Taming His Rebel Lady

by Jane Godman

  It was the closest he had ever come to confiding in her, and Iona’s heart leapt. Was he about to tell her more? But Edwin had turned away and was perusing another letter almost as if he had forgotten her presence. Quietly, she left the room. Seeking out Gordie, she found him in the great hall polishing the ornate brass work around the fireplace.

  “I need you to find some information for me.”

  His dour expression did not change, but she sensed his inward sigh. “My lady?”

  “Something happened in the past, on a date seven days hence. Whatever it was greatly affected Sir Edwin. I want you to discover the detail of it.”

  “How long since, my lady? Five years? Ten years? Two years?”

  “I know not.” Iona’s tone was impatient. “Within his lifetime obviously, but I can’nae say when.”

  “I see. And the nature of this event?”

  “I have no idea. It will have been something grave enough to have disturbed him deeply. That is all I know.” She turned away and then swung back on an afterthought. “Oh, and Gordie?”

  This time he did sigh. Very faintly. “My lady?”

  “I will need the information by this time next week.”

  The week between the arrival of Sir Garwen’s invitation and the night of the ball had an odd tension to it as if a cataclysmic event was pending. As if we are waiting for the king to die or the executioner’s axe to fall, Iona thought, with an apprehensive shiver. Edwin’s manner toward her became a curious mix of distance and need. He could be in the same room and yet a thousand miles away. Then, within the same hour, he would seek her out wherever she was in the house and drag her off to their bedchamber to take her with an urgency that drove the breath from her body and left her trembling. Sometimes, she recalled, wrapping her arms about her waist to hug herself at the memory, they had not managed to reach the bedchamber in time. The stables, the old summerhouse in the garden and Edwin’s desk had all been scenes of sizzling passion in the last few days.

  “I cannot get enough of you, Iona,” Edwin had groaned the words into her hair as he poured himself into her that very morning. “I want you every minute of every day.”

  “’Tis just as well since I need you inside me over and over to ease the constant ache I have for you.”

  “It doesn’t go away, does it?” he marvelled, twirling one strand of hair about his finger in a gesture he used often. “It just keeps getting stronger.”

  “Och, Sir Edwin.” Iona had laughed, drawing his head down to rest on her breast. “Why would ye be wanting something so nice to go away?”

  Now it was time to make ready for the ball. To step into…what? She didn’t know, but she sensed fear and something more in Edwin. Something darker. Heaven help her, she was becoming attuned to his moods.

  Gordie, ever diligent, had provided her with a snippet of information. “The only event I have been able to discover that might be relevant to what you seek, my lady, was the massacre at Saint Helena-le-Clay.”

  Iona had frowned. “I know nothing about this, Gordie.”

  “Very little is known, my lady. Indeed, the whole incident appears shrouded in mystery. Ten years ago—to the very day you asked about—the convent of Saint Helena-le-Clay on the northeast coast of England, close to the border, was burned to the ground.”

  “A fire? You said it was a massacre.”

  “It was, my lady. Prior to the fire, a troop of English soldiers stormed the convent, raping and murdering many of the nuns. It is said locally that the fire was set by the redcoats as a means of covering up their crimes.” Gordie’s mask of impassivity dropped briefly, allowing hatred and disgust to show through. “English dogs. They turn even on their own. Aye, and on a defenceless group of women sworn to serve Christ.”

  A horrible little worm of foreboding had slithered into Iona’s stomach and settled there. “What makes you think this may be the information I seek?”

  “Sir Edwin was a junior officer in the troop, my lady, under the command of one Captain Augustus Hendry.” He had allowed a moment for that information to sink in. “Sir Edwin was known at that time as Augustus Hendry’s protégé. The two men were friends, although they went their separate ways when Sir Edwin was sent to the Continent while Augustus Hendry came north to Fort William…”

  Iona finished the story for him. “…where he was murdered.”

