Taken by the Laird (9 page)

Bree did not want to think. She knew this man was an avowed bachelor and a dedicated rake. He’d seduced her without difficulty, but Brianna had made her own vow to elude the shackles of marriage. She’d lost her ignorance as well as her innocence this day, and acquired what she believed could be only a mere inkling of the pleasures to be gained in sharing a bed with a man. With a skilled lover—a paramour—whose regard would last only as long as their bedplay kept him interested.

Brianna pressed her eyes closed and tried to suppress the need he’d aroused in her. Her situation had not changed, in spite of what had happened between them. She still needed to go into hiding, else Stamford and Roddington were going to find her with Laird Glenloch and…

The thought eluded her when he pulled the door of the croft open a crack. Brianna smelled the rain outside and felt the bite of the wind just before he closed it tight again and latched the door. Moving quickly, he returned to their narrow bed, and Bree moved aside and lifted the blanket for him. He climbed onto the pallet and drew her into his arms.

“ ’Tis still raining.”

She nodded against him and tangled her legs with his. With a naked man. Her lover. And that strange rush of emotion flooded her chest again. “I know,” she said, her voice a whisper of uncertainty.

“We have no amenities, Bridget,” he said. “We’ll have to make do with what we find inside.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing what he meant. “How will we…”

He ran his fingers across her shoulder and down the center of her back to her buttocks, raising goose bumps on her skin. Her nipples pebbled. “We are beyond secrets, I think. And since we cannot go outside…There is a bucket in the corner.”

She found herself blushing. “Ah…Perhaps the rain will let up soon and we can leave,” she said, even though it was the last thing she wanted. Just a few hours more, in her handsome lover’s arms. And then…

“Our clothes are still wet. They’ll take all night to dry.”

“Have we enough wood for the fire?”

“If we ration it carefully, we’ll be all right. And we’ve a chipped clay cup. I’ve set it outside to collect rainwater for drinking.”

“Did you know this place was here?” she asked, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Aye. We’re still on Glenloch land.” He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Are you still angry?” Bree asked, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to his neck.

“Aye,” he whispered as she moved down his body. “Furious.”

She remained asleep when Hugh got up again and stoked the fire. He rearranged their clothes and turned back to look at her, sleeping contentedly on the straw pallet. He could not remember a more eager or spontaneous lover. She made up for her naïveté with ingenuity, just as he’d hoped, and his body reacted sharply in anticipation of their next sensual encounter.

He would not mind staying closed away here with her for a week, but they were going to run out of fuel for the fire before too long, and they would eventually need to eat. Besides those issues of survival, he had not forgotten his primary purpose for coming to Glenloch. Niall MacTavish and his crew would arrive to let down the brandy and cart it out tonight to make room for the next shipment. He’d hoped to be there to oversee the proceedings and talk to MacTavish about it.

Bridget did not awaken when he slid back into their bed and drew her into his arms. It was the first time he would spend an entire night with a woman, even his own wife. In spite of his intimate relations with Amelia being less than satisfactory, Hugh had never strayed. He might have been a fool for it, but he’d taken his vows seriously, refusing to follow the example of his father, a philanderer who had not a faithful bone in his body. His indiscretions had driven Hugh’s mother to her own lovers, and caused untold damage to the young innocents who’d succumbed to Jasper’s charms.

Amelia might have shied away from their marital relations, but Hugh would not insult—or possibly hurt—her by keeping a mistress or frequenting any of
the popular but debauched “gentlemen’s” clubs around London as his father and his peers did. Hugh had lived a monk’s existence with Amelia, though little good it had done either of them.

Which was one very good reason never to marry again. Since it was impossible to try out a wife before marrying her, Hugh knew it was best to abstain from the institution altogether. His cousin John Hartford was a worthy heir, and there was every chance he would eventually sire a boy to inherit Hugh’s titles and all his entailed properties.

He would also see to it that Bridget was taken care of when their affair was over. He was feeling particularly generous toward her after their amazing night together. He didn’t want her ever to feel powerless again, to need to run and hide from the next opportunistic employer she encountered, who would use her and discard her when he lost interest.

Hugh could not foresee losing his desire for Bridget in the very near future. Only a fool would turn away from one so beautiful and so giving. Even now he wanted her, after making love all through the night.

Hugh had not forgotten that she’d been virginal and might experience second thoughts and regrets in the light of day. He would need to handle her carefully, need to make her the promises that would keep her in his bed.

