‘Yes. Yes I do.’
Damn. Why had he opened his mouth? You know exactly why, Alexander MacIvor. You’ve seen her before in nothing but her shift and stays and it’s a sight worth beholding again. ‘I’d be happy to light more candles or—’
Sarah’s face, framed by dishevelled blonde curls, poked around the side of the screen. ‘I cannot undo my stays, Mr Black. The laces are at the back and Isla tied them too tightly. I need your help.’ She disappeared again.
‘Very well.’ Alexander rolled his shoulders. He could do this. Provide the assistance Sarah needed without pawing her like some savage beast.
He crossed the short distance to the screen and stepped behind it. Then knitted his fingers together behind his head to stop himself hauling Sarah into his arms.
Sweet Jesus and all his saints.
Sarah had divested everything except for her white silk stockings, thin linen shift, and the stubborn stays. Her back to him, she pulled her tumbling curls to one side and cast him a glance over one slender shoulder. ‘If you could help with the knot, I’d be most grateful, Mr Black.’
‘Alex,’ he corrected, dropping his arms and stepping closer. ‘If I’m going to help you undress, Sarah, I think we can dispense with formalities, don’t you?’
She turned her head away. ‘Yes. I suppose you are right,’ she said softly.
Alex blew out a shaky sigh. Right, MacIvor. Get this over with before your cockstand gets any bigger. His pulse galloping, he raised his hands and focused his attention on the tightly tied laces just below Sarah’s delicate nape. When his fumbling fingers accidently brushed her smooth-as-cream skin, she sucked in a startled breath. Despite her brazen request, it seemed she was as skittish as he was.
‘Easy, lass,’ he murmured as he plucked at the stubborn knot.
Sarah’s shoulders stiffened. ‘I’m not a horse, Black.’
‘Alex,’ he reminded her. The knot gave at last and he began to loosen the laces down the length of her back.
‘I’m still not even sure that actually is your name.’
‘What?’ he asked, his tone gruffer than he meant it to be. ‘Alex or Black?’ He wasn’t sure what he was saying. Or the manner of it. Not when Sarah shrugged off her corset and tossed it onto the floor. Not when her shift slid off her shoulder and she looked back at him again from beneath her lashes.
‘Both names,’ she murmured huskily. ‘You have so many secrets.’
‘Aye.’ He was about to step away but Sarah turned and pressed herself against him. Beneath his coat, her palms slid restlessly along the satin of his waistcoat.
‘Sarah,’ he cautioned, but it seemed his own body wasn’t inclined to heed the warning either. His hands clasped her upper arms but instead of setting her away, he gathered her closer. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the impudent jut of her nipples, as hard as pearls, through all the layers of his clothes. His nostrils flared as he drew in her intoxicating scent—something floral like roses and her own feminine essence. With every beat of his heart, wild lust pounded straight to his groin. ‘You and I… We shouldn’t…’
Her tongue darted out to moisten her soft lips and her blue eyes, dark with longing, locked with his. ‘Yes, we should.’
‘Aye.’ With a groan, Alex gave into temptation. She’d awoken the wolf inside him and he intended to have his fill. He tilted Sarah’s small chin up then ruthlessly plundered her sweet willing mouth with reckless abandon. Tasting. Caressing. Devouring.
When her tongue duelled with his, fire licked through his veins. When her fingers speared into his clubbed hair, pulling it free from its leather tie, he shrugged out of his coat. It seemed the shy maid he’d first encountered in the library at Kenmuir House had gone and a woman who knew what she wanted, who wanted him, had taken her place.
Like a starving man presented with a feast, he couldn’t get enough of her either. The taste of her. The feel of her pliant, slender body beneath his questing hands. Her soft moans and whimpers.
Mindless with passion, he pushed her against the stone wall and ground his hips against hers. Burying his face in her neck, he lavished her with hot, hungry kisses. When she ripped his shirt from his breeches and splayed her hand against his naked torso, he growled his appreciation.
Her shift slipped even farther down her arm, and with nothing more than a gentle pull, he exposed one of her high, proud breasts.
