Rogue of the Borders

by Cynthia Breeding

  She hoped Shane would know what to do.

  Abigail worried her lip. What if the scene she envisioned scared him? Perhaps he was as inexperienced as she was. Shane never had admitted to having taken another woman to bed—and the man acted skittish as a colt sometimes. She supposed she could revert to horse-training mode, keeping her voice low and steady. Shane might even find the tone seductive. Now that she thought of it, he usually reacted to her training tactics with a look of genuine intent.

  If he were unacquainted with the facets of lovemaking, then it would be her duty to reassure him that he was indeed skilled.

  The sound of boots in the hall snapped Abigail’s attention back to the table. She might be quite the ninny hammer in the kitchen, but she had supervised the setting of many a table at her parents’ gatherings. The silver was laid in order of use, china dishes and bowls stacked according to course and crystal glasses set properly. Elegant but simple candelabra gleamed on either side of the spring daffodils Fiona had procured for the center of the table. All was in order.

  And when dinner was over…

  Shane eyed Abigail warily from his end of the dining table. Throughout dinner, she had been more animated than he’d ever seen her, chatting amiably with Henri and Andre, encouraging more stories from both of them. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting.

  She certainly was dressed for the part, wearing a gown he’d not seen before, probably from the collection shipped from London. Green silk with short puff sleeves, it left most of her arms bare, but worse, it was cut too low. From where he sat, the table ledge hid the neckline, creating an illusion there was more to reveal than just the plumb cleavage showing. That couldn’t be her intent. Could it?

  Abigail was not a flirtatious person, although Henri and Andre were acting like captivated fools every time she laughed at one of their comments. Shane frowned and set down his spoon. He really did not see what was so humorous in the first place.

  “Do ye nae like the stew?” Shauna asked.

  “’Tis fine.” Noticing her worried look, he smoothed his own features. “Ye have done a fine job. ’Tis flavorful.” As he resumed eating, his mind went to the stew Abigail had managed to spill on the galley floor of the ship. Her ability as a cook had not gotten better, but her hostess skills had certainly improved. The Frenchmen appeared enthralled at whatever she had just said.

  “Fiona helped,” Shauna said. “She suggested adding the herbs.”

  Shane forced his attention away from the far end of the table where his wife was holding court. “Fiona? How did ye ken about herbs?”

  A guilty look flashed across her face. “The crone—” she stopped and glanced toward Henri and Andre, “the old woman in the forest gave me some tips one day when I ran into her.”

  Shane raised a brow, aware their conversation could be heard but doubting the three at the other end were paying any attention. The Crone of the Hills rarely showed herself in person. “Does Ian ken ye talk with the woman?”

  Fiona shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “He has never asked.”

  “’Tis nae the right answer, lass. Does your brother ken ye wander the hills?”

  “Ye all ken I like to walk about.”

  Shane grimaced. As a child, Fiona had often ventured out, her quest for adventure outweighing common sense. More than once, her brothers had to rescue her from the brink of some disaster. “How often have ye seen her?”

  She shrugged again. “I doona ken. Every so often. We just talk.”

  Shane hoped his surprise didn’t show. The crone was known to appear to persons on occasion when some important message needed to be imparted, but to sit and converse? He’d never heard tell of such a thing from any MacLeod. Did the Crone of the Hills have some special interest in his cousin?

  Abigail’s tinkling laughter interrupted his train of thought. He looked up as Andre kissed his wife’s hand and Henri toasted her with his wine.

  Shane put down his napkin, managing not to growl as he stood. “Gentlemen. May I suggest we retire to the library for some brandy?”

  “Of course,” Andre replied, slowly letting go of Abigail’s hand.

  For a moment, Shane thought the man had actually winked at his wife, but he couldn’t be sure in the candlelight.

  Abigail smiled pleasantly at Shane as she stood. “Do enjoy your brandy.” With a swish of her skirts and a graceful sway of her hips, she moved to the stairwell and then looked back. “I believe I will retire early.”

