In the Laird's Bed

by Joanne Rock

Baring her hips.

  Her breath caught in her throat as her heartbeat raced.

  “I will spoil your taste for all others,” she warned, savoring the feel of his hand at her waist. Skin on skin at last.

  She gave herself to him so wholly, so eagerly, perhaps he would never realize she was so innocent. Heaven knew she wanted him with the fevered urgency of a female in heat.

  “You did that long ago.” He cupped her bottom in his palm, startling a gasp from her as he guided her hips toward his staff. Even through his braies, she could feel the length and thickness of him.

  A shiver of delight mingled with fear. Mayhap he would recognize maidenly resistance all too well.

  “Have mercy, my lord,” she murmured, her words tumbling out too fast while she tried to catch her breath. “You will be my undoing.”

  “Count on it,” he vowed, spreading her thighs with his. “It’s my turn to spoil your taste for all others now.”

  With his teeth, he nipped the neck of her kirtle and raked it down, exposing her breasts. He plucked at one tight peak between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a cry of sharp yearning. Desire flowed thick and fast in her veins. Slick, feminine heat drenched the tender, sensitive place between her thighs. He must have felt that warm wanting.

  Idly, she raked her nails over his hips, tugging ineffectually at his braies. She wanted what came next—even if it meant her last secret was revealed.

  She had a woman’s right to know true pleasure with a man who understood how to provide it.

  “Take me,” she whispered, thrashing this way and that on the pallet underneath the sweet torment of his thumb circling her nipple.

  In answer, he licked the swollen crest and nipped it between his teeth. Her hips bucked in response, as if an invisible cord connected that place where he licked and sucked with the throbbing spot between her legs. The physical joy of it was merciless.

  At last, one hand dipped down her belly to sift through the damp curls shielding her sex. She made soft, crooning noises in her throat that she could not possibly stifle. The feel of his fingers sliding along the slick folds was enough to drive her to madness.

  Still, he took his time, his tongue working over the peak of her breast with the same thorough attention as his finger massaged that sweet spot between her thighs.

  In the dark recesses of her brain, she recognized the movement of his free hand along the ties of his braies, freeing his sex. She could feel the heat of his shaft along her thigh. But mostly, she could only pay attention to the anticipation coiling tight in her womb. Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, holding his mouth to her breast while his thumb worked the tight bud hidden at her core. Just when she thought she could take no more, just when the fire had built to unbearable temperatures, something within her seemed to snap.

  Waves of pleasure clenched her insides, squeezing her over and over again. She cried out in sweet surprise, not having realized a man could do such decadently wonderful things to a woman.

  It was while her heart thundered through the bliss that he positioned himself between her legs. She felt the thick heat of him there, stretching the entrance of her womanly passage.

  Tensing, she gripped his shoulders. That trickle of fear came back, but it was smaller now with the overwhelming gratification still coursing through her. She whispered his name. Trusting him. Putting herself in his hands.

  She gazed up at him in the firelight and saw the set to his jaw. The sheen of sweat on his skin. He’d been holding back for her. Giving her a taste of passion before this—joining. She could see that now.

  But the time for holding back was done and she could feel it in the way he eased inside her. Growled deep in his throat. Withdrew his hips.

  Bracing herself, she readied for what was to come and still the sting of it scared a cry from her lips. Something inside her tore. Her maidenhead, she knew. She’d hoped it would be a smaller thing. A negligible thing he might not notice at all.

  Yet the brief furrow of his eyebrows, the confusion and perhaps anger she saw in his eyes, told her that he very much noticed. Ducking her head into his shoulder, she held on to him and waited for the pain to subside.

  Thankfully, he did not take that moment to berate her. He seemed as bound up in hunger as she’d been earlier. He needed to find the bliss that she’d already experienced.

  She tried to find that sweet rhythm again but though the soreness had dulled the ache between her legs had not totally dissipated. Mostly, she held on tight to him, praying she would find forgiveness with him later. That he would understand.

  When he found his release, she felt the powerful surge of his body. On some level, she savored the connection even as she feared the aftermath. Right now, he was a part of her and she of him. And she could see in the glazed expression of his eyes that he had been as transformed—however briefly—as she’d been. Why else would he hold her so tenderly afterward, as their hearts beat in like rhythm?

  Still, she was not prepared for the fierceness in his voice when he rolled to her side and pulled her along with him.

  “You are mine now.” His green eyes glittered dangerously as he gripped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “There will be no more lies between us.”

  She bristled, unprepared for confrontation while her emotions were as tender and exposed as the rest of her.

  “You are no stranger to deceit,” she reminded him, scrambling to find some defense.

  She would gladly start an argument to divert him. Yet he did not appear to be a man who would be easily dissuaded from his course. And truth be told, what they had shared had weakened her. Softened her.

  Heaven help her.

  “You will not leave this bed until you tell me the truth,” he warned, his heavy leg coming to rest between her thighs in subtle reminder of his strength. “Why have you claimed your sister’s child as your own?”

  Chapter Eight

  “L eah is an orphan. I have taken her in to keep her safe.”

