First Time with a Highlander

by Gwyn Cready

  “Thirty pounds!” Serafina’s mouth fell open. “Tell her it’s hers!”

  “There’s a bit more to it. She wants it now.”

  “Now?”

  “Before any more guests arrive. She’s willing to offer you another for the evening.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t want me padding naked through the dining room?”

  Gerard clutched his chest and closed his eyes. “My heart.”

  “Gerard—Mr. Bond—is to bring the dress to her—”

  “Oh, I don’t like the sound of this,” Gerard said.

  “—and she’ll provide another dress at that time for Miss Fallon.”

  “Did she suggest a place I might change?”

  “She did not.”

  Gerard smiled. “May I suggest the closest closet?”

  Forty-seven

  Gerard closed the linen closet’s door by backing Serafina into it.

  “Oof,” she said.

  “That’s the least of what you’ll be saying.” He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her hard. God, she smelled great.

  “Are you sure the door’s locked?”

  He reached around and threw the bar. Then he spun her so her palms were on the door. She made a surprised noise that melted into a purr as he found her breasts. Firm and weighty, they filled his hands and then his head.

  “Have you been had standing?” he growled.

  “No.”

  “Liar.” He took in the dizzying musk of her hair and skin. “I want you, Sera. As hard and as fast as possible.”

  She gasped, and he tugged her nipples roughly.

  “Loosen the ribbons,” he commanded.

  As she did, he popped the buttons on his breeks, freeing his hardened cock, and watched the sheer fabric slip from her shoulder to her waist.

  He lifted her skirts; found the thick carpet nestled at the base of her high, round mounds; and slipped inside.

  The first thrust rattled the door.

  “Too loud,” she warned.

  He turned her forcibly into the adjoining bare wall and pressed himself deeper into her.

  “Oh, God,” she cried, forehead resting on an arm.

  He wanted to take the moment and pierce it so it couldn’t run away. He wanted to hammer the thought of any other man from her head. He wanted to mark her in a way that the men who came after would instantly recognize. But every thrust mired him more deeply in his own emotions. He was like a man in quicksand, trying to get free and burying himself while doing it.

  Damn you, Sera.

  Harder he hammered, and she mewled and writhed.

  He clasped her breasts and lifted her to her toes with his brutal assault. But she only screwed herself closer.

  “You’re mine,” she whispered. “Serve me.”

  His knees were jelly. He wanted to end it—plant himself so far in her, she’d never forget him.

  Then she slid away and turned, arching her back against the wall. She lifted her skirt and opened a leg.

  He fell slowly to his knees, his cock aching, and kissed her. She fretted in the dark, moaning happily, and then she threaded both hands in his hair and stiffened.

  Liquid, she slipped down the wall until she was on her knees beside him.

  “Poor man.” She clasped his sensitive flesh, teasing the tip.

  “Have you heard the saying ‘Don’t stir up a hornet’s nest’?”

  “No.” She stroked from base to tip. “What does it mean?”

  He untied the final bows at her waist and the chemise fell to the floor. He tossed it aside, taking in what he could see in the dark of her in nothing but shoes and the bowed stockings that ended at her thighs.

  “I’d pay a thousand ships to bed you and still have underpaid.”

  He pressed her slowly to the floor, lifted her legs nearly to her shoulders, and entered her. He savored each stroke, stretching the moment until the fabric of the universe seemed ready to burst. Then he let himself go and drowned in her arms.

  The buzz of pleasure was slowly replaced by the noise of servants passing in the hall. He held her, sad and afraid of the ache of letting go. She brushed his hair from his face, and he could feel her mournful smile. Even without words, they knew they were lost to one another.

  “The world awaits,” he said.

  “Aye.”

  * * *

  He left Serafina wrapped in a blanket, and the click of the door’s bar behind him felt as definitive as the closing of castle portcullis, separating him forever from the woman he loved. When he rounded the first corner, he found Undine waiting for him, arms crossed. She regarded him coolly.

  “Is that how you help her fall in love with Edward?”

  “We were saying good-bye.” He refused to apologize for it. He’d had enough of the white witch.

  Undine took his hand, and he realized she was passing him a small glass vial. It had an orange tag loosely tied around its neck with string. On the tag was a hand-drawn heart with an arrow shot through it, angled toward the ground. A regular Cupid’s Valentine.

  “’Tis the potion you asked for,” she said. “It’s odorless and tasteless. Take care with it. The person who drinks it will fall in love with the first person they see.”

  Gerard opened his mouth, but she anticipated him.

  “No, Edward won’t fall in love with you,” she said, “though it would work just fine if he were teetering on the edge of it. The person who drinks this will fall in love with the first person he sees for whom he is already inclined to be in love. For Edward, of course, that would be Serafina. He’s a thoughtless fool, but I do think he cares for her in his own inadequate way.”

  Gerard stared at the viscous liquid. If Undine was right, and he had no reason to doubt her, he had the power at last to give Serafina what she wanted. However distasteful she might find a marriage to Edward, if she accepted his proposal—and Gerard believed he could convince her to—the potion would ensure Edward loved her, and Gerard could be certain she’d be treated with affection and respect, even if she herself was not in love.