  He frowned as she walked up the stairs. What exactly had she meant by that?

  Abigail dismissed Kyla after she’d undone her stays, telling her she could finish getting ready for bed herself. The maid had looked skeptical, but Abigail reminded her Shauna and Fiona would need her help in the kitchen. That had brought an even more dour look to Kyla’s face until Abigail suggested Jacob was waiting outside the library in case Shane needed anything.

  She felt a little guilty over not helping in the kitchen herself, but this was truly a chance for her to persuade Shane to finally consummate the marriage. She did not want to miss the opportunity by being in the kitchen when Shane came up to their bedchamber.

  Shauna had assured her that the presence of the hostess in the kitchen would probably be somewhat of a shock to the Frenchmen if they were to see it. Abigail thought Shauna preferred she stay out of the kitchen so she wouldn’t be in the way.

  Quickly finishing her toilette and dabbing a spot of her favorite vanilla fragrance behind each ear, Abigail crawled onto the bed. She’d been tempted to ask Kyla for suggestions, but that would mean she’d have to admit the truth about her marriage. Abigail only hoped her seduction was successful. Nervously, she adopted Venus’s pose and arranged the negligee so it partly covered her.

  Now she would wait.

  Having finished off the brandy in relatively short order—Shane was sure he had another bottle in the cabinet along with a bottle of whisky—there was little left to do but bid his guests good night. Both Henri and Andre gave him surreptitious grins as he made his exit.

  Shane paused at the foot of the stairs, wondering what awaited him in the bedchamber. Abigail had acted so strangely this evening—he had never seen her flirt before—he was sure she was up to something. He sighed. Visions of her cleavage practically spilling out of that gown had haunted his thoughts all evening. He wasn’t especially happy that both Henri and Andre had feasted their eyes on that cleavage either. Both of them had made comments on how lovely Abigail was and Shane didn’t think they were referring to her face. He might not have made her his true wife because of the promise he’d made her father, but he damn sure didn’t like other men ogling her either. Shane sighed again. Sleeping on the chaise was going to be pure hell.

  He knocked softly on the door when he reached the fourth floor. If Abigail were already asleep, so much the better. That hope was short-lived when he heard her call out to him to enter.

  He’d forgotten how garishly the room was furnished. The flickering candlelight made the red satin coverlet seem on fire while the half-naked picture of Venus with her Mona Lisa smile mocked him from her perch above the bed. But what made Shane’s breath catch was the swath of white lace strewn over the lurid spread. He squinted and then blinked in the dim light.

  Reclined in a position similar to the gaudy painting, Abigail lay partially encased in the flimsy cloth. One curvaceous leg, bared to the thigh, rested atop the filmy night rail, while—he was pretty sure—nothing covered her breasts but her hair. Shane glanced back to the portrait. He could have sworn Venus winked at him. He shifted his gaze back to Abigail. It was going to be a long, long night. He looked toward the chaise.

  It was not there. Shane drew a deep breath and eyed his wife. “What did ye do with the chaise?”

  She gave him that strange, slow, crooked smile that always made him wonder if she suffered a physical affliction. “I removed it.”

  “’Tis obvious.”

  “I did not think we wo
uld need it.”

  Abigail’s voice had lowered to that strange tone it took when she smiled like that. Shane remembered her shuffling gait the time in the bedroom. He hoped he would not have to call a physician. “Can ye move your arms?”

  She looked startled and then the odd quirk to her mouth returned. “Of course.” With one hand she began to remove the material draped over her.

  “Jesu!” In three large strides he moved to the bed, sitting beside her while he reached for the gown as well. “Keep yourself covered, lass.”

  Patting his arm, her voice deepened. “There is no need to be afraid.”

  Shane scowled. Had his wee wife gone daft? “Afraid of what?”

  Her fingers began stroking the length of his arm. “Us. I know you said you did not want to discuss other women, but I finally realized what the problem is.”

  He arched a brow, curious now. “Really?”

