Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle

by Margaret Mallory

  This was the same lass who had faced her former husband in front of a crowd of gossiping nobles at court without letting them see a hint of the humiliation and hurt she felt. No matter her denials, her loss of control told him the truth.

  He smiled to himself. Margaret cared very much whether he was bedding someone else.

  CHAPTER 18

  Angry tears burned at the back of Margaret’s eyes, making her grateful for the darkness of the stables. She was horrified that she had lost control and revealed how upset she was.

  “I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” she said.

  “Ye can shout at me all ye like. I don’t mind,” Finn said in a soft voice as if he was calming a frenzied horse. “A little shouting is good for the soul.”

  She did feel better for it, but she was not about to admit that. “Una will be here with Ella any moment. It would have upset Ella if she heard us arguing.”

  “’Twould be good for that wee lassie to do a bit of shouting herself,” Finn said.

  What was wrong with her today? Finn’s remark very nearly made her burst into tears, because he was right. Ella was far too quiet and careful. Margaret did not want her daughter to be like her, always protecting herself, afraid to cause trouble or make demands.

  “Don’t worry about Curstag,” Finn said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “She’s just bored.”

  From the way Curstag glared at her during the ride, Margaret suspected Finn was not sleeping with her—yet. But as he had pointed out himself, he was no monk. It was unreasonable for her to expect him to resist temptation for long, whether from Curstag or someone else. The thought of him with another woman should not make her feel sick to her stomach.

  Fortunately, the journey to Helmsdale was not long. The rugged coastline was stunning, but the trail was rough and skirted steep cliffs that dropped to the sea. Besides the family, only the earl’s personal guard of two dozen warriors and half the household servants traveled with them, while the rest were left behind at Dunrobin.

  The hunting lodge turned out to be a small tower castle built on a hill overlooking the sea beside the mouth of a river. A wall enclosed the tower and a small courtyard, where Finn helped her and Ella down from their horse.

  “We’ll have a cold supper tonight,” Helen announced once everyone had dismounted. “It will be ready soon, so don’t be long.”

  Finn remained outside with the other men while Helen led the women inside and showed them to their chambers. Once again, Helen gave Margaret and Finn a chamber at the top of the tower—because newlyweds need their privacy—and Una and Ella had the other chamber on that floor.

  While Margaret unpacked her and Ella’s meager belongings, a servant brought in a pitcher of water and a basin. Margaret quickly washed the dirt from their hands and faces. Before going downstairs, she peered out the arrow-slit window and caught sight of Finn waist-deep in the river, laughing and talking with the other men while they washed.

  A small, high-pitched yelp escaped her lips when Finn dove under and then sprang up out of the water looking like a sea god from the old Norse tales, with water streaming from his shining black hair and down his muscular shoulders and chest.

  As he climbed out of the river, she realized he was completely naked. Oh my. He was so far away that she had to lean forward, but then some bushes blocked her view. Only after Finn was dressed and climbing up the slope to the castle did she notice that other men on the shore were naked.

  Ella tugged at her skirts, breaking her reverie. Good heavens, how long had she been staring at him?

  “What is it, sweetling?” she asked.

  “I’m hungry,” Ella said.

  “’Tis good to speak up and tell me,” Margaret said, smiling at her. “Let’s find Una and go eat.”

  Nearly everyone was seated by the time Margaret returned to the hall with Ella and Una.

  “The bairn must sit with me,” Una said, and did not wait for Margaret’s approval before leading Ella to one of the trestle tables where the servants and members of the guard were seated.

  Margaret had not figured out if Una was treated as one of the family or as a servant. She seemed to choose whichever role suited her at the time. Just now, Margaret wished she could do the same and sit with them. One glance at the high table told her that meals at Helmsdale would be a more intimate affair than at Dunrobin, where the high table could accommodate thirty or forty people.

  Here, the earl sat with his wife and son at one end of a small rectangular table, while Finn’s father sat at the other end flanked by Isabel and Curstag. Margaret was about to sit next to Helen when Finn appeared at her side and, with a mischievous wink, guided her into the seat next to his mother before squeezing in between her and Helen.

  “Isn’t this delightful?” Helen said, beaming at them. “I always enjoy getting away to Helmsdale with the family.”

  Delightful. Margaret had Isabel beside her exuding hostility from every pore, and Curstag glaring at her from across the table. She took a large gulp of her wine.

  On her other side, Finn’s thigh rubbed against hers, and his black hair was still wet from his swim, making it impossible to get the image of him rising out of the river out of her head.

  She took another gulp of her wine.

  ###

  That night, Margaret was too restless to sleep. When she turned on her side, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Finn, who appeared to be sleeping like a rock.

  She propped her head up, leaning on her elbow. Though she felt a wee bit sinful taking advantage of his sound sleep to examine him closely, that did not deter her. There was not a thing she would change about Finn’s face. She ran her gaze over the dark slash eyebrows, square jaw shadowed with dark stubble, the strong planes of his cheekbones, and his full lips that were so often curved up in amusement. A sigh escaped her as she recalled how soft and warm those lips felt on hers.

