My Wild Highlander (23 page)

She must wake him. Would he be angry?

***

Lachlan watched Angelique through slitted
eyes and pretended to sleep, continuing his deep breathing. What
the hell was she going to do to him? When she touched his shaft, it
was all he could do not to groan aloud.

Did the wench honestly think a Highland
warrior wouldn't wake with this much handling?

God's bones! What if she took a whip to
him—or a dagger—in revenge for his earlier actions? He would regret
letting himself get into such a vulnerable position, but likely he
could rip the fragile material and escape if necessary. Considering
the way she was petting and inspecting his erection, she had
something else in mind entirely. Saints, he hoped! Something he
could hardly believe, after learning what she'd endured the year
before.

Her cool hand surrounded his tight flesh and
squeezed. Pleasure ricocheted through him and he wanted to flex his
hips. Stifling a moan, he pretended to be awakening. "Angelique?"
He yanked on his bonds and discovered he could easily pull them
loose and slip his hands free if he wished. The woman didn't know
how to tie a knot. But he would indulge her.

"What are you doing? Why did you tie me
up?"

"No talking." She pulled a piece of cloth
from her pocket and blindfolded him.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Something I will probably regret."

"God's teeth. I hope this has naught to do
with a whip."

"I forgot my whip."

"Thank the heavens."

She stroked a cool hand over his chest,
slowly as if exploring every inch. She dipped a finger into his
navel and lust shot through him. When his erection jumped, she
grabbed him again and squeezed gently. Pleasure wound through him
and he growled. No indeed, this was no shy virgin.

Cloth whispered over skin and he imagined her
disrobing
. Aye, please.
He wanted her so badly he held
himself rigid. Waiting.

Climbing onto the bed, she straddled his hips
and lifted his shaft. The tip prodded something hot and moist. He
growled.
Aye, take me, lass.
Holding onto the headboard, he
tightened his muscles and felt himself hardening further.

She pressed down on him, impaling herself. He
experienced the bliss of driving an inch or two into her
excessively tight, wet sheath.

"Oh!" she near screamed.

He moaned and muttered a Gaelic curse.
"Angelique?"

"I am sorry to do this, my laird."

"Don't be. My God, I want you." He gave in to
the urge, tilted his hips and thrust. Oh, aye! Another inch. "Untie
me and I'll show you how much."

She cried out, breathing hard, and levered
herself up.
"Non. Arrêtez."

"Take off this blindfold. I'm wanting to see
you."

"
Non.
Be still." She pressed down, and
he met her with another thrust.

He slid deeper still, her wet heat
surrounding him, squeezing him, making him drunk with desire.
"Saints! You're killing me." He turned his head side to side,
dislodging the blindfold a bit so he could see her beneath it. She
was a beautiful nymph, with slender curves and creamy, perky
breasts that bounced slightly when she moved. What a nice mouthful
one would make. He growled, aching to suck one of those pink
nipples into his mouth and toy with it.

She placed her hands on his chest and lifted
herself, then down again. What torture! Her long red curls swung
forward, tickling his chest.

Her fast shallow breaths and her moisture
told him of her desire.
Aye, ride me, Angelique.
He watched
their merging bodies for a few seconds and he near lost control.
What an erotic sight.

"I didn't ken you wanted this. I thought you
were afraid."

"Shh. Do not speak." She increased the pace,
riding him with her eyes closed. She was breathtaking with the
impassioned frown, flushed face and parted lips.

This was a first. Never had a woman tied him
up and had her way with him. Strangely, he was starting to love it.
But her gentle, shallow thrusts were driving him mad. He wanted
more, faster, deeper.

He tried to suppress the escalating desire
and wait for her. "Untie me so I can give you pleasure."

"Non!"

"You'll not enjoy it as much this way."

"You will not have control."

Control?
That's why she did this. At
first he'd thought it was in revenge for when he'd tied her up. But
nay, it was so he would be at her mercy. She wouldn't fear him if
he couldn't touch her. Still, he wanted to hear it from her mouth.
"Why are you doing this?"

