Taken by the Laird (10 page)

H
ugh was loath to end their little adventure. As perilous as it had been, it had been equally enjoyable. Even more so.

“I owe you an apology.”

She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes cloudy with puzzlement.

“Not for taking your maidenhead, I assure you,” he said, enjoying the expression of pure embarrassment that crossed her face. “But for being the cause of your flight from Glenloch. You must not have understood you had a choice.”

“I’m afraid I behaved like a silly society miss,” she replied.

He laughed. “What do you know of society misses?”

“Oh! Hardly anything at all. Just that they can be…er…”

“Missish?”

“Exactly!”

“Which is something you are clearly not,” he said, feeling very glad of it. He stepped in front of her and walked backward as she continued forward. “And I hope it means you will share my bed again tonight.”

“Laird, I’m not sure I—”

“Laird?
What happened to Hugh?”

“I-I should not…”

“Aye, you should,” he said, stopping in front of her, catching her hands in his. He pressed a light kiss to her mouth, sorry they had to lose the close intimacy of their comfortable, isolated nest in the kelper’s croft.

They resumed walking, and Hugh took her hand again, feeling much different than he had a few days ago when he’d ridden from London to get away from the oppressive females there. Bridget MacLaren was nothing like those lying, conniving chits. She was a breath of fresh air, spirited and full of heart.

He supposed he should apologize for taking her virginity. But he could not regret it. He could so easily envision a continued liaison with this fiery, passionate woman. He gave a quick squeeze of her hand and glanced ahead. Glenloch’s towers were visible in the distance, but they would be lucky to arrive at the castle before dark, which came early in winter this far north.

He wondered if MacTavish’s men had gotten the brandy out of the buttery to make room for the new shipment. If the weather held, one of Captain Benoit’s cutters would be just outside the cove at midnight. Plenty of time to make love to Bridget MacLaren before he hit the beach with the Falkburn free traders. This
night, he would work alongside them and assess the operation for himself.

Berk Armstrong might be a problem, but worse was the possibility that someone had actually informed him of Benoit’s ship holding fast near the cove. Everyone in Falkburn benefited from the free trade. Only a fool would betray them to the Stonehaven customs officers.

And only a fool would think he could get away with stealing from the Laird of Glenloch. He had the initial information he needed to find out how it was being done. There had been five hundred tubs of brandy in the buttery the night before. Once it was let down and the caramel color added, it would yield ten or twelve gallons of drinkable brandy from every tub.

Hugh wanted an accounting of every gallon, almost as much as he wanted Bridget MacLaren in his bed.

It was full dark when they arrived at Glenloch, and he could see Mrs. Ramsay leaving with her young MacTavish grandsons and the two female servants who worked for her in the castle. None of them would dare ask where he’d been or what he was about, but Hugh was uninterested in dealing with the questioning glances they were sure to give him. Besides, it never hurt for their laird’s actions to be somewhat beyond their ken. “We’ll go around to the buttery,” he said to Bridget.

They went down toward the sea and the grate through which his tubs of brandy would be passed, the same place where Bridget had come into the castle. Hugh looked to the water for any sign of a ship, but there was none. And no one in the tower to signal it. It was still
early, though. He knew that Benoit rarely arrived before midnight.

Bridget had been quiet for the last mile of their walk, but she turned to him after they’d scrambled through the grate. “I’m famished.”

“Aye. Food first.” Then he had plans for later.

Brianna followed Hugh up the steps, then through a passageway and into the scullery. The room was still warm so soon after the servants’ departure, but she and Hugh were chilled and they kept their coats on as he stoked the fire. Bree stood close to the hearth and let the heat penetrate to her bones while Hugh found a plate of oatcakes, which they quickly devoured. He went about opening doors to adjoining rooms and corridors, obviously looking for something.

“There used to be a…” he muttered. “Ah, here it is.” Brianna looked on as he dragged an iron tub from a small alcove and placed it in front of the fire. Then he went back and collected a wooden bucket from the same place.

