Wicked Highland Heroes

by Tarah Scott

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “The water had grown cold,” she replied.

  “I can remedy that.” He swept her into his arms.

  She cried out and threw her arms around his neck. Talbot sat down on the bench, cradling her on his lap.

  “Have ye gone insane, St. Claire? I am all wet.”

  He grasped her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Are you?”

  She frowned. “Am I—St. Claire.”

  He lowered his mouth onto hers.

  * * *

  Rhoslyn froze when St. Claire’s lips touched hers. She held her breath, suddenly uncertain what to do. She felt like that fifteen-year-old virgin who had awaited Alec in his bed on their wedding night. But Alec’s lips hadn’t felt so...full. She shivered. The tense muscle of his arm beneath her fingers belied the gentle brush of his lips against hers—and the thick bulge beneath her buttocks. His arms tightened around her and she knew an instant of panic.

  He broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair. “You need never fear me, Lady Rhoslyn. As long as I live, you need never fear anyone.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes with a sting she hadn’t felt since Dougal died. Rhoslyn willed her emotions into subjection. She was being childish. What reason had she to cry?

  St. Claire drew back. His gaze moved across her face and he gently brushed aside the wet locks that clung to her cheeks. His eyes then locked with hers.

  “Am I so terrible? Can you not forgive me for what my brother did, or is it that you will never be able to stomach an Englishman touching you?”

  His fingers rested on her left cheek, warm, gentle...

  Rhoslyn could only shake her head.

  His gaze sharpened. “Are you saying you cannot stand my touch?”

  “Nay,” she blurted.

  His brows dove downward.

  “I mean, nay, that is no’ what I am saying.”

  “Then I am not repulsive?” he asked.

  She scowled. “Ye are teasing me.”

  “Am I?”

  “You know full well you are a beautiful man.”

  Amusement warmed his eyes. “Beautiful? I have not heard that.”

  “Ye are no’ a very good liar, St. Claire. You know you are a braw man.”

  “Beautiful and braw,” he said. “That is a good thing, then?”

  “I imagine no woman ever kicked ye out of her bed.”

  His eyes darkened. “Including you?”

  Her breath caught. “You are my husband.”

  “Aye, but we spoke of this already. I will not force you.”

  “If I turned you away, ye would go?”

  “I would ask at least for a son,” he replied. “Perhaps also a daughter.”

  Her heart began a fast beat.

  “Would that be so terrible?” he asked.

  Staring into his dark eyes, it seemed as if giving him sons and daughters would be the most natural thing in the world. Didn’t a wife want to give her husband children? She shivered.

  He lifted a brow. “I am remiss in my duty, my lady. You are sitting on my lap and still not warm.”

  “Nay,” she began, but he rose with her in his arms and strode to the bed. Her pulse raced. He ducked between the curtains and laid her on crisp, clean sheets.

  “The towel,” he said, “it is wet. Give it to me.”

  She hesitated. Then yanked the cloth from her body and dragged the covers up to her chin. The chilled sheets elicited another, stronger shiver. St. Claire stepped back and loosened the ties on his breeches, then shoved them and his braies down his hips. Rhoslyn glimpsed his thick erection in the instant before she yanked her gaze up to his face.

  He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her close. “The sheets are cool. I should have had the maid warm them.”

  “It is all right,” Rhoslyn said, teeth chattering.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her breasts pressed against with the warm, hard muscle of his chest and desire tightened her sex. Unexpected guilt surfaced. She was doing nothing wrong. Alec was gone. He wouldn’t ask her to remain barren and die alone. Yet, she hadn’t considered the possibility that she would marry again...that she would desire another man.

  A nervous flitter stirred in her belly. She had been nervous with Alec, as any virgin would be with her husband, had cared for him, had desired him, but her feelings hadn’t been this intense. And that, she realized, was where her guilt originated. St. Claire had done nothing more than hold her against his naked body, and she trembled. Could he discern her reaction?

  His member pulsed against her thigh. Her mouth went dry. Aye, he knew.