  These were the thoughts running through Iona’s mind as, clad only in her shift, she laid out her gown in preparation for the ball. She had told Edwin she would not question him about his deeds in war. Nevertheless, Gordie’s story of what had happened at Saint Helena-le-Clay sickened her. He was a boy, part of her mind cried out. Old enough to know better, another part answered. Who are you, Edwin Roxburgh? The question persisted. The answer remained stubbornly out of her reach.

  The man himself was across the room from her, staring moodily out of the window at the wintry late-afternoon landscape. He looked—she searched for the right word—forlorn? Hurt? No, he looked utterly, hopelessly lost. Unheeding of the warnings her mind was trying to instill, she followed the promptings of her heart and went to him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she laid her cheek against the hard muscles of his back.

  Wanting to offer him reassurance, she repeated the words he had said to her at Castle Lachlan. “Fear not. I am beside you in this.”

  He swung around to face her so swiftly that, at first, she feared she must have angered him. His hands gripped her upper arms and his eyes blazed with pure animal lust. Iona’s head spun as she realised she had lost control of the situation. She didn’t care. This was the best response she could have hoped to elicit from him. This was the best way to begin the evening. She would help him make an erotic memory to fill his thoughts so that nothing darker could intrude.

  Edwin raised his knee between her legs and pressed it up against her throbbing sex through the thin layer of her shift. Iona groaned, and he answered her with a matching sound of his own as their lips met. Iona stroked her tongue against his, loving the abrasive texture, this evidence of his body in hers. In one swift movement, he tugged her shift over her head and carried her naked to the deerskin rug that was spread before the fire.

  Lying on the soft pelt, Iona raised her hands to draw Edwin down to her but, smiling, he evaded her touch. Instead, he moved to kneel between her legs. The sight of his dark head buried between the pale flesh of her thighs sent another pulse of arousal through her. All coherent thought disappeared as he bent his head and his tongue swept over and into her. Iona moaned and let her knees fall apart. His tongue moved slowly over every inch of her delicate folds until it found her clitoris, twirling around it and making her head spin. Iona pressed her lips together to stifle her screams, but that didn’t prevent the helpless mewling sounds that escaped her. Just when she thought nothing could heighten her pleasure more, Edwin took the tiny bud into his mouth and sucked on the sensitive flesh.

  Iona threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him against her. He eased two fingers into her, moving them fast and deep while his mouth continued to work its magic. Her orgasm was close, and he drove her to it relentlessly. Iona threw her head back, gasping as, with a will of their own, her hips jerked helplessly to the rhythm Edwin was setting. As the final crescendo hit her and she began to judder and clench, he took her clitoris between his teeth and thrust his fingers to the hilt.

  Iona’s nipples hardened and her legs trembled with the intensity of her climax. As she fought to regain her breath, Edwin lay beside her keeping his hand between her legs and massaging in a light caress until the final spasms had subsided.

  The image of Iona lying on the fur riveted Edwin. Her mouth was swollen and parted. As she gazed up at him, her eyes told him of the intensity of her desire for him as surely as if she had spoken. There were deeper emotions as well in their golden depths. He saw tenderness and, in that instant, her complete trust in him. For once—just this one time—he allowed himself to accept that trust. Even to deserve it.
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  He closed his eyes and felt their lips touch, the firmness of his mouth just grazing the softness of Iona’s made his whole body stiffen. She turned her head and fitted herself to him, and he pressed his lips harder to hers with a low growl of satisfaction. Iona gave a sigh as their tongues danced in time together.

  When they broke the kiss, they were both panting. Iona freed his cock from the near-painful restraint of his breeches, and he quickly shrugged off the rest of his clothes. Unable to wait any longer, Edwin knelt before her again and hooked his hands under her knees, pulling her to him.

  Moving her legs up over his shoulders, he positioned himself so that the head of his cock was just grazing her entrance. Iona’s eyes closed and her mouth parted on another sigh. It was all Edwin could do to maintain control and keep from ramming into her. Because he wanted this to be slow, he didn’t obey his instincts and plunge straight into her welcoming warmth. Instead, he slid smoothly forward, his thickness penetrating her inch by inch. Iona’s eyes opened wide. As he moved, he stared into her eyes, watching every tiny reaction. Enjoying her responses, the widening of her eyes as his width stretched her, the blink of pleasure as he probed deeper. Everything she needed to say to him about how he felt inside her was right there in those looks.

