by Tessa Dare
Her nails scored his back. “Keep going,” she commanded in a voice that did not even sound like her.
He obliged, rocking his hips against her and she cried out, arching against him.
“Oh, you feel good.” He withdrew and drove back inside her. “Sorry, lass. It will be better next time.”
Next time? She could not even wrap her thoughts around that. Not whilst this felt amazing now. An aching pressure built inside her as he moved faster, increasing the tempo and friction and tightening that invisible coil low in her belly.
She writhed against him, desperate for release. “Calder,” she pleaded.
In response, he hooked a hand under her knee and draped her leg around his waist, penetrated even deeper.
His next thrust shattered her and she cried out, fingers digging into his skin.
She’d never felt anything so amazing. Her vision blurred as he continued moving inside her, working a steady pace that left her wild and gasping.
“Annis,” he growled in her ear.
Her palms roved over his solid flesh, loving the absolute freedom to touch him, to cherish him with her hands.
Shudders shook through her. His name ripped from her lips.
His hand delved into her hair. He held her there, peering into her eyes as he moved inside her, driving harder, reaching some hidden spot where all sensation seemed to begin and end.
Suddenly every nerve ignited and burst. She cried out, arching under him. “Ohh!”
His lips seized hers. She moaned into his mouth, feeling his own release follow and tremor through him, eddying into her.
They collapsed down to earth together, his weight atop her. As heavy as he was, she didn’t want him to ever move. She could stay like this forever.
He rolled onto his back and tugged her against his side. She smiled dreamily, drowsy and replete in the aftermath of their shattering union.
“I feel as though I could sleep a fortnight,” she murmured after some moments, smoothing her fingers over his chest.
“A fortnight? That’s not going to work considering I’d like tae do this again. Verra soon.”
“Again?” She lifted her head. “Do people do it again? More than once in a day?”
Calder chuckled and pulled her closer, kissing her nose. Smiling, she lowered her head back down and nestled her cheek against his chest, his heart a comforting and steady thud against her ear. Suddenly his stomach growled.
“Someone is hungry,” she commented.
“Aye. You need rest, and I need sustenance before we indulge ourselves again.” Despite those words, his broad palm slid down her back and curled around one cheek of her backside, molding and squeezing it in a way that sent a renewed spike of heat straight to her core.
“I think we skipped luncheon,” she breathed, her blood stirring with desire.
“What if I ring for a tray? We can eat in bed. I scarcely even ate at breakfast, merely grabbed a couple biscuits.”
She stiffened at that remark, letting it roll around her head. She tried to dismiss it, calling herself foolish and overly sensitive. And yet she could not shake loose the horrible feeling inside her that chased away and killed her euphoria.
She sat up, pulling the covers to her chest as she stared down at him. “You ate more biscuits? Fenella’s biscuits?” The distinction was important.
He blinked. “God, no! I’d never put more of those foul things in my mouth. They were inedible.”
She stared at him, the wariness still humming through her.
She knew that suspecting the biscuits of influencing him was ridiculous, but it almost made more sense than the alternative: that this beautiful man—a duke!—wanted her so desperately.
“Annis,” he continued, “I’m telling you the truth. I’ve no’ eaten one of those infernal biscuits since the first.”
Yes, but could she believe him? He knew how she felt about the biscuits and their potentially damning curse on free will.
She continued to stare at him, her grip tightening on the sheets.
“Annis,” he growled, canting his head, his eyes bright and alive as they fixed on her. “Don’t be absurd. Even if I ate one of those biscuits again, they are no’ magical. They did no’ make me do anything I did no’ want tae do.”
And there was another consideration if she allowed herself to believe the shortbread possessed magical properties. How long did one of Fenella’s biscuits hold its spell?
She moistened her lips. “I think I need to be alone.”
Alone to think. Alone to reclaim herself away from him.
“Alone,” he snapped. “Indeed. Your grand dream . . . tae be alone.”
She flinched.
He shook his head at her. “This is unbelievable. Have you so little trust in me?” He waved between them. “In us? This isn’t the result of a spell. It’s real and you’re terrified.”
She sucked in a heavy breath. Fear knotted her stomach. He wasn’t wrong. Fear was an accurate description. She’d had plans for her life, following this forced hiatus. Plans that did not involve falling in love. When she was able to return to her family, she would begin preparations to enter the novitiate. She would not think about him then. She would not long for him. Because she was not in love with him.
Love. Her heart seized.
No. It couldn’t be. She didn’t need romance. She was the one Ballister daughter with no intention of marrying. The one daughter who would not fall prey to her mother’s designs and desperately attach herself to a nobleman.
But what if it was too late? What if you’re already attached?
* * *
Calder stared at her, waiting for her to answer him. She stared back at him, a horrified look on her face. He blew out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair.
He had to squash her doubts and convince her he wanted her because he did. He loved her. There was no other reason. This was his single pressing thought as the door to the bedchamber burst open. The wood length collided into the wall with a bang and three rough-looking ruffians poured into the chamber wielding blades and pistols.
