No Other Woman (No Other Series)

by Shannon Drake

  "What shall be horror is just beginning," he told her curtly. "They came for you, Shawna, and they will not give up. You must learn to be more careful."

  "I don't understand any of this. Why try to kill me in the crypts? Someone could just as easily come to my room—■"

  "You bolted the door to your room. In the castle, where others sleep nearby. Many others—including my brother."

  "Why wasn't I killed in the tunnels?"

  David shook his head thoughtfully.

  "Perhaps my brother is supposed to believe that you're trying to kill him. Then, when you are out of the way, the new 'Laird' Douglas can hardly regret the passing of a shrew who was trying to do him out of his inheritance."

  "But I'm assuming that Hawk is supposed to die as well."

  "I assume the same."

  "But my family discussed buying the property from him!"

  "Perhaps it's all deeper than any of us imagined. The man spoke about others of his kind. What kind? As to the tunnels, maybe they weren't trying to kill you; maybe they were just trying to capture you, as I assume they've captured Sabrina. You never saw that man before tonight, yet he very definitely felt that you are destined to die soon."

  "He did say that Sabrina was alive," Shawna said.

  "We have to find her quickly. I'm concerned that there is a cult in action here."

  "Edwina's group of witches are good women! I cannot believe that—"

  "I accused Edwina of nothing. I said that I'm afraid a cult exists here; I am not accusing her of having a part in it. And I still believe that someone tried to make you appear guilty to my brother. Remember, I wasn't with you in the tunnels, when Hawk was nearly killed, until the trouble started."

  Shawna fell silent. David opened his trunk and drew out a bottle of good Scotch whiskey. He took a seat upon the trunk then and offered the bottle to her.

  "Straight whiskey," she murmured.

  "M'lady, I do apologize. My offerings here are few," he murmured. "I do have a castle of my own, but alas! It rests in the hands of others."

  "You, M'laird Douglas, are a sorry, wretched bastard. Not in the least nice. Straight whiskey shall be just fine." She swallowed hard; gagged, coughed, but felt better. Then she shivered fiercely again.

  "Oh, my God, what is going on?" she demanded in a stark whisper.

  "Think carefully, Shawna. You've really got no idea? No idea at all?" he asked her intently.

  "I swear to you," she said wearily, "I do not!"

  David took the bottle, and swallowed down a large draught of whiskey himself. He set the bottle down, and saw that she was still shivering. He let out something like a growl of impatience and reached for her. She stiffened against his attempt, then let out an aggravated cry of frustration as his strength outweighed hers and she found herself seated between his legs, dragged down in front of him with her back to the trunk. He rubbed his hands briskly with the blanket over her arms and shoulders, vigorously flooding warmth back into her body.

  "Better?" he asked, his word against her ear, bringing a different kind of warmth along with it.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His body sheltered her. She was definitely warmer.

  "They'll know you're here now. Alive. Whoever was in that crypt tonight will know."

  "I don't think so," he reflected.

  "But the attacker who survived knows—"

  "He—or she—might well think that it was my brother. We're enough alike. And it doesn't matter. I've decided I'm going to keep my presence a secret only a wee bit longer."

  "Oh?" She twisted around, trying to read his features.

  David nodded grimly. "The laird of the castle is supposed to reign as royalty on the Night of the Moon Maiden. He is master of all that happens. I do think that I shall appear for the festivities."

  Shawna wondered why that announcement made her feel so uneasy. People—gentry and villagers alike—usually dressed in costume for the occasion. The night was wild with feasting, drinking, and ribald merrymaking. People went wild.

  Perhaps dangerously so.

  "David, I'm not sure—"

  "You've wanted me to make it clear that I am back at Craig Rock. What more dramatic entry back into the world of the living could I make?"

  "But—"

  "I thought that I would find something—or someone—by keeping my silence. I've gone through the papers at Castle MacGinnis, and I've torn through the office at Castle Rock. I've watched throughout the day, trailed the passageways by night. I've eavesdropped on men in the mines, I've lived like a mole, seeking answers. I've discovered nothing—except that evil designs most assuredly do still exist here. There is very definitely a conspiracy afoot. But it seems I can discover nothing further by keeping watch. All that is left is for me to make my appearance, and stake my claim to all that is mine. Then seek to know exactly who tries to steal it from me and mine by any means, including murder."

