The Intended

by May McGoldrick

  “Not a very good judge of character, I’d say,” he growled teasingly, lowering his mouth to her neck.

  “In fact, I think she hates me.”

  The Highlander’s kisses were hot on her skin. “Then we’ll just have to hate her back.”

  Jaime, trying to focus on their words, found herself increasingly caught up in the sheer pleasure she felt of his lips against her skin. “I still wish I knew who it was that went...to Master Graves...on my beh...”

  Her own interest in the topic was quickly slipping away like a flower dropped into the sliding current of a mountain brook. She felt her breathing quicken as her body molded to the hard lines of his frame. The tightness in her breasts, the fluttering ache deep in her belly—these feelings were all so wondrous, so far beyond anything she’d ever felt before. Suddenly, all that mattered was having his hands on her—on her face, in her hair, on her skin. She thought now, longingly, of the wonder of feeling his fingers searching out the secret folds of her womanhood. The tightness of her dress was suffocating her as she recalled the feel of his mouth suckling her breasts.

  His voice barely broke her reverie as his hands casually skimmed the side of her breasts. “If it wasn’t Catherine, lass, then who could it be?”

  She couldn’t find her words. All she wanted him to do was to cup her swollen breasts with his hands.

  He did. Her breath stopped as he ran his hand along the soft velvet of her bodice to the curve of her breast. “What of Mary? Might she be one to do something like that on your behalf?”

  She shook her head. Her voice was hoarse to her own ear. “She has learned to dislike me, as well.” Jaime wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to get those words out. Her tongue was dry and her body on fire.

  Jaime closed her eyes as he gently pulled her against him. His hands traced the curves of her buttocks, and as her middle slid against his protruding manhood, a moan escaped her lips. She knew that he was feeling it, too, for he drew a sharp breath and tipped her head back with a kiss that was wild, all-consuming. And when he pulled back, he was breathless. She gazed up into eyes clouded with passion, and saw he was struggling to control something within him...something raw.

  “Jaime,” he said, his voice ragged. “Who else...who do you...”

  “I...I don’t give a damn who hates me!” she managed to get out. “Malcolm...I want...I want you to take me!”

  A look of relief lit his features, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he laid his forehead against her hair. Seeing his response, her shyness dissipated into thin air, and Jaime tugged open the front of his shirt.

  “Are you sure, lass?” he rasped as her lips kissed and tasted the skin of his chest. “Perhaps if we were to wait, you’d feel more...”

  “Show me things, Malcolm.” Hesitantly, she slid one of her hands lower over the rough scars of his chest, over the hard lines of his stomach.

  “But would it not be easier for you, Jaime, to be in our own...” He could not finish. Her hand was stroking his hard member through his close hose.

  “Teach me how to make love to you, Malcolm,” she whispered between soft kisses as her lips moved over the sinews of his chest.

  “I? Teach you? Lass, you steal away my control. My sense of reason.” As she gazed into his face, Jaime saw the light in his eyes change, and Malcolm's will joined hers. “Aye, my love, my Jaime. Our time is now.”

  She had yearned. She had wished. She was his.

  How he swept her up and carried her to the curtained bed, neither would ever recall. But there on the high mattress, by the light of a single candle, the clothing that encumbered them was torn away with a vengeance and cast to the floor. But as skin touched skin, Jaime felt Malcolm set his muscles and slow the passion that surely raged within him.

  There would be no rushing him. And as she looked into his face, she knew that he was determined to honor her request.

  “This night I mean to give you pleasure. I mean to show you love as it should have been the first time.”

  The first time they’d made love, she’d been far too nervous, too confused, to even consider what she should do. But it was all different now. Lying there naked beneath the Highlander, Jaime gave herself up totally to the feelings he was stirring within her as his mouth and lips paid homage to every inch of her body. As her body heated, as he suckled first one breast and then the other, she had a vague sense that he might drive her to sheer madness. She reached for him, trying to take him into her hands. Her mouth was desperate to taste him—to do to him what his torturing mouth was doing to her. This was nothing like what they had shared before, so she followed his lead, taking pleasure as he directed.

