DevilsHeart (7 page)

He growled and recaptured her lips in a searing,
soul-shattering kiss. His fingers stroked her clit in a perfect, practiced
rhythm. Overwhelmed by the flashes of heat tearing through her flesh and the
jagged stabs of pleasure radiating from her clit, she tore her lips away from
his, her thighs trembling. The tension in her core wound higher, her blood
pulsating through her flesh. She whimpered as the long-awaited tremors thrummed
from deep within her abdomen, building hotter and tighter through her gaping
pussy. Her limbs shook, her entire body drawn as tight as a bowstring. Then her
heart paused mid-beat, holding her aloft as a spasm from deep within her core
crescendoed and crashed, wrenching his name from between her lips and sending
pulsations of pleasure through her writhing body.

And then he was on her, between her thighs, his full weight
pressing her further into the mattress. She captured his bottom lip with her
mouth and tugged on it as she bent her knees, opening herself for him. As she
released his lip, gliding her hands across his shoulders, the tip of his cock
paused at her entrance. Her breath caught in her throat as a dark intensity
flared through his eyes.

Slowly, he tilted his hips, parting her folds. She stilled,
consumed by a slow, aching stretch as her core yielded to his invasion. Her
blood pounded in her ears, matching the rhythm of her pussy pulsating all
around him.

And then he pulled back and plunged into her again, grinding
himself against her clit. His name fell from her lips, her nails scraping
across his tensed shoulders. With another hard thrust, more tremors were
triggered in her core and she lifted her hips to his, meeting him halfway. She
thrashed beneath him, her distended nipples rubbed over and over again on the
crisp hair on his chest. Searing vibrations rippled through her pussy as it
tightened around his thick cock. She gasped as the pulsations shattered into a
mind-bending explosion through her flesh.

Hot. So wet. And he fit inside her perfectly.

Beads of sweat formed on Rathe’s brow, his arms straining to
lift himself off her before he crushed her with his weight. He shifted back
onto his knees, grabbing her hips and lifting them up so he could pound into
her long supple body.

Her arms fell to the bed on either side of her head, her
glorious mass of auburn hair flung haphazardly beneath. His name escaped from
between her parted, rosy lips in a low, surprised moan. He plunged into her
extra hard, mesmerized by the arching of her back and thrusting of her creamy,
silken breasts high into the air. Shadows thrown off by the fire danced across
her skin. The sweet, honeyed scent of her skin mingled with the heady scent of
her arousal.

He would bring her to a peak once more before he pulled out.
He slowed his thrusts and found her clit with his thumb, rubbing in quick,
deliberate circles. She uttered a deep groan, her breathing choppy and erratic.
Her depths suckled his cock and he gritted his teeth as she moaned again,
pummeling her hips upward toward him.

He fell forward and braced himself on one elbow. “Give me
your hand, Leah.”

“What? I don’t—”

“Now, lass,” he ordered, grabbing her hand. With no small
amount of regret, he pulled his throbbing cock out of her warm, moist depths
and wrapped her smooth hand around it. “Finish it.”

She didn’t hesitate. His forehead fell to her shoulder as
she stroked him. His shaft surged in her warm hand and the spasm overtook him.
He growled her name, fucking her soft hand as he shot his seed onto her smooth
belly.

Leah’s eyes fell closed as every muscle in her body unwound
at once, sending her quivering to the mattress. Rathe’s ragged breathing fell
across her ear. When he shifted, her eyes flew open. A cocky grin spread across
his face as he peeled her fingers away from his shaft.

Oh God, she still had a hold of him.

“Sorry about that, lass.” He arose from the bed and strode
across the room to a washing bowl sitting upon a low chest.

He retrieved a small washcloth and cleaned her off. He
tossed the cloth aside, flopped back onto the bed, and closed his eyes.

An awkward silence stretched between them. She sat up and
hugged her knees to her chest, allowing her eyes to roam up and down Rathe’s
body. Every part seemed to be chiseled from stone, wrought as though he were a
mere stature in a museum and not a flesh-and-blood man lying in bed next to
her. A man whose lips were far too persuasive for her own good. A man whom
women probably flung themselves at but who instead had pursued her
tonight—boring old Leah Gunn, librarian.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. No matter what
happened, she would remember this night for the rest of her life.

But there was still the strangeness of what had happened at
the end and she couldn’t resist asking, despite her hesitation. “Rathe?”

“Yes?” He caressed her thigh with the back of his hand.

As he opened his eyes, they landed on hers. Unnerved by his
sudden attention, she bit her lower lip. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

They studied each other in silence. Curiosity passed across
his face as the masculine arrogance faded. Something about the ease with which
he laughed and smiled soothed her fears.

She didn’t want him to leave.