"You desired a wedding night, so I am giving
you one."

Ha.
"Is that all?"

"I wish to know why the women want you in
their beds. What is so special about you besides your
grand
tarse?"

He almost laughed, but controlled it. "I
thank you for the compliment, but you cannot know what I can do
unless you untie me. I like to use my hands. And my mouth."

"I know," she whispered and stroked a finger
over his lips. Lifting his head, he opened his mouth and sucked her
finger inside. Of course she knew, but what he'd done earlier was
only the beginning.

Giving a short purr, she drew her hand away.
Pressing her breasts against his chest, she kissed his throat while
she continued to ride him. Her hard nipples rubbed his chest.

"Mmm. Kiss me," he said, craving some deeper
emotional connection with her he didn't understand. Normally fast
and furious sex was his specialty, but that was not what he craved
at the moment. He wanted to explore all of her. He had not tasted
her nipples yet; he desired touching her everywhere at once.

She leaned forward and nibbled at his lips,
placed a small lick between. He opened, welcomed her inside. With
her lifted up like that, he took advantage and thrust his hips,
driving into her over and over, deeper. She gasped and accepted
him, held still for him. He moaned. She near squeezed the sanity
out of him.

"You push me to the edge,
mon ange
,"
he said.

"I am not your angel."

"Aye, you are," he whispered. "I'm inside
you, love. By your own vow, you are my wife."

A burning tingle rushed through him. He tried
to hold back the impending release and think of something
unappealing. But he was too deprived, had wanted her too long.

His climax broke over him like a wave of
happiness and all the best feelings on earth. His mind deserted him
and he was drowning in a sea of pleasure. He shuddered and groaned
with the enormity of it. "Ah, God!" His breaths whooshed in and out
during the aftermath.

Angelique lay still on his chest. He wanted
to pull his arms down and hold her close. After a moment she lifted
herself, releasing him from her body and climbed off.

"Don't go. Untie me."

She quickly slipped on her smock and wrap. "I
cannot stay."

"Why?"

"Now, maybe I will have a child," she
said.

"What?"

"We need an heir to be the next earl of
Draughon, do we not?"

"Aye." Was that her only reason for riding
him like a wild woman? Nay, she had wanted him intensely. She had
been wet and aroused…still was. "Untie me." He could yank himself
loose, wrap his arms around her and force her to stay with him,
but…no. She should want to stay with him the night. It should be
her choice.

She released one of his hands and before he
could disentangle himself, she disappeared out the door.

"Angelique? Damn you," he muttered. This was
the first time he had made love to a woman and not given her the
pleasurable climax. But it was her fault.

He untied the belt of her wrap from his other
wrist and then removed his leather belt from his ankles. After
tucking the sheet about his waist he strode to her bedchamber door.
He lifted the latch but found it barred. Why was he surprised?

He knocked. "Angelique."

"Time to sleep now, my laird."

"Let me in. I only want to talk."

"
Non.
You had your wedding night
.
Là. C'est fini.
"

It was not finished by a long shot.

***

Angelique jumped into bed and covered her
head, her body still pulsing with desire. She felt empty and cold.
Her body craved his wrapped about her. Inside her. His heat. She
did not understand it; though his hard member had initially hurt as
she'd forced it into her, once she started moving something changed
and he'd felt divine. Though coupling should have been a dutiful,
onerous task, it was something incomprehensible. A secret pleasure.
The absolute opposite of what Girard had done to her. Yet the same
body parts were involved. How was this possible?

She had been shocked at herself for enjoying
the act. Such feelings went against all rationality. No, she could
not indulge herself overmuch and slide down that slippery slope of
needing him or falling for him.

She was afraid she liked her husband a bit
too much. He was trying to steal her heart and blind her to his
true nature, but she was not so naïve as he wished her to be.
Likely, he would find someone else, no doubt several women, to
amuse him, whether now or later. Her own actions would not matter.
So much the better if her feelings were not attached to him.

