Bagpipes played a lively tune not far away. Attracted by the music, James let the subject drop and turned to lead Scarlett that way. They stopped to watch as one of the kilted Highlanders laid his swords down on the ground and began to dance over them. Scarlett’s red skirts swung from side to side like seductive flames as her hips swayed enticingly. She smiled up at him. Her amber eyes alight with joy.
“Yer smiles are so verra bonny,” he said softly. “Ye gi’ them so freely.”
“And you hoard yours,” she said teasingly. “I’m surprised as you are, though. Would you believe that not so very long ago every smile I had was forced?”
“Nay.”
“Yes, it was exhausting.”
Another curious statement from his ever-enigmatic captive.
Or was it he who was now the one held in thrall?
Scarlett applauded the dancer when the tune was finished and the piper launched into mournful ballad. A crusty old Scotsman seated by one of the tents joined his voice to the melody, slightly off-key but sweet all the same even though she couldn’t make out the words.
“How lovely,” she said softly, leaning into Laird as he slid an arm around her waist. “What language is that?”
His brows rose. “’Tis Gaelic, lass. Do ye no’ even recognize our ancient language? True our own King hardly knows a smattering himself but ‘tis the language of our people.”
Scarlett grimaced, biting back the urge to retort that she wasn’t one of his people. Though their argument the previous night had been spurred by another example of her not any ‘familiarity’ with their ways and had resulted in an extremely satisfying night of rapture, she wasn’t eager to rouse his anger now. Lord knew she had at least enough acting ability to fit in if only to maintain the status quo.
“You speak it, I take it?” she asked instead, recalling the foreign words he had spoken. What did mo chroí mean, she wondered? Mo ghrá? It would be too embarrassing to ask.
“Aye.”
“Then maybe you can teach me one day.”
His eyes were full of questions and doubt again but he only said, “Mayhap.”
“And I can teach you how to play the lute,” she offered.
Astonishment and pleasure – probably because there was finally something she knew that was familiar to him – leapt into his eyes. “Ye play?”
“Yes.” Sort of. She played the guitar, but six strings were six strings, right? How hard could it be? “My mother’s second husband was a musician.” – A guitar player in a Seattle grunge band in the nineties, but close enough – “He lasted the longest of them all and was actually inclined to give fatherhood a chance,” – at least for a little while – “He taught me when I was little.”
“Ye shall hae to play for me. Music is a pleasant way to pass an evening.”
“Oh, I think we could manage to pass an evening pretty well, don’t you?”
“Yer a saucy lass.”
“And you’re a roguish laird,” she shot back. Laird relaxed and laughed, keeping his arm around her as they turned back toward her tent. The music faded behind them as they wound their way through the encampment. Here and there, men greeted Laird. As Rhys had long said, he was well liked.
Rhys had said a lot of things.
“Rhys told me that your father wants you to get married.”
Laird was silence for a moment but then admitted, “Aye, he does.”
“Is that what you didn’t want to tell me about? How your father holds your future in his hands?” she asked. “It’s a pretty big piece of information to withhold.”
“Aye.”
It was a fairly unhelpful response but it was enough for Scarlett to understand that Laird was no happier with his father’s arrangements than Rhys was.
“Who does he want you to marry? Some old, withered hag?”
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth and Laird must have been feeling chatty for a change. “Nay, my cousin, Jean Scot of Buccleuch. Young, comely and well-dowered wi’ lands attaching my own.”
Something irksomely bitter lumped in her throat but she swallowed it back. Jealousy? No, that would be ridiculous. “Your cousin? How close of a cousin? There are laws against that sort of thing, you know?”
That half-smile broadened to a full-on grin as he looked down at her. It might have been the first time he had ever smiled at her so and the sight of those long dimples creasing his cheeks, of his humor-filled eyes shining like chrome with humor sent Scarlett’s heartbeat galloping yet again. God but he was dazzling.
“No’ close enough to offend the church,” he said, his smile slipped away. “But nigh close enough for me to feel nae more than sisterly affection.”
