Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine (21 page)

Their lovemaking before had been passionate and intense, and a part of her grew restless, waiting for the fulfillment of the promise he created with each tender touch. She reached for him, trying to caress him in return, but he pressed her back into the pillows, evading her touch, gently anchoring her wrists with one hand above her head.

With his free hand he stroked from the hollow of her throat, over her breasts, along the flat of her stomach, to her woman’s core, branding her with an unspoken promise. He touched her with reverent possession, as if he still couldn’t quite believe she was his.

She tried to shift into him. He held her back. “Don’t,” he whispered with passion thickening his voice. “I want to be the one who brings you pleasure, pleasure so intense that it is close to pain. I want you to feel in my arms the way you feel when you’re painting.”

“You bring me that kind of pleasure every day that you weave your hand with mine.” Merciful heavens, he was beautiful. The candlelight bathed him in a golden glow, delineating each feature of his face, the tough, sinewy grace of his chest and shoulders.

“Tonight, I want to make you feel as if we are the only two people in the world.”

“We are,” she breathed and pressed back against the linen.

“Yes, we are,” he echoed, and she felt the brush of his fingers as they traced the underside of her breast, the side, the top. Moving slowly, smoothly, he palmed the fullness, then traced her nipple with his thumb. Flames leapt with each movement against her heated skin, desire flared, and yet he continued to explore first one breast, then the other, with infinite deliberation. It felt as though he were discovering her anew, claiming her for the first time.

Or making amends for all that they’d been through. With every caress of his hands, with every sweep of his fingers, with every inch of his thorough exploration, he left no doubt about his feelings. He laid his heart bare before her. Her breath caught at the realization.

“Jules . . .” His name was part prayer, part plea. “I love you,” she whispered.

He found her lips and covered them with his. She arched into him, inviting his touch. He was her valiant warrior, her husband, her laird. He loved her, she knew, even if he failed to say the words. He made her ache. He teased her senses, and took slow, unhurried possession of her body.

Her heart sang, and her body thrummed when he finally released her wrists. He moved over her and gently parted her thighs. He entered her slowly, carefully, until he filled her entirely. Her nails dug into the linen beneath her. His very slowness and deliberateness were unbearably erotic and sensual. He used his knowledge of her body to arouse and sustain her pleasure. He roused her to a frenzy of passion and then gave her an equally fiery release.

But he never allowed himself that final climax of passion, never permitted himself to lose control. The realization fueled her with a new purpose. The time for penance was over. She no longer cared about his purpose—only her own, and that was to make him relinquish that control and give himself over to her.

Jules tried to surface from the sensual plane she had driven him to with the softness of her body enveloping him. Having held himself back for too long, now he craved her touch, longed for it like she was rain and he a square of parched land.

She slid her hands over his chest, down his sides, and around him to cup his buttocks, to urge him forward. He drove inside her, deeper, thrusting to her core with swift and powerful strokes. She moaned her pleasure as she continued her silken caress across his hands, up his arms, to his shoulders, and through his hair. He leaned his head back as she worked her way back down his chest, and lower, stroking his skin as well as his soul.

She was raw passion and need, a bright flame he would never be able to live without. Opening his senses, he drank her in, soaked up every drop of pleasure until his hunger overflowed. She made no move to guide or direct; she simply urged him on with her legs around his thighs.

The hunger between them built, their bodies clenched, desire coiled tighter and tighter driving them both to that plane of total abandon. He could feel his ecstasy mounting, tried to hold back until they crested that peak together.

She cried out as she reached that pinnacle and fell into the void. Feeling her contract around him sent him reeling along with her as they fractured into bliss and floated.

In perfect sync, cocooned in golden glory, they drifted back to the here and now. Spent, he slumped upon her, then shifted to the side, taking her with him. They lay there entwined as he listened to her heart racing, matching his own.

The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing. Her arms slid around him, and she held him possessively, protectively, as though she never wanted to let him go.

He reached up and gently brushed back the hair from her temple, feeling closer to her at this moment than he had ever thought possible, and yet he still had one more thing he longed to give her—something he had denied her before. “Claire?”

