The Devil of Jedburgh

by Claire Robyns

  The door burst open and the man himself filled the doorway to the inner chamber.

  Behind her, Greer gasped and her fingers went still. The imposing figure Arran presented was fodder for the fears that had been sprouting roots for years. His hair was tied back to emphasise the harsh angles of his face, the scar down his cheek more prominent than ever. His plaid rode low on his hips with a broad length that crossed his naked chest and fastened at his shoulder.

  “Remind me to attend the laird’s wardrobe in the morning,” Breghan murmured over her shoulder while her gaze met his and held. “He has an appalling lack of shirts.”

  “Leave us.” The command was aimed at Greer, who didn’t wait around to be told twice.

  “Honestly, Arran, the girl’s frightened to death of you.” Breghan placed a hand over the butterflies trembling low in her stomach. The look he raked her with was almost feral. An intensity came over his features, shadowing his eyes and deepening the hollows carved into his jaw. She prayed Greer had managed to do enough buttons to keep her bodice up. “You could at least try to make an effort to set her at ease.”

  “We both know that would be a waste of time.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” He couldn’t possibly know how she’d spent her morning.

  Arran left the doorway and walked toward her. “’Tis far easier to fear the worst and let be. Discovering the truth takes courage.”

  “You enjoy—” She twisted her neck to follow as he walked around her. “You enjoy being feared.”

  “I tolerate it.” Arran stopped directly behind her.

  Before she could turn to face him, he placed his hands on her waist with a gentle but firm pressure. His fingers spread below the brocade bodice and the thin silk was no protection from his touch. Why had she thought to forgo the full ensemble of her petticoats for this intimate dinner?

  Breghan thrust her head forward and went absolutely still. “Which category do I fall into? Am I walking in blind fear or do I know the truth?”

  “Somewhere in between, but not for long.” His voice was husky against her ear.

  He withdrew his hands from her waist and a moment later she felt him fumbling with the buttons at her back.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, before she realised the swine was working his way down instead of up. “’Tis good manners to feed a lady before you ravish her.”

  “Ah, sweet Bree…” He chuckled near her ear. “The pictures you paint are designed to tempt a man to madness.”

  He thinks I’m trying to tempt him?

  “And I’ve been starved for weeks.” His lips brushed the sensitive skin at her nape.

  A warm shiver pulsed through her veins. “Let me make this absolutely clear, I’m in no mood to be anyone’s meal to tonight.”

  “You would deny me?” He put a hand either side her neck and smoothed her dress down the slope of her shoulders.

  Breghan had had enough. “You once promised you’d never force me.”

  She stepped out of his reach, stumbling as her feet got caught up in the folds of dragging silk.

  “You have my word,” Arran said, “there’ll be nothing forced about it.”

  She yanked the sleeves up at each shoulder and spun about. She expected to see a leering grin and rabid hunger in his eyes. What she found instead silenced the retort before it left her lips.

  His grimace held a trace of weariness and he’d banked the emotion in his gaze.

  “I’m in need of a woman’s comfort tonight. I’m done with playing games.” He came straight at her, then walked on by with the softly uttered words, “At your leisure, madam. I’ll await you in my chamber.”

  Breghan stared after him. She thought to tame him and he’d ambushed her in a trap of her own making. If she came to him, it would signal her willingness and subservience. If she didn’t, he might well toss her over his shoulder and carry her into his bed.

  Neither option was tolerable.

  She stripped away the sagging dress and pulled a fur-trimmed cloak over her undergarments before slipping out of the room.

  In his chamber, Arran fed and stoked the fire. He’d left all the doors between them open, but when he heard Breghan go, he simply pulled up the armchair and stretched his legs out. The logs crackled and the flames danced high against the back wall of the hearth. He allowed himself to be partially mesmerised, wondering what the devil she was up to. How long would she make him wait? Long enough, he hoped, to file the sharp edges from her claws. He didn’t want, nor expect, Breghan to come crawling. He’d settle for soft compliance.

