The Laird's Angel: a medieval fake engagement romance (The Highland Angels Book 2)

by Caroline Lee

  “God’s Blood,” he whispered, but didn’t realize he had, until her smile grew.

  “Aye, Lachlan,” she all but purred, as she started across the room to the large bed. “We are betrothed, are we no’? And ye cannae deny ye’re no’ against a betrothed couple sharing a bed.”

  Nay, he couldn’t. His daughter was proof of that, wasn’t she?

  But he’d vowed not to allow another woman to hurt him the way Alice had. She’d left him.

  Would Mellie one day do the same?

  Unable to drag his eyes away from the way the silk molded to her, as she bent to place the candle on the table beside the bed, Lachlan shook his head. “I’ve been aching for ye, lass,” he finally confessed, deciding truth would serve them best. “But I didnae want ye to be obligated to me.”

  She straightened and raised a brow. “Really? Because as I see it, I owe ye a release. Le petit mort.”

  Before he could do more than open his mouth, she reached for the tie at her waist, and then the moonlit silk was trailing off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

  And Lachlan sat there, gaping like a fish, as he drank in the sight of his betrothed’s gorgeous, nude body.

  “Jesu Christo, lass,” he finally managed, shifting, as his cock tried to jump to readiness beneath the heavy coverlets. “Ye cannae mean—”

  “Oh, I do.” Bending, she crawled onto the bed, then shifted, so her weight rested on one knee. “I verra much want—”

  “Stop.” Shaking his head, Lachlan’s eyes lit on the little pucker of the arrow wound on her shoulder, and that—more than anything else—helped get his desire under control. He knew so little about her. “Stop,” he growled again, not allowing himself to look at her, to reach for her. “I told ye, I don’ want ye to offer yerself, to be obligated. I’ll no’ deny yer questions or favors, Mellie. Just donae make this feel cheap.”

  Cheap.

  The word hung between them for a long, silent moment, and Lachlan resisted the urge to close his eyes.

  Finally, he felt the mattress move as she shifted, pulling her knees up in front of her and wrapping her arms around them.

  “I donae ken how to make it feel any other way,” she whispered.

  And his heart damn near broke.

  “Lachlan, what ye did for me…”

  When she trailed off, he finally gave up the fight, gave up his good intentions, and glanced at her. What he saw nearly did him in.

  She looked…lost. Alone, definitely.

  His palms itched to reach for her, to gather her in his arms, to love her.

  “Ye don’ have to say it, Mellie,” he offered in a gentle voice, shifting his own weight under the wool coverlet.

  Funny. They were both on his bed, nude as the day they were born, but Lachlan’s attention wasn’t on making love to her.

  It was on the way her smile seemed sad when she finally met his eyes. The way she hunched her shoulders, as if she could protect herself, even though she was the one to bare her body to his gaze.

  “What ye did for me, Lachlan, nae man has ever done. Nae man has ever cared about my pleasure. I…” She trailed off, shook her head, then focused her attention on the blue wool coverlet between them. She took a deep breath. “I want ye. I want to please ye. I want that.”

  Dark eyes met his, and he saw the truth in them.

  “I want to please ye, Lachlan, nae because I think it’s what ye expect, but because it’s what would please me.”

  Dear God in Heaven.

  With a groan, Lachlan dropped back against the pillows, throwing one arm across his eyes. “Ye’re killing me, lass,” he ground out through his clenched jaw. “I had the best of intentions, and then ye go and say something like that.”

  She snorted softly. “Ye ken ye’re the only man who’s withstood my attempts at seduction?”

  For a moment, Lachlan wondered just how many men there’d been before him. But he dismissed the thought, because her past didn’t matter to him.

  Only her future.

  If they married, all that mattered would be the knowledge he’d be the only man in her bed. Forever.

  “When I was seventeen, my father betrothed me to a powerful laird in the Western Isles.”

  She began her story in a low voice, and Lachlan peeked out from under his forearm. She was still sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, her ankles crossed, but she was staring out the window at the moon.

