His Bonnie Bride

by Hannah Howell

  In a low voice, so that the others could not hear, Iain said, "Recall, ye swore nay to touch the lass unless she be willing. 'Tis a small thing Father asks, a small pleasure to give him when he's ailing so."

  "Aye, she'll be willing." Tavis frowned. "What do ye think ails our father? He grows even weaker."

  Iain nodded. "Aye, aye, he does, but there seems naught to do but watch him fade. God's wounds, but it makes a man feel helpless. He has nay lived a bad life. He deserves a better death, nay this slow one."

  There was little Tavis could say, for the same thing troubled him. He gripped Iain's shoulder in a brief gesture of sympathy and understanding. However, as Tavis made to leave, Iain grasped him by the arm. With one brow raised in silent query, Tavis met Iain's somber look, noticing that the man was far more sober than he.

  "Dinnae hurt the lass, Tavis. Eldon she may be, but she's a bonnie wee thing, sprung from the loins of a man I respect, though he be my foe, and 'twould grieve me if she suffered at your hands."

  Leaning down so that only Iain heard him, Tavis replied, "I dinnae intend to hurt the lass."

  "I ken I cannae ask ye to leave her be, to nay dishonor her."

  "Ye ken right. Few will believe she's nay been touched ere she leaves here. 'Tis a fever with me."

  Nodding, Iain released him. Grinning in response to many a ribald remark, Tavis left the hall. He headed to his own chambers, for he wished to bathe. A part of him hoped that a hot bath would ease his ache, cause him to seek his own bed and leave Storm Eldon alone, but he doubted it would.

  In a small chamber between his and Iain's quarters, Tavis had his bath set up. The lack of a window, the small size of the room and the fireplace kept the room draft-free, a perfect place to bathe. As he washed, he fought a hard inner battle, but neither his conscience nor his body won. Stepping out of the tub to towel himself dry, he merely swore not to force Storm, to cease if she resisted him too vehemently.

  She was his prisoner, he rationalized. He had a right to do as he pleased with her. Then, too, he had no intention of hurting her, only giving her pleasure. There had been the flicker of a response when he had kissed her, so he felt he could do that. She had also shown no true dislike of him in the week she had been at Caraidland. He simply could no longer silently suffer the aching need to possess her.

  He stepped into his room to find his robe. As he picked it up off a chair, Katerine sat up in his bed, bringing a harsh oath to his lips. Putting on his robe, he strode to the bed.

  "What in the devil's name are ye doing here?" he snarled, feeling nothing but fury as his gaze flickered over her thick black hair and the full breasts bared to his view.

  " 'Tis where I belong. 'Tis where I have slept each time I have come to Caraidland." She rose to her knees and slipped her arms around his neck. "Come to bed, Tavis, and let me pleasure ye as I have so oft in the past." She began to kiss his throat. "I have waited hours for ye to come to bed."

  "I didnae ask it of ye." He pulled her arms away from his neck. "I ken I made it plain in the hall this night that 'tis not what I want. Go to your own chambers, Kate."

  The chill in his voice combined with his flat rejection shattered Katerine's resolve to be conciliatory. "Ye would leave me for that scrawny Sassanach bitch?" she screeched, and swung at him.

  Catching her wrist with ease, Tavis flung it from him. "Aye. I would."

  "How can ye treat me so after I have given ye twa years o' me life?"

  "I didnae ask it of ye and I ken those years werenae solely mine. Nay, 'twas ye that sought out my bed, Kate, much as ye have tonight."

  "My family will make ye pay for this insult," she snarled, catching her clothes as he flung them at her.

  "A man has a right to choose his bedmate. They'll do naught and weel ye ken it."

  "Ye made promises. They expect us to be wed."

  "If they do 'tis because ye lied to them, Kate. I made ye nary a promise save to give and take pleasure, and that promise has been fulfilled. Ye were nay an innocent. Ye had kenned a man ere I had ye." He laughed softly. "Aye, and weel we ken who it was, for ye were far from discreet. Your family kens as weel. Nay, they may wish I will wed ye, but I dinnae think they expect it. An I take a wife it willnae be one of the women Alexander MacDubh has used and tossed aside."

