The Highlander's Stolen Bride

by Melanie George

  “Food,” Derek answered. “And lots of it.”

  The man bobbed his head obediently and backed out of the room.

  Laying Rosalyn on the bed, Derek stepped back to look at her. She shifted to her side, her slender hands sliding up to prop beneath her cheek, a thin beam of light washing her face in a golden glow, highlighting her pale beauty and making her appear almost ethereal.

  His thoughts were not nearly so heavenly. He imagined slowly stripping the clothes from her body, bringing her awake with his mouth on hers, looking into her dewy blue eyes as his hands cupped her beautiful breasts, so round and ripe, a bounty on such a petite frame.

  Her gaze would stay upon him as she took her hand and guided his shaft into her tight passage, moaning low as he slipped voluptuously into her, pausing tenderly at her maidenhead before breaking through and claiming her, his body wracked in an agony of enjoyment.

  He would rock in and out of her, plunge to the hilt and ease all the way out, over and over again, holding himself in check as he felt the signs of her ardor, her warm, wet vault closing tighter around him, squeezing, drawing him in, her nails digging into his back as she urged him on until she reached orgasm, her cry of pleasure ringing in his ears.

  Derek sucked in a deep breath, his trousers molding an erection that bordered on painful as he opened a window to cool his heated body. Daily his thoughts grew more indecent, his body more randy. Rosalyn was a lady and must be treated as such. He did not want to scare her.

  He glanced down at her sleeping form and thought she looked like an angel. Derek wondered if she always slept so deeply or if sheer exhaustion had taken hold of her. He resisted a childish need to wake her, if for no other reason than to talk to her. She never failed to entertain him with her stories.

  A knock at the door brought him around in time to see his uncle pop his head in. “The lass is asleep, I see.”

  “Your powers of observation are remarkable,” Derek drawled as he undid his cufflinks and pocketed them.

  “Don’t get snide now, lad. I was only makin’ sure she was well.”

  “Next time, wait for your knock to be answered. She could have been undressing.”

  The corner of Darius’s lip lifted in a grin. “And I suspect that would have been a fetchin’ sight indeed.” Derek’s scowl did not deter his uncle. “While we’re on the topic, why are you in here? Does your fair ‘cousin’ require a maid to brush her flaxen hair? ’Tis quite the image; the mighty laird playin’ lady’s maid.”

  “You stretch the boundaries of my patience, uncle.”

  Darius scoffed. “All bark, y’are, lad. If the Trelawny boys knew what a soft touch y’ were, I suspect ye’d have found yourself dethroned by now.”

  The only person who had ever found Derek remotely soft was his uncle, and that was only because Derek had treated him with the deference due him for his age.

  “They’re welcome to try,” Derek replied. “Since you’re feeling so sage, perhaps you can shed some light on who’s behind the odd things that have been going on lately.”

  Darius straightened, his bushy brows yanked together in a deep frown. “Are ye implyin’ I’m a traitor?”

  Derek had no patience left for his uncle’s endless dramatics, and snapped, “The question is a straightforward one. You have as much to gain from seeing me dead as anyone.”

  His uncle’s hand tightened around the doorknob. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the question, then. And may your beloved father, God rest him, never know what ye have asked me this day. Good night tae ye.”

  Four

  D erek ran a hand through his hair and cursed softly. What a bloody damn day. First kidnappers, now this. He didn’t want to contemplate what might happen next.

  He wasn’t sure what had motivated him to accuse Darius of being disloyal. His uncle had always been there for him. He had mentored Derek when his own father had been too busy, and he had seen him through some of the toughest times of his life. When Derek had finally accepted his rightful duty and taken his father’s place as laird, Darius had crowed like a rooster. He would have to apologize in the morning. Now, however, he had to see to his charge.

  Derek turned back to the bed, expecting to find Rosalyn still asleep, but discovered drowsy blue eyes fixed on him in curiosity.

  “Where are we?” she murmured, her hair tumbled around her head like a golden cloud, making Derek itch to run his fingers through it. He had not been able to resist twining a length around his hand when he carried her upstairs.

  “We’re at an inn on the outskirts of the northern border.”

  She sat up against the pillows. “Did you stop because of me?”

  “Not at all.” Though in truth, she had been his main concern. He was used to covering a lot of ground before stopping, but the trip would have taken too much of a toll on her.

  She appeared so fragile, and he wondered how well she would hold up. Perhaps he should have taken her somewhere else, or left her with someone else. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. There was more than just the reaction of his clan to consider. There was Megan, too.

  He had known Megan since they were children, and though they were from opposing clans, the strife had not affected them. Oh, he’d tried to act tough with her. An eight-year-old boy pretending to be a mighty warlord, and she all of five years old and following him around, thinking he was ridiculous but worth the effort nonetheless. As the years rolled by, he had come to value her friendship.

  What would she think of his new houseguest?

  “We normally stop here before going on,” he said. “The terrain along the coastline can be dangerous after dark, and there are the border clans to consider.”

  Her brows drew lightly together. “Border clans?”

  Derek glanced out the window into the cloudless night, the moon cresting over the shadowed branches of the trees.