  He didn’t interrupt.

  “My father and the laird—I’ll no’ say his name, so donae ask—agreed on a date the following year. He took me to his keep so I could get used to the way his clan did things, he said.” She shrugged. “It was no’ so different from my life at home, and I was excited about being a grand lady of a powerful clan.”

  She lapsed into silence, obviously lost in her memories. Lachlan moved his arm away from his eyes and laced his fingers behind his head once more. He didn’t want to sit up again—didn’t want to do anything to interrupt her.

  For the first time since the Queen had betrothed them, he thought mayhap he was seeing the true Melisandre Lamond.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and continued, “Aye, I would’ve been content with my life there, for I enjoyed the benefits. My betrothed took me to bed, claiming ‘twas his right to try me out. I didnae even mind that; sometimes I’d even find pleasure in his arms, which was nice enough.” She paused, then glanced his way. “Then I fell pregnant.”

  The parallels between her history and his own caused Lachlan to catch his breath. He remembered his reaction when Alice had told him she was pregnant, and wondered if Mellie’s betrothed had done the same.

  “What did he say?” he whispered, needing to know.

  One side of her lips tugged upward, and the shoulder on that side lifted in a half-shrug. “He was pleased, since it proved I would make a fine wife.” Then her expression sobered, her eyes staring through Lachlan. “Until I lost the bairn. I was more than halfway through the pregnancy at that point—a bitter winter—and there was so much pain. And blood.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “So much pain.”

  Lachlan closed his eyes on his own pain, his heart breaking for her, even as his palms itched to reach for her.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered.

  She hadn’t seemed to hear him.

  “What was worse, was after. My betrothed told me, since I couldnae carry a bairn to term, I was of nae use to him. He broke the contract and sent me home.”

  His eyes bulging wide, Lachlan clenched his jaw to keep from growling in anger.

  She seemed to sense his outrage, and nodded as she exhaled and met his gaze sadly. “My parents blamed me for the loss of a powerful alliance, and there was talk of sending me to a nunnery. But then the missive came from Scone, the Queen inviting me to court to become one of her ladies. My father told me I was to keep my mouth shut about my shame, that if the Queen didnae ken yet, mayhap there was still hope for me.”

  Behind his head, Lachlan’s hands closed into fists around his hair, tugging to give himself something else to focus on besides her pain.

  “Ye see why I am loyal to Queen Elizabeth?”

  “Aye lass,” he croaked out.

  She held his gaze. “I want ye to remember that, Lachlan.”

  He didn’t understand what she was saying, but this was the most serious he’d ever seen her. “Have ye seen yer family since ye went to Scone?”

  She shook her head. “They’re dead to me. And as for my ex-betrothed…?” Her shrug was one-sided again. “I’ve heard he’s finally married.” One side of her lips lifted again wryly. “When ye told me of yer Alice, I wondered if mayhap they’d found one another.”

  Well that suggestion startled a bark of laughter out of him. “ ’Twould be fitting!”

  Her smile faded.

  “Ye ken what I wish, Lachlan?” she whispered. He shook his head, mesmerized by her blue gaze.

  “I wish… I wish…” She shook her head, and glanced away, focusi
ng on the coverlet between them, then took a deep breath. “I wish we were already married, so when I rip everything open and show ye my real self, ye might—”

  Dark eyes flashed his way, then away again.

  To hell with his intentions! He hated this uncertainty in her voice.

  Lachlan slowly pushed himself upright. “I might what, lass?”

  “Ye might hold me,” she whispered.

  There was no way he could deny her that. Not now.

  With a sigh, he spread his hands, palms out, inviting her in.

  With a sound suspiciously like a sob, she threw herself against his chest, in a flash of skin and breasts and more skin. Lachlan felt like an arse for noticing, when she was so obviously hurting, but he was still a man.

  A very stiff man.

  And within moments, she was snuggled up against him under the coverlet, his arm around her, and her cheek pillowed against his chest. He lay flat on his back and stared up at the bed hangings, trying in vain to convince his cock that the tits and hips and curves pressed against his side meant naught.

