Tempted (8 page)

Ram’s fingertips traced a line from her taut nipple, straight down across her belly and directly to the swollen bud high in the slit between her legs. He took it between his finger and thumb, rolling it gently, then squeezing it rhythmically, keeping time with her heartbeat.

Zara’s hand reached out to cup his heavy sac, and she used the same technique on him, gently rolling his balls one against the other to arouse him to where he might lose
control. Her fingers closed around his thick shaft, and she manipulated his foreskin up and down with expertise. She knew every trick. It was her business to know what pleasured a man, what aroused him to madness, and what made him beg for mercy.

He plunged two fingers deep inside her, and she arched up into his hand. Then he straddled her, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his long, hard manroot. He thrust to the hilt, knowing he was filling her as only he could.

She was almost incoherent now, rising and falling with his deep thrusts. Suddenly he withdrew and whispered, “Sweetheart, I think it was better in your caravan after all.”

Dear God, she hadn’t known there were any more mountains left to climb! He had taken her to the peaks over and over, only to let her fall back into the valleys without ever reaching the summit. She knew she could not bear to have him start again. “Lady Valentina Kennedy!” she cried.

He plunged down savagely, knowing exactly how many deep thrusts would bring her to the point where she would let down her love juices and enjoy a merciful release. He waited patiently for her to come down from the dark side of Paradise to a place where she was aware of their surroundings. Zara became aware of more than that, however She knew he had not ejaculated. She knew he was still hard and throbbing, still unsatisfied, and she knew that that was what his perverse body wanted at that moment.

She knew also that his mind had left her the moment she had uttered the name. She reached for her shawl, and he picked her up as if she were made of thistledown and carried her back to her caravan. He laid her gently upon her bed, donned his plaid, and left without another word.

The bloody Kennedys! They’d once been kings of Carrick. This western seacoast had more than two dozen Kennedy lairds. His eyes raised to the hills, which had seen
some of the grimmest scenes of clan warfare and feudal savageries. The Kennedys were as awkward and troublesome a bunch as history had ever thrown up!

He rode toward Castle Doon at almost a leisurely pace with slow deliberation. Finally he allowed his mind to focus on the woman. So that was Flaming Tina Kennedy. He should have guessed. In actuality he was shocked that the beautiful wild creature he had seen was a lady of noble birth. He was doubly shocked that an unmarried lady was allowed the freedom of a Gypsy camp, the freedom to ride about the countryside unescorted, the freedom to come and go, obtaining entrance into castles where she could be raped or worse. Of course he did not delude himself that she was a virgin. She was a honeypot. Her reputation was legend. He’d heard her name on the lips of men at court, on the lips of his friends, the Gordons and the Campbells. He’d heard her name deep in the borders and in the Highlands. He’d heard her name in Glasgow and Edinburgh and Stirling. Her name was mentioned every time men spoke of beautiful women, of willful women, of women they would like to bed, of women who would make magnificent mistresses. He clamped his teeth until his jaw looked and felt like a lump of iron. She was just another Kennedy bitch!

The dinner at Castle Doon had been enjoyed by one and all. Donal was so pleased with himself, he pummeled Duncan’s broad back with his hamlike fist each time he passed him. Duncan was pleased that for once he had taken Tina’s advice to shut his mouth, and as a result matters had not blown up in his face.

David was pleased that his arm was healed enough to leave off the bandage. What scar still remained from the burn was a testament to his daring deeds on the night of the raid.

Beth was pleased that her sister Valentina had taken the trouble to help her select a gown for dinner and that her brothers for once were as amicable as three red fox pups.

Ada was more than pleased that when Lord Hamilton arrived, he had had his second-in-command with him, who seemed as gallant and polished as a Hamilton—indeed, she suspected he was a by-blow of the Earl of Arran himself.

Kirsty was pleased that Mr. Burque had stared at her for a full minute tonight. It could only be due to the padding she had courageously stitched inside the bodice of her gown. Apparently a little enhancement had gone a long way in gaining her the attention she craved. Mercifully, she had not yet discovered that one of her new titties had slipped around to the back of her gown.

Lady Valentina Kennedy was more than pleased that Patrick Hamilton had arrived early and had never once taken his dark blue eyes from her. He was attentive, witty, intrigued, and very clearly smitten. In the past they had exchanged many glances, many teasing sallies, many
dances, and many touches and light kisses, but she had never singled him out from her other admirers for special attention until lately. Tonight there was something in the very air that told them both they would get to know each other more intimately. All was conducive to forging the first links of a liaison. Her brothers were friendly and affable tonight, almost treating him as one of the family, and best of all her parents were not in residence.

The food had been nothing short of superb, and the wine and whisky had flowed freely. The evening itself was romantic. The spring air was almost balmy, fragrant with the scent of bluebells and gorse. The moon and stars hung brilliantly in a black velvet sky.