“Hmmm,” she nearly purred.

He pulled back and studied her eyes, then leaned closer, gently framed her face with one hand. He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. “Your name really is Claire, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She brought her hand up and laid it over his.

He smiled slowly, as his chest swelled with emotion. He kissed her again—a longer kiss, one that stirred the flames between them once more. “Good,” he said against her lips. “Because suddenly it is the only name I desire.”

She grinned, and his heart felt achingly full.

“That settles it. Three days from now we will be married again.”

“Three days?”

“Two.”

She laughed. “I believe we can arrange the entire affair in two days.”

“If only it could be tomorrow.” He pressed another, more urgent kiss to her lips.

“Jules,” she said his name in a breath that was part sigh, part moan. And then, there was no talking at all.

T
wo days later, the morning dawned cold and bright and clear. Kildare Manor had been decorated with a sea of purple heather and white roses. The wedding was to be a small affair with Claire and Jules, the girls, David, and their servants.

Jane and Nicholas had sent word they would not be attending, as Jane had gone into labor the night before. Margaret and Hollister were staying behind with their one-month-old daughter to help Jane through her trial.

Upstairs in her chamber, Claire donned her wedding dress. She had not had a special outfit to wear for their marriage the first time. She had worn her gray gown before the minister, and despite the ceremony that had been very real, she had not felt like a bride. Not like now.

Claire sighed as she ran her hands down the lovely dress she wore. The garment was not new, but it was the perfect dress for today. Jules had brought her a chest two days before that contained his mother’s wedding gown and veil. The pale blue gown with short puffed sleeves and a straight neckline had been well preserved. A seamstress had been hired to alter the fit, and it suited Claire’s taste to perfection.

She stood in the center of the bedchamber, admiring the exquisite brocade gown that was covered in an intricate pattern of silver thread and tiny seed pearls, feeling very much like a bride. All that remained was for one of the new maids to come and help her with her veil.

As if Claire’s thoughts had conjured her, Marie slipped into the room, her back turned and her arms full of the silky veil. A second servant followed behind her, a man dressed in stiff black and white.

A new footman? Claire frowned. She had yet to meet all the new staff. As soon as the wedding was behind them, she intended to get to know them all.

Marie turned around, although it wasn’t Marie. “Good morning, Claire.”

“Agatha,” Claire whispered. Claire had no time to say or do anything more as blinding pain crashed through her left temple.

Belowstairs and outside on the formal terrace, off the east side of the manor, Jules waited for his bride. He nervously smoothed the pleats of his tartan. He had dressed in his family’s colors today as a symbol of not only passing on his name, but also sharing with Claire the responsibility of the MacIntyre clan.

“Don’t worry,” David said beside him on his left. “It is fashionable for the bride to make the guests wait. She’ll be here and everything will be perfect.”

Jules tried to smile as his fingers fumbled with his sporran. Patience was never one of his virtues. Jules forced his idle hands behind his back. His heart raced in anticipation. His gaze fixed on the terrace doors.

A light breeze blew across the terrace and ruffled Penelope’s, Anna’s, and Eloise’s hair as they also waited, dressed in light purple gowns, for Claire to arrive. Fin waited next to the girls, smiling broadly. The servants hovered near the banquet table where they would retire as soon as the ceremony ended.

The minister stood on Jules’s right. He cleared his throat. “Should someone go see what is taking her so long?” The man peered over his spectacles, his brow raised in question.

Jules took a step toward the door, when it suddenly opened. But instead of Claire walking through, Agatha appeared, followed by a man who carried Claire, bound and gagged, in his arms. She was limp and unmoving.

“This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life, Jules.” Agatha smiled maliciously. “I am quite certain after I am done with you, it will be one of your worst.”

David started forward, but Agatha grabbed Eloise about the neck and held a slim, silver blade to the young girl’s throat.

Eloise’s eyes widened in terror and she started to cry. Her soft sobs filled the sudden silence.