  Malcolm raised his lips to hers, his fingers combing through the black silken waves of her hair, while his tongue sought to discover every soft recess of her mouth. Jaime writhed beneath him, her hands restless, insistent, succeeding finally in wrapping her fingers around his throbbing member. His breath caught in his chest as she lifted her hips to guide him in.

  He tore his mouth away. “Nay, my love. Not yet!”

  She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her breaths short and quick as he scorched a trail of kisses down her body. She arched her back, knowing now the sweet torture of his lips closing around her nipple, of his tongue stroking the stretched skin as he sucked. She didn’t have long to wait, and they closed around her flesh, eliciting a moan from deep in her throat. But he wasn’t done with her. When his lips left her breasts and moved down over the sensitive skin of her belly—she grasped his hair with both hands. And at the next moment, when his hands moved beneath her buttocks, raising her up, when his tongue found the soft folds of her womanhood, Jaime was certain she was about to die.

  Catherine glanced stealthily around the bend at the young serving girl toying enticingly with the broad-shouldered guard outside of the Highlander’s chamber door. She couldn’t help but smile as the young woman turned coyly, giving him the chance to draw her to him and squeeze her breasts in the act. The servant, in turn, responded by reaching back and running a teasing hand over the ties of his codpiece. Even from where she stood, Catherine could tell that the guard was ready to pin the young woman to the wall and take her right there. But she had paid the girl too well for her to mess up the future queen’s plans. Moving back into the shadows of the wall, Catherine watched as the young wench whispered something in the man’s ear before breaking away from him with a laugh.

  “Though his guard duty goes until dawn, he’ll follow in five minutes, m’lady,” the girl whispered as she broke around the corner. “And the Highlander is alone.”

  Catherine tried to hide her shiver of excitement as she glanced down the hall. Her whole body ached for a man’s touch—for this man’s touch. Pulling the cloak tighter around her, she tried to contain her lustful anticipation. She’d be writhing beneath him soon enough--she just had to be patient and let her serving girl do her job.

  “You must keep the soldier busy,” Catherine said, with a jerk of her head in the guard’s direction. “For the night!”

  The young woman curtsied with a wry smile. “‘Twill be my pleasure, m’lady.”

  Jaime cried out in joy when he entered her at last. Answering his thrusts with her own synchronous movements, together they climbed to heights of pleasure that transcended all thought, all emotion, all consciousness.

  Moments later, she languorously threaded her fingers into his tousled hair and smiled at the satisfied expression on his face. Malcolm lay sprawled over her with his face resting comfortably on her breasts. The rush of feeling—the ecstasy she had felt in the splendor of their lovemaking—had been like nothing she could ever have imagined. Jaime blinked back a tear. She couldn’t allow the grandeur of the magical moment they’d just shared to be spoiled by silly weeping. Over and over again Malcolm MacLeod had taken her to the stars, letting her revel in the heat of their radiant light, and then brought her back to earth to share in her pleasure. And the last time—she
arched her back as he rubbed his rough cheek against her sensitive breasts—the last time had certainly been a glimpse of paradise.

  “Am I crushing you?” he asked, turning his head and taking her nipple into his mouth.

  “Aye, crushed, broken, splintered with bliss,” she answered, sinking her fingers deeper into his hair.

  His lips released her breast, and he moved up to her neck, all the while teasing and tasting her skin.

  “I just cannot get enough of you, lass,” he growled. His hand skimmed over her ribs and came to rest on her hip. Instinctively, she wrapped her leg around his waist. “But I should let you rest awhile.” He took her soft earlobe into his mouth.

  “Do you remember when you asked me to have your bairn?” She raised her hips slowly, feeling him hardening as she moved. He lay his head on the pillow next to her. She reached her hand between them and took hold of him. “Do you think we’ve already planted the seed? Do you think I am already with child?”