  Her return was accompanied by heavy footfalls and the sound of male voices. Arran pushed to his feet, ready to do battle if she’d defied him.

  “Could we move that a little closer to the fire? Thank you, and perhaps those chairs…” She glanced up as he came through the doorway to the inner chamber. “Arran, our supper has arrived.”

  Arran’s brow went up as he saw the rearranged furniture and laden table. He’d instructed supper to be held back until he called for it. The look Bryan gave him before departing with the lads he’d brought along to help confirmed Arran’s suspicions. Pride dictated Breghan came to him on her own terms.

  She lifted a silver lid to reveal succulent salmon drizzled with a buttery sauce. “It would be a shame to let it go cold.”

  Arran decided to indulge her. “Would you like wine?”

  “Please.” She seated herself at the small table and lifted a second lid on a platter of greens. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”

  “I asked Gardie to make us something special.” He handed her a goblet and pulled his chair around the table so their thighs touched when he sat.

  She took a deep sip of the wine but didn’t pull away. “You will spoil me.”

  “That feat was accomplished long before I met you.” He waited for her eyes to flash up at him. “The pleasures I have in mind, Bree, are intended for a different kind of spoiling.”

  “You’re determined to embarrass me.” The palest pink of a summer rose brushed her cheeks.

  “Your blushes are an aphrodisiac,” he agreed.

  She grabbed a spoon and scraped some salmon flesh together with the sauce.

  Watching Breghan eat was an exotic lesson in restraint. Her tongue flicked out first to taste, then she slid the spoon between parted lips. She closed her eyes as she swallowed, long lashes forming the black crescent of a waning moon. When she licked the spoon clean and gave a small groan, Arran groaned as well.

  Her eyes flew open. “I never knew Gardie was so talented.”

  “I’ll show you talented.” Arran brought his head down and claimed her mouth. She resisted for a moment, then yielded and opened for him. He moved his lips over hers, mastering control to gently suckle, stroke and teach. His tongue curled around hers, drawing her inside with a mating rhythm. When she joined the dance with hesitant strokes, his blood thickened and pulsed to the end of his shaft.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, treasuring her small sighs. “Your breathing is ragged from desire.”

  “My breathing is ragged because you gave me no chance to take a breath.” Breghan dipped her head, reaching for her goblet. Forget her ragged breathing, her head was spinning. And she could still feel his eyes on her. She drained the wine to cool her blood; the courage was a bonus.

  She looked at him, smiling as a mischievous impulse came over her. “You should eat. You’ll need your strength for later.”

  His laughter rumbled up from his throat and lit behind his eyes.

  “You should do that more often,” she murmured, the connection of his softened gaze holding her in a brace of intimacy. There were no barriers, nothing to stop her from tracing the fine creases at the corner of his eye with her forefinger. “You’re not nearly as terrifying when you laugh.”

  “Bree…” Her name left his lips as a hoarse whisper.

  Her fingers fell away from his face. She felt suddenly shy and confused as to what she was doing and why
. She was relieved when he shifted so his thigh no longer touched hers and turned half his attention to eating. The other half was still firmly set on her.

  “You truly find me terrifying?” he asked around a mouthful.

  Breghan twirled a stalk of celery in the creamy sauce as she considered her response. “You have a formidable temper and seldom think to rein it in.”

  “You know I’d never hurt you.”

  “Your bark is bad enough,” she declared.

  “I see where this is going.” His brows drew together. “You would prefer I compose romantic poems. Or perhaps strum a lute and herald your foolish deeds to the bands of cutthroats and degenerates that harass Teviotdale?”

  “There’s no need for sarcastic wit,” she snapped. “You asked my thoughts and I gave them.”

  “Now I’ll share mine.” Arran sat back in his chair and studied her with a look that darkened by the word. “One day, you may well find your refined gentleman with pudding in his head instead of brains, but until then you’ll learn to make do with me.”

  Breghan grit her teeth. “Do you always have to be so autocratic?”

  “No.” His gaze dropped to her hand. “Are you done with that?”