Jules went rigid. His stomach churned in fear. “If Claire is dead or if you harm Eloise, I’ll kill you,” he growled despite his audience. He no longer cared what would happen to him, only that Claire and the girls would survive.

Agatha shrugged. “Perhaps I killed Claire, perhaps I didn’t. There is only one way to find out.”

“Put her down,” Jules demanded.

A new lackey Jules did not recognize dropped Claire on the floor at his feet. At the motion, her eyes opened, and she made a sound behind the gag in her mouth.

Dizzying relief poured through him as he knelt beside her. He jerked the gag out of her mouth. Claire instantly took a deep breath.

“For God’s sake, she couldn’t breathe, you barbaric monster.” Jules couldn’t resist the epithet.

“It might have been kinder had she died from suffocation . . .”

Penelope lurched forward, clutching her injured hand. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

Anna pulled her back. “No, Penelope. That won’t help the situation.”

The young woman was right. Jules needed them to fade into the background with the servants. He motioned to Anna, who understood his unspoken command, and she pulled Penelope farther away from Agatha and her henchman.

Jules’s hands trembled as he smoothed Claire’s hair away from her temples. “Did she hurt you?”

“Only my head.” Claire’s voice shook. “We hadn’t planned on this today, had we?”

“No.” Jules glared at Agatha over Claire’s body. “You have me. Let the rest of them go.”

Agatha’s smile was terrifying as she stroked Eloise’s neck with the knife blade. “I cannot do that, Jules, not when I’ve gone to all this trouble on your behalf. I’ve got everything planned, down to the last detail.”

Rage darkened Jules’s vision. “Go to hell.”

Agatha laughed. “You first, and this time I won’t give you a chance to harm me.” She pulled Eloise back with her to the banquet table and forced the young girl to pick up a goblet that waited there. Together they moved back toward Jules and Claire. “I’ve prepared a drink especially for you, Jules, dearest.”

To the young girl she said, “Go ahead, give him the goblet.”

Still softly sobbing, Eloise did as commanded.

“You cannot force him to drink that,” Claire said hoarsely.

“Oh yes, I can.” In one swift movement, Agatha shoved Eloise forward into David’s legs, while gripping Claire by the hair and holding the knife to her neck. The sharp blade pressed against Claire’s flesh, causing a trickle of red to appear against her porcelain skin.

Despite the pain she must be feeling, Claire inhaled sharply and said, “Don’t do it, Jules. Do not give her that kind of power over you.”

“What’s in the goblet?” Jules asked.

“My special blend of poison—cyanide made from apricot kernels, mixed with belladonna berries, and, just to make sure it’s quite lethal, a touch of wolfsbane.”

“Who else have you killed with your poison, Agatha?” Jules asked, his voice tight.

Agatha considered Jules, then smiled. “Why not confess? After today I will vanish to a place where no one will find me, so yes, I killed your brother by poisoning his whiskey. I killed your solicitor as well, but with my horse and carriage.” Her eyes narrowed menacingly.

Jules held his shock and his pain in check as he pressed her for more answers. “There is something else I must know.”

She frowned. “You expect me to reveal all my secrets?”

“This one, yes. If I am to go to my grave, then I need to know—was you who paid for my release from gaol?”

She smiled a terrible smile. “Yes, if you must know. I grew weary of waiting for you to die. If no one else would kill you for me, then I would have to do it myself.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “I’d say things worked out much better this way. Now, take a drink and my revenge will be complete.”

He had his answers; now he must do as she demanded. Jules lifted the goblet to his lips.

“Don’t do it,” Claire pleaded, her gaze clinging to Jules’s. “Please, I beg you. Do not let her do this to you.”

“I must drink it, Claire. That’s the only way you will ever be safe.” He smiled into her eyes, forced every sentiment he’d ever felt for her into that last gaze. “I love you.”

“No,” she whispered.

He lifted the goblet and drank.

“
Jules
!
”

His face contorted with agony and the goblet fell from his fingers, crashing to the floor a heartbeat before he did.