  The color fled from Katerine's face, for she had not realized that Tavis knew about her affair with Alexander. " 'Tis a lie," she bluffed.

  "Is it?" He shrugged. "It matters not." He made no move to help her as she struggled into her clothes. "I cannae turn ye out, Kate, as ye are a MacBroth, and they are all welcome at Caraidland. Ye will, nonetheless, stay to your own room. 'Tis over, and we both ken it. Let it die. Find another man. Ye might e'en find one fool enough to wed ye, e'en though ye have the morals of a cat."

  Choking with anger, Katerine strode to the door. Part of her fury stemmed from the discovery that Tavis knew far more about her than she had thought or had wanted, as well as the fact that her plans to get with his child would never reach fruition if he kept her from his bed. Furious though she was, she did not plan on giving up. Her stint as his mistress was too well known. There would be few men who would wed her now. She could not lose Tavis, for he could well be her last chance to get a husband.

  "Go to the Sassanach whore then," she hissed as she stood in the doorway. "Ye will soon tire of her and want a real woman. Ye best hope when that time comes that I am in a forgiving mood."

  He winced as she slammed the door upon her exit. It was not to his liking that the ending was so acrimonious, but he doubted that it could have been any other way. Storm was not the only reason for freeing himself from Kate. The woman had gotten to be too possessive as well as a liability. Tavis was fairly sure that she was planning to become pregnant, and he wished to be away from her before she could succeed.

  It was not that he wished no wife, for he knew he must needs get one before too long, nor that he cared all that much that she be a virgin, although it would be nice. In the case of Katerine, it was simply her character. He doubted he would have even taken her for his mistress if she had not initiated the relationship. She was too much the cold, grasping sort, and she had no concept of fidelity, the one thing he would demand of a wife, for he had no wish to spend his years as a cuckold or guessing the paternity of his children. Kate was much like many another woman he had known.

  A crooked smile touched his finely chiseled mouth as he made his way to the tower where Storm slept. It appeared he would have some difficulty in finding a wife if he was after a woman he could trust. In his six and twenty years he had found that breed very rare. Only once had he trusted a woman, just to end up looking the fool, a hard thing for a proud man to endure.

  Recalling Mary always brought a surge of bitter anger. He had loved her to the point of near worship. Finding the woman he thought so pure and perfect in the arms of Alexander MacDubh, with her skirts tossed up like some whore, had been a shattering blow. From that moment on he had trusted no woman, treating them all with a callousness he thought they deserved, an attitude that none had yet been able to change. It had also been the start of a somewhat acrimonious rivalry with Alexander MacDubh, a rivalry that never broke out into open warfare, for Tavis did not hate the man, but he could not fully disassociate him from a time of painful disillusionment.

  Something in him craved to find Storm worthy of trust, to find her character little changed from the open honesty she had shown as a child. Her image had returned to him many a time since that first meeting. Yet, he told himself, she was a woman now. She was also an Eldon. Neither was a good foundation for putting his trust in her.

  When he reached her door he stared at it thoughtfully while the guard roused himself to unlock it. Tavis was rather glad that Angus was not there, for the man had developed a fatherly fondness for the pair and would no doubt have made his disapproval felt. Shaking away all moral questions about what he planned to do, Tavis stepped into the room, signaling the guard to follow. Tavis wanted
Storm with a desire that was nearly crippling, and he intended to have her.

  Chapter Seven

  A dying fire lit the room with a soft glow. Upon the large bed Storm and Phelan lay in each other's arms, the woman looking as much the child as the boy. Their slender bodies made little impression beneath the covers they were so snuggly wrapped in.

  "Get the boy and secure him elsewhere," he told the guard with a voice made husky from the vision of thick, brilliant hair spread over the pillows. Phelan woke as the guard lifted him from the bed. The resultant confrontation woke Storm. In a calm voice and in the tongue of Erin she told Phelan to go quietly.

  "Are you sure?" he asked in the same language, his gaze fixed belligerently on Tavis.