  "Perhaps we should tell the constable everything."

  "Right. Because he was so competent when my corpse was found after the fire? Shawna, I've already told you, we must solve this ourselves."

  Shawna sighed. The constable was a good man, good at arresting drunks, good at bringing stray children home, good at correcting youths who might mistakenly think the life of a robber superior to that of an honest laborer. He was not, however, capable of dealing with the machinations of a truly evil mind, so it seemed.

  "Surely," she murmured, twisting around to meet his eyes once again, "we will find some clue in the crypts tomorrow. David, shots were fired. Shell casings will be found."

  "And it will prove that someone was down there shooting a gun in the crypts, nothing more. Hawk and I will find the shell casings tomorrow."

  "But they do prove that something is going on."

  "The fact that Sabrina is missing proves something is going on. The fact that I am here proves that something is going on." He hesitated a moment, moving his fingers in her hair. "The problem," he said softly, "is that it seems as if so many people are involved in these evil deeds."

  She stiffened. "MacGinnises?"

  He shrugged. "Most obviously, not all. You did not know the man tonight. But there is organization here. Remember the man who tried to kill you by the loch?"

  "The one who is now deep at the bottom of it?"

  "Aye."

  "Well?"

  "He was clad exactly the same as the men—or women—who came down to the crypt tonight."

  "In a black cowled cape."

  "Aye. They were all exactly alike."

  "If you're going to run around trying to be invisible in the darkness, a black cowled cape is probably a good choice of apparel."

  "Yes, but..."

  "But what?"

  "They were exactly alike."

  "So these people all use the same tailor," Shawna said with exasperation.

  "The two I killed were men. But I think the cloaked figure accompanying the man I killed tonight was a woman."

  "Why?" Shawna demanded.

  "The figure was quick and light on its feet. And much more determined to run than to fight."

  Shawna shook her head. "I don't know. I didn't see anything. I was—was trying to stay alive."

  "Umm," he murmured, his fingers tightening upon her shoulders where they rested. "Tomorrow—or today as it may be—you're not to leave my brother, do you understand?"

  "But if you intend to appear as yourself—"

  "I do, but in my own good time."

  "What difference is there in a day?"

  "I want to find out a few more things, if I'm able." Shawna sighed with exasperation. "But—"

  "Do not leave my brother's side. Do you understand?" She pulled away angrily from his touch. "I understand that I have gone through my own hell for many years now! I understand that you have frightened me, bullied, condemned me, and mocked me, and still—"

  "Ah! And saved your life upon occasion!" he reminded her, a sizzling spark in his deep gr
een eyes.

  "Only to torment me longer!" she accused him. A smile curved into his lips. " 'Tis pride," he said softly.

  "What?" she murmured suspiciously, drawing her blanket more tightly across her breasts.

  "Pride, my lady." He left his seat upon the trunk, hunkering down before her on the ledge, not touching her, yet meeting her eyes with a wickedly strange green fire in his own. "I was the heir you see, the fine young Douglas, groomed to take his place in the political and social echelon of the Highlands! I was supposedly such a strong man, destined to be a leader. And one night a lass comes to me in a sheer gown... and I am made the fool. Very nearly killed—but sent to a strange—yet living—hell instead. It was not easy to forgive you."

  Shawna shook her head, searching out his eyes. "But I swear to you—"

  "I believe you."

  "What?"

  "I believe you," he said very softly. "I believe that you were as arrogant as I—"

  "Indeed!"

  "Indeed!" he said, and smiled deeply. "Arrogant, in that you thought you could flirt, kiss, and tease—and keep the laird's young heir busy while your family saved your cousin's arse."

  "Oh, really!"

  "Aye!" And he laughed then, drawing her suddenly against him. "You did not intend what you got, any more than I might have imagined the result of the night's work."