Annis cried out, pulling the sheets up over her nakedness. He lunged to his feet but didn’t take a step before a pistol was pressed to his chest. He stared into the cold eyes of the man wielding the weapon.
How? How could they have gained entrance into the keep? He’d been so careful. The castle was veritably sealed from the inside.
He blamed himself for being caught unawares. As vulnerable as any man could be, naked in bed with the woman he loved beside him.
Yes. He loved her.
It had begun the first moment he saw her, when she landed on her face outside her family’s carriage in his courtyard—so different from her army of sisters. Different from any woman he had known.
“Did no’ think ye saw the last of us, did ye?” asked the ill-kempt man at the front of the group.
“How did you . . .” The question faded as he spotted Sheila just beyond the thief’s shoulder.
The thief followed his gaze. “Aye, lovely Sheila is an accommodating lass. She let us in.”
Calder glared at the maid. “How could you?”
She lifted her chin proudly. “I want more fer myself than this place. They’re willing tae give me a way out. They’re taking me with them tae America where I can be more than a servant, where I can make something of myself.”
“Hush, lass,” one of the other thieves snapped. “They dinna need tae ken our plans.”
The leader simply grinned. “’Tis doubtful the grand laird here would follow us all the way tae America. I warrant he’ll be glad of our departure from these parts.”
Calder nodded. “Indeed.” Good riddance.
The thief’s gaze slid past Calder, beyond his shoulder to where Annis shrank behind him. “There’s a fetching bit of baggage. Perhaps I’ll take her with us, as well.” A wide, roguish grin spread across his face. “What say ye, lass?” he called to Annis. “Want tae see the grandeur of Amer
ica?”
“Take one step near her and I’ll kill you,” Calder said evenly, quietly. It did not matter that he was without weapons or clothes. It did not matter that several armed men surrounded him. He’d use his bare hands and kill anyone who tried to take her from him.
Annis’s fingers slipped around his arm, tightening as though prepared to cling to him, if need be.
The thief chuckled. “I see ye are partial tae the wench. Well, never accuse me of tearing true love asunder.” Still laughing, he left them, calling to his men. “Bring them downstairs with the rest of them.”
They were given a few minutes to attire themselves whilst a few of the brigands lurked nearby. Annis was allowed a modicum of privacy behind the dressing screen before they were herded belowstairs where the entire household huddled in the great hall. Calder eyed his staff, satisfying himself that they bore no signs of mistreatment. He kept close to Annis, one hand on her arm. She clutched the neckline of her gown in an effort to preserve her modesty. Hastily donned, it still gaped at the front.
They waited as the thieves ransacked the keep. Several of the women wept and clung together. Others glared at the thieves left to stand guard over them.
Calder seethed, but held his anger in check, scowling at the bastards invading his home and frightening his people. At Christmastime, no less. He knew the distinction should not matter, but it did.
At any point in the year this act of thievery would have chafed him ill, but at Christmas, it felt worse. This was a special time for his people. It was for that reason he forged ahead and allowed them their festivities. He’d always ignored the painful memories surrounding Christmastime and focused instead on the happiness of others. This was the first time in many years, however, that he felt happy during Yuletide. And it was because of Annis.
He’d be damned if he let these brigands ruin it.
One of the thieves strolled into the great hall with his arms full of rolled canvases, portraits, presumably, cut from the frames. Another marched in with a chest full of Calder’s mother’s jewels. The indignity of it soured Calder’s stomach.
“Blackguards,” Annis whispered.
He bit back his own ire and gave her hand a squeeze. “These are just things,” he whispered, even if the words felt like jagged bits of glass in his mouth. “Things can be replaced.”
What mattered was that everyone here—his people, Annis—remained safe.
Her eyes met his and he could see tears brimmed there. Tears for him.
The leader entered the hall, gnawing on a great leg of poultry. Sheila stood close to his side, a knapsack over her arm. The girl preened, not looking the least bit ashamed even with so many of the staff glaring at her.
“That’s this evening’s dinner!” Marie thundered. Someone shushed her, but it did little good. “He’s eating my goose,” the cook exclaimed, quivering in outrage.
“Oh, let them have it so they can be on their way,” Fenella snapped, jostling her heavy leather-bound recipe book higher in her arms.
“Och, what ye have there?” One of the villains ambled toward Fenella.
The old woman hugged the tome and shuffled back a step, which was probably not the proper reaction in the hopes of dismissing interest.
Like a predator sniffing blood, the bandit slithered closer. “Come now, old dame. Give us a look.”
“Nay,” she moaned, twisting away to put the book farther out of reach.
The thief gnawing on the goose leg joined in on the advance toward Fenella. “Aye, what have ye there?”
Calder glared at that recipe book, little caring if they took it. The damnable thing had caused him enough trouble. Annis doubted his desire for her because of it.
Seized with sudden inspiration, he heard himself saying, “’Tis a magical book.”
“Magic?” One of the thieves scoffed.
“Aye, there’s one recipe in there for magic shortbread. ’Tis potent stuff,” he bluffed.
“Laird!” Fenella screeched, her expression twisting in affront. “This book is more valuable than anything in this castle! Dinna let them have it!”
