Sins of a Highland Devil

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  Two heavily carved, age-blackened chairs and his large, iron-banded strongbox gave the room a bold, masculine feel. Wax candles glowed in the wall sconces. And someone, likely Beathag, had laid out a cold repast. Cheese, smoked mackerel, oatcakes, and sliced breast of capon winked from the small table near his bed.

  But it wasn’t his room’s amenities that froze him where he was, staring.

  It was how the corner of Catriona’s mouth tilted up so amusedly when she turned to face him. “Somehow I don’t think this is the guest quarters?”

  “Nae, it isn’t.” He gave her a hard stare.

  She might’ve mistaken the door, but the twinkle in her eyes said she knew he’d been following her.

  “This, sweet”—he took a step closer—“is my bedchamber.”

  Any other woman would have left then. Perhaps blushing pink and tripping over her skirts in her haste to be gone from a man’s privy quarters.

  But Catriona wasn’t any woman.

  Her chin came up and she did color a bit, but in a most provocative way.

  “I see.” She touched the ambers at her throat, her gaze going to his bed.

  Massive, four-postered, and exquisitely carved, the great ancestral bed was dressed in plaid and could only be more magnificent if she were draped naked across its empty, waiting sheets.

  “Perhaps it’s as well I’m here?” She went to close the door behind them, making his insides knot when she slid the drawbar in place, locking them in. “In my experience—”

  “You have none, save prancing onto thin ice. And I’ll no’ be giving you the other kind.” James clenched his hands at his sides, unable to breathe. “No’ even if there were ten bolts across the door.”

  She had the cheek to glance over him, head to toe. “I told you once that you think too highly of yourself. I only thought to offer you a lady’s courtesy. Just as I would’ve done were we now at Blackshore.”

  Her gaze went to the far wall, and James felt the floor dip when he saw the bathing tub before the hearth.

  “Such a service means nothing.” She looked him in the eye. “All ladies are adept at it, and such baths are hardly matters of intimacy.”

  Thor’s bollocks they are!

  James kept the sentiment to himself.

  The beast inside him roared, demanding he put an end to her long torment of him. For the sad truth was—he was loath to admit it—he’d wanted her for years, perhaps since the stormy encounter in their youth when he’d come upon her on the high moors and told her dreagans would eat her if she didn’t run home to Blackshore.

  She’d been a burr in his side ever since, though it near choked him to admit any such attachment. Just the thought sent heat crawling up his neck. He burned to storm across the room, seize her, and kiss her until he’d proved that it was only lust that he felt for her.

  But he didn’t move a muscle, because the fierce hammering of his heart said otherwise.

  He didn’t want to love her.

  Nothing could be more disastrous.

  So he wrapped his hands around his sword belt and pretended not to notice her lushly curved body or how much her boldness and spirit pleased him.

  She lifted a brow. “The bath is to your liking? I heard you order one in the hall.”

  He had, but he’d intended to bathe alone.

  He looked at her, unable to speak, for she was already removing her shawl. And then—the throbbing at his groin worsened—she began loosening her bodice, rolling up her gown’s sleeves.

  He knew why.

  The reason was the great barrel tub, thoughtfully lined with linen, and—as always—possessed of a sitting bench to ensure his bathing comfort. Wafts of pine-scented steam rose from the tub’s heated water, while a nearby stool held a small jar of soap and scrubbing cloths.

  Drying linens warmed on a hook near the fire and—he actually gulped—he had no doubt whatsoever as to whose hands would rub his nakedness with those oh-so-innocent lengths of toweling.

  Even as he resisted, he knew she’d win.

  “Sweet Jesus.” He was close to spilling, the tight pulsing at his loins making his eyes hurt. Apparently there was a god, for she didn’t seem to have heard him.

  Chin high, she stood beside the tub, waiting. “Well?”

  He frowned. He wasn’t going to undress before her.

  She leaned down to ripple the water, sending up clouds of steam. “I’ve seen every man at Blackshore naked.” She glanced at him, correctly guessing the reason for his hesitation. “And I’ve bathed most of them, at one time or another.”