***

"And how was your long-awaited wedding
night?" Rebbie asked Lachlan the next morn. He used a low voice so
the many men around them wouldn't hear. They, along with Dirk,
stood outside while the Drummagan clansmen readied the courtyard
for the traditional chief's inauguration. Each clansman carried a
stone to build a short pyramid while Heckie supervised. Lachlan
glanced up at the gray sky, hoping the rain would hold off.

Rebbie elbowed him, then lifted a brow.

"Why can you not be more like Dirk and mind
your own business?" Lachlan asked. In the past, he might have
revealed certain details of his exploits with women, but his
wedding night was not up for discussion.

"He wants to know, too," Rebbie said.

"But he's not asking."

"That bad, huh?" Rebbie grimaced.

"Nay, 'twas good." Actually, she'd given him
the most amazing, earth-shaking climax of his life. He only
regretted that she hadn't enjoyed it as much that time.

"Only good? Not magnificent?"

"Indeed, magnificent. But what's betwixt a
husband and wife is private."

"I see," Rebbie said in a dry tone. "Lady
Eleanor wished to share something private with you last night. I
found her hiding in your bedchamber, as you predicted, when you
were with Lady Angelique."

"Hell, I forgot about her." He hadn't
realized Eleanor would be so persistent in her pursuit of him. "I
thank you for getting her out of there and keeping her occupied.
Where is she now?"

"Still locked in the tower chamber, where I
put her last night, alone."

"We must send her away from Draughon before
Angelique finds out she's here. She is becoming too much of a
problem."

Lachlan glanced back at Angelique, standing
on the castle's entrance steps. So regal, she looked like a queen
in her golden gown and bejeweled headpiece. Meeting her eyes, he
winked and her skittish gaze darted away. Was that a blush?

He wanted to lick her head to toe and stay in
bed all day, exploring every inch of her perfect body and each
facet of her cunning mind. He would never grow tired of her. That
realization struck like a punch to the stomach. God's blood! How
could he know such a thing? He had no answer for himself; he simply
knew. Facing forward again, he imagined the next time he'd get her
alone.

"What the devil's so amusing?" Rebbie
asked.

"Naught is amusing at the moment." Still,
Lachlan couldn't hide his daft grin.

Dirk leaned toward them and whispered, "He's
calf-eyed."

Lachlan scowled. "I prefer the word
'happy.'"

"Och. St. Andrew, deliver us," Rebbie
muttered.

"This is an important and serious ceremony,"
Lachlan said. "And deserves my undivided attention."

"Aye. So stop staring at your wee wifey and
pay attention."

"You blather on too much."

Lachlan tried to forget about Angelique and
focus. He had been present at his brother's inauguration deep in
the Highlands five years ago. The Drummagans had a similar
tradition. He just hoped the pyramid of rocks, built to symbolize
his elevated position as leader of the clan, didn't collapse once
he sat on the chair atop it.

The Protestant minister said a prayer.
Heckie, the
Seanachaidh
, recited the Drummagan genealogy
back to the 11th century, then Lachlan's ancestry to the 12th
century, which the older man had to learn from Lachlan in only a
few days. Heckie then delivered a newly written poem in Lachlan's
honor.

And he was honored. He still could not
believe his great fortune in receiving a title, becoming chief of
this strong clan and marrying Angelique.

Though last night had surely been bizarre as
wedding nights go, it was unforgettable. He had to make sure
tonight was better for her, and hoped she had stopped fighting
him.

As for the Girard outlaw, he had seen neither
hide nor hair of the whoreson. And they couldn't discern where the
goblets had come from.

***

On her way to the great hall for midday meal,
Angelique strolled along the dim corridor, passing servants and
other clan members. She had not been close to Lachlan all day and
must now sit beside him to eat. A sudden fit of nerves seized her
stomach. What if he made mention of last night, either to her or to
his friends? She would die of mortification. Yet, in another way,
she looked forward to being near him. Too much. She could not let
herself enjoy him and his charm too much.

"I am to take Lady Eleanor a tray of food," a
female whispered.