“Aye, it is valuable,” he agreed, hoping he looked convincing.
“Bollocks,” a thief spat.
He nodded somberly. “Everyone knows Fenella is part enchantress.”
The leader smirked. “Aye? Which part is that?”
“The part that will curse you tae eternal damnation if you relieve this castle of its riches, mark my words.” Calder held his gaze unflinchingly. As long as that recipe book existed in their orbit, she would always doubt his love.
A moment of silence fell. The thieves exchanged uneasy looks with each other. One made the sign of the cross and took a step back. Calder fought down a smile. He risked a glance to Annis. She watched him with wide eyes.
The leader looked to Sheila. “Does he speak true, lass? Is the old woman an enchantress?”
Sheila looked apprehensive. “There are rumors of that, aye, and she’s older than the hills. Only a witch can claim so many years.”
“I wouldn’t risk her wrath,” Calder advised. He motioned to the loot they had assembled, his family’s legacy heaped in a careless pile. “Tell you what. Take the book. With our blessing. The recipes in there do more than fill a man’s belly. May it bring you fortune as you begin your new lives in America. In exchange . . . leave all else behind.”
Fenella huffed.
The leader lowered his half-eaten goose leg and stepped closer for a better glimpse of the book, clearly intrigued.
His cohort tugged on his arm. “Ian, I dinna think we should . . .”
Ian reached for the book with one hand. Fenella squawked and batted him away.
“Come, Fenella,” Calder scolded. “Give it over with your blessing now.”
“Calder,” Annis whispered beside him, “what are you doing?”
He leaned in and murmured for her ears alone, “I’m getting rid of that accursed thing so you’ll know it’s you I want. I want you, Annis Ballister, and that’s the truth of it.”
“Fenella! Cease your caterwauling!” Angus suddenly pushed forward, plucking the leather-bound volume from her hands and shoving it at the thief.
Ian caressed the leather almost reverently.
“Ian . . . Ye dinna ken what that thing can do. Leave it,” one of his men advised.
“Nay.” Ian shook his head. “It will bring us good fortune. I can feel it. Just as the laird said. As long as the old woman gives it with her blessing. I’ll have no curse following me across the ocean.”
“She will, as long as you leave everything else and harm no one else,” Calder countered.
Ian nodded. “Aye. We’ll not take anything else.” He stared at Fenella hopefully.
“Fenella,” Calder prompted.
“Aye, verra well. Take it with my blessing,” she grumbled.
“Thank ye.” Smiling and exposing stained, crooked teeth, Ian handed the volume to Sheila. “Keep it safe for us, lass.”
Sheila wrapped her slim arms around the book as though she would never let go.
Fenella made a strangling sound in her throat to see it go, but she did not make a move toward it.
“Now go. You’ve gotten everything you’ve come for,” Calder said.
“Right we have.” Ian lifted his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute. “Men, let’s ride. Laird, yer hospitality will no’ be forgotten. I’ll think of ye fondly as we make our way across the pond.”
With that, he and his men departed the keep.
Chapter Twelve
This shouldn’t be happening. None of it. Annis’s parents shouldn’t have forgotten her. At least one of her sisters should have stopped being selfish for a fraction of a moment to look up and realize that Annis wasn’t with them. She should never have crossed paths with the duke beyond that ignominious first interaction—much less ended up in his bed. This should not be her life, but it was. Here she was, thoroughly compromised, her heart fully and irrev
ocably engaged, her body longing for his.
Now she would be burdened with the memory of him. The memory of his kiss, his taste, his touch running through her mind nonstop. Perhaps even worse than all that was the memory of his words, repeating in her head: I’m getting rid of that accursed thing, so you’ll know it’s you I want. I want you, Annis Ballister.
He couldn’t have meant it.
After the thieves absconded into the night, the staff busied themselves restoring the house to rights. She couldn’t quite fathom what had happened to Fenella’s recipe book. Calder had given it to the thieves. It was the only thing they’d taken . . . all because of his quick thinking.
The housekeeper ushered Annis upstairs with clucking words. She had one last glimpse of Calder talking with several of his staff. Their eyes connected for a brief moment before she was whisked away.
A hot shiver rolled through her as she remembered their bodies tangled together. It had been so intense. So incredible. Certainly it wasn’t like that for everyone, was it? She closed her eyes in a heavy blink. Drat. She was starting to think what they had was special.
Oh, Annis. You’re in trouble here . . .
She fell back on the bed, pulled a pillow over her head and groaned, the sound muffled in the plump softness. Immediately she was assailed by the scent of him on the pillowcase. Splendid. She lifted the pillow off her face and threw it across the room with all the strength she could muster.
“Impressive.”
She bolted upright at the deep voice.
The duke closed the door after him and stepped deeper inside the room. “You have quite an arm. Hopefully, you won’t toss anything more dangerous than a pillow at me.”
Where did all the air in the room go? “What are you doing here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” He advanced on her.
Her chest ached at the sight of him. She moistened her lips. “You gave away Fenella’s book.” The shortbread recipe . . . It was forever gone.