The Laird Of Blackloch (Highland Rogue)

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Her face burning, Sarah complied. Suddenly, without warning, Alex slipped his fingers through her dew-slick folds, parting them.

  ‘What on earth are you doing down there?’ she gasped.

  ‘I’m savouring the view. Your pretty pink quim is the most delectable thing I’ve ever seen. And if you consent, I want to savour how you taste…’

  Alex shifted and peered up at her, waiting for her response. All the while one of his wicked fingertips pleasured her most sensitive spot, circling and rubbing with light, teasing, thoroughly maddening strokes.

  ‘I…’ Sarah swallowed. She’d never imagined a man would want to do such a strange thing. But Alex’s searing gaze was enough to convince her he really did. She also couldn’t deny there was a curious, wanton part of her that wanted to experience whatever sensual delights the man she loved was offering. ‘Very well…’

  Leaning back against the parapet for support, Sarah closed her eyes and surrendered herself to Alex’s decadent caresses. His tongue, warm and wet, pushed into the furrow of her sex then lazily licked a path along each lip to the bud where her pleasure was centred. Swirled around and around and flickered against her, setting her aflame.

  Her knees trembling, Sarah moaned and lifted her skirts higher. Opened her legs wider. Pushed her hips forward. One of Alex’s hands gripped her naked thigh above her silk stocking, holding her steady, whilst he slid one finger, then two inside her, rhythmically thrusting them in and out, creating delicious friction, the perfect counterpoint to what he was doing to her with his wickedly lapping tongue.

  She couldn’t believe she was letting him do this, encouraging him to do this, something so totally abandoned and wild. Yet she couldn’t deny she loved every little thing he did with his fingers, and tongue, and now his lips. He’d captured her nub and was suckling her without mercy, pumping his fingers faster and faster, relentlessly driving her closer and closer towards the peak of pleasure.

  Panting, oblivious to anything but the sublime sensations building inside her, Sarah brazenly ground herself against Alex. His tongue rapidly flicked her painfully tight bud and then with a cry of joy, she fell headlong into ecstasy. Her knees gave way and as she crumpled, Alex caught her against him.

  Through the haze of her blissful delirium, she felt the rumble of a chuckle deep in Alex’s chest. Right before he captured her mouth in a fervent kiss.

  ‘I told you I’d make you scream, didn’t I?’ he said when he released her mouth.

  Sarah clutched the lapels of his coat. ‘Be that as it may, you are looking entirely too smug for my liking,’ she said, trying to look severe but failing miserably. Her cheeks were awash with a hot flush and she couldn’t suppress her own satisfied smile.

  Alex’s smile lit his eyes. ‘The woman I love more than anything is glowing with pleasure. How could I not be self-satisfied?’

  Sarah’s heart, indeed, her whole body sang with the knowledge Alex was so happy. Nevertheless, she said, ‘Just you wait until we retire to your bedchamber. I intend to make you scream as well.’

  Alex kissed her again, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. ‘I cannot wait, dear heart,’ he said, and judging by the fire in his eyes and the press of his arousal through her skirts, Sarah believed him.

  ***

  Much later, as Sarah lay spent and deliciously naked in his bed, Alex gazed with tenderness at her lovely face. She’d fallen asleep after their enthusiastic bout of bed sport. And whilst he hadn’t screamed, he’d certainly groaned with gusto, on at least two occasions.

  He was so physically replete, the urge to drift into slumber too was strong but his mind was atumble with plans for the future—a bright future with Sarah. A future he’d never thought he would have—one that involved happiness, and laughter, and children. Lots of children…

  But he wanted their children—his and Sarah’s—to be able to bear his name, MacIvor, without fear or shame. He wanted the son he might have with Sarah to be able to inherit his title, Baron Rannoch.

  He didn’t want that bastard, Tay, to have the potential to hurt him or those he loved, ever again. Which meant he was going to have clear his name sooner rather than later.

  Sarah stirred in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered and she blinked sleepily at him. Her beautiful blue eyes, all hazy with satisfaction and love, sought his.

  Alex kissed her. ‘I’m going to have to go away tomorrow, my lovely. But only for two or three days.’

  A small crease appeared between her brows. ‘Oh… Is this to do with Malcolm?’