  “My appetite has mysteriously fled.” She pointed the dripping celery stalk at him, wishing it were a sword. “Do you want it?”

  “’Tis you I want.” He kicked back the chair and pulled her up with him.

  The celery slipped from her fingers. Her hand flew to her chest, but he got there first. A single tug unravelled the ribbon and her cloak gaped open at the throat. She knew what came next, couldn’t…wouldn’t stop it. Her arms fell to hang at her side. She tried to slow her breathing, pragmatic enough to succumb without further resistance and honest enough to admit that not all of his lovemaking appalled. She watched his pupils dilate as he unhooked the rest of her cloak.

  “If I’d known how ready you were for me, I wouldna have dallied so long on the fancy fish.” He slid the velvet off and tossed it on the chair. “By God, let me look on you.” He lifted a stream of hair that fell over her breast, twining the black silk through his fingers as he stood back. “If you allow me, I’ll take you to heaven and back.”

  Breghan shivered beneath his gaze, fascinated at her newfound knowledge. She’d thought to tame him with voluminous skirts and retarding buttons when sheer cotton was all she’d needed. The bodice was stiffened with reeds and laced tightly to her waist before flaring over her hips into soft, flowing transparency.

  “And if I don’t allow you?” she teased, taking a step toward him.

  “You have the power to enchant the devil in his hell.” Arran scooped her in his arms and carried her into his bedchamber. “I’ll be the unlucky bastard left to rot for an eternity.”

  “Your love words have much to be desired.” Overwhelmed by hard muscle and male scent, Breghan put her hand to his chest and pushed. “Once again, you suffocate me.”

  Arran chuckled at the exaggeration. He sat on the edge of his bed, keeping Breghan on her feet and wedged loosely between his thighs.

  Her gaze flicked past him to the quilted bedspread. “W-what are you doing?”

  “Hush, Bree, let me love you.” He pulled at the lace of her bodice, releasing the swell of her firm breasts.

  As her hands came up to cover herself, Arran grabbed them and lifted his eyes. “If you give yourself over to me, there’ll be only pleasure,” he promised, pulling her closer until her mouth was a breath away. He started at her lips, alternating between sucking her lower lip and plunging inside her mouth. The moment she yielded, he moved his kisses along her cheek and to the sensitive skin at her earlobe. When Breghan shuddered a sigh, he released her hands so he could give in to the craving. The weight of her breasts was firm and soft, filling the cup of his palms. He exercised restraint to fondle gently so as not to bruise while he plied kisses down her throat.

  Her hands came down on his shoulders and he knew she was weak with arousal. He drew back, marvelling at her beauty as he reached beneath her shift to loosen the string of her drawers.

  She gasped as he pulled her down across his lap. Her drawers were left behind on the ground, her shift pulled up as high as her thighs. He threw one arm around her shoulder and clamped a hand on her thigh. “Bree, put your arm around me.”

  Her mouth hardened at his commanding tone, but she obeyed. She slid her arm beneath his and halfway around his waist.

  “Your blushes speak of your innocence, sweeting. I willna be rough.” He firmed his grip on her shoulder and pulled gently so she arched backward within the brace of his arm. He lowered his mouth onto a breast, teasing his tongue around the areola, circling in toward the nipple. Further down, his fingers spread over the curve of her thigh and moved slowly upward.

  The nipple lengthened as he scraped lightly with his teeth. His shaft swelled in response and he could no longer resist the urge. He took the stiff nipple and surrounding flesh into his mouth, suckling deep while his tongue licked and tasted.

  Breghan’s fingers dug into the muscle at his back as a stifled groan escaped her lips.

  “We’ve not yet begun,” he murmured, raising his head so he could watch while he pleasured her. His searching fingers reached the silky triangle of curls between her thighs.

  “Arran…” Her eyes snapped open. “What are you—no, please…”

  His palm flattened over her mons as she squirmed in his lap. “Hold still, Bree.”

  “You can’t…” Her voice was breathless, her eyes a wild, restless blue. “You should not—”

  “I can.” He separated the delicate folds, massaging along the insides. “I should, darling, relax into my touch.”