  As he began to move, his thick shaft opened her further, sliding into raw heat. His hips moved up between her legs, pushing her thighs even further apart. His senses were heightened, and he watched Iona as her fingers gripped the fur rug, her head thrown back. Her soft cries spurred him on, and he pulled back a little then pistoned faster. Iona’s hips slammed up from the rug in response. God, she was so tight, so hot and wet around him.

  Edwin kept up the new rhythm of hard, fast thrusts. Iona’s hands explored the muscles of his back and slid down to his buttocks, urging him on. Their bodies were slapping hard together, both of them panting now, staring into each other’s eyes as they neared their peak. His cock slammed into her, so hard it felt like granite. She gave a soft cry as she met each forward movement, and Edwin felt his body spiral into uncontrollable pleasure, fast and tight.

  With a ragged groan, he felt the first hot, thick spurt shoot high up inside Iona. That sensation sent her over the edge as well, and her inner muscles clenched hard around him, deepening his explosion. Edwin gasped, his cock spasming wildly. Iona’s hands locked tight onto his shoulders, pulling him down to her as her back arched and her breasts pressed into him. She jammed herself tight against him, every part of them in contact from groin to neck. He kissed her, and she cried out into his mouth. They both writhed and trembled and were left limp in the wake of the enormity of their mutual storm.

  Iona’s eyes were still closed when Edwin pulled out of her and gently lowered her back to the rug. Lying next to her, he drew a hand lightly over her flat stomach, delighting in the way her muscles clenched under his touch. It was the answering tug within his chest that shocked him. It confirmed what he had been suspecting for some time.

  God help him. He was in love with her.

  Edwin’s throat tightened further as the magnitude of this new awareness hit him. You fool. He had done the one thing he had sworn never to do. Not only that, he had done it with such complete, gleeful abandon he had not seen it coming. He had allowed a woman to steal his heart. And not just any woman. Only his own bloody wife! The one woman he couldn’t walk away from.

  Despite his thoughts, he was unable to resist the temptation to touch her. He leaned over, brushing her hair back from her face. Iona’s eyes opened and she smiled. If she only knew what that smile does to my insides. Reaching up, she hooked her hand behind his head, pulling him down to her. Eagerly, his mouth urged her lips apart so he could slide his tongue inside. Winding her arms around his neck, Iona mimicked the gentle thrusting motion of his tongue as his hand traced the side of her face.

  “We are going to be very late for the ball,” he murmured hoarsely.

  She didn’t respond to that comment. “My God, Edwin! What did you do to me? I feel like my whole body was turned inside out with the force of it. Is it always this way? Does it always keep getting better? Because, I warn you now…if that is the case, I may be dead from pleasure by Christmas.”

  He laughed, rising to his feet and reaching a hand to draw her up. “Let us prepare to step into the lion’s den, my lady.”

  “Lion?” Iona wrinkled her nose disparagingly. “Hendry is more weasel than lion. Come, Edwin, we will go and show him he can’nae take on the Roxburghs and come off best from the encounter.”

  He watched her as she sang a Gaelic ballad while she bathed and dressed. Partly because he couldn’t not watch her and partly because of the effect her words had on him. Could his life become that simple? Could the warm feeling he had experienced when Iona said “the Roxburghs” persist? Could he hold his laughing, feisty, infuriating Scots darling in his arms and not be afraid to show her his feelings? No. The ever-present voice in his mind spoke up at once. It can never be so for you. Remember Saint Helena-le-Clay? This is your penance. You will pay for what happened that day—exactly ten years ago—for the rest of your life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The carriage ride from Cameron House to the fortified garrison at Fort William was accomplished easily and, as far as Iona was concerned, mercifully quickly. Although she had no wish to enter the hated keep wherein her brother had been held and tortured while his first wife and young son died, it was a relief to escape the confines of the carriage. Edwin looked magnificent in embroidered satin, with powder in his hair and patches adorning his face. In donning these items, he had become a brooding stranger. Her attempts at conversation had been met with monosyllables, and she had eventually abandoned any attempt, lapsing into uneasy silence herself.

