The Highlander’s Lost Lady: The Lairds Most Likely Book 3

by Anna Campbell

  His breath escaped in a great whoosh. He buried his head in her shoulder and kissed the damp skin in an ecstasy of thankfulness.

  He’d wanted her so long. He’d dreamed about her. But not even his most feverish fantasies came near to the joy of uniting his body with hers. He shifted to settle more deeply.

  Through the elation, some shred of care lingered. He raised his head and stared down into her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were red and swollen with kisses. “Are ye all right?”

  Another brave little smile. “Of course.” She softened the prosaic answer with a gentle caress along his jaw. “Are you?”

  Despite his urgency, a grunt of laughter emerged. “Och, never better.”

  “Good.” She wriggled, a subtle twist of her hips that threatened to take him over the edge.

  He groaned and closed his eyes as he fought to master his animal impulses. “If ye do that, lassie, this is going to be a verra short encounter.”

  “Oh.” Fiona went still, and her eyes opened very wide.

  Her hands tightened on his shoulders, as he began to move in and out. Fiona surrounded him. She was the whole world. Gradually every need faded under the pounding drive for release. Through the hot fog in his mind, Diarmid felt her rise to meet him. Her moans of blossoming pleasure were sweet music.

  Every time he thrust, she clenched around him. He wanted her to find her peak before he finished, but he was only flesh and blood and he’d wanted her for so long. Too soon, his deliberate movements turned choppy. His seed rose on an irresistible tide.

  Shaking, he kissed her hard on the lips, glorying in her swift response. Then darkness crashed down over him like a thunderclap. He thrust once, twice, then surrendered to a vast swell of sensation as he yielded to her.

  The wild rush threatened to shatter him. It was fierce and magnificent and savage. Fiona cried out as he heaved over her, filling her with every drop of his passion.

  Finally it was over. He was so exhausted that it was an effort to move to roll over and lie next to her.

  He flung one arm across his eyes to close out the world. Self-loathing festered in his gut, souring the lingering pleasure. Because while physically he’d never felt better, his soul was black and sick.

  Fiona didn’t speak, although as his heartbeat steadied, he could hear her erratic breathing.

  “I’m sorry, lassie,” he muttered, without looking at her.

  “Sorry?” she whispered.

  “Aye, to the depths of my heart,” he said grimly.

  Because he’d broken the promises he’d made to himself when he started. Tonight Diarmid might have discovered an ecstasy to shake the heavens, but Fiona hadn’t joined him on the journey to the stars.

  Chapter 26

  “I don’t understand,” Fiona said dully, staring up at the shadowy ceiling and trying not to cry.

  She felt wet and brimming with Diarmid’s seed. She also felt alone and inadequate and confused. The worst of it was that for a good while before the act’s ending, she’d believed that she pleased him.

  His vigorous possession had left her aching. She felt stretched and pummeled, and the slightest move set off twinges she hadn’t experienced in years. Not that he’d been rough. Even when he’d pumped into her, he hadn’t hurt her. But it was a long time since a man had used her body, and Diarmid was much more impressively endowed than her late husband.

  Fiona would dearly love to leave the bed, go back to her own room, and wash. She felt sticky and uncomfortable. That, too, was familiar.

  But Diarmid was clearly in a funk about something, and she had a nasty suspicion that abandoning him at this moment might set up a permanent rift between them.

  “I didnae wait for ye,” he said in that same desolate tone.

  He still spoke in riddles, although she knew even without seeing his face that whatever troubled him was no minor matter.

  She braced for him to turn on her and blame her for her failure. She’d tried. She’d tried so hard. When he’d lost himself in that groaning, ferocious release, she’d felt proud of herself for giving him such pleasure.

  She’d got that wrong. Her ineptitude made her feel like she’d swallowed hot lead. She couldn’t summon the courage to look at him. She steeled herself to ask the humiliating question. “What more did you want from me?”