  Though the chamber was chilly, Finn had kicked the bedding half off in his sleep, leaving his chest, the side of one hip—she paused there and swallowed—and one long leg free of the bedclothes. He was long and lean and all hard muscle. When he was awake, she had to be on her guard to resist the desire that radiated from him. But asleep, even his powerful frame did not intimidate her. In fact, she was tempted to touch him.

  Finn was sleeping so soundly, she could surely risk a small touch. She bit her lip and watched his face to be sure he did not awaken as she ran her fingertip ever so softly down his arm. It felt so different from hers, from the rippling muscle of his upper arm to the masculine hair on his forearm to his hand with its calluses from so many hours of swinging a claymore. She smiled, recalling how safe she felt when this big hand encompassed hers.

  Her desire to touch him surprised her. She had never felt this yearning to feel a man’s bare skin beneath her hands before. Though she had touched her husband countless times, she never once wanted to.

  After trailing her finger down Finn’s arm did not wake him, she grew more daring. She sat up and ran her hand lightly over his broad chest, a wall of solid muscle. When her fingertip dipped into a scar, she bit her lip at the thought of how often he fought in battles and risked death. Unlike her, he seemed utterly fearless.

  The hair on his chest tickled her palm, sending tendrils of pleasurable sensation up her arm and down to her belly. She should stop now, but her fingers seemed to move on their own, drifting down to his flat, hard-muscled belly.

  Well, there was one part of him that was not asleep. His shaft pushed the sheet up as if begging for her notice. She was tempted to pull the sheet off the rest of the way, but that was far too bold. Instead, she ran her finger along the surprisingly soft skin on the side of his bare hip.

  She gave in to temptation and very carefully began to pull on the sheet. Her breathing grew shallow as she dragged it down inch by inch.

  “Jesu, are ye trying to kill me, lass?”

  “Oh my God, you’re awake!” she said. “I shouldn’t have�
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  “Don’t say that.” Finn sat up and pulled against his chest. “Don’t even think it.”

  He covered her face with kisses, ran more down the side of her throat, and pushed her night shift aside to kiss her shoulder as well. Then his mouth was on hers in a kiss filled with so much hunger it stole her breath away.

  As he deepened the kiss, she felt as if he was unlocking something inside her. She had always been so careful, so afraid of offending and being hurt. Tonight, she could not make herself pull back. And she did not want to. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Finn’s neck and kissed him back with a desperation that matched his own.

  As they rolled across the bed, his hands moved over her body, caressing, squeezing, possessing. She let a wild and mindless passion take her. There was no tomorrow, no consequences. There was only now and this raging fire consuming them and melding her body into his.

  Sparks flew off her skin as he ran his tongue and hot mouth along her throat. Between frantic kisses, he pulled her shift over her head, and suddenly, they were skin to skin. She reveled in the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hands, his chest against her breasts, and the taste of his skin on her tongue when she kissed his neck. When he cupped her breasts, she tensed for a moment with the memory of William complaining that her breasts were too small.

  “By the saints, ye feel so good,” Finn said, his breath hot against her skin, banishing her fear.

  When Finn began rubbing her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, she heard herself moan. Finn moved down her throat with his lips and tongue until his mouth replaced his hand on her breast. Oh God! His tongue teased her nipple, sending rivulets of pleasure all the way to her toes. William had never touched her like this, never filled her with this wanton desire.

  Finn drew her breast into his mouth and sucked, sending a stream of almost painful pleasure straight to her core, and she ceased to think about William or other times or anything else except the sensations sizzling through her body. Just when she thought she could not take any more, he sought her mouth again.

  She pulled him into a deep kiss and gave herself wholly to the all-consuming and fiery passion she longed for, body and soul. She was lost in endless kisses, their tongues entwining, thrusting, when she felt his hand between her legs.

  “Ach, you’re hot and wet for me,” he groaned against her ear.

  God in heaven, his fingers had magic in them. Her breathing grew quick and shallow, and her skin felt too tight. As the tension coiled inside her, she writhed, tossing her head from side to side.

  “I want ye so much,” Finn said in a ragged voice, “I can’t go slowly this first time.”

  “Please,” she gasped, not even knowing what she wanted from him.

  Her breath hitched and her mind went blank when she felt his hard shaft pressing between her legs. Every muscle in her body tensed with anticipation.

  But he halted with the tip just inside her.

  “Are ye sure?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  She did not want to talk. Did not want to think. A wild desire thrummed through her veins, and she lifted her hips and pulled on his shoulders.

  “Aye,” she said, and they both gasped with the rush of sensation as he slid inside her.

  Then he leaned back, his weight on his elbows, and held her face between his hands. With his eyes locked on hers, he began moving inside her, excruciatingly slowly, thrusting deep and coming almost all the way out, then thrusting deep inside her again.

  Intense and confusing emotions swirled and spun inside her. She felt as if the barriers that protected her were falling, exposing every secret and vulnerable part of her.