  He raised his head and stared deeply into her eyes. She saw love, passion, and happiness there. “How would I know, my love?” he replied with a tender smile. “But perhaps we should try once more—in case.”

  “Aye, just in case,” she repeated breathlessly, guiding the tip of his shaft into her opening.

  Catherine watched the guard disappear down the hall. From behind, she thought she saw the young man already undoing his codpiece before he even disappeared into the darkness. Pulling the hood of her cloak forward to cover her face, Catherine leaned down and picked up the trencher of the food that the serving girl had left behind for her. Though it was unlikely that she would see anyone at this hour, she couldn’t allow herself to be caught by any meddling passerby. Stepping into the light of the torch, she moved past it toward the chamber’s entryway. The girl had passed on to her that there was no latch on the Highlander’s door, that the bar inside had been removed. But, for a moment, Catherine paused, contemplating whether she should knock on his door and wait for an invitation or just go in and surprise the handsome Highlander.

  A thrill raced through her as she decided that she liked the latter choice the best and put her hand upon the heavy iron door handle.

  Malcolm wrapped his arms around her, trying not to break the connection of their bodies as he rolled them both in the bed...and successfully brought her sprawling on top of him. She was giggling as he pulled at her knees until she knelt up straight, straddling him.

  “I didn’t know we could do it this way,” she whispered before gasping as she took him deeper into her.

  He reached up and pushed her hair off over her shoulders, cupping her breasts in his hands. “And many other ways,” he managed to get out. She looked so stunningly beautiful, her ebony hair long and wild, her eyes clouded with passion. Her full, round breasts, high and proud with their nipples fully aroused, beckoning to his touch.

  Malcolm watched her move up and down on his engorged manhood, her rhythm quickening as she rocked with deepening moans into his carefully timed thrusts. Once again, he was ready to pour his seed into her. Once again, he was desperate for release.

  So he closed his eyes to the beauty before him and tried to buy some time.

  The sudden sound of steps and serving women’s voices down the corridor caused Catherine to turn in panic and brush lightly against the thick oak door. Turning her face in sudden panic, she considered moving off down the hall and disappearing into the shadowy corners beyond. But she was so close to her aim that she could not tear herself away. Reaching for the handle, she quietly tested the door. The girl had been right—there was no bar securing it. She quickly placed the tray on the ground and disappeared into the room.

  Chapter 34

  Appraising his son’s haggard state, the duke of Norfolk shook his head disapprovingly.

  “Just because you were advised to remain in these chambers, Edward, you needn’t look as though you’ve been sentenced to death.” He stalked angrily into the middle of the room and kicked a chair out of his way. “How do you expect anyone to think you innocent, when you yourself look as if you’ve been three days on the rack.”

  Edward ignored his father’s disdainful attitude and got up from his chair to fill his cup. “I heard that the king has rejected our written plea.”

  The duke’s eyes locked on Edward’s profile. “Who has been in here?”

  Edward picked up the wine pitcher from the table and filled his cup to the top. “The honorable Robert Radcliffe, earl of Essex, your ever good friend, the Lord Great Chamberlain.”

  The duke’s scowling face darkened further with displeasure. “When was he here?”

  “Just this morning.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He was kind enough to tell me what my own father does not have the courage to tell me.”

  “EDWARD!”

  The duke’s shout brought the younger man up abruptly. Quickly recovering, though, he cast a sneering look at his father and drained the wine cup. “Bah!”

  “What did the Lord Chamberlain say to you?”

  Edward’s lip curled as he noticed the hint of restraint that now marked his father’s question. “He said that any pleading that is to be done must come from me. And I have three days to defend myself against the ‘rumors’ that circulate about me. If these serpents’ tongues cannot be answered, I will be presented with a formal indictment, and they will convene the Court of the High Steward.” Edward refilled his cup and lifted it in his father’s direction. “And, Father, here’s to the good fortune that you will not be a member of that court!”