She opened her eyes lazily and smiled. “Is it morning yet?”

“Just dawn.”

She stretched. “Do you know if it’s still raining?”

“Some,” he replied. “But not as hard as before. It might stop long enough for us to go back.”

“I’d rather stay here,” she said.

The same thought had crossed his own mind, but Hugh had not expected her to say it. Feeling slightly off balance, he said, “I imagine hunger will finally drive us out.”

“But not too soon, I hope.” She laid one hand on his chest. “Do you ever wish you could go far away where no one would ever find you?”

He gazed down at the wistful expression on her face and thought again about the bastard who’d driven her out into the cold. “Aye. Just now, in fact.”

Hugh allowed himself to relax. He felt sated in a way that had never happened before, and he had not even needed to engage in any coercion. He’d made her no promises, nor did she seem inclined to wheedle any out of him. “Our clothes are not entirely dry yet.”

“No, I suppose not. It took more than a night to dry my coat the last time, Hugh.”

He slid his fingers across the smooth skin of her shoulders and felt her shiver.

“Do you mind if I call you Hugh?”

“When I’m inside you, you might call me anything you like.”

“But only then?” she whispered.

“No, I like hearing the sound on your lips. No one ever calls me by my given name.”

“What about your parents? What did your mother call you?”

He avoided thinking about them as much as pos
sible, especially his father, with his cruel streak and the blatant debauchery and mistresses that had driven his mother away. Hugh was not even certain he was Jasper’s true offspring. “I was born with three or four other titles, but she was partial to Glenloch.”

“That’s what she called you?”

“Generally,” he replied, wondering why her distant attitude should bother him now. It had never occurred to him before to be troubled by it, by the impersonality of the woman who’d borne him. “My mother tried to be a very conventional person.” At least in public.

“Mine was not,” Bridget said. “Nor was my aunt.”

“Nor are you, I think.”

“I hope not,” she said quietly. “I should like to be exactly like them—like my mother and her sister.”

“Tell me about them.” And he would be spared the aggravation of thinking about his own parents.

“I don’t remember my mother at all. She died when I was very young. But my aunt…She was very beautiful, and unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She traveled. Alone, if you can believe it, to exotic places,” said Bridget. “And I’m fairly certain she had a lover in Greece.”

“But you’re not sure.”

She frowned slightly. “ ’Twas not something we ever discussed. After all, she tried to raise me as a…a respectable woman.”

Hugh knew he had to steer her away from that topic, before her conscience came into play. “So you don’t really know about the Greek lover.”

“No, but…” She bit her lip and seemed to be deep in thought.

Hugh realized that her aunt must have been a woman of means at one time, if she’d traveled to Greece. He wondered what misfortune had sent Bridget to work for her living.

“But she left him to come here,” Hugh said.

She nodded. “When she learned of my father’s death, she knew I’d been left alone.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t really remember. About six, I suppose.”

“And your aunt came for you?”

“Eventually. My father had been gone at least three years before the bad news found her. It took many more months for her to get back.”

“What did you do in the meantime? How did you live?” Hugh found he did not care to think of Bridget as a child, having to manage alone until her aunt arrived. He wondered what she had done, how she had survived.

She slid her leg over his. “ ’Tis a long and dull tale. I’d much rather talk about your ghost. When did it first appear at Glenloch?”

“You know ’tis not real.” He spoke just as something loud slammed against one of the croft’s walls.

“See?”

“See what?”

“ ’Twas the ghost, contradicting you,” she mused.

He shook his head. “Not bloody likely. When you hear such sounds at the castle, they are merely the
creaking and settling of that pile of ancient stones.”

“So you say. But there is something. I’ve seen it.”

He allowed her to stay on the subject of the Glenloch Ghost, for he’d caught her fleeting expression of sorrow when speaking of her aunt.

He wanted to know more about her, but perhaps later. “As far as I know, there has always been talk of a ghost at Glenloch. For centuries, at least.”

“How many years has the castle stood?”

“Centuries. ’Twas built in William Wallace’s time.”

“Do you think she—the ghost—was one of the original inhabitants?”

“I suppose there is no point in my repeating that there is no ghost?”

“None at all. Who was she? Do any of the legends give her name?”

“There are no records of those times, so we’ll never know exactly who the tales are about.”

“Hmmm…”

“What?”

“ ’Tis possible the ghost itself could tell us.”