A lead weight settled into her stomach. He would have to
leave sometime, whether it was now or in the morning before the household
awakened. Besides, he probably had some other rendezvous lined up already for
when he left in a couple of days. The man was too skilled, too good in bed to
not be a complete womanizer.

Other women.
Ugh.
It nicked her heart, but she had to
be realistic. It wasn’t like she was the first woman he’d seduced and she
definitely wouldn’t be the last. She tore her gaze from his and cast it down to
the blanket covering the mattress. She should be a big girl and let him go. But
lying here alone while her impending marriage plagued her, sending her thoughts
into wild, violent territory, shook any semblance of control she had left. If
she just had something to distract her, something to hold on to, maybe she
could make it through the night without losing her mind.

“Rathe, if you don’t have anywhere to be just yet, would you
mind staying? I mean, you could leave after I fall asleep if you want. I just
really don’t want to be alone right now.”

He remained still, not uttering a single sound, and her
stomach sank. Who was she kidding? This was a one-time fling. He wouldn’t care
what happened to her once the sun came up.

But then he tugged at her arm, causing her to lose her
balance and fall forward. She caught herself on her elbow before she landed on
him.

His brows knitted together and he pulled her up against him.
“I will stay.”

She nodded, tears of relief stinging her eyes. He pulled the
blankets over them, brushing his lips across the top of her head.

Leah blinked the tears away before they could fall to his
chest. Pity wasn’t what she was after. Just closeness of another warm body and
the reassuring presence of someone so confident and calm. For all of Simon’s
faults, it was the one thing she missed the most about him.

She drew in a long breath, filling her whole chest with the
warm air surrounding Rathe. The tension and fear melted from her skin and she
shifted until her whole body was pressed along his side. The hair on his legs
tickled her thighs.

And then the sadness crept into her shoulders. He would be
gone when she awakened in the morning. Leaving her alone to somehow figure a
way out of this mess.

There was no way in hell she was marrying some misogynistic,
cold-hearted thirteenth-century creep. She’d already dodged a bullet with Simon
leaving her and she wasn’t about to blow a second chance on anyone she didn’t
truly love.

She was going home. Back to safe, old twenty-first century
where there were antibiotics, blood transfusions, ice cream, and hazelnut
lattes. And men who respected women as full human beings, didn’t carry swords
at their sides, or have demon-quality good looks like the man lying naked
beneath her.

Damn it.

Rathe’s cock stirred again, surging toward the warmth of the
soft, feminine curves next to him. He could take her again, fucking her awake
while his name fell in gasps from those delicious lips.

He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, willing
his ardor for the poor lass next to him to die down. Leah was desperate and
hurt by the mere thought of her impending marriage. The last thing she needed
was some stranger pawing at her again after so roughly using her only hours
prior.

And not long before another man would do the same.

That forced him out of Leah’s bed. He’d lain awake for a
good while before the sun peeked out from behind the window coverings, but he
hadn’t wanted to leave. He took too much pleasure in the warmth of her body
snuggled against him and wanted nothing more than to hold her until she opened
her eyes and smiled up at him. But he shouldn’t. That privilege was reserved
for another man.

He must leave.

He slid out of the bed and dressed, surprised by the sting
of a light pain across his shoulders as his leine slipped over his skin.
Reaching into the collar of his shirt, his fingers slid over several raised
scratches. He resisted the urge to chuckle, smiling instead at the evidence of
Leah’s enjoyment of their time together. Just as he was walking out the door,
he caught the luscious curve of her hip beneath the blankets out of the corner
of his eye and was almost drawn back into the room.

Angry now, Rathe pushed away from the door and turned in to
the hallway. He rushed down the stairwell and into the great hall as a surge of
hot jealousy wrapped around his heart. What the hell was wrong with him? Even
his last wife had never engendered this kind of response in him. Hell, she’d
even thrown up her skirts for some Frenchman at court in Edinburgh while Rathe
was away on the Continent and had become pregnant with the man’s bastard and
still he’d never cared enough to go after the man. Now a fire raged within,
urging him to fight for Leah.

But then what? He sure as hell didn’t want to get married
either.

He stormed through the great hall, making his way around
groups of hung-over, passed-out men slumped over tables and across the floor.
He needed fresh air to clear his mind.

A cloudy, overcast sky met him as he stepped outside. He
found a group of his men where they had bedded down for the night but spoke
little to them. He walked the ramparts of the castle, pretending to take in the
design as though he were interested in modifying the ramparts of his own, much smaller
keep. He wandered into the kitchens, looking for food and drink but taking
nothing offered.

Damn that woman.

It must have been the pure innocence she exuded. His
protective nature had caught the scent of it and wouldn’t let go. After all,
Leah was a danger to herself. First, he saved her from being run through by a
sword. Then he caught her trying to run away into the woods alone. Not to
mention the fact she took him, a complete stranger, to her bed.