  The bed shifted as he turned on his side and rose on one elbow to study her. “What on earth did ye say?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled, cringing away from talking about what had happened between them. It was all too embarrassing.

  “No, what did ye mean?” He frowned. “Tell me.”

  Ian Grant hadn’t been much of a talker, especially when it came to marital matters. Faced with more than six feet of naked male on the hunt for answers, Fiona wondered if perhaps that might be one thing she commended in her first husband.

  Her eyes flickered from Diarmid’s stern expression down over that splendid chest to where his rod lay upon one powerful thigh. Even flaccid, it emerged large from a nest of black curls.

  She knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never seen that part of a man before. Ian’s fumblings had all been under cover of darkness, and she’d been so lost in her astonishing reactions to Diarmid’s touch, she hadn’t looked before he pushed inside her. Fighting the urge to touch it, she whipped her gaze back up to the ceiling and clenched her hands in the sheets.

  “Fiona?” The wry humor in his voice told her he hadn’t missed that lightning inspection of his body.

  Diarmid was a clever man. He never missed much.

  “You put your rod inside me and gave me your seed,” she said in a choked voice. Could her cheeks burn any hotter? “Surely that means I pleased you.”

  “Of course ye pleased me,” he said with a hint of impatience.

  It nearly killed her to turn her head and meet his glittering eyes.

  For a dazed moment, she lost herself in admiring his handsomeness. With those pure Celtic features, he really was a gorgeous man. “Then why in heaven’s name are you grumbling?”

  He looked startled. “Ye should be the one grumbling. You didnae find your pleasure.”

  Her brows drew together. “Yes, I did.”

  Thick black eyebrows lowered over brilliant eyes. “Dinna lie to me.”

  She flinched. After all the lies between them, the accusation left a sting.

  “I’m not. You must know I liked kissing you.” Her eyes fluttered down. She’d never had a conversation like this in her life. “And what you did when you touched me down there…was wonderful.”

  His expression didn’t ease. “But you felt nae more when I was inside ye?”

  Good Lord above. “More?”

  She watched understanding light his expression, and wished to the devil that she understood.

  “Diarmid,” she said slowly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you enjoyed what we did, isn’t that enough?”

  He shook his head. “My dear, ye married a fool.”

  Fiona placed a hand on his shoulder, before she wondered if she had the right to touch him, now the act was done. She’d never wanted to touch Ian, but the turmoil in her mind made her need the solid reassurance of contact with Diarmid.

  Before she could withdraw, he turned his head and placed a quick kiss on her fingers. Relief filled her. Clearly he didn’t mind her touching him.

  “I think I must be the fool,” she said huskily. “Please explain what you mean, and keep it simple.”

  His smile was rueful, and so charming that her heart did another of those disorienting flips. “A woman can enjoy congress as much as a man.”

  Her eyes rounded, even as disbelief added a skeptical note to her reply. “I doubt it.”

  “I’d like to prove it to ye.”

  “You want to do that again,” she said in a flat voice.

  “Aye, I do.”

  A quick glance toward his thighs confirmed that he wasn’t exag
gerating. “Is a man capable of doing that more than once a night?”

  “He is indeed. Can ye bear it?”

  Fiona found the courage to tell him the truth. “If you kiss me and touch me again, I’ll be delighted.”

  He kissed her with a sweetness that thickened her blood to syrup. “I dinna think ye know what delighted means, my darling.”

  Her heart squeezed hard at the endearment. “You’re still speaking in riddles.”

  He studied her as if she belonged to some strange new species. “You didnae feel there was something missing at the end? Ye were definitely on the way.”

  “After the kissing, I didn’t mind what you did.”

  “High praise,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. You made me feel things I never had before, and I loved that I gave you ease.”

  “Aye, I’ve been in a state about ye since we met.”

  She thought back over the evening’s astonishing events. Diarmid’s kisses had swept her into a sublime world she’d never known existed. His caresses had roused strange but enjoyable quakes. Were they the explosions Marina spoke about?