  The look in her eyes turned slumberous just before they flitted closed. He found her tiny pearl and flicked softly. She moaned deep in her throat, moving again in his lap, this time with desire instead of fright.

  The years of restraint and holding back served him well, but he knew couldn’t last much longer. He was hard and throbbing, his blood thick and hot inside his veins. He slid his finger along her swollen seam and dipped inside her.

  “Jesu, Bree,” he groaned, sliding in and out her wet centre with slow, short strokes, “you’re slick and tight and pulsing.”

  She bucked up and her thighs clamped his hand.

  Arran rose and turned with her in his arms. Her eyes blinked open as he bundled the skirt of her shift around her waist and laid her down on the bed, flat on her back.

  He didn’t bother removing his plaid. His intentions of removing her shift to fully explore would have to wait for next time. He came over her, whispering sweet words as he lifted his plaid and nudged his legs between hers to keep her wide open.

  She sensed his intent moments before the tip of his shaft entered her. She stiffened beneath him, her eyes rounded in accusation. But she was still wet enough to receive him and he didn’t hesitate. He plunged with one decisive, deep stroke that tore straight through her hymen as he covered her lips with his mouth and swallowed her maiden scream. He was only halfway in, his jaw clenched with control as he fought the need to plunge again, deeper, the maddening urge to drive his shaft to the hilt. He held absolutely still, hating the hurt he’d seen in her eyes, revelling in the thrill racing through his blood that her innocence belonged to him, now and for always, even though she would never.

  Her lips softened against his and he started to move again. He kissed her breasts, the delicate hollow above, all along her throat, underside her chin, distracting her with murmured nothings while he inched a little deeper with each stroke. Her hands came around him, clinging to him, lifting her body closer as he ground into her, trusting him, and Arran almost came undone. He brought her to her peak, his thin veneer of control strained to the limit as her hot cavity pulsed around his shaft and threatened to milk his seed. In that moment, Arran knew how close he’d come to making the one mistake he could never right. As soon as she fell back on a wave of sighs and little cries, he withdrew
and continued his own rhythm of quick, urgent plunges between her nether lips until he spurted his release into the folds of her shift gathered low on her belly.

  He was shaking inside and out from the long fall back to earth as he rolled beside Breghan, humbled by the heights she’d taken him to. He moved his cheek against her hair, inhaling her scent as he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, sweeting, the first time is always the worst. From now on, there’ll be no pain.”

  She rolled her head toward him. Arran waited, knowing she’d felt pleasure, knowing she’d deny it and accuse him of going back on his word. How many times had he vowed he’d never hurt her?

  “It only hurt a moment,” she murmured, gazing into his eyes. “Does it truly get better than this?”

  He’d speared her, now she speared him with that question. He rubbed her arm, holding her tighter, dropping kisses on her forehead, her nose, her lids when she closed her eyes. “You didn’t feel pleasure? Not even a little?”

  She made a sound in her throat and he jerked away to look at her. Good God, he’d been such a rampant bull, he’d made her cry.

  “I’m not sure how much was pleasure and how much was pain,” she said, smiling at him. That sound had been quiet laughter. “I felt as if I were flying, higher and higher until the world went black, as if someone had doused the very stars.”

  He hung on to her words, her smile, the shining blue in her eyes. The stars weren’t doused, he thought, they were stolen from the skies and gifted unto me.

  “Then everything lit up around me all at once and I fell and fell and…”

  “And?” he prompted, trailing a finger along the length of her silken arm.

  She shifted inside the crook of his arm and looked away. “I didn’t want to stop falling…ever.”

  Arran rolled over her, supporting his weight on his elbows either side of her. His eyes praised her beauty and the zest for life that shone straight from her soul. His body worshiped her, his shaft filling and lengthening along her flat belly. He admired her honesty, he loved the wildness in her spirit that ignored shy decorum and allowed her such free expression of everything she’d felt. She flung aside the risks of sharing her deepest emotions with a reckless abandonment that tore his heart open right then and there.