  Duncan searched for the truth in Cristiana’s eyes as he lay over her, his blood still pounding from the eye-crossing release he’d found in taking her. Part of him was furious about this newest lie uncovered. But another part of him was still pumping a victorious fist in the air that he had been the first to claim her. The first to breach her tender walls.

  She had not lain with some random man. She’d merely taken in a child to raise. A child she cared about enough to impart her name and shed her honor. A child who bore her distinct resemblance. It could only be the daughter of her exiled sister.

  “Do not mince words,” he warned, berating himself for letting her chase him off so easily five years ago. Perhaps if he had demanded she honor their contract then, there might have been tenderness between them instead of lies and regret. “The girl is of your blood. Since I now know she is not your daughter, she can belong only to Edwina.”

  Cristiana remained mutinously silent, but he could see the pulse throb nervously in her neck. She did not want to admit the truth that was so plain.

  “Why will you not confess it? You can’t honestly believe you are fooling anyone under your own roof—” But then the truth hit him. Or at least some portion of it. “Your father lost his wife when this child would have been born. And his health has failed enough that he cannot run his own keep. Could it be you have kept the truth of a grandchild from him?”

  “Have you considered all the children my randy grandfather is rumored to have begotten? Just look around the village and you will see half a dozen people who bear close resemblance to my family!”

  He knew she was only trying to throw him off the scent, yet the story could have been true.

  “She is mine.” Cristiana drew out the short statement, emphasizing every word as if he were as shaky on wits as her sire. “You have never believed anything I’ve said unless it confirms your own beliefs, however. Now, I demand you let me go.”

  He was so taken aback by her ridiculous accusation that he did release h
er. While she smoothed her kirtle and retrieved her surcoat, he allowed her words to roll about his brain. Was he too quick to believe the worst of her? He had certainly accepted her assertion that she was no maid.

  “You are still angry that I did not believe you when you claimed Donegal ravaged Edwina against her will.”

  “I have made that clear more than once.” She struggled into her sleeves and fumbled with a golden girdle that encircled her hips. “You did not trust me then. And I am not sure how much I can trust you now, although I will hold you to the vow you made to me about Leah.”

  “I could not call myself a knight if I did not maintain such a pledge.”

  She nodded shortly. Clearly, she would trust him with that and little else. But then, she was still stinging from his maneuvering his way into her keep and into a marriage she did not want.

  But one day, he would win her. For now, he only wanted to discover the truth of Leah’s parentage.

  “So you kept Edwina’s secret all this time,” he mused, hoping she would admit what he’d already guessed.

  Sighing, Cristina shrugged.

  “What else could I do? Donegal brutalized her, and she was too ashamed to show herself to anyone who could confirm scratches and bruises left on private places. She swore me to silence to keep what peace we could between our families, but she could not find the heart to embrace a child made in so much pain.”

  Her sharp words finally found their mark. The evidence that had been there all along now berated him for his own blindness. Donegal was more monstrous than he knew. Treachery to family was a sin, but Duncan had excused it to a degree because Donegal had been raised by a serving wench instead of at his side as was his right. Duncan had tried to atone for that lack in Donegal’s childhood, but in his guilt he must have missed the signs of his half brother’s dark side.

  Abusing a woman was such a base crime. It was not a simple sin of greed, but a dark violence that demonstrated a complete lack of honor.

  “You have done a noble thing to take in an unwanted child.” He knew from Donegal’s experience that an illegitimate babe could suffer the sins of the parents. “I am sorry I did not believe you when you first told me that Edwina suffered at Donegal’s hands.”

  Cristiana’s busy hands stilled, the laces of her surcoat drooping at her sides. Her mouth opened and then closed, as if she could not find the response she wanted. Finally, she gave a curt nod.

  “Thank you.”

  “But now we must correct the mistakes of the past and claim the child as our own when we announce our marriage.” He peered toward the skin covering the window and noted the sun had gone down completely. They were both late to sup with their guests before they departed on the morrow. “We cannot allow the girl to be raised in back corridors with serving maids and minstrels for companions. She needs the security of knowing her place in the world.”

  “You will claim to be her father?” She folded her arms and squeezed them tightly to her while she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

  “Of course. She will bear me as much resemblance as you.” He arose to begin dressing. Much work remained to be done to ensure a smooth transfer of power.

  “You will not let Donegal take her?” The dark fear in her eyes could not have been more plain. This, at last, was the real reason she hid the child from the world.

  Ah, how much hurt might have been avoided if they could have trusted each other long ago?

  “Never.” He would need to deal with his brother at some point, but he could promise this much to ease Cristiana’s fears. “But we must announce our marriage and claim her as our own tonight.”

  Her shoulders sagged with relief.

  “Leah is my only concern.” Her fingers returned to her surcoat laces as she tied the garment into place. “As long as she is safe and she is with me, I will agree to most anything.”

  As he finished dressing, he felt a hollowness in his chest. Her response was hardly a passionate avowal. But perhaps they had missed their chance for a union of abiding trust and friendship. How strange that he would finally claim Cristiana as his own, yet he felt none of the happy expectation that had awaited them on their first betrothal.