  "Yes." She also looked at Tavis, thinking it cruel that fate should allow her to bestow her heart upon a man who was not only her enemy but merely wished to use her. "It is inevitable, my darling boy. If not now, it will be later, for he desires it and I love him. I think the best thing for me to do is to get what pleasure I can out of it, so go, Phelan, and worry not about me. There is nothing that can be done."

  "If fate is kind, he will suffer from the withers," Phelan said and marched out of the room.

  Moving to stand by the bed once they were alone, Tavis looked down at a giggling Storm. "What did ye and the lad say to each other?" he asked quietly.

  "I told the boy he could do nothing so to go quietly. He wished upon ye an affliction that will make what ye plan an impossibility." She wished she was not so aware of how attractive he was when he smiled.

  Sitting down on the bed, Tavis grasped her by the wrists and held her hands on either side of her head. "Do ye still intend to fight me, lass? I'll warn ye now," he bluffed, "a fight willnae deter me."

  "That I had judged upon my own," she drawled. "Nay, I will not fight ye for 'twill bring me only pain."

  He brushed featherlight kisses over her flushed cheeks. " 'Tis true. This way I can bring ye pleasure."

  "I said I would not fight ye. I did not say I would cooperate." As his lips continued to move gently over her face, Storm had the distressing feeling that her body would go its merry way despite her wishes.

  "Mayhaps I can change your mind, lass. Since ye must give in, why not gain what ye can from it, sweeting?" He pulled the covers down and began to unlace the silken chemise she wore.

  Storm could feel the heat of desire seep into her veins despite her battle to quell it. The light from the dying fire and the candle he had brought with him made it fairly easy to see what he was doing, something that was proving a heady experience. She realized with a touch of bitter self-recrimination that if she had fought him it would have been a very short battle. The only way she could save any face would be to feel no pleasure or to hide that which she did feel, but she knew instinctively that she would not be allowed even that small victory. Her heart was her worst enemy. She could only pray that he would never realize how fully he held her in the palm of his hand.

  Tavis eased the garment off of her, wishing she did not hold herself so limply. When his gaze fell upon her full, ivory breasts, his breath caught in his throat. It was not only her beauty that moved him, but the indication that her disinterest was a total sham. Her breathing was already becoming erratic, the perfect rosettes upon her breasts were hardening before his eyes, calling out for his caress, and the pulse of her elegant, slim throat was pounding in such a way that it showed him her blood was racing through her veins as much as his was. The desire within her was clearly winning out over her other wants.

  Slowly his gaze moved to her tiny waist and lingered on her flat, satiny stomach. His survey shifted quickly to her small lovely feet, eased its way up her slim, well-formed legs and riveted greedily upon the nest of coppery curls that hid his final prize. Turning his gaze back to her face, the blush in her cheeks apparent even in the dim light, he shed his robe.

  "Ye are perfection," he said, his voice soft and hoarse with need. "I think ye are blushing all over."

  "No man has e'er looked upon me as ye do now. 'Tis shame that brings the color to my face."

  "Ah, lass, if there be any shame in this, 'tis mine and glad I am to bear it an it means I can possess the loveliness I now look upon. So cease your blushes, sweeting. They gain ye naught."

  A fact that she would rather die than reveal was that some of the color in her cheeks was caused by blood heated nearly to boiling by the vision of his unclothed body. As his eyes had drifted over her, so hers did over him. Tavis MacLagan made Sir Hugh look like a wizened cripple.

  Her gaze skimmed over broad shoulders and a strong, lightly furred chest with a delight that was hard to conceal. As she ran her tongue along suddenly dry lips, her gaze followed the thin path of dark hair past a trim waist and lean hips. Following the perfect symmetry of his long, muscular legs, she returned to the spot she had shyly evaded earlier. A flicker of virginal fear rippled through her as she saw the bold proof of both his desire and his masculinity. She suddenly felt very small. A shudder went through her when he joined her on the bed and she was held close to all that virility.

  "Do not do this, MacLagan," she pleaded in a final attempt to stop what seemed inevitable. "I am a virgin. I have known no man. My innocence should be a gift to my lawful husband."

  The image of another man possessing what he now held seared through Tavis's brain, and it took him a moment to quell a nauseating rage he did not understand. "Ye ask too much, sweet. I am but a man. To turn away from this is more than I can do."