  ‘Yes and no. I mentioned I know someone who may be able to help me secure a royal pardon. And I want to sort the matter out now. When we marry, I want you to be Sarah MacIvor, Lady Rannoch. The woman I love deserves nothing less.’

  Sarah stroked his face and he turned his head to kiss her palm. It seemed in such a short space of time, he’d become addicted to kissing her.

  ‘I understand,’ she said simply. ‘You must do what you have to.’ Her mouth lifted into a soft smile. ‘I shall miss you. Hurry back.’

  ‘I will. You’ll be safe here.’

  ‘I know.’

  After they made love again, this time with exquisite languor, Alex at last found himself drifting asleep, a smile on his lips. For once in his life, he counted himself blessed.

  Chapter 15

  Tay House, Edinburgh

  24 February 1757

  ‘Thank you, Mr Weston. You have been most kind.’ Judith Lambert smiled up at the tall, grey-haired inquiry agent as he helped her alight from Sarah’s carriage in front of Tay House. He’d travelled with her all the way from Newcastle and she’d been grateful for his congenial company and quiet confidence; whilst she was still deeply anxious about Sarah, he was a reassuring presence. With him at her side, she wouldn’t have to question Lord Tay alone. She was certain he would be able to find out things she couldn’t.

  ‘You are very welcome, Miss Lambert,’ he said in that deep smooth voice of his that sometimes made her blush like a giddy girl. ‘Would you like me to accompany you inside?’

  Judith glanced up the grey stone townhouse and its black front door with its tarnished brass handle. Although his offer had great appeal, she shook her head. ‘I think I should investigate the lay of the land first. See what I can discover without arousing Lord Tay’s suspicions that I may be working against him. And who knows’—Judith tried to summon a smile—‘perhaps my niece has already returned.’

  Mr Weston’s thin, distinguished face broke into a smile as well. ‘That would be very good news. I shall leave you then, Miss Lambert. I intend to take rooms at the Whitehorse Inn. It isn’t far.’

  ‘I shall have one of Lord Tay’s footmen deliver your luggage to you shortly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mr Weston bowed over her hand. ‘Perhaps I will see you later this afternoon? To discuss “the lay of the land”?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  He secured his black tricorn on top of his head and bowed once more. ‘Very good. I look forward to it.’

  For a brief moment, Judith watched Mr Weston’s long-legged stride as he walked towards the Royal Mile; despite the ever-present knot of worry inside her, a small smile played about her lips as she ascended the stairs to the townhouse and rapped on the door. What a lovely man.

  Unlike Lord Tay.

  Drysdale, Lord Tay’s ancient butler, greeted her. ‘It’s verra lovely to see ye back, ma’am, but if you wish to see his lordship, I’m afraid he is no longer here. He left early yesterday morning, bound fer Taymoor Castle.’

  ‘I see.’ Thank heaven for small mercies. Judith removed her leather gloves and crushed travelling cloak and handed them to the butler. ‘Is Lady Glenleven in residence?’ She doubted Sarah had returned to Tay House during her absence but nonetheless, she felt compelled to add, ‘Or my niece?’

  ‘Aye, her ladyship is here, but I’m sorry to say, no’ Miss Lambert.’

  Judith sighed shakily, swallowing back a wave of tears as reality hit her aga
in. Sarah had been missing for ten days now and as time marched on, she sometimes despaired that her darling niece had indeed met with foul play. Possibly at the hands of Lord Tay. Of course, he may not be complicit but there was something about the man that did not sit well with her. Then again, whilst she was relieved the earl wasn’t here, it also meant neither she, nor Mr Weston, would be able to question him about Sarah’s disappearance.

  And she wouldn’t be able to ask him about the whereabouts of Sarah’s pearl and sapphire parure.

  No, she didn’t trust the Earl of Tay as far as she could throw him.

  But perhaps Lady Glenleven knew something… After all, she’d probably forged the letter that had been purportedly penned by Sarah.

  ‘Might I have a pot of tea and something light to eat sent to my room, Drysdale?’ The journey from Newcastle had been long and tedious and she would need sustenance and a small rest before tackling Lady Glenleven.