Dear God she was delectable. He drew back to take in the glorious sight of Sarah, dazed with desire; panting, chest heaving, her pale rose-pink nipple puckered beneath his gaze. He had to taste her.
Cradling the tender weight of her breast with one hand, he lowered his head and laved the tight bud. She arched into him, her fingers twisting in his hair.
‘Alex.’ His name on her tongue was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. She lifted her leg, wrapping it around one of his. He took the opportunity to slide his hand beneath her rucked up shift, his fingers seeking the hot, wet sleekness between her thighs. She gasped. And then he froze.
What, in God’s name, am I doing? This is wrong… So wrong.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before. But keep going.’ Sarah pressed her hand against his throbbing cock. ‘I know you want me,’ she breathed in a husky whisper that did nothing to quell the fire raging within him. ‘Take me.’
‘Aye, I want you.’ Alex lifted his head and searched her face. ‘But the question is, Sarah Lambert, do you truly want me? Want this?’ He pushed himself into her hand. ‘Because this stops right here, right now, if this isn’t honest and true.’
‘Yes.’ A shadow flickered in her eyes belying her declaration. ‘I do want this.’
He dropped his hands. The truth was, he did want her. But not this way. ‘Why are you really doing this, Sarah?’ he gritted out. ‘Tell me.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘I told you. I w—’
‘I don’t believe you.’ He levered himself away from her.
She snatched his hand and placed it over her naked breast. ‘What do you feel, Alexander? These past few days, all the hours you’ve been away, I’ve thought of no one but you. My heart is racing. For you. I do not care for Malcolm and I do not wish to wed him. You must believe me. It’s you I want to be with.’
With an effort, Alex removed his hand and gently tugged her shift back into place. Bitter self-recrimination burned like acid in his gut. ‘The problem is, you have no real choice in the matter, Sarah. I sense desperation within you. And God knows, I’ve driven you to it. You don’t have to prostitute yourself in exchange for your safety or your freedom. Because that’s what you’re doing. And you cannot deny it.’
Sarah’s eyes flashed with bright blue fire and tears, and when she spoke, her voice quivered with anger. ‘God damn you, Alexander Black. How dare you? Get out.’
Alex gave one short sharp nod and then strode from the room, closing the door behind him. She was angry with him but it was no less than he deserved. If she had taken to him with a fire iron right now, he’d have welcomed the blow. What an arrogant, selfish, stupid bastard I am. How could she ever possibly care for me?
Heading straight for the dresser, he snagged a bottle of whisky, pulled out the cork with his teeth and took a large swig. A heart-rending sob crashed into the silence. Bloody hell. Sarah was crying. But it was better this way. She pretended she wanted him, but she didn’t really. How could she? He was holding her prisoner, for God’s sake. Seducing and deflowering her under duress was no better than raping her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Everything was a mess. Alex gulped down another mouthful of whisky, welcoming the hot sting at the back his throat. He’d promised himself he would not be like Tay. A cold-blooded, murderous animal who took whatever he wanted. Who fucked and destroyed lives with impunity.
But you’re destroying Sarah’s life, MacIvor. What the hell are you going to do now?
Alex put down the whisky and wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. One thing was clear, he needed to calm down bec
ause right at this moment, he felt as though he was being ravaged by a fever; his heart hammered, his cock still throbbed, and in his head spun a tempest, a whirling storm of too many contradictory thoughts and emotions—a potent mixture of rage, and utter despair, and rampaging desire. Worst of all was the clawing guilt, ripping him apart; he’d made Sarah feel so desperate and worthless, she’d been prepared to pay any price. But he wouldn’t let her.
Another sob reached his ears and right at that moment, he hated himself. He couldn’t stay here tonight. He had to get away.
With savage movements, Alex yanked on his gloves and threw on his greatcoat, and after snatching up the whisky bottle again, he slammed out the door, not bothering to lock it. Sarah would be safe enough. He’d leave Bandit with her, and Isla and MacLagan would be back just after sunrise.
And only when he felt sane again would he return to say he was sorry.
Chapter 11
Eilean Dubh
22 February 1757
The creak of her bedroom door pulled Sarah from sleep. Rolling over, she opened her eyes, blinked, and watched Isla creep into the room; Bandit greeted her with a thump of his tail on the hearthrug but the maid ignored him as she stirred up the coals and threw a few logs into the grate.