Tina took Patrick up on the parapets of Doon to observe the savage beauty of the sea, but he was both annoyed and disappointed that her woman, Ada, chaperoned them. Valentina’s hair was blown into a red cloud by the night wind, and it billowed about the shoulders of her white silk gown. Patrick was so close that her fragrance stole to him, filling his nostrils with the mingled, heady scent of hyacinth and woman as she threw out her arm: “This view is never static. The ebbing tides and the rolling mist see to that.”

“Beautiful … breathtaking,” he whispered in her ear, and she knew he was paying homage. He slipped his arm about her waist, defying her woman to make some objection. He stiffened as Ada approached. He was ready for her. To his amazement she suggested, “Valentina, why don’t you take Lord Hamilton to see the pear trees in the orchard? The blossoms are so profuse, you’d swear the branches were covered by snow.” She smiled at Patrick. “My lord, if you send your man up here, I will show him the sea and entertain him so that the next two hours will not drag endlessly for him.”

Patrick could have kissed the woman. She couldn’t have made it plainer that she was allowing him two hours of uninterrupted privacy with her charge. Tina flashed him a provocative smile. She removed his arm from her waist and
clasped his hand, then together they descended the castle stairs. He had a quiet word with his man, directing him to the parapets, and then he and Tina went out into the castle garden. Once there, she took back her hand, then quickened her steps to carry her deep into the orchard, glancing back over her shoulder to lure him after her.

The moon bathed the blossoming trees with a pale, delicate light, and her silk gown was like a splash of whiteness beneath the fragrant pear blooms. His long stride soon closed the distance between them. “I’m having a most enjoyable evening. Will ye allow me tae come again?”

Tina shrugged a beautiful shoulder. “Perhaps.”

He took a step closer. She did not retreat. “If I invite ye tae Lanark an’ Hamilton, will ye come?”

Tina ran a provocative tongue over her top lip. “Perhaps”

Patrick was quick to catch on to her teasing replies, and he framed his next question accordingly. “If I kiss ye, will ye kiss me back?”

Her lips made a little moue. “Perhaps.”

He closed the distance between them, then placed his hands on either side of her small waist and drew her toward him. The piquant fragrance of pear blossoms mingled with her delicious woman’s scent. He had become aroused the moment they were alone together, and her teasing, come-hither glances to lure him after her had painfully hardened him. Now as he dipped his head to taste her, his manhood reared and bucked and then began to throb. He felt the throbbing all the way to his eardrums. He kissed her softly, tentatively, molding his lips to hers. His pulse quickened when she opened her mouth slightly beneath his in a most inviting way. He lifted his mouth from hers and murmured huskily, “Sweetheart, when ye say
perhaps
, do ye always mean yes?”

“Perhaps,” she whispered, but when he again lowered his mouth to hers, she slipped away playfully and ducked beneath a heavily laden bough. He did not hesitate to pursue
and capture her. This time he brought her body close to his and pressed her against his hardness. “Little wanton, ye know what ye do tae me,” he said raggedly.

“What?” she asked innocently, her eyes brimful of mischief.

Patrick Hamilton was a very experienced man with ladies of the sporting variety, and up until tonight he had always had a strict code of behavior toward unmarried girls of high birth. But Flaming Tina Kennedy was a force to be reckoned with. More than any female he’d ever desired, either whore or virgin, she made a man think of bed and fucking.

He decided to break his code of behavior. He bent his lips to her ear and whispered, “Ye are cockteasing.”

Tina had to stand on tiptoe to put her lips against his ear. “Am I good at it?” she whispered outrageously.

“Damned good!” he said aloud. “I think ye’ve had lots of practice. Is it true ye’ve turned down six proposals?”

She laughed up into his handsome face. “Six marriage proposals, but scores of indecent proposals.”

He laughed at her candor, then exhaled a slow breath of desire. Though her interest in him was undisguised, he feared she would not succumb to his wiles. “Ye know exactly how tae twist men about yer fingers. Ye refuse a proposal and twist them tighter.”

“Not guilty, Patrick. I truly didn’t want to wed any of them.”

He slipped an arm about her, then took her chin in his other hand and held her so that he could look deeply into her eyes. “What about me, Tina?”

“You have a most comfortable pair of arms, my lord.”

He smiled, knowing she would make him spell it out in plain language. “Do ye think I could make Lady Kennedy become Lady Hamilton?”

“Patrick, I must be totally honest with you. I told my father flatly I did not wish to be married. He told me in no uncertain terms that I must marry. He advised me to
choose while the choice was still mine. The alternative would be a forced marriage, chosen either by Archibald Kennedy or the king.”

She was easily the loveliest woman he’d ever held. Too, she had a most exciting quality about her, as if she were ready to kick over the traces, and more than anything on earth he wanted to be the man to teach her the mysteries of her own sexuality. “Sweet, are ye telling me that I am yer choice?”