  And, as usual, it was as if Undine read his thoughts. “No. You cannot have another for Serafina. I’d never use such a thing on a friend, and in any case, she’s not predisposed to care for him.”

  “I wouldn’t use it on her either. For Christ’s sake, I’d never betray her like that. I have her best interests at heart.”

  Undine didn’t respond.

  Gerard said, “She’ll have money and a measure of independence.”

  “A measure of independence,” Undine said drolly. “Every woman’s dream.”

  The pain of the underlying accusation nearly undid him. “You know I asked her to come back with me. I asked her and she turned me down flat, so if you’re thinking there’s more I could be doing for her, there’s not.” He turned, but Undine caught his arm.

  “Mr. Innes, you have proven yourself to be a true friend to Serafina. I owe you the courtesy of believing you’d act in no way to cause her harm. You’ve certainly earned my trust. Come to me when you’ve finished with Elizabeth and Edward, and I’ll help you prepare for your passage.”

  Gerard took a step and stopped. “Could she have gone with me, I mean if she chose to? Does the magic work that way? Or did she already know from you she couldn’t go and turned me down to allow me to leave without feeling guilty?” He was afraid his voice betrayed how eager he was for the answer to be the latter.

  For the first time since he’d known her, Undine’s cool exterior melted into sincere sorrow. “She didn’t ask me, but she could have gone if she’d wanted to.”

  That’s that, then.

  With a heavy heart, he slipped the vial into his frock coat pocket.

  He reached the door Abby had directed him to, the bundle of gown in his arms. He looked around nerv
ously and knocked. Elizabeth opened the door.

  “I have it,” he said. “I know you’ll be lovely in it.”

  He held out the bundle, and she pulled him inside.

  “I’m not staying,” he said firmly. The room was small, just a bed, a wardrobe, and a hearth over which a mass of candles burned, though a pair of French doors led to the estate’s enormous gardens, visible in the moonlight.

  She lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed him. His stomach roiled.

  “You’ll have to stay,” she said, grinning, “if you want a dress to return to Miss Fallon.” She turned and offered him the back of her gown.

  “Is there not another dress here?” He gestured to the wardrobe.

  She grinned at him over her shoulder. “’Tis not my bedchamber, James. ’Tis a guest room in a rarely used wing of the house.”

  He sighed and put down the parcel.

  “I’ve never had a man undress me before,” she said as he undid the first buttons. “’Tis rather pleasant.”

  “Don’t get too used to it. Your father is a friend, and I respect him too much to take advantage of his daughter.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think you’re a friend of my father’s at all.”

  He froze.

  “Don’t stop.”

  He returned to the buttons, wondering how he was going to extricate himself and a very naked Serafina from the estate. “Why do you think that?”

  “I asked my father about you.”

  “When?”

  “A few minutes ago. After you walked off with Miss Fallon. Are you two lovers?”

  He unbent. “That’s none of your business.”

  She reached behind her and undid the last buttons herself. “It doesn’t matter. I like you anyway.”

  She slipped out of the gown, leaving only the thin muslin of the chemise he’d given her between them. “I’m cold,” she said.

  He slipped off his jacket and put it on her shoulders. Then he picked up the gown she’d abandoned. The fabric was a heavy silk plaid with threads of gold in the pattern of brown and cream.

  “Are you in love with Edward Turnbull?”

  “Edward Turnbull?” She laughed. “Hardly.”

  “But the dress… He evidently cares for you.”

  She gazed at him, confused. “I’ve barely spoken to Edward Turnbull. I know my father works with him, but I hardly know him.”

  “But he commissioned the dress for you.” Serafina had seen the receipt at the tailor.

  “No, he didn’t. My father did.”

  Gerard gazed distractedly at the fabric, trying to unravel the implications of what she’d said. When he looked up, Elizabeth was looking at the vial.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  His heart stopped. “A potion. Give it to me.”

  She looked at him, a look of happiness spreading across her face. “Are you jealous of Edward Turnbull?”

  “Elizabeth, give it to me.”

  “I will not.”

  He put his hand out, and she held the bottle out of reach.

  “Elizabeth,” he said sharply, “I don’t have the faintest interest in you. I don’t want to sleep with you. I don’t want to flirt with you. I don’t really even want to be your friend. The potion has nothing to do with you. Give it to me.”

  Tears filled her eyes. He reached for her, and she jerked away from him, knocking the frock coat to the floor. She grabbed the parcel and ran out the French doors.

  He ran after her, but she had the advantage of knowing the garden better than he, and she disappeared through a hedgerow that rose above his head.

  Dammit.

  He turned to find a likely exit and ran down the first long side. When he turned again, he saw Lord Hiscock, talking with several guests.

  Hiscock stepped from the circle when he spotted Gerard and waved his hand. “Mr. Bond, I must insist on a word with you.”

  Gerard swallowed and dashed in a different direction. He had to find the potion and alert his friends. He didn’t know what alarms Elizabeth had set off in her father’s head, but it would be best for all of them if he made a quick exit.