She was far too trusting for her own good. He could forgive
her for the wild desperation that had caused her to spread her legs for him,
but he could have done worse to her while she slept. After all, hadn’t Lady
Barclay told her he’d killed his wives?

But Leah had trusted him—had believed him when he told her
he had never laid a hand on his wives. He had spoken the truth, of course, but
it didn’t negate the fact she never questioned his proclamation of innocence.
Leah could be taken advantage of by a lesser man than he, one who wouldn’t
question breaking her should the mood strike. One who would attempt to smother
the wild, untamed spirit hiding beneath the shy, skittish exterior.

He must rid himself of this turmoil. The ease he sought
would only come if she were given to a good man. One who would treat her well.
Then he could simply put it out of his mind another man would run his fingers
along her silken thighs, suckle those sweet, rosy nipples, and plunge into her
hot, wet core as he got drunk with the celebrants of their wedding in the great
hall below.

Yes. That was how it must be.

Rathe tramped up the stairs to the third floor. He rapped on
the mormaer’s door, which was opened by a male servant who inclined his head at
Rathe and stepped aside.

Another servant was busy securing a belt around the mormaer’s
waist when David noticed him standing in the doorway. “Come in, come in!” David
called with a wave of his hand.

Servants scurried around the room, making the bed, cleaning
up the remnants of the mormaer’s breakfast, and general tidying. Rathe bit back
the urge to laugh at the ridiculous activity. He’d always hated people milling
about in his personal chamber. He’d always dressed himself without the help of
servants and never ate anywhere but the great hall where he could converse with
his warriors. But, then again, Rathe hadn’t grown up as an accepted member of a
noble family. He’d always done everything for himself.

“It is a fine day already, is it not?” David commented,
nodding at a servant who curtsied before him.

Rathe nodded. He should have picked a better time for this
discussion. One when David was sure to be alone or could be drawn away for a
private conversation. But with so many clans at the castle and the mormaer’s
attention drawn in a dozen different directions, Rathe feared he might not have
much choice in the matter.

“Well, what is it, man? You have the same look on your face
as you did last night. Out with it.”

Rathe clasped his hands behind his back, planting his feet
shoulder-width apart as he faced the mormaer, careful to keep his face expressionless.
“It is about the woman who saved your son, Alexander.”

“Leah? Oh, yes, fine lass. She is a fetching thing, isn’t
she?” David replied with a smile. “And she has no idea she is either. Quite
charming. What about her?”

“She tells me you have betrothed her to someone,”

“Well, yes.” David paused and cast a suspicious eye at
Rathe. “I did not know you had even met her.”

A hesitant knock rang through the chamber.

“Come!” David stared hard at Rathe, his brow crinkling as
though deep in thought.

“My lord.”

English.
It was her.

Rathe turned just as Leah stepped inside the room. She
stilled as their eyes clashed, her cheeks pinking, much to his pleasure. Her
long, wavy auburn hair, which had been tousled into a sexy mess just hours
before, now lay smooth and shiny as it cascaded down her shoulders and curled
against her ample breasts. Her eyelashes quivered. God’s blood, he’d love
another chance to mess up her hair again.

David adjusted the sleeve of his leine. “Yes, Leah, what is
it?”

“Um…” Her voice shook in the appealing way that made Rathe
want to tuck her securely into his arms. “Um, nothing. It’s okay, I’ll talk to
you later.”

Biting her lower lip in a pure feminine fashion that caused
his chest to tighten, she cast her stare to the floor. “I am sorry to have
interrupted you. I’ll speak with you later.” She picked up her skirts and sank
into an awkward curtsey before turning to leave.

Rathe’s lips parted in a grin as she walked out the door.
Her nervous flutterings charmed him and were a wondrous contrast to the carnal
moans she’d uttered only hours ago. Damn, she was an intriguing woman.

“Rathe.”

Rathe’s eyebrows lifted as he turned to David who was now
standing in the middle of the room with furious, glowing eyes.

“Tell me you did not,” the mormaer commanded.

It was no use pretending. David was an astute man. Rathe
shrugged his shoulders in mock-helplessness. “You said it yourself, she is a
fetching lass.”

“Damn it, Rathe!” David shouted, stepping toward him. “Do
you have to fuck every woman you meet?”

“Only the ones I like.”

David stopped and crossed his arms, glaring at Rathe. “Just
what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

David sighed. “Do you think her soon-to-be husband is not
going to take issue with this if it gets out? Who else knows? Any servants?”

The smile faded from Rathe’s face at the mention of her
soon-to-be husband. “Who is it? Who are you giving her to?”

David lifted his chin. “The Dunlop.”