  They lay, quiet, his heart thumping out a powerful beat against her breast. Why didn’t he roll on top of her and enter her? What would it feel like when he did? Embarrassment washed over her and she was glad he couldn’t see her face.

  “Are you warmer?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  “What do you think of my hiring men to work the land around Dunfrey Castle? I would have to hire a steward and an overlord. You must know men who I can trust.”

  Was he asking about business at a time like this? “My grandfather would know men.”

  “Perhaps, while the steward is learning, you could oversee his work. Ensure that he is honest and knows what he is doing.”

  What was wrong with the man? It was obvious he wanted her. She had never known a man to talk business while making love to a woman. Unless... Was she nothing more than business to him?

  “If ye wish,” she replied in a business-like manner. “As you know, I am proficient with numbers.”

  “And with the servants.”

  “What?” she said.

  “You are good with the servants. They care for you.”

  “I care for them.”

  He nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head. He was going to drive her mad.

  “You will probably have to hire someone to replace your cousin,” he said.

  “My cousin—oh, aye. How have ye been getting along without him?”

  “He left only the week before you returned home.”

  “Returned home, that is what you call kidnapping me?”

  “I saved you. Did you really want Melrose?”

  The amusement in his voice pricked her pride. “He would make a good husband.”

  “He would do as you commanded, you mean.”

  That is exactly what she’d meant, but said, “A good husband knows when to listen to a wife.”

  “I shall remember that.”

  Was he going to talk all night long? Mayhap his desire had waned. She shifted slightly, then froze at the press of his very rigid cock against her thigh.

  “Are you all right, Rhoslyn?”

  “Are ye going to get this over with or not, St. Claire?”

  “You want me to be quick about it?” he asked.

  Rhoslyn didn’t miss the husky note in his voice.

  “How long can a man take to finish the job?” she replied.

  “Enough time to ensure the lady is well satisfied.”

  The brush of his fingers on her arm startled her and she jumped.

  He stilled. “How can I think of doing more when a simple touch makes you jump?”

  “‘Tis no’ that. Ye simply caught me off guard.”

  “Shall I tell you everything I plan to do to you?”

  A tremor rippled through her body at the thought of what planned to do to her. If the hardness of his member was any indication...she swallowed.

  “First, I want to brush my fingers across your skin.” He began again to trace lazy circles along her arm.

  Gooseflesh race along her flesh.

  “You like that,” he murmured.

  It wasn’t a question.

  The finger moved upward across her shoulder, then neck, tickling the fine hair at her nape. She shivered.

  “You like that, as well.” He slid his fingers into her hair and gently fisted her hair, pulling h
er head back. “Now I am going to kiss you.”

  His lips touched hers and she closed her eyes, breathing deep. His tongue flicked at her mouth in warning, then swept inside. She was startled at the sweet taste of him, a combination of the wine he had drunk and something she couldn’t quite define.

  He released her hair and murmured against her lips, “I am going to touch your breasts.”

  He flattened his palm on her shoulder, and her heart beat faster as he slid his hand down until the warm palm cupped her breast. He broke the kiss and began nibbling on her ear. Heat pooled between her legs.

  “You are very beautiful,” he whispered.

  With his thumb, he grazed the tip of her stiffened nipple. Pleasure streaked through her.

  “Shall I taste your breasts now, my lady?”

  The hoarse note in his voice—and the question—made her head whirl. How did she answer such a question? But he waited for no answer, and dipped his head downward. Anticipation tightened her sex. When his warm mouth closed around the nipple she couldn’t halt a moan. Then, God help her, he suckled, and she wondered if he would bring her to pleasure that instant.

  “I am going to touch you,” he said against her breast.

  Touch her?

  The hand on her breast stroked downward and she realized what he meant. He suckled harder and her senses muddled. He lightly ran his fingers over the sensitive dip in her belly, causing a quiver across her flesh she felt clear to her core. His large hand brushed her curls, then closed over her mound.