H
ugh laughed, enjoying the soft graze of her body against his. “ ’Tis not very likely, Bridget, since the thing is a figment of the very active Scottish imagination.”

Bridget was quiet for a moment, then changed the subject again. “Your housekeeper will wonder where you are. And me, too, I suppose.”

“She might.”

“What will you tell her?”

“Naught. Where I go and what I do is none of her concern.”

“She has known you a long time.”

“Aye. Since I was born,” said Hugh.

“She and the other servants truly do not go into the castle after dark?”

He nodded. “They’re fearful.”

“But you stay there, and I did…Doesn’t it occur
to them that naught has happened to you over the years?”

“They might have come to that conclusion, but then Amelia threw herself from the roof.”

She propped herself up on her forearm and looked at him, her eyes full of sympathy and compassion. “I am so sorry. I…I’d heard.”

“No doubt all Kincardineshire knew of her suicide.”

“Aye. Such tales seem to have legs.”

“The servants are not convinced that the Glenloch Ghost had naught to do with it.”

“They think the ghost pushed her?”

“It’s a thought that’s crossed their minds.”

“But—”

“But what, Miss MacLaren?” he asked, wondering if she would repeat the usual cant about Amelia having been a happy woman with every advantage and absolutely no reason to kill herself.

“The ghost I saw would never have done such a thing,” she said, surprising him.

She seemed so adamant, he could almost believe she’d seen the specter. “How would you know?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she said as she slid down and touched her lips to his chest. “It just didn’t seem…It’s much too ethereal.”

“Ethereal,” he rasped when her tongue circled his nipple.

“Aye. Without substance. How would such a being ever manage to push her?”

Hugh closed his eyes and swallowed. “How, indeed, Miss MacLaren.”

“The servants should try not to be so terrified of it.” Her hands found his erection and she traveled farther down his body, her tight nipples burning a path down to his waist, and below.

“And you are not?” he croaked.

“I’m a great deal more terrified of you, Laird,” she said.

And Hugh could not find his voice to answer her.

They slept again, and when Brianna awoke, Hugh was partially dressed, leaning up against a wall for balance. He pulled on his boots while she observed him surreptitiously, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the long, lean lines of his body.

She renewed her vow never to give in to Stamford’s wishes that she marry Roddington. The man was a repulsive toad, and she could not imagine sharing even the slightest intimacy with him. Hugh was the only…

The fleeting thought that had escaped her the night before returned.
Roddington wouldn’t want her, now that she’d shared the bed of another man.
She was no longer an innocent virgin, the respectable bride her aunt had raised. Her reputation was shredded. If Stamford found her now, she would not be required to marry the marquess, not when he knew she’d spent hours,
days,
alone in Hugh’s company. She would not be required to marry Roddington.

It was a relief, but at the same time, worrisome.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Hugh.

Bree sat up, holding the blanket in front of her, though it was much too late for modesty. “Good morning again.”

He came and sat down beside her. “ ’Tis more like noon, or even later. And it’s stopped raining.”

“ ’Tis good news.”

“Depending on how you look at it.” He leaned close and took hold of an edge of the blanket, tugging it down, baring her body as he feathered light kisses against her mouth.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, and a familiar pleasurable pressure mounted between her legs. A soft moan emanated from the back of her throat, and she lay back, pulling Hugh down with her. She reached for the placket of his trews and started on the buttons, gratified to feel his arousal, hard and hot, ready for her.

“Hurry, Hugh,” she said, breathlessly. She wanted him now. She wanted to feel the hard completion of his body inside hers.

He clearly felt the same, for he shoved his trews out of the way and moved quickly between her legs, entering her with a groan of intense pleasure. He moved out again quickly, then began a sharp rhythm that took Brianna to the edge in only a few strokes. She shattered, her spasms squeezing him, her pleasure engulfing her at the same moment that he reached his own climax. Hovering over her, he quaked and trembled, then lowered his forehead to hers, breathing heavily.

“Are you always so insatiable?” he asked.

“I…I’m not…I don’t know. I-I’ve only…” she spluttered before she could collect her thoughts. His
lovemaking turned her brain to pap, her only coherent idea that she wanted to stay with him in the primitive little croft.

Their simple existence there eliminated all her worries, but only temporarily. Once they left, Bree would have to carry out her plan to go away and stay out of her guardian’s control until she reached her majority. Only then would she be able to return to Killiedown Manor.