  Drysdale shuffled his feet, drawing attention to the abysmal state of his scuffed leather shoes. ‘I’ll see wha’ Cook can drum up. There might be a wee bit o’ shortbread or a scone left…’

  Good God. Was Lord Tay so short of funds he couldn’t even afford to keep his kitchen stocked with food in his absence? Minding her tongue—it certainly wasn’t Drysdale’s fault—Judith simply offered her thanks and crossed the muddy parquetry floor of the entry hall, heading for the stairs.

  She’d reached the landing that led to her room when Lady Glenleven appeared in the doorway of her sitting room; her terrier, Bonnie, was in her arms.

  ‘Oh, Miss Lambert. I thought I heard your voice. Won’t you come in?’ She stepped back from the door, the crushed skirts of her sack-back dress swaying with the movement of her slender hips.

  ‘I… Of course.’ Crushing down a weary sigh—she really wasn’t ready for this conversation—Judith followed the young widowed countess into the room. It was cold; the fire had long burnt out and only ashes and dead black coals lay in the grate. Trays covered in half-drunk cups of tea, smeared glasses, and dirty plates littered nearly every flat surface in the room, and through the half-open doorway leading into the countess’s bedroom, Judith could see that her bed was unmade.

  Where on earth were all the servants?

  Lady Glenleven waved a thin, pale hand towards a settee covered in a worn and faded floral brocade. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  Judith moved a crumpled sheaf of papers and a discarded shawl to the side then perched on the edge of the chair. Lady Glenleven, her dog still in her arms, gracefully subsided onto a chaise longue on the opposite side of the hearthrug.

  Her slender shoulders lifted and fell with a dramatic sigh. ‘My brother isn’t here.’

  ‘I know, Drysdale told me.’

  ‘I’m not sure when he’ll be back. Sarah’s desertion has struck him hard.’

  Judith huffed. ‘Lady Glenleven. I think it’s about time you stopped playing games with me. I know Sarah never penned that letter your brother showed me.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You wrote it, didn’t you?’

  The countess’s auburn eyebrows shot up. ‘How did you know?’ she breathed.

  ‘Considering I taught my niece to write, I’d know her penmanship anywhere. And that handwriting was not hers.’

  Lady Glenleven’s mouth turned down and she plucked at her skirts. Her brow was furrowed—whether in thought or displeasure, Judith wasn’t sure. Perhaps both.

  She decided to venture another question. ‘Do you know where Sarah is, my lady? I love her with all my heart. Indeed, she is like a daughter to me. If anything terrible has happened to her, I really do not think that I could bear it.’

  The countess lifted her gaze. ‘Miss Lambert, I honestly do not know where your niece is. And as far as I know, neither does my brother. I’m sorry I gave you false hope by penning that letter but Malcolm was so set on avoiding any scandal… He didn’t want you going to the Town Guard and stirring up a fuss.’

  ‘Thank you for your honesty, my lady.’ Judith looked about the room then brought her gaze back to Lady Glenleven’s. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could also be frank about your brother’s financial situation. It seems to me that he is rather short of money.’

  The countess pushed a lank, undressed curl away from her face. Her cheeks reddened. ‘Yes. He is.’

  ‘Sarah’s disappearance must be quite an ordeal for him then. And for you. You cannot be happy here… the way things are…’

  In the ensuing silence, the only sounds were the ticking of the plain wooden mantel clock and a faint snuffle from Bonnie as she snuggled into her mistress’s lap. As Judith watched Lady Glenleven, her topaz eyes grew unusually bright, and when she attempted a smile, her lips trembled.

  ‘I must confess, things have been better.’ The countess dropped her gaze and stroked Bonnie’s silky ears.

  ‘If you no longer wish to stay here—’

  Lady Glenleven looked up. ‘I’ve just received an offer of marriage from the Earl of Arbelour. And I’m thinking of accepting. He’s a good deal older than me but he’s kind. And I think he loves me.’

  ‘He sounds lovely.’

  Lady Glenleven’s smile was less fragile this time. ‘He is.’

  ‘I’m happy for you then.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Judith got to her feet. There was really nothing else left to be said. ‘If you don’t mind, my lady, I should like to retire to my rooms. The journey from Newcastle is a long one—’

  ‘Of course.’ Lady Glenleven put Bonnie aside and rose also. Then, to Judith’s astonishment, she took her hands in hers.