“Then why do it?”
“Hae ye much triumph in yer life of keeping yer father from interfering in yer life, lass? If true, tell me the key to yer success so I might use it to unlock my own freedoms.”
Scarlett cringed inwardly at his challenge. No, she had never had much success in telling her father ‘no’. If she had, no one in the world would know her name. She’d be just another southern girl in a southern town. “What would happen if you didn’t marry her? I mean, if he loves you, surely he wouldn’t force you into something you didn’t want to do?”
“Ah, mo chroí, do ye truly understand so little of our ways?” he asked, echoing Rhys’ sentiment from earlier. “My father cares far more for position and connection than affection. Were I to deny him in this, he would withhold his aid in refurbishing my keep. I am no pauper, but the task requires ready funds. I need his investment.”
“Why? You could get a job, couldn’t you?”
“A job?” Laird repeated and shook his head. “By God, lass, but ye’ve a strange manner of speech. Where did ye learn such words that I can no’ e’en ken yer meaning?”
“Employment,” she clarified, not daring to explain. “A trade.”
“A trade? My father would be appalled. Lady Ishbel e’en more so.” A look of mischief passed across his face. “The idea has merit. But, nay. I hae no tenants, no fields. The ground of Achenmeade has lain fallow for many years.”
Achenmeade! Scarlett knew she had heard the name before. Now she remembered why. Why the Achenmeade label was one of the oldest brands of Scotch in the world. Almost, well, five hundred years old. Wasn’t that a coincidence? “Scotch,” she blurted out. “You could make scotch. The best the world has ever known.”
“Scotch.”
“Whiskey,” she hurried on excitedly, turning to catch his hand between hers. “All you need is to go dig up that friar of yours and start bottling the stuff. You could sell it and get rich.”
“I cannae fathom.” Laird shook his head, but he was thinking about it. Scarlett could see the wheels turning in his mind. “Mayhap I could keep Dunskirk wi’out Father’s aid.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have a trade than be at his beck and call?”
“The idea does hold some appeal.”
“You could be free to do what you want.”
“Could I?” Tilting her chin up, he brushed his lips across hers and she felt the ever present spark between them ignite once more. “How aboot right now? ‘Tis been a long day wi’out ye, mo chroí.”
“Has it?” she teased breathlessly, parting her lips to deepen the delicious kiss.
Wrapping his arms around her waist and lifted her against him as he backed her into the tent without breaking their kiss. She lips softened, parting beneath his with a sigh. “Mhianliom tú, mo chroí. I maun hae ye.”
“What about propriety?”
“Fook propriety.”
“Okay.”
28
Gasping for air, Scarlett pushed away from Laird and pulled off her headdress. She flung it to the side and began untying the laces on the sides of her gown as she watched him strip away his kilt, hose and shirt. Already the delirium of her desire was setting in. Her heart was fluttering madly, her head woozy. Her body feverish and aching.
She’d had illness
es that were more mildly symptomatic.
His eyes darkened with hunger as she peeled the dress off her shoulders, leaving her in only her chemise. Laird eagerly aided her in seeing to its dismissal, sweeping it over her head and throwing it aside. Her nipples hardened, aching as his calloused palms curled around her breasts.
“I don’t know how you do this to me,” she moaned as his lips scathed down her neck to the hollow of her throat.
“Ye enflame me much the same,” he murmured softly.
“I’m not sure if I like it.” Contrary to her words, Scarlett wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him closer.
His warm chuckle puffed against her sensitive skin sending a wave of sensual chills down her spine. “Neither am I.”
Scarlett gasped as Laird cupped her bottom and pulled her flush against his long, hard body. “You might be more than I can handle.”
Even knowing that, she couldn’t resist him.
“Let’s find out.”
Laird lifted her and carried her to the mattress, falling with her onto the feathered depths and turning her beneath him. Scarlett pushed against his sweaty chest, harder still until he rolled onto his back, chest heaving, and a quizzical look on his face.
“What are ye aboot, lass?”