  “There are four border clans, and they fiercely monitor who is coming and going, especially if they get a whiff they’re English.”

  “Why does it make a difference if the person is English? The discord between England and Scotland no longer exists.”

  “It exists in the mind of some persistent Scots. We have long memories and tend to cling to our ways. Scots can be a suspicious lot by nature.”

  “You say ‘we.’ Do you consider yourself Scottish, then? You seem far more English. Your speech is impeccable.”

  Derek turned toward her and leaned his shoulder against the wall, something about her words rubbing a raw spot in him. “Despite this gentlemanly exterior, I am one of those heathenish Scots.”

  Some of the enjoyment dimmed from her eyes, and Derek cursed himself, knowing she had not been passing judgment as so many others, but merely speaking out of curiosity.

  “I speak as I do because it makes things easier,” he said, “and I prefer to be troubled as little as possible.”

  “I understand.” She looked away from him to fiddle with the sleeve of her dress.

  “And what is it you think you understand?”

  She slanted a quick sideways glance at him. “That you believe I will be trouble. You needn’t worry, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. So should you wish to travel on without me, I will be just fine.”

  Derek caught himself before he smiled. The lass was not only brave but stubborn, and perhaps had a healthy dose of temper, which might prove interesting.

  “Do you always jump to conclusions?” he asked, shouldering away from the wall and stopping at the edge of the bed, watching her eyes widen with each step he took.

  He trailed a finger along her cheek, leaving Rosalyn unable to catch hold of a single thought as he loomed over her, large and rugged.

  In the dim light, with whiskers dusting his jaw and his hair slightly wild, she could tell that his claim was not an idle one. He was not the refined gentleman she had believed. He had merely done as society expected of him while he was among it.

  Now that he was away from London, he could be him
self—the very prospect made Rosalyn shiver. She had believed he would be the courteous and polite man he had been thus far, if not somewhat removed. Looking in his eyes now, she saw a banked heat, and everything inside her responded to it.

  She wet her lips. “If I’m mistaken, please forgive me. I simply don’t wish to be a burden.”

  “Have I made you feel as though you were?” he asked, his voice slipping over her like silk.

  “No, but—”

  “Will you trust me?” His gaze met hers, and all her concerns were allayed. She might not completely understand him, but she did trust him.

  Rosalyn nodded.

  “Good,” he murmured, cupping her cheek, his thumb smoothing across her skin, making her want to close her eyes and lean into the warmth of his palm.

  The moment was broken by a knock on the door. Derek lowered his hand before turning toward the door and saying gruffly, “Come.”

  A portly man poked his head in. “Her ladyship’s bath is ready, my lord. May we bring it in?”

  Derek waved the man inside.

  The proprietor was followed by two boys, their cherubic faces smudged with dirt and their small feet bare. Rosalyn’s heart went out to them. They should be in bed by now, not carting water for her bath. It would feel divine, no doubt, but was unnecessary, as she had bathed just that morning.

  Tossing her legs over the side of the bed, she moved to her pelisse jacket and retrieved her beaded purse. Pulling out two coins, she turned to give each boy the money, but was stopped by a hand to her wrist. She glanced up to find Derek scowling at her.

  “Put it away, madam,” he told her in a voice that brooked no argument.

  “But I—”

  “I will attend to the matter.” He spoke calmly, but the steely look in his eyes said something far different.

  He turned from her and ushered the boys and the proprietor out the door. He stood with them for a moment, a low-voiced conversation ensuing before the door slowly clicked shut.

  Leaving her alone with him.

  Again.

  Need blazed anew, images of him bathing her—or bathing with her, stroking a warm, wet cloth over her shoulders and chest—and lower.

  But one glance told her that bathing—with or without her—was the last thing on his mind. Tension radiated from his tall frame as he regarded her through hooded eyes. “You will never go into your own purse again for anything. Do you understand? If you require something, you will come to me.”

  Rosalyn stared at him, taken aback by his vehemence and his audacity. She was not without means or the ability to decide how those funds would be disbursed. The coins would not pauper her and it surely would have helped those two boys.

  “I could not have heard you correctly.”

  “You heard me correctly.”

  “I will not be told what to do.”

  “So noted. Now, do you need any help undressing?”

  His lightning-quick switch of topic left Rosalyn momentarily unbalanced. “Excuse me?”

  “There must be at least two dozen buttons to undo. Why they make women’s clothing so confounding, I’ll never know. Little pearl beards running from your neck to your—” He frowned. “Makes no bloody sense.”

  The prospect of him helping her undress was both appealing and unnerving. “I don’t know what you could be thinking, my lord. If you’re expecting some kind of repayment for your generosity, I will thank you, but no more.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then tipped his head back and laughed. “You think I’m trying to seduce you?” He gestured to the tub. “I merely intended to assist you while the water is still hot.”

  The man was positively wretched. Couldn’t he have just said what he intended from the start?

  “Thank you for the offer, but if you’ll be so kind to send a maid, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He shook his head. “No maids here, I’m afraid.”

  “There must be one. Any woman will do—the proprietor’s wife, perhaps?”