Yet the thought of leaving Hugh caused her chest to burn. The thought of going away, perhaps never to see him again, was crushing. “I did not know…” she whispered, hardly able to find her voice. “This is all so…”

“New,” he said. “Aye. You are perfect, lass.”

He kissed her once lightly, then drew away and refastened his trews while Brianna rose from the bed, feeling as though the ground had been pulled out from under her. All she wanted in the world was to live at Killiedown and raise her horses.

There was absolutely no future with Hugh, so her path was clear.

She watched as he finished dressing and wondered if he truly thought she was perfect. Likely it was something he said to every woman who shared his bed, although their night together came close to that description for her.

“I’ll wait for you outside.” He stepped out, giving her a moment’s privacy to wash as well as she could with the water he’d collected in the cup. She dressed quickly, then put on her coat and started for the door,
but stopped suddenly. As she turned back to look at the intimate space she’d shared with him, an ache of longing washed over her.

She squelched her foolishness, but just before she made her exit, grabbed the plaid blanket from their pallet, folded it, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She tied it against her chest like a shawl, the only reminder she would have of their one night together.

The sky was heavy with clouds, but at least it was not raining. Or snowing. Brianna shuddered, aware that the break in the weather would also allow Stamford to resume his travel. She knew she should go south now. Every instinct screamed for her to go away and lose herself someplace where Lord Stamford could never find her.

And yet she could not face leaving Hugh. She did not know how she was going to bid farewell to his dark gaze and the intimate touch of his hands and mouth, or his body inside hers.

He looked large and forbidding in his greatcoat, his visage made dangerous by the crescent scar on his cheekbone. But Brianna had known the tenderness of his touch. He’d risked his life to save her from the roiling sea, even though she had not deserved it, not when she’d acted so stupidly.

She put her hand on his forearm and looked up at him. “Thank you for coming for me. In the boat.”

He dragged her up against him. “Promise me you’ll never do anything so foolish again.”

Her only desire at that moment was to please him. She nodded. “Never.”

“We’ve a distance to go before it gets dark,” he said, releasing her. “And I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

“Might we walk on the beach?” she asked, hoping to avoid the route Stamford would surely take. No doubt he’d already been up to Killiedown and Aberdeen. Perhaps he was in Stonehaven now, and would soon be on this very same road.

“ ’Twill be much easier—and faster—this way.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, and started walking on the road that lay directly west of their croft.

Brianna quickly glanced south, but did not possess the resolve to take her leave of him now. Nor did she think he would let her go. She felt his hunger and the promise of pleasures to come once they reached the castle.

She could do naught but give them one more night.

A wicked wind blew in from the north and bruised their faces as they walked, but at least they met no one on their way to Glenloch.

“You know it will be difficult to secure employment in Dundee,” he said after they’d covered some distance in silence.

“Perhaps,” Bree replied, her heart dropping as he spoke of such practical matters. While she’d been thinking he must be recalling every intimate move they’d made together, he’d brought up her departure to Dundee as though naught had occurred between them. As though anticipating her departure.

“We’ll talk about it when we get back,” he said in an
offhand way, and Brianna’s breath caught somewhere deep in her chest. She should have realized he was well-practiced at dealing with lovers taken and eventually cast off.

It was not going to happen that way for him this time. She would be at no man’s mercy. Yet her decent clothes and all her money were resting at the bottom of the sea. She could not survive in Dundee now, without money—as Hugh had just reminded her—and little chance of employment. Killiedown was out of the question, for there was too good a chance that Lord Stamford would return there when he failed to find her anywhere else.

And he would be furious. She’d felt the back of his hand a number of times in the early years before Claire had come and taken her from his house, and Brianna did not doubt that she would feel it again if he caught her before she had the authority to evict him from her life. She could only imagine how angry he must have been when she did not arrive for her wedding at St. George’s. He’d have felt humiliated and foolish, too—a man who had no control over his ward.

Bree had known her defiance would have consequences. Yet she’d been certain that if she arrived at Killiedown and informed Claire of Stamford’s intentions, her aunt would have stepped in and dealt with the man herself. Now she’d put Hugh between Roddington and his promised, innocent bride.

If Hugh ever discovered her real identity and that she’d betrayed a marquess with him, he would not simply be angry—he would want nothing more to do with her.

Brianna shook off her sense of foreboding. She clutched the shawl to her breast and kept moving, her future uncertain. She’d let down her defenses temporarily, but she knew how to rebuild them. She’d managed to do it many times before.