  "Can ye not satisfy your lust upon your mistress? She would know better than I how to please you." Even as she voiced the suggestion, nearly choking upon it, a part of her prayed he would not heed it.

  "Nay, lass, I cannae." He ran a hand down her side, luxuriating in the hollows and rises. " 'Tis a puzzle to me, but ye have entered my blood. Kate was in my chambers, waiting and willing, but for all I told myself 'twould be best to turn to her, I found myself sending her away." He slid a hand up her rib cage to gently cup her breast and experienced a small sense of triumph upon feeling the nipple bore into his palm with impudent invitation. "I have lost all taste for her charms. The time was o'erdue for her to be away."

  "I know we are enemies, but must ye make me play the whore to gain my freedom?" she cried, stoutly ignoring the urge to pull him into her arms in reaction to the joy his words had given her.

  Cupping her face in his hands, Tavis teased at her lips with his while saying, "Ah, lass, I didnae mean those words. They were spoken in anger. What I am about to do has naught to do with ye being my prisoner. Nay, nor your ransom we have yet to gain. This is solely the burning need of a man for a woman. I couldnae bear the thought of ye being sent back to Hagaleah without tasting the sweetness of ye."

  His kiss was a gentle seduction, nearly clearing her mind of all thought save of him and pleasure. However, a small, rational voice hung on, telling her that the man was a practiced deceiver, a skilled charmer. He knew just what to say to break down the wall she had tried to build. Even so, as his tongue explored her mouth, she had to clench her hands into tight little fists to still the urge to touch him. Her body cared nothing for her mind's warnings.

  As his lips moved down her slender throat, he groaned. "Touch me, lass. I want to feel those bonnie wee hands move o'er my flesh. Touch me, Storm. Discover the man that aches for ye."

  "Nay, nay, I cannot," she moaned in a voice she did not recognize as her own. " 'Tis not right."

  "Storm, bonnie Storm, dinnae make me angry. I am nay too sane just now and I could hurt ye, which isnae what I want at all." He brushed kisses over the swell of her breasts. "Touch me, Storm."

  "Nay, I must not. I ... ah!" she cried softly when he cupped a breast in his hand and his lips closed over the hardened tip, sending shafts of fire through her as his tongue flicked over the nub, creating an ache that he eased with a gentle suckling. "I am lost," she whispered, her hands burying themselves in his thick hair while her body arched against him in graceful
need.

  " 'Tis the purest nectar," he murmured as he gave her other breast an equal service, his hand moving in a slow caress down her stomach. "Your skin is like the finest silk."

  Storm bit her lip in an attempt to stop the soft sounds of passion trying to escape her. It was in vain, for they exploded in her throat, sounding very much like a contented purr. He was turning her into a mindless receptacle for his lust, yet she could not stop her body's response to his practiced caresses. Her hands touched him wherever they could reach, moving with a shy but greedy delight that she could not control. As his kisses moved over her soft midriff, his hand slid between her legs to caress and probe. She tensed slightly, briefly, then slid over the edge into a mindless state, aware only of her pleasure and an aching need that was rapidly growing within her.

  Tavis sensed her final capitulation and gave a soft, triumphant laugh. He had felt the passion within her, felt her tremble as she fought to subdue it, and had used all his skill to make passion the victor. His reward was the way she was coming alive beneath him, her thrashings and the sounds of pleasure escaping her stirring him in a way he had never experienced before. As his mouth edged its way back to her breasts, his fingers sought out the heart of her, readying her for his final possession and luxuriating in the warm moistness of her, a warmth that would soon know him more fully.

  He wanted to savor his passion, the like of which he had never known before, but soon reached the limit of his endurance. Her small hands with their shy, unpracticed touches were driving him near to madness, giving him more pleasure than he had ever found beneath the skilled touch of others. His strong hands upon her slim hips to hold her steady, he eased into her, met the obstruction of her innocence and shattered it, his mouth swallowing her startled cry of pain. His teeth gritted against his body's urges, he lay still, letting the pain subside and her body adjust to his intrusion.

  "It hurts," she whispered a little tearfully. "Can ye not leave now?"