  “That may be…” James felt his face flaming.

  He was sure not a one of her bathing kinsmen had dropped his plaid to reveal what she’d see if he threw caution out the window and stripped to his own bare skin, presenting her with his urgent, rampant need.

  She straightened, drying her fingers on one of the linen towels. “The bath is cooling.”

  “Lass”—he didn’t budge—“it doesn’t matter if the water’s scalding or if there’s ice on the surface. The truth is, if I climb into that barrel, we’ll both be climbing into my bed when I’m done bathing.”

  He gave her one of his fiercest looks. “Dinnae say you weren’t warned.”

  She smiled. “I’m not afraid.”

  And so she wasn’t.

  She loosened her bodice ties a bit more and then reached down to stir the bathwater again. Candlelight fell across her as she bent, and through the slight gaping of her gown’s neckline, he could just see the dusky tip of one of her breasts. The nipple was taut, tight and thrusting, as if begging to be licked, nipped, and suckled.

  He already knew the sweetness of her nipples. But he hadn’t yet tasted them.

  He groaned—and this time she heard him.

  Straightening, she touched a hand to her breast, and he knew she knew what he’d seen.

  He looked at her, sure he’d never seen a woman more beautiful, stirring, or incitingly sensual.

  He’d almost kill a man for another peek at that one sweet nipple. He would kill a man to see both of them. And he’d face an army to rub his thumbs over them again, this time swirling his tongue round and round…

  “There’s pine-scented soap.” Her voice shattered his lust haze. “It’s quite fine. Very much like Alasdair uses.”

  James frowned. Hearing her brother’s name made him feel like the worst sort of lecher.

  He shuddered, certain he was.

  “You do want me to bathe you, don’t you?”

  “I do, yes.”

  And he could hardly draw breath for wanting her.

  He did wonder how a maid—an innocent, he was sure—could rouse him so thoroughly that just her glances, a peek at one pert nipple, had him as hard as if she’d curled her fingers around him, squeezing tight.

  “You can’t bathe in your plaid.” She persisted, a faint smile curving her mouth, tempting him. “You have to get naked and—”

  “Hellfire and damnation!” He strode a few paces, then swung back around, his reluctance to toss off his clothes vanishing beneath her boldness.

  Her plainspoken words that carried such heat.

  He looked at her, his heart thundering. “I didn’t want this…”

  But she’d pushed him too far.

  The beast inside him broke free, and he could feel the wickedest smile curving his own lips and knew his fingers were unclasping the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, knew as well that his hands were whipping off his plaid, tossing it onto the bed.

  He couldn’t have held back now if his life depended on it. All he wanted was to hop in and out of the infernal washing tub and then sweep Catriona up in his arms and carry her to the bed, where he’d ravage her the whole night through, to hell with honor.

  So his sword belt, shoes, and tunic went the way of his plaid. Then, no longer caring if she saw exactly what she did to him, he set his hands on his hips and simply stood before her, naked so that she could fill her eyes. And she did, star
ing at him in fascination, the awe on her face making him swell even larger.

  Then, before he embarrassed himself, he strode across the room and swung a leg over the side of the bathing tub and eased himself into the steaming water.

  “Ahhh…” He leaned back, resting his head against the tub’s rim, closing his eyes. He’d fallen this far, sinned so badly, that he might as well enjoy himself.

  Any moment, Catriona would begin soaping him, rubbing his shoulders and scrubbing his back, gliding her hands ever downward, tempting him anew…

  But no such delights followed.

  He did hear the rustle of her skirts as she stepped closer to the tub.

  “I have to tell you something.” Her tone prickled his nape.

  He snapped open his eyes, peering up at her. “Unless you’re about to say you’ll be removing that gown and joining me in this bath, I dinnae think I care to hear.”

  “I knew this wasn’t a guest room.” She spoke anyway. “The door’s grandness made me hope it was your bedchamber.”

  “I see.” He didn’t at all. But somehow he wasn’t surprised.

