Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in Plaid

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Ye’re mine now, Rowena, my fierce lass,” he murmured, lifting his face away from hers, gazing down into her eyes as he pushed deeper inside her, until she took him fully.

  “Ye think so?” she asked, breathless.

  Slowly he pulled out and then slid in again. “Aye.” He did it again. “Aye.”

  Rowena kissed him again, digging her fingers into his shoulders as he moved inside her. He’d called her fierce, and tonight she felt like she was as she met him thrust for thrust, the pace increasing until with a deep, shivering groan she came. He slowed as she spasmed around him, kissing her hot and openmouthed, stifling her moans until her senses settled again a little. “Sweet Saint Bridget,” she managed.

  He grinned, looking breathless himself. “That’s nae the end of it yet, lass. Let’s see if I can do that to ye again.”

  Abruptly he twisted them so that he lay looking up at her while she straddled his hips, still impaled. Lachlan thrust up, putting his hands around her waist until she caught onto the rhythm of their motions. She liked this, the sense that she controlled the moment—until he put his splayed hands on her breasts, teasing and tugging.

  The muscles across her abdomen began to tighten again, and she planted her hands flat on Lachlan’s chest to shatter once more. He took her hips and pulled her down over him as he growled and threw back his head.

  With a deep, shuddering sigh Rowena collapsed against his chest. Beneath her cheek his heart beat hard and fast. Her Lachlan. She’d wanted this—him—for so long. And just when she’d given up …

  No. She hadn’t given up. She’d altered what she wanted. She’d become wiser and decided she wanted someone more refined.

  If so, though, why was she so … satisfied? Why did she want to do nothing as much as lie curled in his arms, precisely where she was? Perhaps the physical act of sex had not only overwhelmed her senses, but her judgment. That seemed entirely likely. After all, she couldn’t even catch her breath. How was she supposed to think clearly?

  “Ye’re being quiet,” Lachlan said, his voice rumbling beneath her cheek. “Especially fer you.”

  “Am I?” she returned, unmoving, wishing becoming unthinking were as simple.

  “Aye. I know I hurt ye, but I willnae do so again. I swear it.”

  She sensed that he wasn’t just talking about tonight, that he was attempting to make amends for discounting her all those years. “It doesn’t matter. I’m spoken for.”

  His arms around her back tightened, then relaxed again. “Ye didnae tell him aye. So ye are spoken fer, but by me.”

  She lifted her head, brushing her hair out of her eyes to look down at his face. “You and I are the only ones who know about this,” she said, gesturing between them, “and the fact that I didn’t say yes to Rob. That I haven’t yet said yes to Rob.”

  “He knows ye didnae say aye, and he lied aboot it.”

  “I’m not so sure he lied, Lach. He assumed I would agree to be his wife, and then I fainted.”

  Lachlan shifted out from under her and sat up. “Ye mean to go along with it.” His green eyes practically snapped with abrupt anger.

  Sitting up as well so he wouldn’t tower over her while he glowered, Rowena pulled a pillow around in front of herself. Yes, he’d just seen her naked, and his mouth or his hands or both had caressed every inch of her, but without clothes on she still felt very vulnerable—inside and out. “Ranulf wants the alliance. And Robert Cranach, unlike you, is very nice, and we have many of the same interests.”

  “Ye mean he has interests and ye’ve decided they’re the ones a proper young English lass should have, as well.” Reaching out, he yanked the pillow away from her and tossed it halfway across the room. “Ye’re nae some cold-blooded miss who chats aboot the weather and the theater over tea and says her day is oh, so busy. Ye’re a Highlands lass with fire in yer heart and the wind in yer hair—and I wish ye would see that aboot yerself again.”

  She still didn’t see it, Lachlan realized. All it took was one look at her face, at the tightly closed lips and narrowed eyes, to tell him that she considered tonight to be an anomaly, a one-time indiscretion. And now that he’d made her angry, she likely wouldn’t listen to him at all. Worse, she might just go find Rob Cranach and say the words she hadn’t managed earlier.