  It didn’t work.

  “Lachlan?” she whispered against his skin. “I lied.”

  Frowning, he dragged his gaze sideways, finding hers in the candlelight. Under one of her hands, his heartbeat sped up.

  Lied?

  Was she finally going to confess why she was here?

  But her expression melted into a sad smile again, and he knew she was speaking of something more recent. “While I appreciate the hug, and have been hoping for it for days, ‘tisnae what I meant to say.”

  “About wishes?”

  She dropped her chin, in what might’ve been a nod, had she not been pressed against him, and focused her gaze on her finger, which was making slow, maddening circles over his chest.

  “Now that I’m here with ye, I wish I was a better woman. I wish I didnae ken how to seduce a man, so I wouldnae ken the shame of failing with ye. I wish I had been able to come to ye, as a woman might who was falling in love with a man, and have him believe her.”

  Lachlan stiffened, trying to make sense of that convoluted sentence.

  Was she saying…she was falling in love with him?

  He turned his attention back to the bed hangings, wondering if that’s what he hoped for, or feared.

  “Ye ken what I wish, Mellie?” He scrubbed his hand across his face, but didn’t wait for her to respond. “I wish that complete bastard had never taught ye that lesson.”

  When she lifted her head from his shoulder, he glanced at her and saw she didn’t understand.

  “I wish he’d never taught ye—never let ye think—that yer only worth came from yer body. Yer ability to please him—or any man! Yer ability to bear a child.”

  He rolled to face her, shifting his hold on her so she fit against him more snugly. They were now lying nose to nose, her blue eyes close to his. When he inhaled, he breathed in Mellie.

  “ ‘Tis what ye thought happened with Alice, is it no’?” he whispered gruffly. “Ye were surprised when I told ye the truth; that it was her choice to leave. Ye thought I’d sent her away?”

  She held his gaze. “Aye. I did.”

  “Ye had reason to think that, because of what that bastard did to ye.”

  “There’s a woman at court, Isabel de Strathbogie. She was supposed to marry the king’s brother.”

  He dropped his chin slightly. “I remember. She has a son.”

  “Aye, Alex. Elizabeth dotes on him, and the lad will never want for aught, despite the way his father neglected his mother.”

  Lachlan exhaled. “Ye’re trying to point out that what happened to ye is common? For a man to put aside a betrothal and ruin a woman’s life?”

  She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

  He tried a different line of reasoning. “When yer betrothed broke the contract, he was saying ye had no value. Ye believed him, did ye no’?”

  Again, she didn’t reply, but he saw her wince.

  “Ye came to believe yer worth was only in yer body. In how well ye could please a man.” His voice turned hoarse. “Ye forgot about yer quick wit and sharp intelligence. And yer protective nature. And yer ability with a set of oars and a dagger. Ye forgot about yer caring.”

  He pulled her closer, until his forehead was pressed against hers. Until he was pressed against her, with her hands trapped against his chest and his stiff cock pushing against her soft thigh.

  “Ye are the most caring person I ken, Mellie,” he whispered gruffly. “Ye care enough to get to ken people here at An Torr. Ye care about Simone. Ye—” He closed his eyes. “Ye care about me. But no’ as much as I care about ye.”

  She jerked away from him, pulling herself up on one elbow. “What?”

  He took a deep breath and met her eyes, hating this feeling of uncertainty. He hated feeling vulnerable, hated knowing this might all come to naught.

  But he also knew, no matter how much this hurt him, to bare his soul, she needed to hear it.

  “I love ye, Melisandre. Ye’re an amazing woman. How could I no’ love ye?”

  Something shifted in her eyes then, incredulity turned to sorrow. Her lips pulled up on one side.

  “For all the right reasons?”

  Despite his cock pressed between them, he nodded. “The only reasons.”

  Her smile slowly grew. And although her joy didn’t quite reach her eyes, she looked happier than she’d been since they’d begun the conversation.

  Sinking back against him, she reached one arm around him, caressing the sensitive skin down his flank. “Then I guess we’re back where we started.”