Sarah pushed herself up against the fat, feather-down pillows and pushed her tangled hair from her eyes. Judging by how cold and dark the room was, she guessed it was either early, or the weather was inclement, or both. When Isla pulled back the curtains, weak grey light filtered in through the diamond panes. The morning appeared to be perfectly matched to her gloomy mood.
‘Is Black here?’ she asked in a voice hoarse with sleep and too much weeping. She didn’t expect him to be. After their disastrous tryst, she’d heard him slam the door when he left.
Isla approached the tester bed. ‘Nae, miss. He spent the night at Black—I mean, he isna here.’ Her gaze wandered over Sarah and her brow knitted. ‘Are ye all right, miss? Can I get ye anything?’
Sarah tugged up her sagging, crumpled shift; she hadn’t bothered to change into a night-rail last night. ‘Just some hot water and a robe to begin with. And then maybe a little breakfast.’
‘Aye, miss.’
When Sarah slipped from the bed and crossed to the washstand, she caught sight of her face in the looking glass and grimaced. No wonder Isla had looked concerned; her eyes were puffy with exhaustion and tears, her cheeks as pale as milk. Thankfully, Isla helped her with her toilette without further comment and it wasn’t long before Sarah was ensconced before the blazing fire in her room with a plate of freshly buttered toast and a cup of tea.
As she fed the crusts of her toast to Bandit, Isla emerged from behind the silk screen with a bundle of clothes—her ruined red velvet gown and to her horror, Black’s dark blue frockcoat.
A furious blush scalded Sarah’s cheeks. She’d completely forgotten that Black had discarded it last night. What must Isla think?
Clearly the worst, judging by the girl’s severe expression. Her mouth had flattened into a disapproving line and the look she shot Sarah was nothing short of accusatory as she crossed the chamber.
‘Isla—’
‘’Tis none of my business, miss.’ Isla disappeared into the kitchen and Sarah let out a shaky sigh. It seemed the rest of her day was going to be filled with uncomfortable, drawn-out silences and censorious glances.
‘At least I have you, Bandit,’ she murmured, caressing the unruly mane around the dog’s neck. ‘Perhaps you can help me come up with another way to escape.’
Letting out a soft snuffle, the collie subsided onto the hearthrug and Sarah twisted the ribbon ties of her velvet robe as she stared into the leaping flames of the fire. Her plan to make Black care for her had failed, dismally. Not only had he worked out what she’d been up to, he’d all but called her a whore.
Closing her eyes against the prick of tears, a wave of shame and anguish washed over her as she recalled his words and the anger in his eyes. The harsh bitterness in his voice as he’d rejected her yet again.
It made the memory of his glorious kisses hurt all the more. Black might want her in a physical sense, but it was abundantly clear he despised her for how she’d debased herself and attempted to manipulate him.
But then, wasn’t it his fault that he’d pushed her into such an intolerable position? He’d said as much himself. However, when all was said and done, dwelling on who was to blame wasn’t going to help her get away from Eilean Dubh. And considering the due date for the ransom was drawing ever closer, the imperative to escape was more urgent than ever.
But how?
The answer to her seemingly insurmountable problem came from an unexpected quarter but an hour later.
After she’d dressed, Sarah retired to the solar, looking for something to do besides sitting in her bedchamber and fretting the day away. Sewing was not sufficiently engaging—it gave her too much time to brood—and she was not in the mood to play the spinet, so she perused the titles in the glass-fronted bookcase as she’d done a thousand times before. A thick book covered in tooled, dark green leather with distinctive gold lettering caught her eye: Architectural Antiquities of Scotland by J.M. Arbuthnot.
How odd she hadn’t noticed it before. Pulling it from the shelf, Sarah took it to the window seat and began to peruse the musty, yellowed pages. There were fine, detailed etchings of many of the former royal residences of the deposed Scottish monarchy—the Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh Castle, Linlithgow Palace, Falkland Palace, and Stirling Castle—as well as lesser known manor houses and castles. And that’s when she saw it, a few pages past a section on the tower house of Balmoral… a small lithograph entitled Blackloch Castle on the shores of Loch Rannoch, Perthshire. Above the forest, behind the castle, a distinctive sharp peak jutted into the sky. It was the very same peak that could be viewed from all of Eilean Dubh’s west facing windows, including the solar.