  Now, they were united in a common cause to protect a child that was not theirs. And a passion that she’d succumbed to only because she could not locate an aging lord to wed instead.

  “May I escort you to sup?” he asked, extending an arm to her when he really wished to return to their pallet and seek the heated connection they’d shared so recently.

  Somehow, they’d remained cool strangers despite everything.

  “Of course,” she murmured, distracted and still nibbling the fullness of her lower lip.

  Her thoughts were elsewhere. And it occurred to him that although he’d secured her hand and forced the marriage he’d needed, he hadn’t really won her— Cristiana, the woman—at all.

  She had betrayed her sister.

  Cristiana had no choice, of course. But would Edwina see it that way when she learned a Culcanon would rule Domhnaill and claim Leah after all? She brushed the feathered end of her quill along her cheek, savoring the soft touch, as she oversaw the move of Leah’s few possessions into Cristiana’s chamber.

  Once again, she attempted a letter to her sister. Once again, the right words were difficult to come by. Duncan had said she should invite her sister to return home and he would try to find an appropriate match for her—one that would further all their fortunes, yet give Edwina to a husband who would be both grateful for her and understanding of her lack of innocence.

  But how could she convey that on a cold and unforgiving piece of parchment?

  “Mother, look at the flames!” Leah stood before the hearth fire with a handful of herbs. As she tossed them into the fire, the flames turned colors and smoked merrily. A gift from the cook, no doubt, who always seemed to have some new diversion for the girl.

  “How pretty,” Cristiana exclaimed, grateful that Leah had grown intrigued with the fire instead of the thousand and one questions she seemed to have about her new change in status.

  After Duncan’s announcement at sup two days ago, the whole keep had been unsettled at the news that Leah was Cristiana and Duncan’s biological daughter. Some people had not believed it at all, suspecting the story had been concocted as a cover to give a name to a little girl with whom Cristiana was besotted. But most were only too glad for the lurid gossip that ensued.

  And truly, what should people believe? She should be happy that Duncan had vowed to protect Leah from his half brother. She’d said all along that would be enough for her. But as she sat before the hearth, facing an awkward letter to her sister, more awkward explanations to Leah and a marriage that had only come about through lies and deception, Cristiana could not help a twinge of regret.

  “Crissie?” A knock at the door accompanied the voice outside her solar.

  The servants arranging Leah’s trunk in the bedchamber hurried out to open the solar door for the old laird.

  Her father stood in the doorway with a deeply furrowed expression, his robes askew as if he’d escaped from his chamber before being properly groomed for the day. At a glance, she could see he was confused. Anxious.

  She set down her parchment and quill to rise and greet him.

  “Father.” She reached out to him, but Leah beat her to the older man’s side. The child threw herself against his legs and squeezed.

  “Grandfather!” Leah had always been close to the laird. Adopting the familial endearment with Cristiana’s father the same way she had for Cristiana. But then, neither of them discouraged the practice as they were a family by practice if not by blood ties. The old laird had taken an interest in the new baby in the keep as a welcome distraction in the wake of his wife’s death.

  Domhnaill had raised more than one orphan, so the acceptance of the green-eyed girl had not been all that unusual in the keep.

  Still, he did not look pleased today. He patted the girl’s head
absently and then steered her back toward the hearth, all the while glaring darkly at his daughter.

  “You lied to me.” His voice cracked with an anger she’d never seen directed toward her before. “I sent your sister away because of you.”

  “Mother?” Leah looked over at them, worried.

  Cristiana gestured to the maids to take the child and leave them.

  “I will come for you soon, sweeting, and we will move your favorite tapestry above the bed,” she assured the child on her way out. “But let me speak to your grandfather first.”

  “I thought her spoiled for marriage,” her father railed, raising his voice. “Yet it was you who was not fit to wed. You who said you would not marry because you did not fancy any man.”

  His accusations speared her heart all the more for knowing she would never be able to untangle the lies from the truth in his mind. Even if he understood the truth today, he would just as easily forget it by the morrow.

  “Father, Edwina will come home.” She pointed to the half-filled parchment. “I am writing to her now, so she will return to us.”

  “But you have robbed me of her for four long years! My own girl. Your mother would never have allowed it.” He ranted and grumbled, paced and prowled about the floor, his robe sliding from his diminished shoulders now and again so that she had to chase him to replace it and risk a snarling rebuke.

  By the time Keane arrived at the door, perhaps notified by the maids who’d taken Leah from the chamber, Cristiana’s eyes stung with tears.

  “Ach, lass, you know better than to listen to him when he does not know his own words,” Keane admonished, barging in without knocking and without preamble. Bandy-legged and stooped but sound in mind at least, he steered the laird toward the door with a strength that belied his years. “Do you hear me, girl? He loves you, dear. It would hurt him sorely to know he wounded you, but he does not know what he speaks of.”

  Cristiana nodded mutely, grateful for the reassurance even though she knew her father’s accusations would linger. She had woven a tangled web, no doubt, even if her father did not quite have the right of it.