  He ran toward the house and circled it, peering in each window for his friends, but the rooms were too crowded. He ran up the stairs to the entrance and nearly knocked Abby over.

  “What is it?”

  “Elizabeth asked her father about James Bond. He disavowed knowing me. I was a fool to have said I was a friend of his. And now Elizabeth is furious with me and he wants to talk—a very bad combination. We have to tell Undine. She may be in danger since Hiscock knows we’re together.” He shoved the plaid gown into her hands. “And get this to Sera. She’s in the linen closet near the servants’ quarters.”

  “You canna be seen,” she said. “Hide near the orangery. We’ll find you there.”

  * * *

  Gerard waited in a dense grove of oaks, just beyond the glass building. Serafina climbed the gentle rise toward him.

  “I’m afraid the sloth wasn’t the only spectacle tonight,” he said.

  Serafina slipped her hand in his. “Undine says you’re not to worry. Abby and Duncan are collecting the carriage. They’ll meet us a half mile to the south.”

  “You look far more beautiful in that gown than Elizabeth Hiscock ever could.”

  “What happened with her?”

  “Not only didn’t I want her when she offered herself to me, I insulted her so badly, I suspect she may pick me off with a pistol next time she sees me—and she’d have every right to. I’ve completely lost my touch with women.”

  Serafina laughed, and it made his heart sing.

  They padded through the trees and past the end of the tall hedgerow.

  “Is that a maze?” he whispered. “It looks forbidding.”

  “You’ve never been in the center of it. It’s a well-known place for liaisons. The scent of the roses fill one’s head. The moon shines down. The world and all its problems are far away. Or so I’ve heard,” she added with a smile.

  “You’ve never been there, of course.”

  “Of course.” When they reached the edge of the grove closest to the road, she said, “Wait. There’s something here I want you to see.” She turned him around.

  In the distance stood Edinburgh Castle. Tiny fires around its rampart walls flickered like the halo of an angel.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Aye,” she said with pride. “A striking contrast to what goes on inside. ’Twas never breeched, you know—till we allowed the English inside.”

  Gerard wondered if perhaps that’s how she thought of her heart and Edward. “Why the fires?”

  “I’d like to say it was for the soldiers who walk the curtain wall—’tis an English army post now, you see. In truth, though, the fires are rarely lit up. I suppose Lord Hiscock requested it to entertain his guests. ’Tis also his way to show his alliance with those who wish to take Scotland under their control.”

  The lights of the city, dim and scattered compared to present-day Manhattan or even present-day Edinburgh, still stood out like a twinkling galaxy over the black-purple hills. He looked back at Hiscock’s house. Torches flickered around the enormous sculpture in the fountain at the head of the garden.

  “Who are the figures?” he asked her. “I never got to see the fountain up close.”

  “Artemis and Adonis,” she said. “Lovers. They’re verra provocative.”

  “I’ve seen worse.” He smiled.

  He’d only been here three days, but the land and hills here already felt a bit like his. And he knew the reason why. She was standing beside him.

  “Sera, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Her brows knit. “Aye?”

  “I told you I talked to Edward’s mother.”

 
The same hurt flared in her eyes.

  “I’m not going to ask you to come to my time again,” he said quickly. “I-I understand that’s not what you want…and I respect your decision even if I don’t fully understand it. Mrs. Turnbull gave me a message for you. She loves you, Sera. No matter what her son says. She loves you and misses you.”

  Serafina’s eyes began to glisten. Gerard pulled her into his arms and shared his strength with her. “And she told me how much Edward cares for you. She acknowledged his faults and says he’s changed. And her one wish—her only wish,” he added, lying most ignobly, “is for you to keep an open mind about him. Can you do that?”

  “Oh, Gerard.”

  “For her?”

  “He asked to meet me tonight, you know. In Hiscock’s library. He has something to ask me.”

  Another proposal. A vise closed over Gerard’s heart, but he reminded himself she would have a ship and swallowed the pain. “It would please Edward’s mother so much if you’d forgive him.”

  He heard Elizabeth Hiscock’s voice in the distance, in conversation with a man. Serafina heard it too. He wanted that vial.

  “There’s something I have to do,” he whispered.

  “Now?”

  “Go without me. I can see the carriage from here. I’ll be there in ten minutes, no more.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go.” He retraced his steps until he spotted the girl, a blaze of white in Serafina’s chemise gown. She stood in a shelter of vines, beside a path on which party guests traveled in twos and threes. She was talking to a red-coated English soldier—a senior soldier if the gold rope looped around his shoulder was any indication. The soldier faced away from him, but Gerard could see him hand a flask to Elizabeth. She drank deeply.

  The soldier said something confidentially to Elizabeth. She laughed again, and the man’s hand slid neatly onto her lower back. He pressed her forward, looking over his shoulder as he did it.

  They wandered on the path near Gerard, and he pressed himself further behind a tree.

  They chose the path that led not toward the house but deeper into the garden. The soldier chatted about the absurd charm of the sloth. Elizabeth shook her head, “You are a wit, Bridgewater.”