  “That is your opinion,” she said stiffly, her lovely brogue buried again, as if she’d decided to become a completely different person and simply done it. On the outside, anyway. “I don’t share it. And now I think you should leave.”

  Damnation. “Mayhap I’m a bit ham-fisted with my words, Rowena, but ye shoved me behind the stable and then refused to look at me again. If ye want to visit the theater I’ll build ye one. I’ll take ye to London every year if that’s what ye want. But if ye pretend to be what ye arenae and ye marry while wearing that mask, ye cannae take it off again. I worry that ye’ll be miserable.” And that I’ll be miserable withoot ye, but he didn’t say that part aloud. It wouldn’t help. Not now, anyway.

  She shoved him in the chest. Hard. She might as well have been a wee songbird batting at him with her wings, but he shifted away and stood on the far side of the bed. Her gaze lowered to his cock before she looked up at his face again, which actually made him feel a bit better. Rowena could pretend to be proper, but she’d been free and eager enough with him when the mood struck her.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” she said, belatedly pulling up blankets to cover herself again. “I’m no concern of yours.”

  “But ye are, lass.” He squatted down to retrieve his kilt and then straightened to wrap it about his hips again. That done, he shrugged into his shirt. “And ye’re still obligated to do as I wish, anyway, if ye dunnae want me to misbehave.”

  “I am not. You won’t misbehave and risk a war, now that the clans are here.”

  “True enough. Ye dunnae care, though, if I tell everyone ye didnae agree to wed Cranach and that he made that part up to coddle his own pride?”

  She paled a little. He knew what she must be thinking, that she could deny the rumors—and that that would likely make them even more interesting for the gossips. Or she could ignore it, in which case it would be Cranach wondering who she’d told and why.

  “All I ask is that ye dunnae give Cranach yer true answer until after yer brother’s wedding. Ye’ve spent the last three months as an Englishwoman among the English. Spend the next four days as a Highlands woman among Highlanders. Then decide who ye want to be fer the rest of yer life.”

  Rowena contemplated him for a long moment, while he finished dressing to give her time to consider what he’d said. Forcing her into it didn’t sit well with him, but seeing her choose Robert Cranach would be even worse. Especially if she did it just to spite him—whether she would ever acknowledge that to be a reason or not.

  Finally she put her hands on her hips, the blanket sagging deliciously to her waist as she did so. “And what would you suggest I say to everyone who congratulates me on my betrothal?”

  Lachlan frowned. He knew what he wished she would say. Obviously, though, she wouldn’t be telling anyone they could congratulate her, but they had the name of her husband wrong. “Ye tell them Robert hasnae asked fer yer hand, and ye’re a Highland lass who willnae succumb until she’s been asked properly and has given her answer.” He tilted his head. “Or are ye going to be dragged aboot without having yer own say?”

  “You think you can sway me that easily, Lach?”

  “Lass,” he returned, blowing out his breath, “nothing about ye is easy. In our years growing up, that’s what most aggravated me aboot ye. And it’s what I most adore. Yer spirit.” He sat again on the edge of the bed, far enough away that she couldn’t kick him if the mood struck her. “If it were easy to sway ye, I’d nae have any clothes on, and we’d still be naked together in this bed.”

  Her long, curling hair falling over her shoulders and half obscuring her breasts, Rowena slid off the bed and padded naked around to face him. He sto
od again, tapping his fingers together to keep from reaching for her. Evidently frustrated with her or not, he still desired her badly.

  “Well,” she noted slowly, putting out a hand to tug on his waistcoat, “I hate to admit it, but you make a good argument. No, I will not marry someone without being asked, and without giving my answer. Four days, Lachlan.” She lowered her hand again. “But you will not change my mind.”

  “I dunnae know aboot that, lass. I’m very persuasive.” Leaning down, he kissed her soft, stubborn mouth. When she kissed him back, he slid his hands around her bare, slender waist and pulled her against him. Whether she’d realized it yet or not, she needed a man who would stand his ground against her. The lass would be bored senseless by a proper gentleman.