  “St Claire,” she whispered.

  “Aye, love?”

  “This is strange.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “God no,” she blurted, then jammed her eyes shut from embarrassment.

  “I am relieved,” he said, his voice a bit choked.

  He dipped a finger between the moist folds that protected her swollen nub. The digit caressed the delicate bud. Rhoslyn forced back the impulse to clamp her legs together. She was torn between wanting him to touch her and mortification. Alec rarely touched her this way and, in truth, she had wanted him to. St. Claire applied slight pressure and need shot through her. Oh, she was wrong. Alec had never touched her this way. She shifted restlessly, wanting the pleasure hinted at in his caress. It had been so long. All those months before Dougal’s birth, then the isolation of the convent. Too long.

  He shifted his mouth to the other breast and drew on the nipple. Rhoslyn thrust the fingers of one hand into his thick hair and tugged.

  “Ahh, you like this, my lady?” He sucked harder.

  Rhoslyn moved against his finger. He slid one muscled leg across her legs. The thigh was heavy and so very warm, and she wanted more of him, skin to skin. His caresses intensified. She fisted his hair more tightly. He covered the other breast with his hand. Sweet Jesu, she was drowning.

  His warm, moist tongue ringed the nipple. Rhoslyn moaned. Cool breath washed across her flesh and the exquisite pucker of the areola pushed her over the edge. Pleasure rolled over her in a sudden tidal wave that bowed her off the bed. She dropped back onto the mattress and couldn’t stop her thighs from clamping around his hand as a second spasm rocked her.

  An instant later, she became aware of the firm ridge of his manhood between her thighs, at the entrance to her channel. He poised over her, his form blurred.

  “I shall claim you now, Lady Rhoslyn. All will know it, but most of all, you will know.”

  He entered her slowly, stretching, filling her until his pelvis lay flush with hers. He lowered his head and kissed her, full, sweet, and tender. Then he began to move inside her. A wondrous sensation rippled through her. He pulled back, then pressed his hips against hers again. He at last lowered himself onto her and she melted beneath his weight—she felt certain she would melt altogether, once again lost in rising need. Lovemaking had never been like this with Alec. Guilt resurfaced, but a sudden hard thrust of St. Claire’s rod inside her drove away all thoughts of the dead, and she cried out.

  Rhoslyn wrapped her arms around his neck. Hard muscle bunched beneath her fingers as he thrust into her, faster, harder, driving her once again toward that bliss that only a man could give a woman. Surging upward into full consciousness and feeling, her release broke free and consumed her in blinding pleasure. He uttered a groan and her climax spiked again and rippled through her in waves that left her with the knowledge that he had, without question, claimed her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rhoslyn slowed her walk across the bailey at Castle Glenbarr and covertly watched St. Claire. He stood near the gate talking with two of his men. Today, he wore no mail shirt as he so often did. Instead, a white linen surcoat woven with gold thread hugged his shoulders and hung to his knees. He laughed at something one of the men said and crossed his arms over his chest. The surcoat went taut over his back, and her knees weakened. Sweet Jesu, she’d lost her mind.

  This last week, St. Claire had kept her in a daze. Alec hadn’t demonstrated as veracious an appetite as some husbands she had heard discussed while St. Claire made even the stories she’d heard seem tame.

  As if sensing her scrutiny, he shifted his gaze past the man who stood in front of him and caught her eye. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his. A faint smile played about his full mouth. A satisfied smile. A smile that told her he remembered last night when he laid her down beneath the oak tree under the stars.

  The cool grass beneath her and his warm body on top of her, his hard rod—she shut out the memory. To her shame, she broke her gaze from his and hurried away. His gaze seemed to burn her shoulder blades until she entered the castle.

  Hand on the castle’s door bolt, the door now safely closed behind her, she allowed herself a moment to regain her senses. What was it about him that made her want to melt like butter on a summer day? He was a beautiful man, but that alone wasn’t the answer. Surely, that wasn’t why the sight of him alone sent a skitter across the insides of her stomach.

