Devil in a Kilt (29 page)

Aye,
simply knowing he wanted her...
her,
Linnet, the plain one, made her
spirits soar so high she feared she might never come down again.

"Am
I hurting you?" his voice came again, this time so close to her ear his
warm breath sent a delicious shiver down her neck.

"Aye,
it hurts," she told him true, "but dinna cease, for the rest of it
makes up for the pain."

He
raised up at that, looking down at her with a triumphant smile spreading
across his face.

The
first smile she'd ever seen that fully reached his eyes.

Then
the smile faded, replaced by an expression of intense concentration and
something else... a heavy-lidded, smoldering look that turned her very knees to
jelly.

Without
taking his eyes off her, he slipped his hand between her thighs, touching
her...
there .
.. where their bodies came together so intimately. She
couldn't help but gasp, her eyes widening.

A
faint ghost of the smile returned, flickering knowingly across his lips as he
began to move his thumb in a slow circular motion that made her moan, so
intense were the sensations.

"Shhh,"
he urged, and she suspected he knew full well what his intimate ministrations
were doing to her. "Dinna fight it. Let me pleasure you, lass.
Feel
me
touching you."

Breathing
rapidly, incapable of speech, she turned her head from side to side, squeezing
her eyes shut, and raised her hips, pushing herself against his hand, ever
closer to his roving fingers.

An
exquisite throbbing began deep inside her, the sensation centering in her very
core, then spiraling outward, filling her with a warmth and heaviness almost
too sweet to endure.

She
opened her mouth to cry out, but he captured her lips with his, smothering any
sound she might have made with a deep and sensuous kiss.

Desperately
seeking, struggling to reach some elusive goal hovering just beyond her grasp,
Linnet opened her mouth wide beneath his, welcoming the silken stroking of his
tongue. She melted against him, wanting,
needing,
more .. .
burning
for
all he could give her.

As
if he knew what she sought and meant to aid her, Duncan slipped his other hand
beneath her hips, drawing her higher, ever tighter against him.

Then
he increased the caressing motion of his thumb.

Linnet
screamed and dug her fingers deep into his shoulders.

Unable
to do more than cling to him, she let him sweep her into an abyss of such
intense sweetness she wondered if she'd die of it—so powerful were the
sensations whirling through her.

All
else faded away. The bed and its cool sheets of linen. The fine embroidered
coverlets and many silken pillows. Even the darkened chamber with its faint
scent of still-smoking tallow candles and damp smell of rain ... its very stone
walls seemed to fall away, ceasing to exist.

Naught
remained save the tempest building inside her.

A
storm a thousandfold more potent than the one still raging outside.

Then
its fury broke, releasing a flood of pleasure such as she'd not dared to dream
existed. As if from a distance, she thought she heard Duncan call her name, but
wasn't sure, for the fierce sensations surging through her had stolen her
ability to hear aught but the rushing of her own blood, the pounding of her
heart.

She
lost control, was powerless but to let this wondrous feeling carry her to a
place she wished she could stay forevermore.

But
gradually she became aware of the damp sheets beneath her... and the heavy
weight of her husband sprawled atop her. His heart pounded, too. She could feel
its thudding against her breast. She felt his gaze upon her, too. Opening her
eyes, a task that seemed a tremendous exertion, she found him staring down at
her, his face mere inches from hers.

Raising
himself on his elbows, he said naught, only lifted a brow.

Linnet
didn't need her gift to ken what he wanted to know. She'd grown up around too
many brothers not to recognize the look a man wears when questing for praise.

She
tried to speak, then to smile, but was too drained to offer him more than the
weakest of smiles.

"Did
I hurt you?" he asked when she remained silent, his self-satisfied
expression leaving no doubt he already knew he hadn't.

Or
at least not so much to keep her from enjoying what they'd done.

"Aye,—you—did,"
she gasped, her breath coming too hard and fast to get more than a few words
past her lips. "At first."

"And
then?"

"I
think you know."

"Tell
me." He rolled onto his back and took her with him, settling her securely
into the crook of his arm.

"‘Twas
... ah ..." she stalled, snuggling closer against his side. "I'll
tell you I've learned why my sisters would e'er blush and grow silent each time
I asked them about... things."

"What
things?"
he persisted, an irresistible gleam in his eyes.

Trailing
the tip of one finger down his chest, Linnet said, "I vow you know,
milord. You only wish me to say it."

"Aye,
I do." He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each
fingertip in turn. "And will you?"

"Must
I?"

"Nay,
but hearing the words would please me." He turned her hand, placing a soft
kiss in the middle of her palm.

"Very
well." Her cheeks flamed to speak of such intimate matters, especially
while she quivered at the touch of his tongue flicking lightly across her hand
and the base of her wrist. " ‘Tis the sort of...
things
... I feel
when you touch me thusly."

"How
thusly?" he asked, almost too softly. "Do you mean so?"

"Sir!"
Linnet jerked when he gently rolled the crest of one breast between his thumb
and middle finger.

Heat
shot straight to her core, bringing back the intensely exciting feelings that
had only just subsided. Her nipple hardened beneath his fingers, and the same,
languid waves of pleasure began stealing through her all over again, making
her go limp in his arms.

"I
see your meaning, lady. Your lusty response speaks louder than your
words."

She
glanced at him, embarrassed and aroused at the same time. "Lusty?
Me?"

"Aye,
you, and I canna recall when a lass has pleased me more." He gazed deep
into her eyes, stoking her passion by continuing to toy with her breasts as he
spoke.