  “Mo chridhe,” my heart, he said against her ear as he thrust faster and harder. “M' eudail, mo rùin.” My treasure, my love.

  A need that was at once passion and more than passion gripped her, making her hold on to him with all her strength. She never wanted to let him go. Tension mixed with a painful longing grew and grew inside her until she thought she would burst into a thousand pieces.

  She gasped as her body clenched in unexpected waves of pleasure. Finn surged against her, crying her name, and she fell over the edge with him like shooting stars through the night sky.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. The emotions inside her were just too big to contain. She had known making love with him would be different from what she knew before, but she had no notion it would be so wonderful and devasting at the same time.

  “God have mercy, that was—” Finn started to say as he lifted his head. His eyes went wide, then his expression quickly changed to worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “I shouldn’t have done this,” she said.

  “I don’t understand, leannain.” He rolled off her and cupped her face with his hand. “Tell me.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak, and curled up on the far edge of the bed, alone in her grief. In the heat of passion, she had let herself forget the foolish risk she was taking. It was not death she feared, though she had nearly died with her last miscarriage. What she could not face was the excitement and hope and then the inevitable crushing disappointment of losing a child again. She simply could not bear it.

  Not Finn’s child.

  But her grief was not just over the risk of another failed pregnancy. She had never longed for a man before, never truly understood her sisters’ desire for their husbands. She had not known what she was missing. Now she did. Making love with Finn had made her want things she could not have.

  She was shaken by the discovery that in the throes of passion she had no protection against Finn. With her husband, she went through the motions, did what he said, and let him use her. He touched her body, but that was all. She kept the core of herself safe. She never let herself feel too much, never let him see more than she was willing to show him.

  But when Finn was inside her and looking into her eyes, she had no defense, no last wall of protection. And that was what scared her most.

  She could not let him that close again, let him spawn dreams and hopes, when he would eventually find a reason to abandon her. Men always did. If it was not her inability to give him children, something else would come along that was more important to him than she was, and he would tell himself he had no choice.

  She could not let that happen. If she did, Finn would cause her more pain than William or her brothers ever had. He would break her heart.

  ###

  Finn was stunned. He had never felt so much or felt so close to anyone as when he was inside her. He felt as if he was on the brink of having something wondrous, something beyond anything he knew or even hoped for—only to be pushed over a cliff and smashed on the rocks below.

  One moment they were one in scalding passion, and the next she was weeping. The change happened so quickly that his heart still pounded from the explosion of his release, even while a sense of utter desolation settled over him like a dead weight.

  When he tried to touch her, she scooted farther away.

  “Maggie,” he said, “what did I do?”

  “It wasn’t anything ye did,” she said in a voice he could barely hear.

  If it was not what he did, then it could only be who he was.

  Or rather, who he wasn’t. After losing herself to the throes of passion, she remembered he was not a nobleman with lands and castle to give her. He was only a landless warrior who must earn his keep by his skill with a sword. She was not his wife Maggie, and never could be.

  He should have known better. He did know better. And yet he had fallen headlong in love with Lady Margaret Douglas.

  The long-forgotten memory of the day his father sent him away to live with his uncle came to him. He was given no explanation. But even then, at eight years old, he did not need one. He knew they just did not want him. No one in his family even came out to bid him goodbye.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was a good day for hunting. And an even better day to be away from the castle.


  Finn’s back hurt like hell from sleeping on Una’s floor. After Margaret made it clear she never wanted him to touch her again, he could not share a bed with her—not without losing his pride and begging. Fortunately, Una was not really a gossip, but he had to put up with the old woman giving him an earful about resolving his problems with his wife. As if he could.

  Finn slung his bow over his shoulder and motioned for Alex to follow him up the hillside. They had tied their horses half a mile back to stalk a stag.

  “He came right through here.” Finn squatted on the ground and pushed the heather back to reveal the stag’s tracks more clearly.

  “Ach, looks like he’s a big one,” Alex said, squatting beside him. “Maybe even big enough to have antlers worthy of hanging at Helmsdale.”

  Finn knew how badly Alex wanted a prize set of antlers to display on the walls of the hunting lodge with those from the most impressive stags his father and grandfather had killed.

  “Aye, but this fellow did not live this long without being cagey,” Finn cautioned him. “But perhaps we’ll have luck on our side today.”

  They were downwind from the stag, and it was blowing hard, so they had a good chance of getting close enough before the stag smelled or heard them.

  Finn heard a movement behind them and tapped Alex’s forearm to warn him. Though it was probably an animal moving through the gorse, the wind that worked in their favor as stalkers would also favor anyone stalking them from behind.

  He strained to hear over the harsh wind whistling across the hillside. There it was again, a faint rustle.

  In one motion, he stood, drew his sword, and whirled toward the sound. A figure emerged from behind a boulder. When he recognized the man was Seamus, the son of Duffus of Sutherland, Finn relaxed—until Seamus started toward them with his sword drawn and murder in his eyes.