  With a last kiss she put her palms flat on his chest and pushed herself away from him a few inches. “We’ll see about that. Now leave, before someone realizes you’re in here.”

  “Aye.” Taking a last glance about to be certain he hadn’t forgotten anything, Lachlan walked to her door. Edging it open, he glanced into the hallway. It was empty, which he supposed was fortunate, though he wouldn’t have minded an excuse to remain longer in her bedchamber. “Sleep well, Rowena, my fierce Highlands lass. And dream of me.”

  He knew damned well he’d be dreaming of her. He’d gotten himself four days to convince her that he knew better than she not just what she truly wanted, but what she needed. And that she and he were a perfect match.

  Chapter Ten

  Today, this part of the Highlands no longer looked empty. The vast meadow at the base of Glengask Castle had become a living carpet of sound and color and scent.

  Generally the MacLawry clan gatherings saw nearly five hundred people in attendance, but the unique circumstance of Ranulf’s wedding had drawn in even more—and that didn’t include the other two hundred men, women, and children who arrived with the chiefs and chieftains of other clans.

  “Good heavens,” Charlotte breathed, as she descended the hill with Rowena and the Mayfair set.

  All morning Rowena had been swinging from excitement to trepidation and back again, but the awe in Charlotte Hanover’s voice made her smile. “Most of them are your clan now, Charlotte,” she said. “Just remember what Ranulf told you; don’t go anywhere without Owen. It’s likely everyone will just be wanting to meet you, but it’s always better to be a little cautious.”

  “Aye,” Owen agreed, and patted the bulge beneath his jacket, only partly obscured by the MacLawry plaid draped over his shoulder. “Me and this blunderbuss willnae be far away.”

  “Ranulf has protection as well, doesn’t he?” Charlotte whispered, taking Rowena’s arm. “It seems he would be a more likely target for any trouble than I am.”

  “We’ve all got clansmen watching over us,” she returned, warmed by her almost sister-in-law’s concern even as she looked over the crowd and pretended to herself that she wasn’t looking for Lachlan. He would be somewhere in the middle of everything with Bear and Ranulf this morning. And she had more pressing things to worry over right now than him. The cool mountain breeze ruffled past her, and for the thousandth time since he’d left her bedchamber the image of him naked, looking down at her from mere inches away, touched her. Dash it, why did everything make her think of Lachlan this morning?

  “Ranulf has Fergus and Una with him, too,” Jane put in. “I saw him leaving the house this morning with them. And Bear.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to anger those dogs,” Charlotte said, smiling again. “It’s just … there are so many people. And this isn’t even half the clan, from what he’s said. And they all look to him.”

  Of course Charlotte would be more touched by this representation of Ranulf’s duties as clan chief than by the size of the crowd. That was one of the reasons Rowena was so glad the two of them had found each other. Ranulf needed someone who would look after him first, and the clan second, since he’d always put himself far to the back of everything else.

  Holding Mary’s hand, Arran moved up beside them, a content smile on his face. “The clan is mostly farmers and fishermen, peat cutters, drovers, and cowherds,” he said. “A fierce lot when riled, but they’re nae riled today. And as I’ve been forbidden to try my hand at any of the games, I’ll be close by ye, as well.”

  At the edge of the meadow they had to slow, with everyone wanting to curtsy or bow to Charlotte, and pay their respects to Arran and—with even more open cunosity—Mary. The clashing notes of bagpipes and hundreds of voices chatting in both English and Scottish Gaelic was nearly deafening, and it certainly didn’t help Rowena collect her thoughts. If Ranulf hadn’t left the house so early she might have caught him then, but she’d overslept. A small smile touched her again. At least she had a good reason for that.

  Lachlan had asked her to try to be a Highlander today, but to herself she could admit that with a gathering around her it would have been difficult to be anything but a Highlander. In a moment she had her hands full of clootie dumpling and shortbread, and handed bits of treat around for her friends to try.

  She looked about as she greeted familiar faces and welcomed new ones. Many of these people, even if they didn’t share her name, shared her blood. Somewhere in the past, everyone who wore the black and gray and blood-red colors was a MacLawry, or they’d married into the clan, or more recently they’d been taken in when their own clan had cast them out to make room for sheep and grazing.