  Abigail nodded, gliding her hand across his shoulder. “You are inexperienced. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Not quite sure he’d heard correctly, Shane could only stare. His wife had obviously gone completely barmy.

  “There, there,” she said soothingly, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead as though he were a child. “I can help you with this.”

  His wayward cock was already reacting to her touch. The thought of Abigail helping him with his problem was causing fantasies that had no business being there to flash through his brain, especially if the poor lass had lost part of her wits. Shane caught her hand. “Ye must stop.”

  “Do not worry,” Abigail said, now stroking his thigh with her other hand. “We can go as slowly as you like. It will be my first time also.”

  Shane growled, changing the sound quickly to a cough. Jesu, going slowly was not how his mind was operating. He caught her second hand before it found its way to the hard bulge in his breeches and then dropped both of them back in her lap. “’Tis better if ye rest since ye appear to be a bit addled.”

  “I am not addled. I want you to make love to me, as a husband should. It does not matter if you do not know what to do.”

  “I doona…” Shane could hardly get the words out without laughing. “What makes ye think I doona ken what to do?”

  Abigail frowned. “Fiona mentioned it.”

  He almost choked. “Fiona?”

  “Yes. I wanted to find out more about your past since you would not talk about it. Fiona said you never brought a woman home—that she had not seen you with one.”

  He was going to strangle his cousin.

  “She said you were not randy like her brothers.”

  Partially true. Still. He would speak to his overly talkative cousin. “Just because I doona flaunt lasses in front of my relatives, doesnae mean—” He stopped as Abigail’s eyes widened.

  “Then you know what to do?” Abigail asked.

  Before he could answer, she’d swept her hair back, exposing naked ivory mounds topped with cherry pebbles.

  Jesu. He was no saint.

  She cupped them, offering herself.

  They looked exactly as they had in his dream. With a groan, Shane leaned over Abigail, suckling a nipple while his fingers kneaded the other breast, tugging the sweet tip, teasing it to tautness. Abigail moaned softly, tossing her head back.

  Shane took the opportunity to nuzzle her exposed neck and nibble her ear before covering her mouth with his. She parted her lips immediately, allowing him inside to explore. Abigail tasted of sweet honey and spice. He deepened the kiss, making it hard and demanding, wanting more. Abigail eagerly met his thrusts with her own, entangling their tongues like starving street urchins, not willing to let a single morsel of heavenly manna go to waste.

  He slid his hands down her ribs while he trailed fevered kisses along her throat, across her collarbone and laved a tight nipple, causing Abigail to gyrate beneath him. He feathered his breath across her breasts, closing over the other tight nip and drawing deep, compelling her to gasp in pleasure. Cupping both soft, satiny mounds, he continued to torture the tips while his mouth delved into her navel and trailed downward across her belly to the soft curls protecting her womanhood.

  Feminine heat and arousal rose to meet him, but Shane forced himself to continue on. Abigail’s legs shook, as though she wasn’t sure whether to keep them tightly closed or allow them to fall open. Making that decision for her, he gently pushed them wide, repositioning himself between, and lifted one thigh to his shoulder.

  Her body stiffened as her eyes grew wide. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing ye willnae like.” He kissed the inside of her knee softly and then again until he felt her relax. Nibbling slowly along her inner thigh, he brought her other leg up as well, exposing her sweet center fully. She attempted to pull away, but he held her legs firmly apart.

  Abigail lifted her head, trembling. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

  “Aye, lass. I am quite sure.”

  “But…but it feels…it feels scandal—oh.” She gasped for breath as Shane put his mouth to her core, tongue plundering her opening. “Oh, my God.”

  Savoring her sweet juices, Shane began licking in slow, easy strokes upward along each fold, leisurely taking his time, circling and teasing the quivering little piece of flesh that stood to attention. Abigail thrashed and moaned deep in her throat. Inserting a finger inside her hot sheath, he began to slowly thrust while flicking his tongue over her throbbing, hard bud in sensuous torture.