  When he moved inside her, those shivery little explosions had risen again. She’d loved hearing his groan of completion as he filled her. What else could there be?

  Apparently more.

  At least she hadn’t been wrong about pleasing him. When she feared she hadn’t, she’d wanted to shrivel up and die. “What should I do?”

  A slow smile curved his lips. Suddenly steadfast, upright Diarmid Mactavish looked dauntingly devilish. “Och, just lie back, lassie, and let me do all the work.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “You’ll get your turn.”

  She was still blushing. “Do you mind if I have a wash first?”

  “No’ at all.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fiona slid out of bed, tugging down her nightdress with a modesty she knew was absurd now he’d touched every inch of her. As she walked across to the connecting door, a cascade of aches reminded her of what they’d just done to one another. And what Diarmid meant to do again.

  The heat that stirred in her loins wasn’t nearly so unfamiliar as it would have been an hour ago. His desire no longer felt like a threat. It felt like a gift.

  She prayed that whatever this mysterious other was, she could give it to him. The thought of satisfying her husband made her feel very wifely indeed.

  ***

  When Fiona returned to Diarmid’s room, she was relieved to see that he wore his robe. She was curious about his body in a way that she’d never been curious about Ian. But she wasn’t yet ready to cope with a naked man prancing about the chamber.

  He’d built the fire and straightened the disordered bed. He turned from the sideboard to offer her a glass of whisky, then stopped with a spellbound expression. “Your hair.”

  Self-consciously she touched the tumble of hair floating about her shoulders. “You said you wanted to see it loose.”

  “It’s beautiful.” As he came closer, she read awe in his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Pleasure at his appreciation rippled through her.

  His hand ran down the fall of blond hair. The caress conveyed a reverence that made her shiver with awareness. That odd restlessness inside her became more urgent.

  He passed her the glass. “Drink up, Fiona.”

  Diarmid stepped away and picked up his whisky to down it in a single mouthful. She sipped at her drink and felt the warmth seep into her bones.

  “You must be hungry.” He offered her a plate of oatcakes and cheese. “I rang for some food.”

  “But it’s the middle of the night.”

  “They managed.”

  She reached out for an oatcake. He was right. She was hungry. She’d hardly touched the extravagant dinner he’d ordered. Nor had she eaten much at the wedding breakfast. She’d been so jittery, she hadn’t been able to swallow a thing.

  She sank into a chair near the fire. “This reminds me of our meal on the road.”

  This reprieve was welcome. She’d expected Diarmid to leap on her the minute she came back into the room. She should have known better. He was taking the time to ease her into whatever happened next.

  If it involved more kissing, she approved of his plans. She’d loved his kisses.

  “We’ve been through a lot, ye and I,” he said, offering her another oatcake. “Here.”

  He sat down in the chair across from her and subjected her to an intent stare. “How are ye feeling?”

  “Better.” She was surprised that it was the truth. “But, Diarmid, I’m still not sure I can give you what you want.”

  “I don’t believe that. I want to make ye mine.”

  Puzzled, she let the hand holding the oatcake drop to her lap. “You’ve got me.”

  “No’ fully.”

  They veered back toward that confusing conversation, where he seemed to think she had more to bring to him than she already had. “That might be all there is.”

  It was possible she was unnatural. Or Ian had damaged her. Diarmid had said something about her bearing scars from her marriage.

  “I dinna believe that.”

  Her appetite deserted her. She set the half-eaten oatcake on the side table. “I’ve given you more than I’ve given any other man. You had my willingness. You even had my enjoyment.”

  He listened with a concentration nobody else had ever devoted to her. It was daunting and flattering in equal measure. “Tell me how ye felt.”

  A shiver rippled through her, as she recalled the passionate heat of his lips. “Shaky, and…needy, and weak in the knees, and dizzy.”