  The deepening color in the aging man’s face, the clenching of his jaw, the flashing anger in his eyes—in the past—would have been enough to stop Edward cold. But now, raising his cup again to his lips, he gave a short, unpleasant laugh.

  “You are a fool, a drunken fool!”

  “Am I, Your Grace? Am I a fool to think that you are—above everything—the king’s man? Were you not the judge in the trial of your own niece, Anne Boleyn? Were you not the one who so bravely told her that she was an adulteress and so therefore must lose her head?”

  “Enough, Edward!”

  “But, Father, you forget yourself. Anne was no adulteress. She was truly innocent, and yet you did nothing to save her life. In fact, you did your best to assure a guilty sentence.”

  “She had to die. The king wanted her removed.”

  “And you obeyed.” Edward again laughed bitterly. “In fact you went as far as to invent...”

  “The fortunes of the family were at stake,” the duke growled.

  “And so she dies.” Edward shook his head. “So, Your Grace, does the king wish to have me removed, as well? Does your loyalty to the king surmount all paternal bonds? Do the ‘fortunes of the family’ come before the life of your own son? Were you, Father, the one who told the king of the treasures I’ve not surrendered?”

  “You are drunk, Edward! And you begin to disgust me.” The duke looked disdainfully in his direction before turning toward the door. “I tell you your future bride will arrive by the week’s end. Once she is here and has been presented to His Majesty as your wife and as his daughter, all will be resolved—unless you are so determined to ruin everything!”

  Edward gave a shrug of disbelief before filling his cup once again.

  “Get a hold of yourself, boy. She will save your neck from the executioner’s blade. And I tell you she may be your only chance. But you must try to act a bit more noble. By the devil, you are a Howard, Edward!” The duke punctuated his admonishment with a hard rap of his knuckles on the table.

  “Aye, by the devil,” Edward repeated with a bitter laugh.

  The duke shook his head and stared into the glazed eyes of his son. “And though we will use her to our profit, remember this, Edward. Jaime is a good woman. You might pretend, at least, to deserve her.”

  Chapter 35

  The wretched beasts, she thought.

  Staring past the draped opening of the heavy
bed curtains, Catherine cursed in silence the woman’s bare back, her buttocks lifting and descending on the Highlander’s shining manhood. She watched his hands grasp her hips as their tempo increased, and she longed for them to hold her that way. Catherine couldn’t see the wench’s face—but the waves of black hair spread over the flawless back suddenly infuriated her.

  She wanted to tear the woman from his embrace and throw her into the corridor, but she held her anger in check. She could not expose herself. Catherine withdrew into the black corner by the foot of the bed and waited—and watched. Letting her eyes travel up the Highlander’s muscular legs to his straining thighs, to the fully extended shaft at their juncture—driving again and again into the woman. Catherine found herself quivering with excitement, becoming moist with anticipation. Her hand slipped inside of her cloak. She was wearing nothing beneath it, and her fingers caressed the voluptuous curves of her breasts, circled the hardened tip of her nipple.

  She cursed the slut. She herself should be the one riding him now. And she was ready, she thought, her fingers sliding down over her belly and into her moist folds. She had come here willingly to share with the Highlander a night of passion that would pleasure them both. And here, she must wait. Oh, and he, too, was ready—that she could see. Driving harder, again and again, and then lifting himself off the bed and suckling the hussy’s breasts.

  Catherine fought down the moan that she heard begin in her own throat. But there was no point in stopping them now. As the glow of heat spread through her, she pressed her back against the wall. But they’d better finish soon, she thought threateningly.

  The young woman’s panting cries were becoming sharper, and Catherine’s attention was drawn, momentarily, to her. Tomorrow, she’d have the wench whipped. Perhaps she herself would do it. The whore’s perfect back and buttocks would carry her mark from tomorrow onward, of that she was certain. And then she’d be shipped to Norwich Castle—to please that vile jailer Reed and his men. Aye, by the time they were done with her, she would be sorry she ever looked at this man, at any man.