  Distracted by her touch, Lachlan could do little more than grunt inquisitively.

  “Ye’re a rare and wonderful man, Lachlan Fraser. Ye make me feel good, and I want to share all that I am with ye.”

  It was her words, more than the way her hand slid around to cup his backside, which had him grinning. “All of ye, lass?”

  Her grin turned lewd as she rocked her pelvis forward, catching his cock between her thighs. “All the best parts at least.”

  God’s Blood, but it was getting hard to think with her all…all…all in his arms.

  “As nice as this is, ‘tisnae the best parts—” he began gruffly, but she interrupted him when she began to chuckle.

  “How could I no’ love ye, Lachlan? Ye force me to be a better woman.”

  “Ye’re the best I ken, Mellie.”

  “Aye.” She pushed herself up, bracing herself over him, as her hair fell in a curtain around them. “The verra best.”

  And then she rolled atop him, his hands came up to grasp her hips, and he gave up battling the inevitable.

  This kiss was…

  Well, it was likely the verra best, as she’d said, but Lachlan couldn’t seem to focus on her lips, even when her tongue rasped against his and sent a bolt of pure desire to his aching bollocks.

  Nay, the reason he couldn’t concentrate on the kiss, was because of everything else he was trying to concentrate on at the same time.

  Her breasts pressed against his chest, and his hands instinctively slid up her side to cup them. Without breaking their kiss, he slid his hands under them, his thumbs finding her nipples.

  Despite her claims the last time he’d touched her thusly—when she’d told him not to touch her tits—she moaned deep in her throat and wriggled enticingly against him.

  His cock was pressed between them, until the moment she pulled her lips away from his and slid her thighs off either side of his own. Now his stiff member was pressed against the curls at the juncture of her legs, straining upward, as if it knew where it wanted to be.

  And Mellie rocked backward, her hands leaving his shoulders to skim down his stomach, as she stared at his cock.

  “Sainte Vierge, Lachlan!”

  He chuckled, his palms caressing the parts of her he could reach. “I doubt the Virgin mother would appreciate the comparison.”

  She didn’t acknowledge
his joke, her gaze still on his stiff member. “I’ve never…” When she rocked forward, then back, Lachlan let his head fall back with a groan of pleasure. “I’ve never seen one so large.”

  And then her hands closed around it, her fingers not able to circle the blasted thing, and Lachlan knew he’d died and gone to Heaven. She began to stroke, even as she rocked, and he focused his gaze on the bed hangings and tried to keep from spilling all over her hands.

  God alone—or possibly the Sainted Virgin, as Mellie was fond of evoking—knew how long she stroked him. Lachlan’s grip on her thighs had turned hard, and his breathing harsh, as he tried to control himself.

  Was this repayment for the pleasure he’d shown her?

  Did she want him to spill?

  And then she shifted, leaning forward and lifting herself, before positioning his cock under her opening.

  When she sank down atop his swollen member, they both groaned in satisfaction.

  “So big, Lachlan,” she gasped, her back arching. “Bon Dieu, so big!”

  Unable to resist the temptation, he flexed his hips, thrusting himself even deeper in her tightness. He knew he was a large man—all over—but there was something so erotic about her praise.

  “Lass,” he all but growled, “ye feel so blasted good.”

  Her wetness, her perfection, encompassed him. He wanted to flip her over, to sink into her again and again…but he wouldn’t.

  “Find yer pleasure, lass,” he gasped. “Set the pace.”

  The grin she gave him, the look of wonder in her eyes, told him he’d made the right offer, despite the brittle control it had taken. But then she dropped her hands to his thighs, rocking forward and back the same as before, only this time, on his cock, and he decided letting her lead had its advantages.

  She rode him.

  She rode him gently at first, then hard. When she shifted forward—her eyes glazed and her breaths coming in pants—and braced her hands against his chest, he grabbed her hips and began to help in her efforts. She rose off his cock, then a heartbeat later, slammed back down, until they were both grunting with pleasure.