  A grunt of amusement escaped him. “That doesnae sound too good.”

  “Actually it was lovely.” She couldn’t help smiling. “The loveliest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  She had a sudden memory of Marina’s expression as she’d talked about making love to her husband. Her friend had meant more than kisses. The look in her eyes had made Fiona envy her, even if she didn’t know precisely what she was envying.

  “I’m glad.” Diarmid looked relieved. “I was so afraid of hurting ye. You’ve been hurt too often.”

  She regarded him in horror. “Of course you didn’t hurt me. I liked it.”

  Her cheeks were hot again. She’d blushed more in these last hours than she ever had in her life. Something about the purposeful light in her husband’s eyes told her that before the night was done, more blushes were forecast.

  “Even the last bit?”

  “Even the last bit.” When she saw he remained dubious, she struggled for words to explain something beyond words’ power. Her voice lowered, and she twined her hands in her lap. “I liked that you gave me everything you had.”

  “I certainly did that,” he said drily.

  “I made that happen, Diarmid.” Her cheeks had heated to the point where they threatened to turn to flame. “For once, I wasn’t the mere recipient of your charity.”

  He flinched as if she’d hit him. “That’s no’ fair.”

  “You know, it really is. It’s humiliating to take, take, take, with no choice but to accept your generosity, and no way to repay you.”

  He looked troubled. “I’m no’ keeping a ledger, Fiona.”

  “I am.”

  “That’s nae way for us to go on.” He looked displeased and unhappy. “Will ye keep this up for the next fifty years? Every time I give you a new dress or a new bonnet, will ye feel obliged to martyr yourself to me?”

  “No, of course not. I imagine as time goes on, we’ll settle into a more equitable relationship.” Her voice shook with the force of her feelings. “But I can’t spend the rest of my life feeling like I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

  “I’m no’ asking ye to,” he said with barely concealed frustration. “Anything I do for ye, I do willingly.”

  “And what I do for you, I do wil
lingly,” she said with a trace of heat. He needed to understand this or they had no chance of finding their way together. “Over the last ten years, I’ve had every ounce of power stolen from me. I couldn’t say who I married. I couldn’t decide where I lived. I couldn’t even control what happened to my child. Allow me the privilege of choosing what I share with you.”

  Diarmid sighed and ran a hand through his ruffled dark hair. He looked breathtaking, sprawled in the oak chair and wrapped in his rich red dressing gown. “It would be churlish to object.”

  “It would.” His acceptance stuck a pin in the bubble of her self-righteousness. “Even if what we do together never goes beyond what just happened, you made me feel more fulfilled than I ever have before.” Her lips turned down. “So I suppose I’m still grateful to you.”

  “I dinna want ye feeling like you owe me anything, Fiona. That will only poison our life together.” His expression turned somber. “You speak as if I think of ye as feeble and weak, a clinging vine. That couldnae be further from the truth.”

  She gave a gasp of surprise. “Don’t you?”

  “Hell, no. I cannae think of anyone I respect more. Ye broke away from the Grants, you faced every peril to save your daughter. You stuck to your purpose, even though it meant lying and stealing and taking any chance ye could.”

  “That wasn’t courage. I was desperate.”

  “It was courage.”

  Her guilt at the way she’d repaid his kindness at Invertavey remained. “Are you saying you forgive me?”

  “Of course I do.” He looked shocked. “I forgave ye as soon as I learned the truth.”

  “Even though I stole from you?” She still cringed to recall that ghastly moment when the coins dropped from her pocket and he realized she’d broken into his desk.

  “Fiona, what’s mine is yours. Everything I am and everything I have is at your service.”

  The words struck her like blows. She couldn’t doubt he meant them. Fiona made herself smile, although poignant emotion turned her voice husky. “That sounds like a vow.”

  “Aye, it is.” He didn’t smile. “A vow as binding as the ones I spoke today in front of the minister.”