Using the bucket he’d found, he filled the bath from the copper boiler at the back of the stove. Brianna soaked up the heat while she watched him perform the task, considering what he had in mind. Arousal surged through her, with more heat than the fireplace could possibly project when she realized he meant for her to bathe there—probably with him.

When the tub was full, he located a cake of soap and placed it on the tub’s edge, then returned to Bree and started to unfasten the buttons of her coat. His eyes
seemed much darker in the flickering firelight than they had in the muted daylight of their walk back to Glenloch.

“A bath, Laird?”

“I did not treat you well last night.” He slipped the coat from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “I would have preferred to see to your comfort…your first time…”

“I have no complaints.”

He nipped her lower lip and pulled it gently into his mouth.

Brianna shuddered and slipped her arms around his neck. He unfastened the buttons at her throat, then broke their kiss to pull the shirt over her head.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, taking both her hands in his and stepping back slightly to gaze at her.

“You needn’t ply me with empty compliments,” she said, embarrassed by his bold perusal.

“Never was a compliment so far from empty.” He released her hands and feathered the backs of his hands over her nipples, letting out a tremulous breath as he did so.

Brianna could almost believe he meant it, contrary to all of Lady Stamford’s criticisms. Brianna knew her hair was unruly, her chin too pointed, and her eyes too wide. But none of those flaws seemed to matter to Hugh.

He suddenly changed course and began to disrobe, dropping his clothes in a pile beside the tub. “Take them off, Bridget. Your trews.”

She held the edge of the bath as she did so, and as soon as the last article of clothing hit the floor, Hugh
swooped down and lifted her into his arms and then stepped into the water. He sat down, turning her on his lap as he lifted her hair and pressed light kisses to the back and sides of her neck.

With her back against him, he cupped her breasts and gently swirled their tips between his thumb and fingers. She felt his erection pressing against her lower back, hot and insistent, teasing her and making her wait.

He took the plain-smelling soap into his hands and worked up a lather, then rubbed it all over her, starting at her neck and working down, teasing her breasts, then working his way to her nether regions. His hands had learned her well, for he tantalized her with his touch, promising future delights.

When she could stand it no more, she turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. Her position put her slightly above him, and she leaned down to kiss him as she took his arousal in her hand. He made a low growl, and Bree began to stroke him. She lowered her head as she kissed his chest, and took one of his nipples into her mouth.

Whirling her tongue around the hardened peak, she blindly found the soap and bathed him in turn, repeating each of his actions, kissing and licking him as she rinsed him. He made a strangled sound when she twined her slick fingers around his hard member, and when he rose up from the water, Bree leaned forward and pressed a kiss to its tip.

“God, yes!” His voice cut to a rasp of raw need. Brianna laved the thick head with her tongue, then drew it into her mouth. He trembled and put his hands on her
head, holding his body perfectly still as she pleasured him.

His heated reaction aroused her beyond belief. Her own legs trembled, and she felt hot and needy, desperate for him to touch her, to join his body to hers. And yet she did not want to stop what she was doing. He began to move with her, imitating the rhythm he used when he was inside her, except that now he was inside her mouth.

He suddenly withdrew and stepped out of the tub. Before Bree knew what he was doing, he’d draped his greatcoat around her shoulders and lifted her out of the tub. “Not another minute, lass. I want you now.”

He carried her from the scullery and walked through yet another dark passageway, finding his way flawlessly in the shadows. Without hesitation, he climbed a back staircase and turned to walk down a dark gallery that she recognized. He took her into the room across from Amelia’s and set her down beside the massive bed inside.

Quickly going to the fireplace, he lit the peat, never giving her a chance to feel the chill of the room. He returned to her, taking her mouth in a kiss that seared her to her toes. He cupped her face in his hands. “You are a marvel, Bridget MacLaren. More than any man could dream of.”

Brianna did not believe it, but she did not dispute it. The fire in the grate caught, and as he pulled down the blankets on the bed and removed his greatcoat from her shoulders, Bree felt another twinge of guilt for keeping her identity from him. He would not be pleased to
know who she was, but she intended to be gone before he could learn the truth, before there could be any consequences to him.