Claire screamed. She wasn’t certain exactly what happened next, but she felt Agatha’s arm go slack. The knife slipped from her throat. Claire lunged toward Jules. “He’s dead. You killed him.”

Tears ran down Claire’s cheeks as she lifted Jules’s head and placed it in her lap. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs until David touched her shoulder.

Through her tears, she turned to see David holding Eloise to his chest. “It’s all right, Claire. Eloise is safe. And you might want to see this for yourself,” he said, pointing behind her.

Claire twisted around to see Agatha and her henchman struggling against their own bonds. Two servants held the henchman while a man she recognized as Arthur Cabot held on to Agatha.

“What?” she breathed. “But you are a debt collector!”

“A cover,” he said. “I have been following Agatha and her many lackeys for some time. But I needed your help to get a confession out of her,” Arthur said with a self-satisfied grin. “Today, I got what I needed to put her away for good.”

“But Jules . . .” She looked down at the lifeless body in her arms. “He’s—”

“Alive.” Jules’s voice was strong, vibrant. He opened his eyes and smiled. The most breathtaking, beautiful smile Claire had ever seen.

Her heart burst to overflowing. “You’re not dead!” She brushed the moisture from her cheeks.

Arthur tied Agatha’s arms behind her back. “Earlier this morning, I witnessed Agatha put poison into that goblet and made the switch to wine with bitters,” Arthur said proudly. “I found Jules and told him of my plan to capture his stepmother. The rest of you had to be kept in the dark to make everything seem real.”

Claire inhaled sharply. “She could have added more poison to that glass at any time.”

Jules shrugged. “It was a chance I had to take, to put her away from us for good.”

“No!” Agatha screamed in fury when she realized what had happened. “No, this cannot be the way it ends,” she cried as Arthur dragged her toward the door.

“Oh, it will end differently,” Arthur said with calm authority. “It will end for you with a hangman’s noose.”

Time stood still as the sound of Agatha’s voice faded. Claire and Jules froze as the full impact of the moment hit them.

They were safe.

Agatha was gone, never to return.

Her heart pounding, Claire smiled. “It’s over.”

Jules nodded as he sat up and faced her. But as suddenly as his smile appeared, it faded. He held out his lace-cuffed sleeve to gather the sticky warmth of her blood that marred her neck. “I did not mean for you to be hurt, only Agatha to be caught.”

She brought a hand up to cup his cheek. “I am unharmed, and I am so grateful this nightmare is finally over.”

He turned and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Does that mean you will still marry me after all of this? If not, I have to find some other way to keep you in my life. Perhaps you will consider painting the ceilings and every wall of every room in this house?”

She stifled a grin. “And what happens when you run out of walls? Then what?”

“I would buy you more walls if only we had the funds.”

She stared dreamily at him. “You know your lack of fortune means nothing to me. I am more than capable of supplementing our income with the occasional portrait or wall painting.”

“And I intend to keep you quite busy so that you have no time to paint,” he said suggestively as he traced his finger across the fullness of her lips.

Her eyes widened. “Milord, we have guests.”

“Yes,” he said, looking around him at the girls, David, Fin, the minister, and the servants, who regarded the two of them with interest. “You’re right.” He stood and extended her his hand. “Then what say you, milady. Do you care to continue with our wedding vows?”

“Oh, yes.” Claire accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her not only to her feet, but into his arms. They were meant to be together. Jules held her close as the minister stepped before them and started the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this day in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in the vows of holy matrimony.”

The minister’s words faded into the background as a tingling, glowing warmth moved through Claire and into Jules, dissolving the sadness and the loneliness of their lives.

A fresh start, a new life as husband and wife.

Dear God, it was so simple, Claire thought as she gazed up at the man she loved and repeated her vows. Why had she not understood before what was so clear now?

The pain and turmoil of life was necessary in order to make moments such as this special. True love, true fulfillment, and true forgiveness was only given to those who had lived through the highs and the lows of life.

She and Jules had survived the worst, and now would revel in the best life had to offer, for the rest of their lives.