  Their earlier intimacy might never have happened. It was like a distant erotic dream. Yet, in those scorching moments, the intensity of the emotional connection between them had been the equal of their carnal bond. Its force had left her shaking. Iona had been sure that Edwin was as moved by the power of that encounter as she was. Now, viewing his impassive countenance as the carriage approached the fort, she began to doubt her own conviction. What did she know of such things? She was the girl who had thought until recently there was only one way to do it! Edwin had proved her very wrong on that score. Perhaps all of Edwin’s mistresses were also left with the impression that he poured his very soul into them as he gasped out his climax. The thought had the effect of subduing her mood, and Iona fought the reaction. She would have need of her fighting spirit in these surroundings.

  A brave effort had been undertaken to disguise the true nature of the building and make the fort appear festive for the occasion. Edwin handed Iona down from the carriage into a flambeaux-lit courtyard, and they were escorted along a hall lined with military portraits into a large chamber that had been transformed into a ballroom for the evening. The space was full, and Iona recognised several highlanders who had been loyal to the king throughout the recent conflict present among the guests. A glance informed her that, although the gentlemen were similarly dressed, none came close to Edwin in elegance. His were the straightest satin-clad shoulders and shapeliest silk-encased legs at the party. She suspected that would be the case in whatever company he found himself. Because they were, as Edwin had predicted, rather late, many of the guests were already making their way through to the adjoining dining room when a sombre soldier announced their names.

  Sir Garwen, his smile giving no indication that he had any recollection of his last meeting with Iona, stepped forward to greet them, bowing over Iona’s hand. Even though her bruises had faded, the memory of his fist connecting with her cheek lingered, and she recoiled slightly at his touch. Sir Garwen’s smile deepened. She noticed with satisfaction a faint trace of the scratches she had inflicted on him still marring his cheek.

  “My dear Lady Roxburgh, a pleasure as always. Let me introduce you to the lady who has kindly offered to be my hostess for the evening. She has travelled from
London for just this purpose. Is that not most good hearted of her? But then, she is a lady noted for the generosity of her nature.” He smiled, allowing the woman who had moved to his side to step forward and curtsy low. “Lady Roxburgh, may I make Mrs. Weston known to you?”

  Iona had no choice but to return the curtsy, even though her heart was pounding furiously in her ears, and she wanted nothing more than to storm out of the room. As she rose, she found herself looking into the smug, beautiful face of her husband’s mistress.

  Sir Garwen’s voice was like cream poured over silk. “I believe, Sir Edwin, that you need no introduction to Mrs. Weston. I think the two of you already know each other very well?”

  “Indeed we do.” Mrs. Weston raised melting blue eyes to Edwin’s face. She managed to turn her body into his in a way that implied intimacy without actually touching him. It was a skilful move, and one that effectively excluded Iona and Sir Garwen from their conversation. “I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see you again, Edwin.” Her voice became breathy. Her ample bosom heaved to the point where it appeared in danger of spilling out of the restraints of her low-cut bodice. “I have missed you.”

  “Shall we leave them to it?” Sir Garwen offered Iona his arm. To refuse him would have caused a scene and drawn attention to them. With the dawning realisation that she had been duped, she allowed herself to be escorted into the dining room by the man who had recently tried to kill her. Sir Garwen led her to a seat next to his at the head of the table while Mrs. Weston steered Edwin in the opposite direction and into a seat next to the commanding officer of the fort. A glance at her husband’s face told Iona that Edwin was as unhappy with the arrangement as she was. Sir Garwen had clearly counted on the fact that Edwin would not risk drawing attention to them in such company. Not when Iona’s rebel activities and Fraser’s more serious law-breaking deeds might be brought to light.