His
hands on her, working such delicious magic, whilst he held her captive with the
heat of his eyes was almost more than she could bear. "Sir, I dinna think
I can—ohhh ..." her words trailed off as he replaced his fingers with his
lips.

When
finally he raised his head, a slow smile spread across his usually stern
features, and Linnet's breath caught in her throat at the sight.

She'd
always suspected his smiles would be deadly, but never, until this very moment,
had she guessed how breathtakingly handsome he truly was.

Even
his half brother Kenneth, whose looks were so noble and fine, paled by
comparison. How blind she must've been that day in the yew grove to think him
the comelier of the two.

"...
and do you still doubt I find you desirable?" His words came to her as if
through a passion-induced haze, a
spell
he seemed to have cast over her.

He'd
bewitched her, turned her from a simple and virtuous maid into a brazen wanton.
His touch filled her with longings so strong, so undeniable, she was wont to
scream if he didn't soon resume his stimulating attentions.

To
feel thusly was beyond intoxicating.

"Is
aught amiss?" he asked, his voice half-teasing. "Have I not yet
proven my ardor to you?" As he spoke, he began caressing the sensitive
skin of her belly, moving his fingers in slow, sensuous circles. "Do you
require more proof?"

"Yes,
please," she blurted, feeling much the harlot, but not caring.

"Then
so be it. Many are the ways I can show you. But first we shall bathe."

Sliding
from the bed, Duncan drew the coverlet carefully over her, so she wouldn't
catch a chill. But, were he completely truthful, he also sought to shield her
sweet body from him, if only for a few brief moments.

Just
long enough to regain hold of his emotions.

Blood
of Christ!
Emotions.
Duncan recoiled inwardly. He hadn't thought he
possessed any, believed himself incapable of falling prey to such foolhardiness.

Yet
his lady's passionate response to him, her sheer innocence and desire to
please, had awakened a part of his soul he'd much prefer to keep dormant.

Although
he felt her gaze on him as he busied himself lighting a few candles, he didn't
turn around and wouldn't until his barriers were safely erected again—or at
least bolstered a bit.

Kneeling
to stoke the dying fire, he fought to brace himself against the maelstrom she'd
unleashed within his hitherto well-guarded inner self.

‘Twas
positively frightening, the ease with which she'd made him forget he didn't
want to care, to
feel
again.

His
lady wife with her angel's smile and unbridled, wild-blooded passion, had
brushed aside his defenses as if they were no more substantial than cobwebs!

By
Saint Peter's tomb, the mere act of looking into her eyes, seeing the trust and
adoration there, was enough to bring any man to his knees. For a man like
himself, long shunned and feared by the fairer sex, ‘twas a potent brew she
stirred.

Duncan
bit back a bitter oath.

He
didn't
want
to be adored.

Trusted,
aye. Desired in a carnal way, of a certainty. But not adored.

Not
in the way
she
understood such things. Soon she'd be all misty-eyed and
talking of love if he did not tread carefully.

Lust
was what he felt for her.

And
all he meant to share with her.

Lust
.
Pure and simple.

Naught
else.

So
why did his infernal knees go weak when she turned those gold-flecked eyes on
him? Why had it been so hard to pull himself from her arms just now?

Getting
to his feet, he dusted the soot from his knees, brushed a few clinging sprigs
of meadowsweet from his calves.

Anything
to prolong turning around.

By
all that's holy, he'd only meant to fetch water and a cloth to cleanse the
blood from her thighs, yet he'd found it nigh onto impossible to wrest himself
from her side.

Worse,
and by far the most dangerous aspect, was his inclination to climb back into
bed with her now and simply hold her. Not take his ease again, but gently draw
her into his arms and await the dawn with her curled against him.

Such
desires could wreak more havoc than the strongest pull in a man's loins, cause
more trouble than bedding a dozen willing wenches.

He
wanted no part of such fool notions.

Duncan
drew in a long breath. Linnet MacDonnell was more than he'd bargained for.

Much
more.

She
left him no choice but to banish the stars from her eyes, convince her she felt
naught for him but lust. He knew he must lie and make her believe what had happened
between them, what he hoped ‘twould oft happen, was only of the flesh.

A
need they shared and could reap much pleasure from, but one that had naught to
do with love.

Pouring
water into a small basin, Duncan only wished it wasn't so wretchedly difficult
to convince himself. He set down the ewer. Scowling, he snatched up a few
linen cloths, laid them over his arm, and steeled himself to face her.

Then
he turned around.

His
misgivings flew at him like a hoard of banshees the moment he saw her. She'd
scooted up against the pillows, her naked skin gleaming, bathed by the soft
glow of the rekindled fire.

Her
hair spilled over her shoulders, even more tangled by their lovemaking, the
peaks of her breasts poking through the silken strands.

Duncan's
loins tightened in immediate response. It was all he could do not to cast aside
the basin and towels, dash across the chamber like an untried and overeager
squire, and fall upon her once more.

"By
St. Columba's holy staff, woman, did I not cover you?" he said gruffly.
"Do you want to catch the ague?"

"I
dinna fall ill lightly," she said, that soft, dreamy look still on her
face.

"Good.
Then you willna take a chill when I wash you. And I would that we make haste
about it, for ‘tis weary I am and in need of sleep." The words came out
more abruptly than he'd intended and her eyes widened in surprise.

"But...
I thought... you said—"