  "David—!" she gasped in protest, yet the shiver that shot through her as he drew the blanket from her shoulders, letting it fall to the earth, was not from the cold. He pressed her firmly back to the ground, the length of his body following hers, blanketing it. His eyes remained locked with her own, amused, amazingly tender.

  "M'laird..." she whispered, suddenly wondering why this should seem so different, why she should feel so vulnerable. She had risen naked from the loch with him, and been so accustomed to him that she had hardly noted her state. Yet his tone now seemed so tender that it brought a strange fear racing into her. She wanted that tenderness from him. Yet circumstances between them remained so very tense, and she was afraid to reach for what might be far too quickly snatched away again.

  "Aye, m'lady, 'tis hard to forgive a woman for making a fool of a man. Especially when he craved her far too deeply when he fell!"

  "David—"

  His mouth covered hers, slow, gentle, at first, then forcing her into a deep, wet, open-mouthed kiss that seemed to go on forever, his tongue plunging deeply, ravagingly, subtly, then moving with sensual, gentle abandon again. Her hands had lain against his chest; now they moved, stroking the deep, rich, crisp dark hair that grew upon it, easing away the swatch of Douglas tartan crossed over his flesh. He shifted against her, touching in turn, the stroke of his palm and fingers cradling her cheek, his thumb running from her throat to the valley between her breasts. His thumb and forefinger found her nipple, rolled and rubbed it, sending fiery bursts of flame and heat through her breast to her whole body. She moaned against his kiss, instinctively arching toward him, her own fingers falling lower upon his chest to tangle into the rest of the Douglas tartan that covered him.

  Impatiently, he tossed away the woolen fabric himself, drawing her hand down to encompass the fullness of his arousal.

  She was cold no longer. The fire he had built in the cavern seemed to warm the length and breadth of it. Golden light bathed them in a sweetly burning heat. His very breath was a touch of fire, singeing her flesh.

  Her lips brushed over his chest. His fingers dug into her hair, for she teased with her kiss and her tongue while her fingers stroked and manipulated. Life and fire seemed to burn within against her touch. The strength of his ardor created a new trembling within her, a growing hunger that coiled and burned into the center of her being.

  "Aye, lady... I can bear no more!" he groaned, his whisper deep and guttural as he captured her wrists, drawing her hands above her head as he straddled her body. " 'Tis safe, I think to say, that you do, indeed, seduce..."

  "Laird Douglas!" she whispered in protest. "In truth, you know that you are the one to prey upon the weakness in a lady who..."

  "Aye?" His fingers curled into hers, holding them fiercely; his eyes impaled her there, as did the tension in his features.

  She shook her head. His lips found hers again, slow, deep, passionate.

  "I had wanted you forever, you know," he whispered softly against her mouth.

  She shook her head.

  "Nay... I had not known..."

  His hand ran up and down her body, cupping, teasing, caressing her breasts. Stroking her hip, covering the black triangle of her pelvic hair. Then stroked her thighs and slid between them.

  "Forever..."

  "Aye?" she gasped, struggling then against his hold, anxious to bury herself against him, desperate to end the torment that burned into her now, desperate as well for it to go on and on....

  His lips were close to hers again. His touch... was wickedly intimate. Her breath came in gasps, she burned, she writhed.

  "Aye, lady, you were young, you were impetuous, you were so very arrogant! But I was waiting you know, because I supposed that I had loved you forever."

  "In... deed?" she gasped.

  "Loved you, wanted you. And one way or the other, Shawna, would have had you..."

  His whisper carried on the flames within the cavern, soft, echoing, sweeping around her. Then play ceased, and he was over her and within her. She didn't feel the hardness of the earth beneath her, for the blanket that sheltered her back was as warm as the flesh that encompassed her, and she had again been seduced to such a point that she was desperate for fruition. The earth seemed to rock with the grinding rhythm of his hips, the fever inside of her spiraled until she was aware of nothing but her need for him, and the golden fire that seemed to spill throughout the cavern and into her. He stroked and withdrew, stroked and withdrew, found her lips, her throat, her breasts... she arched and thrashed and climbed until the wild rhythm exploded into a pinnacle of fiery light, bursting sweetly upon her so that she clung to him as she drifted back down to the reality of hard stone beneath her back and the chill of the cavern with only a single fire burning against the cold of the night.