  “He doesn’t have one.”

  “A barmaid, then? You aren’t going to tell me there aren’t any of them?”

  “There are plenty, but none that you’ll want helping you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “They have a penchant for robbing people blind.”

  Rosalyn scoffed. “The innkeeper would never let such a thing happen.”

  Derek cocked an eyebrow. “The proprietor splits whatever they take.”

  Rosalyn stared at him. “You mean he condones what they do?”

  “He insists upon it. Did the man look like a saint to you?”

  Rosalyn had never been one to pass judgment with a glance, but it was true that the innkeeper did have a particularly beady way about him, and there was something moderately sinister about his thin lips, and the way he had peered at her when he left had been a bit chilling. It had reminded her of the way Calder had always looked at her.

  Rosalyn lifted her chin. “If what you’re saying is true, then why do you stay here?”

  “Because the man knows better than to consider me a pigeon for his plucking.”

  Though his tone was calm, Rosalyn shivered. How had she not seen it before? He was dangerous. He should come with a sign that warned away the unwary.

  “Well,” she said, hands on hips, “I guess I’ll have to do for myself.”

  Derek crossed his arms over his chest with a devilish half-grin. “Are you sure?”

  Her heart missed a beat. “Positive.”

  He sighed. “I’ve been dismissed, then.” The way he trudged toward the door was so comical, Rosalyn had to suppress her laugh. He glanced over his shoulder as he gripped the doorknob. “If there’s nothing else I can do?”

  Rosalyn felt oddly discontent to see him leave. “Well, there is one thing.”

  The way his eyebrows rose told her what he thought that one thing was. She frowned at him, and he had the good sense to look chagrined. “And what is that?”

  Rosalyn nibbled her lower lip. “This may sound strange, but…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I’ve always been curious about the lives of working women.”

  He looked confused. “Why?”

  “I’d like to know what it’s like to make my own money.”

  “Don’t wish for something you would not want. The days are long, and the work is thankless. Any of them would give their eyeteeth to trade places with you.”

  “I’ve thought about writing on the subject—you know, from a female’s perspective. Have you ever noticed that all the newspaper articles are from a man’s point of view?”

  Derek chuckled. “It’s not exactly a new concept, I’m afraid.”

  “So surely it’s time for a change.”

  “And you think you can effect this change?”

  “Do you think I can’t?”

  “I have no doubt you can do anything you put your mind to, but historically, women writers have been verbally stoned. Such a female would have to be very tough to survive the slings and arrows.”

  “I’m much tougher than I look.” Rosalyn lifted her chin.

  Those cobalt blue eyes gave her a thoroughly wicked appraisal.

  Heat and indignation rose inside her. “I wasn’t referring to physical toughness, my lord.”

  “But you must admit that you don’t exactly look the rugged type.”

  “And what type do I look like?”

  “The truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “You look…pampered. I can’t imagine you’ve had a day of hard labor in your life.”

  Rosalyn stared at him, shocked and hurt by his assessment. “Pampered? I’ll have you know that I have never been pampered in my entire life. I spent a good portion of my life on the Cornish coast—not the type of place for cosseted females.”

  “There’s no need to defend yourself to me. You were born a lady. I wouldn’t expect you to know any other life than what you’ve lived.”

&nb
sp; He didn’t seem to believe a lady had a great deal of worth. Well, she would show him quite differently.

  “I’m far more capable than you imagine.”

  “And I look forward to your revealing each and every one of those capabilities.” His remark sounded seductive, matching the gleam in his eyes. “But I believe you were extolling the virtues of the working female?”

  “I was merely saying that I’d like to know more about these women’s daily lives. Perhaps if someone exposed the conditions under which they were forced to work, it could bring about a change.”

  “It’s a nice thought, but it won’t happen.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because people would have to give a damn, and few do.”

  “I do. In fact, I could start my research with the women here.”

  “These particular females are not the type you would associate with.”

  “And why is that? Stealing is nothing I fear.”

  “It is not the stealing that concerns me. Rather that they cater to the male patrons.”

  “Cater?”

  “Service is perhaps more appropriate.”

  The image of a woman on her knees and a man with a carnal look on his face washed through Rosalyn’s mind. “Oh.” A blush heated her checks.

  Derek laughed. “Oh, indeed.”

  Rosalyn put her hands on her hips, not amused. “And I imagine you know these women’s talents firsthand?”

  She wasn’t sure what prompted her to ask the question, or why the idea of Derek in the arms of one of the tavern’s barmaids even bothered her. He didn’t belong to her, just as she didn’t belong to him. But how she wanted to.

  He leaned down, shockingly close to her face, his warm breath fanning her neck, his lips only a hair’s breadth from her ear, as he said in a deceptively soft voice, “The answer is no. I have never dallied with any of the barmaids. Does that ease your mind?”

  “My mind is perfectly at ease.” It was her body that felt oddly tense. “But we were speaking about the barmaids’ plight. I doubt they really want to steal or…” Warmth flooded her cheeks. “Do that other thing.”

  “Sex is a very natural thing between a man and woman, you know.”