Her heart pounding, Sarah rushed over to the window to compare the vista to the one in the book. And her breath froze in her chest.
Oh, my God. I know where I am.
With trembling fingers, Sarah turned the page and read a short paragraph on the history of Blackloch Castle. Phrases jumped out at her: the Lairds of Blackloch… seat of the Chief of Clan MacIvor… Baron Rannoch… vast holdings in and around Loch Rannoch and Rannoch Moor.
And further on: Eilean Dubh, a ruined medieval tower house situated on an island at the western end of Loch Rannoch… Sacked by Fergus Campbell, the first Earl of Tay, in the fourteenth century…
Taymoor Castle was in Perthshire too.
Her knees like water, Sarah collapsed onto the window seat. Alexander Black was really Alexander MacIvor, she’d stake her life on it. Perhaps he was even Baron Rannoch. Hadn’t Isla called him ‘lord’ on her first morning here?
And the MacIvors and the Campbells of Tay had been feuding for centuries. However, that didn’t explain why Alexander had such a personal grudge against Malcolm. It was the one last piece of the puzzle she was burning to discover.
Sarah stared at the picture of Blackloch Castle again for another full minute to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. And then, with the book in one hand and her skirts in the other, she rushed down the stairs to question Isla.
The maid was in the kitchen, kneading a large mound of soft, white dough on the oak table. She didn’t even look up when Sarah entered the room, just kept on pushing and folding and pummelling the dough as if her life depended on it. Perhaps Isla imagined she was pummelling her.
Sarah cleared her throat. ‘Isla, I need to speak with you about something most urgent.’
Isla turned the dough over and dusted it with a handful of flour. ‘What is it?’ she asked in a tone as sour as the weather outside.
Sarah thrust the book in front of her nose and pointed to the picture of Blackloch Castle. ‘I found this. Your master is Alexander MacIvor, the Laird of Blackloch, isn’t he, Isla? And Eilean Dubh belongs to him too.’
/> Isla’s cheeks turned bright red and she stopped kneading the dough. ‘Where did you find that, miss?’ she whispered.
‘In the bookcase upstairs.’
‘Och, no.’ The maid closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I dinna ken what to say.’
‘Just tell me, Isla,’ Sarah demanded. ‘Am I correct?’ Her voice cracked as she added, ‘Please. I have to know.’
Isla’s thin shoulders rose and fell with a shaky sigh as she sank onto a chair. ‘Aye, miss. Ye are.’
The relief that washed over Sarah was so great, she nearly burst into tears. At long last she’d found out the name of her captor and where she was. She dropped into a chair beside the maid and took one of her flour-dusted hands in hers. ‘Thank you.’
Isla shook her head. ‘I shouldna’ve said anything, miss. Lord Rannoch will be most displeased. But I canna…’
‘You can’t what, Isla?’
‘I canna do this anymore. Watch the master keep you here, knowing tha’ in less than two weeks he’s going to—’ Isla bit her lip and twisted her apron with white-knuckled fingers. Fear flickered in her eyes before she looked away.
A sharp spike of alarm shot through Sarah. ‘What is Lord Rannoch going to do in two weeks, Isla?’
The maid lifted her gaze to Sarah’s face. ‘When Lord Tay doesna pay the ransom, because he cannot, Lord Rannoch is going to…’ Isla’s face crumpled. ‘Ye are not safe here, miss. And now tha’ you know who the master really is, things are even worse. If he finds out you know the truth aboot him…’ Isla reached out and gripped her hand. ‘I’m scairt he will try to silence you.’
‘Silence me? Do you mean he would—’ Sarah couldn’t complete the thought.
‘Aye, miss. I know where he keeps his flask of laudanum. And he knows ye canna swim…’ Twould be easy enough for him to… Oh, I canna say it!’
The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue) Page 15