With a smile, she crawled over him until she straddled his hips. The rough hair of his thighs abraded her tender skin but the feel of him hard and naked below her only roused her more.
Clasping his face between her hands, she ran her fingernails over the scruff of his beard before dipping her head and kissing him passionately. She ran her tongue over his lips, nipping gently before she trailed kisses to his ear.
“Possession,” she whispered, breathing hard. “You had your chance before. This time it’s my turn.” She shifted from side to side, inching upward until he was nestled tightly against her groin. Her body was trembling, shaken be the force of her desire and by the frantic pounding of her heart. “I am going to take you, Laird. And not only because I want to shag you.”
Laird tensed beneath her with a swift intake of breath, Scarlett could feel his surprise in every line of his body. Grinning wickedly, she lifted her hips and positioned herself over him. Her breath seized, her body quivered as she descended slowly. Spreading for him, moisture gathering. His throbbing erection was poised for entry and Scarlett was aching for him. Laird sat up, wrapping his arm around her waist, lifting her. “Let me.”
“No,” she released a ragged breath. His intent, she knew, was to flip her beneath him and take control. She wanted this. Wanted to see him. Scarlett pushed him back once more, bracing her hands against his chest. Closing her eyes, she threw back her head and slowly took him in.
God, he was huge! Inch by inch she took him, a long moan torn from deep within escaped her as he filled her. She clenched around him, adjusting to him until she was seated completely. Savoring the moment, she ran her palms over his shoulders and chest, marveling at the feel of him, velvet over steel. Across the swell of his pecs, over the rise and fall of his abs.
“Lass. Scarlett,” his voice was harsh. “Look at me.”
Opening her eyes, Scarlett met Laird’s gaze, churning beneath hooded lids. Molten. His hands ran up her legs, roughly kneading her thighs until his fingers dug into her hips. He flexed his hips, his manhood jerking inside her.
“Are ye done wi’ this game of yers yet?”
Biting her lip, Scarlett shook her head. “Oh, it isn’t a game.” Rising up, she slid down his silky length but was up again quickly, then descending faster, harder. Her gasp was drown out by his agonized groan but again she was up. This time Laird was ready for her. His grip tightened on her hips and he pulled her down roughly, arching beneath her. Sensation shot through her, stealing her breath. Her heart stuttered. “Oh God,” she moaned. Lifting her, he urged her on, each time driving upward, more fervently. Meeting her frenetic pace.
Her climax was on her almost immediately, splintering through her like explosive charges and she cried out her release.
Laird bowed beneath her with a harsh yell. “Mo ghrá!” Sitting up, he held her tightly against him. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her lips to his. He kissed her deeply, swallowing her moans.
Scarlett collapsed against his sweaty, heaving chest. His heart was pounding hard; jumping against her cheek while Laird nuzzled her ear, his soft brogue nearly incoherent with murmurings of praise and nonsensical words.
He ran his tongue along the edge of her earlobe. “I’ve never had a woman mount me before.”
“Did you like it?” she asked, smiling against his chest as his arms tightened around her.
“Aye. There is some merit in being at someone’s mercy.”
Scarlett drew back to look up at him curiously. “Mercy?” she whispered, her voice surprisingly throaty.
His nod sent a tantalizing ripple through the muscles of his shoulder and chest. “Aye, let me show ye.”
A shudder of longing rippled over her at the promise in his voice. “Okay.”
Rotating her beneath him, Laird’s lips moved downward, nipping at her collarbone and the top of her breast before closing over her nipple. His tongue was hot, rough against the sensitive peak. Lacing her fingers through his hair, she held him against her but then he drew on her nipple more deeply. With a gasp, she tried to tug him away. Laird chuckled and suckled harder, sending bolts of pleasure/pain rocketing straight to her groin and Scarlett cried out, bowing off the mattress.
Grasping her wrists in one hand, he pinned them above her head and turned his attention to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. Scarlett sucked in strangled breath. “Laird!”