Disbelief threw Rathe into a stunned silence. The Dunlop?
What would that old man need with someone like Leah? He couldn’t take care of
her—not in the way she needed. And he damn well couldn’t protect her from the
likes of the MacTavish.

Dunlop land had seen its fair share of battles. Most were
not of their own doing, but of the Sinclairs, whose lands lay to the west, and
the MacTavishes, whose lands lay to the east. The Dunlops had the misfortune of
being caught in the middle for generations, ever since an ancient Sinclair
chieftain and several members of his household had been slain after giving
hospitality to a group of MacTavishes. Unbeknownst to the Sinclairs at the
time, whose land was a key western stronghold for the crown, the MacTavish
supported a rival claimant to the Scottish throne and had been sent in to
destroy the Sinclairs. They might have succeeded had it not been for a group of
MacAirth warriors and their laird, who happened to arrive at the Sinclair
holding not long after the MacTavishes began their attack.

“I see I have your attention now,” David quipped, cocking one
eyebrow.

Rathe shook his head, his jaw tensing. “The Dunlop has one
foot in the grave already. How is he going to defend her?”

“From whom, you? Seems to me it is a little late for that.”

“You know who I mean.”

David’s expression softened. “The king is giving Leah a
strip of land to the south of Dunlop land. The land is fertile. All the Dunlop
needs is more resources in order to strengthen his clan. And another chance at
a son to take over when he is gone. He needs to hold his own between the two of
you.”

The thought of the old man’s hands on Leah sent blood
rushing to his face in a rage. “A son?” Rathe spat.

“You know Michael succumbed to a fever and passed last year.
He was the last of the Dunlop’s four sons. The man does not even have a
daughter whose husband he could rely on to take over.”

Rathe snorted. “Even if the old man still had it in him to
properly tup a lass, he certainly does not need Leah for that. Any woman would
do.”

David’s eyes widened. “You have no idea what Leah is worth,
do you? Maybe, if you had taken the time to talk to the lass, you would have
found out she reads and writes both Latin and English, can figure numbers
better than a monk, knows history, and is nearly fluent in French. She needs to
have a husband not so full of himself he would refuse to allow her to practice
her talents for the good of his clan and the crown. She may be quiet but she is
smart enough to guide any son of hers into becoming a strong, principled leader
worthy of supporting and defending the king.”

Stunned, Rathe stared at the mormaer in silence. His Leah
could do all of that? Where had she been raised that she was better educated
than most monks and priests he had ever met? And why the hell had the last man
who was betrothed to her refused to marry such a valuable prize?

A wild thought took hold. The land the mormaer spoke of lay
south of his land too, running from west to east. He could just as easily make
use of it and was better equipped to protect Leah from the likes of the
MacTavish.

Not to mention, he too could use a son.

True, Rathe had had no desire to marry again. Wives were
nothing but trouble and sons could be had without them, though the road for an
illegitimate son was always a rough one. He still lived with the difficulties
himself despite his station as the laird of a clan.

He had been the product of an illicit affair between his
father and the daughter of a rival clan chieftain to the south. His mother had
been pregnant with him at the time of her marriage to another man. Once her
deceit had been discovered, her new husband made her life a living hell.
Fleeting, hazy memories of his mother haunted him. Long, soft brown hair.
Delicate, gentle fingers that seemed so soothing when she caressed his cheek.

And quiet. So very quiet and careful in every word and deed
as though she was in constant atonement for that one rash action leading to
Rathe’s existence. But none of it mattered. Her arms were often bruised, her
brown eyes swollen and blackened, her lips cracked and bleeding.

Rathe himself was ignored—a non-person among a huge, busy
household. He had spent most of his time in the forest near his stepfather’s
holding and among the stable hands who were the only people to acknowledge his
presence. After his mother died giving birth to a stillborn child when he was
five years old, he was sent to live with his mother’s family who treated him
little better until he was old enough to prove himself handy with a sword. It
wasn’t until Rathe was nearly sixteen years old his father, William Sinclair,
finally claimed him. And the only reason he did was because he never had a son
with any of his three wives and Rathe had already made a name for himself as a
promising young warrior.

And the MacTavish was set to inherit his lands should he die
without issue.

William Sinclair’s older sister was given in marriage by the
king himself to the MacTavish laird in order to calm the tensions between the
two clans. William only produced two daughters between his three wives, both of
whom died in childbirth as young women. But the MacTavish produced a
son—William’s nephew and closest living male heir. That is, until William
relented and claimed Rathe as his own.

Rathe was quite obviously his father’s son—an absolute
spitting image of the old man in his youth. He’d had little trouble being
accepted as a Sinclair, but he was still a bastard in the eyes of the world.
And he’d even inherited his father’s penchant for getting into bad marriages.
After the betrayal and subsequent suicide of his last wife, Rathe swore he’d
never marry again.