His mouth descended on her nipple, and she shivered with pleasure, momentarily forgetting all about the deceptions they told each other.

Hugh put on fresh clothes in the glowing light of the peat fire. Bridget was sound asleep, turning and pulling the blanket over her shoulder as he took up his greatcoat and slipped it on.

She amazed him.

He could not imagine Bridget MacLaren being weighed down by hopelessness or despair. She would not lie still as Amelia had done, and allow circumstances to destroy her, but take action to change that which troubled her. She had more audacity than any woman he’d ever met, but not the dishonest kind shown by Charlotte de Marche. If only Charlotte had shown a sliver of the backbone Bridget possessed, Hugh might not have been quite so ready to flee London and her trap. He might even have considered allowing the woman to leg-shackle him.

He took a lingering look at the woman in his bed. Even now, he hardened at the thought of her body nestled tightly against his after making love. Naught was going to keep him from returning to their bed as soon as the brandy shipment was unloaded and stored in the buttery room. He took pleasure in the anticipation of holding her until morning.

Feeling full of supremely satisfied energy, Hugh
walked to the nursery and looked through the window overlooking the beach, just as the heavy clouds opened up and partially exposed the half moon shimmering high above the sea.

There were no lights down below, but Hugh knew MacGowan’s gang would be gathering shortly to unload the shipment, if they were not on the beach already. He strained his eyes to see if he could pinpoint a cutter out in the cove, but saw nothing on the water. It was likely lying outside British waters, waiting for the free traders’ signal from the tower nearer midnight.

Hugh lit a lamp and walked down to the drawing room, then let himself out through the panel to the secret passageway. He closed it carefully behind him and started for the stairs, stopping when he heard voices.

Moving forward to the top of the steps, he saw MacGowan in the meager candlelight, talking to another man. They pushed open the door to the secret storage room and propped it open with a rock.

“Laird,” said MacGowan as Hugh started down the steps. “We’d heard ye were away.”

Hugh came down to the floor of the buttery where he and Bridget had come through only hours before. His body tightened at the mere thought of her. Fortunately, she was safe in his bed and knew naught of the danger they all might be in. If Kincaid had more than just suspicions, he might well have sent out riders to watch the coast, to watch Glenloch.

He glanced at the sky and hoped its ominous clouds would keep any intruders away. “Did you get yester
day’s brandy moved out?” he asked MacGowan.

“Aye. MacTavish saw to it with Coll Murdoch’s help.”

“Is that Murdoch with you?” Hugh asked as MacGowan’s companion looked up. The man had gone bald in the three years since Hugh had been back to Glenloch.

“Aye, Laird. Greetings to ye.”

He turned to MacGowan. “Did Armstrong go up to your cottage yesterday?”

MacGowan answered. “Aye. I stayed up there with him while MacTavish and Murdoch took care of the letting down and shipping out.” He held the candle up and stepped into the secret room. It was empty.

Hugh wondered if Murdoch was in it with MacGowan. Or if he was right in thinking MacGowan was involved at all. He hoped the evidence he needed would turn up in the next few days. He would deal with it swiftly, and then be free to enjoy Bridget MacLaren for the rest of the winter without any distractions. Her employer’s husband’s loss was Hugh’s gain.

“What of Armstrong’s suspicions, MacGowan? How did he know there was a cutter out here a few nights ago?”

“I doona know, Laird. Kincaid is a canny one. He might be playing with us, sending Armstrong out to see if anyone would snitch.”

“Or someone might have informed.”

“ ’Tis always possible, but no’ likely, is it?”

“You saw Armstrong go back to Stonehaven?”

“Ach, aye. He was no’ happy with stayin’ at my place.
He wanted the comfort of his own hearth. Lit out of there as soon as the rain cleared this noon.”

“Looks like snow comin’ tonight,” said Murdoch as he slid through the grate.

Hugh would not mind snow, for it would be a further deterrent to the customs officers. As long as it came after they brought the brandy inside and got it hidden away, Hugh would be content.