocent desire for a kiss.
Duncan dug his fingers into her fiery hair and choked back an oath. He couldn't
fall upon her like a rutting beast, wouldn't take her whilst lust raced
uncontrolled through his blood.

If
he e'er took his ease with her ... and he had no intention of doing so... he
must be gentle with her, show her mating is more than his unremembered claiming
of her maidenhood. Nor is it the wild abandon he'd unleash upon her should he
give in to his baser instincts and mount her this moment.

Nay,
she deserved a slow and thorough pleasuring.

But
he wasn't sure he was capable of initiating her in the finer pleasures of
lovemaking even if he wanted to. Too distant was the memory of the last time
he'd seduced a woman with tenderness. In truth, mayhap he never had. And he
didn't intend to learn with his wife. Doing so would only cause them both
grief.

Drawing
a ragged breath, Duncan stepped back. He placed his hands firmly on her
shoulders to keep her an arm's length away from him.

A
safe distance and far enough for her not to feel the hard swelling beneath his
braies.

Steeling
himself against the female scent of her and the intoxicating silkiness of her
hair as it swirled freely over the backs of his hands, Duncan willed all
emotion from his face save the darkest frown he could muster.

"I
will have your word you'll not venture forth alone again."

The
tip of her tongue appeared, to wet her still-parted lips, and the sight of it
made his loins tighten to a painful degree. "But I wasna alone,
milord," she stated, disagreeing with him yet again.

"Lucifer's
knees!" Duncan exploded, fighting the urge to shake her so she'd
comprehend the danger she'd put herself and the boy in. "You were
accompanied by an old man, a crone, a mute lad, and a nigh ancient dog! Do you
not ken what could've happened? "

"Answer
me!" he commanded when she remained silent. "Do you ken?"

"I
do now, aye, and so do all beneath your roof, for even the dead would hear such
bellowing," she pronounced, her expression as dark as he knew his own to
be. "But for the sake of peace, you have my word, sir. It will not happen
again."

Duncan
released her. "Faith, ‘tis killed you could have been. And dinna tell me
about your show of bravery ... I've already heard. The whole castle speaks of
naught else. But listen well to my words: my half brother was playing with you.
Playing
with you, do you hear?"

"Aye,
that, too, I realize, milord."

"Had
he wanted, he could have carted you off before you'd even had a chance to
think
of pulling your dagger on him." He scowled at her, hoping to drive in the
gravity of his warning. "Do you understand me?"