  But she fought not to shiver, for he lay at her side, holding her, trying to keep her from the cold, silent then as his eyes kept focus upon the rock above them. She stroked the contours of his face.

  " 'Tis a pity I am the one left without a coat of fur," she said softly. "For 'tis said that I would control you, if you're a demon, beast, or selkie, that is, if I could but steal that Douglas tartan perhaps, hide it away, and have you in my power."

  A slow smile curved into his lips and he turned his gaze to her. "You don't think that you've enough in your power, m'lady?"

  She shook her head. "I hold only what you give, Laird Douglas, and you are capable of being quite stingy!"

  He laughed, and held her more closely. Then his expression sobered as he said softly, "I lost everything once; including my own identity. I fear to lose everything again, life itself this time, if I do not take the gravest care. You are among what I can most easily lose."

  "Does that mean then, m'laird, that I am something you wish to have—and keep?"

  He rolled toward her, twirling a strand of her hair in his fingers. "I have come back for all that is mine," he informed her. "And you will note, I believe, that I am quite willing to fight for what is mine. I will not be betrayed again, and though I do believe in your innocence, I promise as well that I will readily kill any man guilty of treachery against me again, and if a woman were guilty, my love, I do swear that she would pay the price."

  "But—"

  "Shawna," he said, his touch then upon her chin so that their eyes met, "I have told you, I believe you. You say that you have told me the truth; that there is nothing more you know, there is nothing more at all that you can tell me about the past. Then I believe you."

  She found it very difficult to breathe. She wanted to be as they were then forever. His warmth, his strength—his tenderness—all giv
en to her. The curve of his smile serious yet gentle. His touch... a lover's touch. The warmth that remained when passion was spent.

  "I swear to you..."

  His lips touched hers.

  "I believe you."

  "I love you, David."

  "Sweet Jesu! How long it took to draw those words from you!" he exclaimed.

  She flushed, pushing suddenly against his chest. "It might have aided you in that quest, Laird Douglas, had you thought to speak such words yourself!"

  "I told you quite clearly that I had wanted you forever."

  "Wanting is not the same."

  "Ah, well, I wanted you because I loved you."

  She smiled slowly, her lashes lowering. She had never thought she'd feel such happiness.

  Yet a feeling of unease fluttered within her stomach. She had kept nothing from him that mattered. And perhaps, one day she would share with him the years they had lost as openly as she prayed he might share the pain of his past with her.

  But not now.

  "You were speaking of the years before when you spoke of wanting me," she said very softly.

  "Aye."

  "Well... that was then," she said matter-of-factly, meeting his gaze again. "This is now."

  "Dear God, are you never satisfied?" he demanded gruffly.

  "Indeed, but—"

  She gasped as he rolled atop her once again, his eyes boring into hers, bright with passion once again. "You were a gorgeous child, headstrong, impetuous, annoyingly so—I thought you needed a good switching many times."

  "If this is a declaration of love—" she protested.

  "Hear me out. Where was I? Ah! then, you were no longer a child. You grew into a woman—gorgeous, headstrong, impetuous—and arrogant."

  "Now, really—"

  "And I wanted you. You were young Lady MacGinnis, and I cared for you. Then you were the very beautiful young woman I had known and cared about all of my life, but you had changed, I had aged, and I wanted you, I admired you, I loved your determination and your courage and aye, even your reckless loyalty to your family. In my heart I knew that the day would come when a goodly distance could be kept no more, when you'd finally tease too far, and I would have what I wanted—all quite properly, of course. I had intended eventually, I'm quite certain, to ask Gawain and Lowell—and you, of course—for your hand in marriage. You seduced me into wanting you, but just being yourself, with your pride and your sense of duty and loyalty and energy and all those other things about you—you seduced me into love. Five years has changed nothing. I've had you, and I want you more. I was in love with you before, and I am deeply, grievously in love once again. Now, m'lady, will that do?"