  ‘Thank you again, Miss Lambert. I hope you find your niece. As I said before, I truly do not know where she is. And neither does Malcolm. He is desperate to find her of course, but—’ She broke off then her gaze firmed as if she’d made a decision. ‘I rather think Sarah should think twice about marrying him… when she returns.’

  It was Judith’s eyes that brimmed with tears this time. ‘Do you think she will?’

  ‘I pray that she does.’ The countess squeezed her hands. ‘In the meantime, I think you might like to visit the Grassmarket as soon as you feel able to. There’s a shop there by the name of Dunmore’s. Hopefully you will still find something of Sarah’s there. Something that is no doubt dear to her.’

  Judith’s breath caught. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  ‘I would’ve suggested that you take my sedan chair but Malcolm recently sold it… But have Drysdale hail a public chair for you. I trust you have the funds?’

  Judith knew the countess was referring to the money she would need to secure Sarah’s stolen parure, not the fee to hire the sedan chair. ‘I think I will be able to scrape something together.’

  The countess nodded. ‘Good.’

  ‘God bless you, Lady Glenleven.’ As Judith took her leave, she decided that her pot of tea and plate of shortbread could wait until later. She’d call on the capable Mr Weston and ask him to accompany her to the Cowgate. When Sarah returned, her mother’s jewellery would be waiting for her.

  ***

  Lochrose Castle, near Grantown-on-Spey, the Highlands

  25 February 1757

  Alex’s gut was a ball of tight knots as he waited in the elegantly appointed library of Lochrose Castle. It had been well over a year since he’d last seen his friend, Robert Grant, Viscount Lochrose, in Kingston, Jamaica—although, at that particular time, he’d gone by the name of Robert Burnley.

  Alex trusted he would receive a warm reception. But would Robert’s welcoming attitude change when he asked him for a favour, one that might very well place him at risk? Would he be willing to put his name and reputation on the line for another Jacobite-on-the-run?

  Of course, it couldn’t hurt to ask…

  At least that’s what Alex tried to tell himself as he paced back and forth across the richly patterned Turkish rug in front of a magnificent mahogany desk. The longcase clock in the corner marked the hour, noon, and he was horribly aware
of how filthy he was. Since he’d left Blackloch yesterday morning, he’d ridden all day and half of the night, only stopping to change horses and grab the occasional meal. His boots were mud-caked, his buckskin breeches and cambric shirt stank of horse and sweat, and he desperately needed a shave.

  But then he reminded himself that he was doing this for Sarah and the children they would have.

  And every other care paled into insignificance compared to that.

  He’d just twitched back the plush velvet curtains to study the sweeping vista of picturesque loch and wooded braes through one of the tall, mullion-paned windows, when the polished oak doors swung open.

  ‘Alex!’ Robert Grant strode into the room, a wide grin curving his mouth. He grasped Alex in a warm hug, slapping him on the back before releasing him to study his face. ‘It’s been too long, my friend.’

  ‘Indeed it has.’ Despite his qualms, Alex found himself grinning too. ‘You look well. Actually, damn well. Living the life of a landed nobleman who’s happily wed clearly agrees with you.’

  ‘Aye, it certainly does agree with me.’ Robert crossed to a carved mahogany sideboard and held up a crystal decanter. ‘Care to share a wee dram for old times’ sake?’

  ‘Of course.’ Armed with tumblers of whisky redolent of peat smoke and honey, Alex and Robert took seats before the crackling fire.

  Ever perceptive and forthright, Robert got straight to the point. ‘So tell me, what brings you to Lochrose? Something tells me this isn’t just a social call.’

  Alex took a fortifying sip of his whisky then grimaced. ‘Aye. You’re not wrong at all.’

  Robert reclined in his brown leather wing chair and sipped his own whisky, waiting for Alex to elaborate.

  ‘It’s…’ Alex sat forward, rolling his tumbler between his hands as contemplated how best to broach the sensitive subject on his mind. ‘Oh, hell. I’ve met a woman. The most amazing, beautiful, and delightfully sweet woman. And I want to make her my wife.’

  ‘Well, that’s superb news, Alex.’ Robert leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations are in order then.’