“I am telling you that I am in no hurry to marry, but that I should like to be wooed. I am telling you that perhaps I would enjoy being your sweetheart. Then, if we find that we love each other, we could be betrothed. I’m told that leads to marriage.” The look in her eyes held all the fatal power of destruction.

He groaned and covered her mouth with his, this time kissing her deeply. “Tina, I’d be unwilling tae wait that long for ye.”

The man on guard at Doon’s gate tower saw the lone rider in the dark plaid and raised the portcullis. He shook his head and laughed to himself, for obviously it was another suitor for Valentina. The torches on the gatehouse showed the dark head of the clansman and the dark greens of the tartan, and the guard guessed that it was either a Campbell or a Gordon. Both men were heirs to powerful earldoms, and he wished he could be present when the man riding in discovered that the heir to the powerful Arran and cousin to the king already had his feet under the table.

Ram Douglas rode up to Doon Castle and across the drawbridge with cold deliberation. God help any who stood in his path. A young Kennedy groom came forward to take his horse, but one look at the enormous beast stopped him short. He saw that the black devil was savage and ready to attack anyone who approached with teeth and hooves. The groom ran back into the stables.

The Black Ram dismounted and tethered Ruffian securely. He strode into the castle as if he owned it. No one even considered stopping him. He had all the arrogant poise and confidence of a man who knew his own power. He walked a direct path to the great hall. The servants moved back to make way for him.

“Donal Kennedy.” His voice was deep, resonant, and commanding.

Donal looked up from his leather tankard, and Ram Douglas saw the burly figure, the full-bearded face, the piercing eyes. He saw those eyes widen in recognition.

There was no mistaking the swart darkness of Black Ram Douglas. Holy Christ, how had he found out? Donal’s claymore was at the ready, but he never even got the chance to unsheath it. Ramsay swung his weapon high with both powerful arms and brought the flat of the broadsword down full force upon Donal Kennedy’s head. It felled him instantly. He dropped like a dead horse.

Duncan Kennedy stared in disbelief at the scene that met his eyes as he came into the back of the hall from the kitchen. He saw his brother go down, and even from behind he knew a dreaded Douglas when he saw one. He drew his dirk and launched himself from behind.

The Black Douglas had the eyes and ears of a hawk. He did not need to turn around to know he was being assailed. His elbow smashed into Duncan’s belly, doubling him over; then the heavy hilt of Ram’s knife came up under Duncan’s chin with an uppercut that knocked out a tooth and embedded it in his tongue. Blood was everywhere.

Davie was in the solar plucking out a tune on a lute when he heard the commotion. He thought that most likely Donal had had too much to drink and had picked a fight with Patrick Hamilton. Not wanting to miss the fun, he ran down the winding stone staircase that led to the hall. His face turned ashen as he saw the fury of Black Ram Douglas. The intruder snatched the lute from David’s hands and smashed it against the wall The wooden, pear-shaped
body splintered away, leaving a jagged neck with its fretted fingerboard. Ram jabbed it into Davie’s throat as he growled, “Vicious young bastard!”

In spite of his damaged mouth Duncan had cried the alarm, and now red Kennedys were gathering from every direction. Ram grabbed Davie with one powerful arm and wielded his sword with the other. None dared to make a move against him. Ram knew he had timed his one-man assault perfectly. Every last Kennedy had been drinking heavily, and there was none to challenge the Douglas might.

Ramsay’s voice rang through the castle: “Restore my cattle, or face the consequences! If it’s reiving ye want, it’s reiving ye’ll get!” he promised with relish Before he came to Doon, he’d had a notion to take back his young prisoner and hold him for ransom, but now with great contempt for the cowardice of a clan who would raid knowing another clan would be blamed, he flung David Kennedy away from him and watched dispassionately as he hit his head against a fireplace and sank to the flagstones.

Ramsay turned to leave, disappointment surging inside him that there were not more of them to put up a fight. He still had a hot ball of fury burning inside his gut that needed an outlet. He flung open the heavy studded door and heard the seductive laughter of a woman very sure of her prey. A couple were kissing before they came inside.

Douglas stood to one side to let them enter and stared directly into the eyes of Patrick Hamilton. “Christ’s passion!” he swore, his pewter eyes glittering with hatred “The bloody rotten Hamiltons in cahoots with the cowardly Kennedys!” He spat on the floor to rid his mouth of the taste of their names.

Patrick Kennedy had no idea what Douglas was talking about, but it made little difference to him. Here was his hereditary enemy. They’d lived their entire lives at each other’s throats. Their castles were built almost nose to nose, and the two clans were bitter rivals because of territory,
ambition, and the ruthless power-mongering of Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, and James Hamilton, Earl of Arran. Even the king knew better than to put them on border patrol at the same time, and he was forever at them to sign a bond of friendship or at least declare a truce.

“Step inside, man,” invited Douglas.