Laird lifted his head and grinned down at her. “’Tis part of being taken, lass. I only seek to ignite in ye the desperation ye rouse in me. If ye dinnae like it, tell me to stop and I will.”
He lifted a brow and waited while Scarlett panted indecisively beneath him. Not because she wanted him to stop but because of the way he said that. Taken. It sounded so primitive, so controlling to a modern woman like her. Did she want to be taken like that by this man?
The answer came quickly. Oh, hell yes.
Scarlett looked down the length of his body poised over her. Every muscle was defined, flexed and bulging. He was magnificent. “Well, what were you waiting for?” She had intended the words to come out as a bold dare but instead they were breathless with anticipation.
With a groan, his lips descended on hers. His tongue swept over hers before he tore mouth away. It was back, hot and wet, on her breast. Picking up where he had left off.
Her breast, a small but perfect mound, rising and falling beneath his lips. James suckled hard once more, savoring her cries of delight. The musky scent of her filled his senses. Releasing her hands, he cupped her other breast in his palm, rolling the nipple between his fingers until Scarlett was again fisting her hands in his hair, now urging him on.
She was glorious in her passion. Her ivory skin flushed pink in her excitement, her flesh warm, damp with perspiration. Tasting of salt, heat and Scarlett. Dipping his head to her belly, he turned his head from side to side, knowing his lass loved the chafing of his beard against her delicate skin. She stiffened and moaned, nearly tearing his hair from his scalp.
With a dark chuckle, he flipped her over onto her stomach, licking, biting, sucking as if he might devour her. His long fingers bit into her bottom, kneading. The hair on his chest, prickling her as his body caressed hers. Then his mouth followed behind. Down each leg and up again until he tasted every inch of her.
Her blood was surging through her veins like fire. Her panting breaths became shallow and frantic. Her head was swimming but she refused to faint. She didn’t want to miss a second of this.
She was on her back again; his hands and mouth working their way back up her legs. Laird was not gentle with her. In fact, he seemed utterly abandoned as if he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t get enough of her. The thought thrilled h
er even more. Desperation, he had said. If he was feeling anything of the feverish yearning he provoked in her, she could well understand his lack of restraint.
His hot breath blowing against her was her only warning before his mouth closed over the throbbing nub at the juncture of her thighs. A hoarse cry escaped her as his tongue circled her, then he bit down lightly. The orgasm came so quickly, Scarlett arched off the bed in shock as pleasure swept her like a whirlwind. Frenzied charges sparked and flared. With his tongue, Laird soothed her with soft strokes but the moment she relaxed, he was at it again.
He let the storm build more slowly this time, the tension escalated, knotting almost painfully until Scarlett was panting desperately, begging. Her release when it came was as blinding as a flash of lightning sending electricity cursing through her.
Then again. This time when she came Laird lifted himself over her, hooking her leg over his shoulder until her thighs were spread wide to welcome him. His eyes were hot, holding some emotion Scarlett couldn’t identify. He ran his fingers through her short hair and kissed her gently, then again more deeply as he plunged within her. He hissed as he sucked in a sharp breath.
His brogue was sensual, throaty. “Yer so hot. Ah, lass!”
Laird’s lips took hers as he began to move, slowly at first as if he were trying to draw it out. His chest rocked against hers, hearts pounding as one. Dragging over her tender nipples. He cupped her bottom in one big hand, urging her to match his rhythm. The languor was only fleeting, however. Desperation had its own demands. Their tempo hastened. Laird lifted himself over her, changing the angle of his thrusts. With a gasp, Scarlett wrapped her free leg around his hips, dragging her nails up them until she could grasp his hard buttocks as he flexed with every thrust.
Faster. He slammed into her. Deeper and deeper still until she was caught in rapacious agony, caught in the tempest once more.
Words of passion, words she couldn’t understand were on his lips. “Tog den. Bhful don.” She could hear no more as she reached the eye of the storm. Her blood was raging in her ears, the torment too much to bear. A sob was torn from deep within.
Taken: A Laird for All Time Novel (Volume 2) Page 22