  Any time now, they would leave for the village, for the games planned for that afternoon. St. Claire said the games were in celebration of their marriage, but she suspected it was an excuse for him to gauge the mettle of the local young men. Either way, she would be spending the afternoon with him. Her traitorous heart skipped a beat at the thought.

  The door started to shove open and Rhoslyn jumped aside. St. Claire entered and she nearly bolted for the staircase.

  He paused in closing the door, his brow creased in a frown. “Is something amiss?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, what could be amiss?” Other than you being here?

  “It seems strange you are standing at the door.”

  He would notice that. “You have a suspicious mind, St. Claire.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied. “But it is still strange.”

  “Did you want something?” she demanded.

  The smile reappeared with a hint of amusement. “Are you ready to go to the village, or did you forget?” he asked.

  “Forget that ye have ended my imprisonment? Nay, I am no’ likely to forget that.”

  He closed the door and stepped close to her. “Would you prefer to stay at Castle Glenbarr?” He grasped a lock of hair that had sprung free of her braid and rubbed it between his fingers. “We could find something to do.”

  Heat rippled through her.

  He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Would you like that?”

  She would like it very much. Too much. As he well knew.

  He dipped his head and kissed her. Already she had grown too familiar with the way his full mouth molded with hers. He swept his tongue inside her mouth. The way he tasted. He slid his free arm around her. The way he held her so tight it nearly took her breath. The way he made her wish they didn’t have to leave Castle Glenbarr and that the world would never intrude.

  He broke the kiss and nuzzled her ear. “What say you, Lady, would you prefer I make love to you?”

  A thrill streaked through her. �
�Everyone will know,” she whispered. As they surely must know after the way she cried out his name last night under the oak. How could anyone not have heard?

  He gave a low laugh. “So?”

  “Andreana is looking forward to going.” She had difficulty concentrating. He nibbled on her earlobe.

  “We could send her with an escort.”

  “The men will be disappointed you did not compete in the games.” Sweet Jesu, what was he doing to her earlobe? A shiver traveled down her back.

  “They want to beat the Dragon, you mean?”

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  He pulled back and looked down at her. “Would you tame the Dragon, Lady?”

  Her cheeks flushed warm. “The games are for men.”

  “Not the games I would play.”

  She suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

  Rhoslyn pulled back. “We must go. I will fetch Andreana.”

  He didn’t release her. “What is wrong, Rhoslyn?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze, praying none of the panic welling up in her showed. “Nothing is wrong. But we promised everyone we would go. Andreana will be disappointed.”

  His gaze, once again intense, searched hers. Finally, he gave a gentle smile. “As you wish.”

  Twenty minutes later, Rhoslyn sat with Andreana on a plaid on the grass beneath a clear blue summer sky that reminded her of days when she was a child and chased butterflies among the heather on the hills beyond. Spectators crowded around the open field where St. Claire and young Colin stood toe-to-toe in readiness for the ball to be thrown into the air for their first game of shinty.

  “Sir Talbot seems in good spirits,” Andreana said.

  “Aye,” Rhoslyn said, though she wasn’t sure if the sparkle of humor in his eyes represented joy or the surety of a man about to annihilate his opponent. Probably both.

  Everyone seemed in good spirits. The entire village had turned out for the festivities, as well as those from ten miles around. Jugglers meandered through the crowd tossing balls, fruit, or knives. Faint plucking of harps and psaltery drifted through the excited chatter. Rhoslyn began to relax. Bright sunshine made the day perfect for the games.

  The ball sailed into the air. St. Claire and Colin leapt, sticks tangling, then St. Claire’s smacked the ball and it flew toward his teammates. They leapt toward the ball, with him and Colin matching stride with one another. The ball flew in St. Claire’s direction and he swung for it. Colin, who matched him in height and weight, shouldered him aside and swung at the ball. Rhoslyn tensed when St. Claire tumbled to the ground. He rolled and came to his feet, laughing as he took off after Colin.