  Abigail’s back flexed, her hips moving in rhythm with his hand. She clutched and tore at the sheets, her moans and groans coming in earnest as his pressure increased. Shane felt the tension building, her inner muscles beginning to contract and he covered her pulsing nub and sucked hard. Her body shuddered in a series of spasms as she squealed her pleasure and then fell back against the pillow, utterly limp.

  Slowly, Shane released Abigail and sat up. Her eyes fluttered half-open and she reached for him.

  “You are still clothed.”

  “Aye.” He moved out of her reach and stood, ignoring his protesting cock that wanted to finish what he’d started. Abigail looked beautiful—her face flushed, eyes luminous, lips swollen—a woman totally satiated. The room smelled of lust, the scent of her arousal still strong from the dampness between her thighs as she lay with them still spread apart. There wasn’t anything he wanted to do more than take her completely.

  But he could not break his oath. Turning, he walked toward the door, not daring to look back as he closed it behind him.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Abigail blinked in surprise the next morning to see Shane sitting at the breakfast table with their guests.

  “So you decided to leave early, after all?” Henri asked him.

  “I think the kelp is dry,” Shane answered. “As soon as we finish eating, I will go down to the warehouse to make sure.”

  Abigail didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, trying to quell a sudden fluttering in her stomach. She had no idea where Shane had gone when he’d left so abruptly last night after…after…well, after. She felt her face warm and quickly moved to the sideboard before anyone saw the tell-tale splotches on her cheeks. She did not blush prettily. Her hands began to tremble at the memory of what had transpired in their bed last night. How incredible it had been. Her body had completely shattered. Just seeing Shane had a lingering effect. She barely managed to land a spoonful of coddled eggs on her plate without half of it landing on the floor and decided to forgo trying to stab a slice of ham.

  Fiona watched her openly, curiosity plainly showing since they all knew Shane didn’t spend nights in the fourth floor bedchamber. She frowned suddenly, muttering an ouch and glared at Shauna who smiled serenely and made a point of looking at her plate.

  Grateful for Shauna’s diplomacy, Abigail sat down quickly and reached for her tea, only to jerk her hand back when the fragile china cup rattled dangerously in its saucer. Perhaps she needed to wait until she had some em
otional control over her movements. She dared a glance at Shane, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous she was. How did lovers face each other after…?

  He sat across from her, watching with eyes the color of slate, his face impassive. She would have liked a smile or at least an expression of something to let her know he remembered last night. She furrowed her brows. How could he possibly forget? Shane frowned in response. Good heavens. He looked almost angry. What had she done?

  With the clarity of a bell clanging inside her head, Abigail knew. She had acted like a hoyden. Heat washed over her like scalding water. She had acted no better than the light skirts who frequented the area of Covent Garden at night. She’d waited for Shane half-naked and sprawled across the bed. Worse was how she had reacted to Shane’s ministrations. The guttural sounds she’d made, the way her body had gyrated wantonly beneath him, the way she had so willingly wrapped her legs around his shoulders, not caring she was totally exposed to him… Embarrassment flamed through her. Her face felt on fire and her body was on the brink of incineration.

  Dear God. No man wanted to be married to a strumpet.

  “We will be leaving but would like to accompany you to the warehouse first, if you do not mind,” Andre was saying to Shane. “Since the kelp industry is lucrative business right now, we’d like to learn more about it.”

  “Aye. Ye are welcome.”

  “Have you considered reducing the product to ash yourself?” Henri asked.

  The conversation drifted around Abigail, fading in and out as though she had one of Shane’s tartans wrapped about her head. How could he carry on such a casual conversation about seaweed? As if…as if nothing had happened between them?

  The bell inside her mind tolled again. Abigail’s hands flew to her face, surprised it wasn’t scorched already. Dear Lord. Shane’s current actions could not have been more clear. He was dismissing her—that was why he’d left so quickly last night. Her behavior had been slatternly—little better than a common harlot. Shane had taken what she freely offered and then left.