  Directly to one side of the large, rough circle that had been kept clear for the first of the competitions, they set out blankets and some chairs for Charlotte’s parents. Her event, the ladies’ horse race, was set for late afternoon, but she’d already donned her riding attire so she wouldn’t have to go back to the house and change clothes.

  “Aren’t you going to sit?” Jane asked, looking up at her.

  “In a moment. I need a word with Ranulf, first.” A few words, and they were ones he definitely wouldn’t like. But if he decided to announce to everyone that his sister was betrothed, she would be caught without ever having been asked.

  “I spy him,” Arran said, still on his feet, as well.

  “That’s because you’re mountain-sized,” she responded, swallowing her nerves behind a smile.

  “I’m nae but a hill. Munro’s mountain-sized.” He offered his arm. “Come along. I’ll get ye to him.”

  That meant she would be telling all three of her brothers. Best to get it done all at once, she decided, mostly because she didn’t have a choice, and put her hand around his sleeve. “Thank you.”

  “Mm-hm,” he said, as they plowed around the edge of the circle. “Tell me someaught.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen ye pretend to swoon a half-dozen times or so, generally in the hope that Lachlan would catch ye. I’ve nae known ye to genuinely lose yer senses. So what happened last night to unsettle ye so?”

  Heavens, with everything that had happened last evening, she’d almost forgotten that it had begun with her fainting. “If you’ll get me to Ranulf, I’ll tell you.”

  “Fair enough.” The middle MacLawry brother sent her a sideways glance. “Are ye nae happy aboot Cranach? Ye look a bit … off.”

  Of course if anyone noticed it would be clever Arran. “It’s … I’m not…” She blew out her breath. “Stop noting things for a blasted minute, will you?”

  “Aye. I can do that.”

  Finally they pushed through another group of spectators and emerged into the central clearing. Wonderful. So she’d have an audience of seven hundred or so while she spoke a private word to the man who had everyone’s attention today. As she approached Ranulf another man clad in MacLawry plaid stepped into view, and she almost stumbled, warmth fluttering through her muscles. Lachlan.

  Of course he would be there with Ranulf; she’d put Bear and him in charge of arranging the blasted games. But how was she supposed to tell Ranulf what she needed to say with him standing there, distracting her?

  “Glengask
, a word with ye,” Arran called.

  Ranulf met them halfway, Bear and Lachlan and the two deerhounds flanking him. The MacLawry had worn his kilt, too, of course. Even if she was perhaps a bit prejudiced in their favor, in her opinion they were the finest, most bonny group of men in all of Scotland. And England.

  “Aye,” he said. “Make it a quick word, if ye will. If I dunnae call the games open soon, I predict a riot.”

  “It’s nae me who wants a word. It’s Winnie.”

  The tall men surrounded her, and she caught Lachlan’s warm, encouraging gaze. Of course this was what he wanted, though—more time and opportunity to try to change her mind. She was not doing this for him, though. Rather, this was because she refused to surrender without a word given to Rob Cranach. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t agree to marry Rob,” she said all at once.

  Ranulf stared at her for a moment. It wasn’t often that she did something to genuinely surprise him—her flight to London had been the last one she could recall. But he looked startled now. “Say that again?” he finally urged, his brows plunging together.

  “I’m not saying I won’t agree to marry him,” she continued, meeting Lachlan’s gaze and daring him to contradict that. He’d suggested she speak the truth, and she meant to do so. But that didn’t mean she’d decided on him.

  “Ye’d best explain, piuthar,” Bear put in. “Sooner, rather than later.”

  “He—Rob—took me aside last night and announced that Ranulf had hunted him down and given his permission for us to wed.”

  “I wouldnae use the word ‘hunted,’ precisely,” Ranulf countered. Then he sent his own glance at Lachlan. Did he suspect there was more to their arguing than either of them had admitted? “But that’s neither here nor there, I suppose. Go on, lass.”