  She nodded. “I needed to speak with you somewhere private. Guest chambers often have squints so that chiefs can hear what visitors say when they don’t know that someone is listening.”

  James slanted a look up at her, amused.

  Castle Haven did have one or two guest chambers with spy holes.

  “And what is it that’s so secret?” He wondered if she meant to confess that she’d come here to seduce him.

  She peered down at him for a long moment. “It’s more intriguing than secret.” She dipped her fingers into the jar of soap and used a washing cloth to begin scrubbing his shoulders. Her touch sent shivers up and down his back. Hot desire, swift and sharp, so that it was all he could do not to pull her into the tub with him.

  He closed his eyes when her hand slid around to the place where his heart pounded. Then she slipped lower, her fingers skimming across his abdomen, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

  She leaned closer, soaping him. “See you, I—”

  “Have a care, lass.” His voice came rough, his need for her stirring in a way she’d soon discover if her questing fingers inched deeper.

  “There’s a ghost at Castle Haven.” Her words hit him like ice. “I saw one in your hall. A maid who looks like your sister and—”

  “You err.” James shot to his feet, sending water splashing everywhere. “You saw a curl o’ peat smoke.” He willed it so, not wanting Scandia and her doom anywhere near Catriona. “We’ve no bogles here.”

  He stared at her, amazed by her calm. “No’ now, no’ ever.”

  Cold dread sluicing him, he scrambled from the washing tub and grabbed a towel, rubbing himself vigorously. He threw the drying cloth aside, standing naked before the fire.

  “You should no’ have come here.” He shoved both hands through his hair. If his clan’s tragedy-bringer caused Catriona a shiver of sorrow, he’d singlehandedly tear down his castle’s walls to banish the she-ghost.

  “And”—he tried not to see how water from the bath had dampened her gown, making her bodice and the folds of her skirts cling to her shapeliness—“if you’d do what’s best, you’ll leave my chamber now.”

  Catriona shook her head. “I think not.”

  Her gaze dipped where it shouldn’t. Her breath caught and her eyes widened. She could still feel the hard, muscled warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. Each sweep of her hand over his flesh had made her want him. Now, seeing his bold masculinity, stunning desire consumed her. She drew herself up, trying to tear her gaze away.

  She couldn’t.

  She only stared, reliving how she’d just soaped him, feeling and caressing. If she’d touched him there…

  Leaving was impossible.

  As if he knew, his eyes darkened. “You’re on the ice again.”

  His gaze lowered to her damp bodice and her breasts grew heavy, just as they had in the stair tower. Her nipples tightened, and sweet warmth spread where he was looking, making her ache.

  He made no move to cover himself. But he did gesture to the door. “Go now, lass. Be gone while I can let you.”

  “And if I stay?” She lifted her chin, daring.

  “Then the ice breaks.” His gaze drifted over her now, making her tingle. “You plunge into the cold depths and drown.”

  She shivered, her insides melting. His dark, naked readiness excited her, making her dizzy. Just watching him look at her as if he were drinking in every inch of her, savoring her, pushed all other thought from her mind. She forgot his castle ghost, the centuries of clan feuding, even the King’s trial by combat.

  “MacDonalds never drown.” She spoke boldly. Hot blood rushed through her veins, and the drumming of her heart demanded courage.

  “And I”—she met his gaze, starting forward—“swim better than most.”

  She saw his hands clench, the beat of his pulse at his throat. “I hope that’s true.” His gaze strayed once again to the locked door. “Because if you cannae, it’s too late. You’re in the water already.”

  “Do you regret pushing me from you earlier? I do see”—she looked there again, feminine pride thrilling—“that you want me.”

  He made a sound low in his throat, almost a growl. “I’d shove you out the door now, if I could. Make no mistake, lass, you dinnae want this.”

  “Pah.” She went over to him, sliding her arms around his waist, loving the feel of him warm and naked against her.

  He frowned, not saying anything.

  Taking his silence for encouragement, she rubbed her hands up and down his sides, reveling in the smooth, hard feel of his bare skin beneath her fingers, hoping her touch might persuade him to kiss her again.

  But he only tossed back his still-damp hair.

  She leaned in closer, the feel of him making her tremble. Giddy pleasure swept her, blurring everything, making her dizzy. Swaying, she grasped her necklace, curling her fingers around the ambers, seeking their strength. She knew she wasn’t in danger, but she could feel the stones’ heat, solid and scorching her fingers.

  But she didn’t understand why the ambers burned her hand when her necklace felt so cool at her throat. Her fingers were on fire, the stones’ heat pulsing into them, insistent, thrumming, and—

  “O-o-oh!” She leapt back, releasing James’s male piece as if its fiery hardness had scalded her.

  He had the gall to laugh. “I was waiting for you to notice. Though”—he stepped back and she could see what she’d done to him—“I was also hoping you might keep on. I did enjoy you holding and stroking me.”

  “Holding and stroking you?” She stared at him, her eyes so round he couldn’t help but laugh again.

  “There’s no other way to call what you were doing.” He grinned. “I vow I ought to be offended that you didn’t realize where your hand had landed, but it felt so good, I couldn’t bear to stop you.”

  “It felt good?” She cast a skeptical glance where, moments before, she’d been rubbing and squeezing him so rousingly. “My hand?”

  He grinned. “Hands can feel wonderfully good.” He reached for hers, turning it upward and then using the edge of his thumb to lightly circle her palm. When she gasped, startled by the tingles that rippled all through her, his grin deepened and he pushed back her sleeve so he could use the tips of his other four fingers to trace circles up and down the inside of her wrist.

  Catriona stared at him, unable to speak.

  The pleasure curling through her, the delicious tingling, was almost too exquisite.

  “Dear God…” She squirmed, unable to stand still.

  “Those tingles”—he looked at her and she saw that he knew what she was feeling—“are nothing compared to how you made me feel when you rubbed me. I can show you how good that feels if you’ll let me?”

  “You made me feel good in the stair tower.” Catriona couldn’t lie. Her nipples had tightened, straining against h
er bodice, wanting his caress again. “I know what—”

  “Nae, you dinnae.” He shook his head, slowly. “You’ve only dipped your toe in the water. To swim is to feel me rub you where you rubbed me.”

  Catriona’s world stopped, then spun madly.

  She swallowed. “You want to touch me there?”

  He nodded. “I want to touch you there, and everywhere. But only if you let me remove your clothes”—he reached for her bodice ties, undoing them—“and if you’re able to trust me completely?”

  “Ahhh…” She did desire him. That seemed justification enough.

  And she had thrilled to his hands on her breasts earlier. The sensations he’d made ripple up and down her arm. She couldn’t imagine such pleasure in the intimate place he meant to touch.

  Or maybe she could, because the idea was stirring such tingles there now.

  And they did feel good.

  “You must tell me, Catriona.” He’d finished unfastening her bodice. But rather than slip the gown down her shoulders, he reached for her hands, lacing their fingers. “Say the words. Tell me you want me to touch you.”

  “I do.” She trembled with longing even now. “Aye, I do, James. Touch me, please. Just as you described, there, and everywhere.”

  “So be it.” He pulled her to him, kissing her hard and swiftly. Then he lowered his head to nuzzle her neck, nibbling the sensitive skin there and sending shivers of excitement spilling all through her.

  “O-o-oh…” Her knees went weak and she would’ve swayed, but then she felt a rush of cold air, and gooseflesh rose on her skin and she realized he’d stripped her as naked as he was.

  “Come, lass, you’ll soon be warm.” He swept her up in his arms, carrying her across the room and lowering her gently onto her bed.

  She waited, expecting him to lie down beside her, but he stepped back from the bed and stood looking down at her, the heat in his eyes making the tingling awareness between her legs almost maddeningly glorious.

  As if he knew—that he could make her feel this way just by looking at her—a slow, very wicked smile curved his lips and he set his hands on his hips, unashamed of his own nakedness, which she could see quite well in the candlelight and the glow of the moon streaming through the windows.